Blackout

“I may have taught her a few things.”

“If we’re going to move, we should move,” said Mahir. There was a core of cold efficiency in his voice that hadn’t been there a moment before. “Shaun, you’re unfit to lead the remainder of this mission. Becks, I outrank you. Georgia…” He faltered, realizing what he’d just said. “Miss, whoever you are, you are not currently a part of our structure. As that makes me the senior staff member here, I hereby command the rest of you to move.”

I smiled at him. I couldn’t help it. “Thanks, Mahir. I missed you, too.”

Shaun grabbed my hand, starting to walk. I went with him, only wincing a little as my battered feet hit the ground. Mahir and Becks followed us, Becks never putting her pistol away. I didn’t care. She wasn’t going to shoot me now; not without getting the story of who I was and what I was doing with them. She was a Newsie for too long to throw away a lead like that once the heat of the moment had passed.

We didn’t talk as we made our way across a decrepit parking lot to an even more neglected-looking garage. There was nothing we could say that wouldn’t confuse matters further. Shaun and Becks produced flashlights from their pockets, clicking them on and using them to light the way into the darkness of the parking garage. I stopped when I saw what their beams had illuminated, a grin spreading, unbidden, across my face.

“You still have the van,” I breathed. “I was afraid that after… well, after what happened, that the decontamination would have been too expensive.” And that he wouldn’t have wanted to keep it after he killed me in it.

“I had to replace all the upholstery, but I wasn’t willing to lose the frame,” said Shaun. “We spent too much time there for me to give it up that easily.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. Becks took one look at my face before she snorted, snapped, “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” and went storming over to the van.

“She’s not always like this,” said Shaun.

“I’ve got a feeling she will be for the next few days,” I said, and let him lead me to the van.

All four of us had to submit to a blood test before the locks would disengage. I held my breath until mine came back clean and the doors unlocked. Becks opened the back and pulled out what looked like a modified metal detector wand. “Spread,” she ordered me.

I knew better than to argue with an Irwin who had that look on her face. I pulled away from Shaun, who let go of my hand with obvious reluctance, and assumed the position used by air travelers since the birth of the TSA. She ran the wand along my arms, legs, torso, and back, scowling a little more each time it failed to beep. Then she passed it to Mahir, who repeated the process. I had to admire their thoroughness, even though I knew that a false positive—or worse, an accurate one—would probably result in my getting shot in the head.

Finally, Mahir lowered the wand. “She’s clean,” he said. Becks scowled.

Shaun, on the other hand, grinned like he’d just been told that he was now uncontested king of the entire universe. He tossed Becks the keys. She caught them automatically. “You’re driving,” he informed her. “I’m riding in back with George.”

She muttered something before getting into the driver’s seat. I didn’t need to hear it to know that it wasn’t complimentary. I also didn’t have the energy to worry about it just then. Shaun helped me into the back of the van, where he sat down on the floor, opening his arms to me. I climbed into them willingly, nestling myself as closely against him as anatomy and the space around us would allow, and closed my eyes.

I fell asleep listening to the sound of his heart beating. I have never slept that well in my life, and I may never sleep that well again.

BOOK IV

Reservoirs

Okay, that’s it. No more Mister Nice, Heavily Armed, Really Pissed-Off Journalist.

—SHAUN MASON

The dangerous thing about truth is the way it changes depending on how you’re looking at it. One man’s gospel truth is another man’s blasphemous lie. The dangerous thing about people is the way we’ll try to kill anyone whose truth doesn’t agree with ours. And the dangerous thing about me is that I’ve already died once, so what the fuck do I care?

—GEORGIA MASON

Miss me?

—From Images May Disturb You, the blog of Georgia Mason, August 2, 2041. Shared internally only.

Yes.

—From Adaptive Immunities, the blog of Shaun Mason, August 2, 2041. Shared internally only.

SHAUN: Twenty-six

The Agora guards were all smiles as they came out to meet us. “Welcome back to the Agora,” said the one next to Becks’s window, holding out a blood testing unit. “If you would be so kind—”

“We’re going to need a fourth kit,” I said, craning my neck to see the window from between the seats. George was still asleep, curled up against me with her fingers locked in the fabric of my shirt.

“Or we could just let them shoot her,” said Becks sweetly.

Mahir put his hands up before I could say anything. “There will be no shooting of anyone who tests cleanly. Can we please get a fourth testing unit?”

“Of course, sir,” said the guard, looking unflustered. Apparently, people drove up with battered, dirty women in CDC scrubs all the time.

“George.” I shook her shoulder. She didn’t respond. I shook her again, harder this time. “Georgia. Wake up.”

“Problems, Mason?” asked Becks.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I said. Leaning down until my mouth was only a few inches from George’s ear, I said, “If you don’t wake up right now, I’m going to get a bottle of water from the travel fridge. I will then pour it down your back. You won’t enjoy it, and I won’t care. Just in case you were wondering.”

Her eyes opened. I had the time to think, almost academically, that my crazy was useful after all—all those hallucinations got me used to the idea of a Georgia without retinal KA, and now I actually had one. Then she smiled, and all thoughts went out the window except for holding on to her and never, ever letting go.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you threatening me awake.” She untangled her fingers from my shirt and sat up, looking around the van. She stiffened when she saw the armed guards looking through the windows, patiently waiting for us to get our shit together. “Shaun? Where are we?”

“At our hotel. It’s a long story. Can you sit up and let them run a blood test?” Seeing the look of alarm in her eyes, I added quickly, “This place has security that would have given Buffy, like, spontaneous orgasms for days. They’re not going to share their results. They just want to know that we’re all clean before they let us through the gates.”

“If you say so,” she said warily.

“Promise.” I kissed her forehead before opening the van’s side door. Another guard was waiting there, this one holding a testing unit in each hand. I gave him a smile. He didn’t give it back. “My man! Is it time to prove that we’re not planning to eat the other guests?”