Blackout

the entire world. I raised my free hand to my mouth, suddenly doubly glad for the familiar screen of my sunglasses. They would keep everyone else from seeing the tears in my eyes.

“Oh, God, Mahir, thank you.” I blinked the tears away as firmly as I could. More rose to take their place. “Thank you so much.”

“It only has three numbers in its address book,” said Becks, tone still tight with suspicion. “Tap it once for Shaun, twice for Mahir, and three times for me. Don’t try to reprogram it. There’s a safety lock on the controls. You mess with the directory, the whole thing will short out, and we’ll know.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said. “Seriously, thank you all. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Maggie smiled. “I think I might have a bit of a clue.”

I smiled back before reaching up and delicately affixing the ear cuff to the shallow outside curve of my ear. It pinched the skin in a way I remembered from high school, back when I started wearing the portable contact devices on a regular basis. I’d have raw spots and blisters for at least a week while I got used to it. And I didn’t really give a damn.

“If we’re all prepared to wander gaily off to our dooms, we should really get moving,” said Mahir, tearing his eyes away from my face. “I’m sure our gracious hosts would prefer the doom not find us early.”

“You are always such the little ray of golden sunshine, Mahir, you know that?” Shaun grinned. “Let’s roll.”

Joey—

What the fuck do you mean, “Danika was just in touch with you”? Danika hasn’t been in touch with anybody in

years

. She’s still on crazy safari in the crazy jungle, looking for the crazy magical herbal cure to the walking dead. Seriously, that woman is so much crazy crammed into a small space that she’s practically a crazy singularity. Have you been sticking your dick in the crazy singularity? Because that’s how you catch the really

good

social diseases.

My coordinates are attached. They’re good for another four days. Then I’m cutting bait and we’re getting ourselves to higher ground. The floods are coming, my friend. Try to disengage from the crazy long enough to get the fuck out of their way.

—Taken from an e-mail sent by Dr. Shannon Abbey to Dr. Joseph Shoji, August 3, 2041.

I’m not sure which is worse: the fact that Shaun was willing to accept this woman as his dead sister, or the fact that I’m beginning to believe it might be true.

Georgia Mason had a certain way of reacting to things—a kinesthetic language, rather than a verbal one. It wasn’t the sort of thing you could fake without years of practice. If this woman is an imposter, she hasn’t had years… and she moves like Georgia. She has all the little ticks and twitches down cold. When she came out of that elevator dressed, with those sunglasses on… I was ready to call her Georgia and ask what we were going to do next. And that’s not a good thing.

If she’s the real deal, then awesome, the laws of science have been twisted even further away from what they were intended to be. Bully for the laws of science. And if she’s not the real deal…

If she’s not the real deal, I’m pretty sure she’s going to get us all killed.

—From Charming Not Sincere, the blog of Rebecca Atherton, August 3, 2041. Unpublished.

SHAUN: Twenty-eight

There was no handy text-based adventure game to guide us back to the Brainpan, which meant I had to drive, since I was the one who’d driven us there the first time. I didn’t appreciate being separated from George. I’ve never been clingy—codependent, sure, according to every psychologist I’ve ever talked to, but not clingy. That didn’t mean I appreciated having her out of arm’s reach now that she was alive again.

The need to have her where I could touch her would fade, given time. I was sure of it. Or at least I hoped I was sure of it, and not just lying to myself.

You’ve had a lot of practice lying to yourself, commented Georgia. She didn’t sound angry. Just resigned.

“Quiet,” I mumbled.

Maggie, who was sitting in the passenger seat, gave me a sidelong look but didn’t say anything. I appreciated that. I had absolutely no idea what I would have said in return.

In the back of the van, Mahir and Becks—mostly Mahir—were quizzing George, trying to feel out the limits of what she knew. She fielded most of their questions without hesitation. I stopped breathing a little bit every time they asked her something and she didn’t answer right away, waiting for the sound of Becks taking the safety off her gun, but George recovered every time. If there were questions she wasn’t going to get right, they weren’t the kind of questions the two of them would think to ask.

I didn’t care what answers were hidden in the three percent of herself she’d lost by dying and coming back to life again. She’d already given me all the answers I needed.

Maggie surreptitiously hit the button to seal the doors as we drove through the neighborhood leading to the Brainpan. Her worried glances out the window confirmed the reason why. Even after visiting and surviving once, the decay of the buildings disturbed her.

“It’ll be okay, Maggie,” I said. “I doubt anyone lives here except the crazy people we’re on our way to visit. And sure, they may decide to shoot us and store our bodies in the freezer or something, but at least that’s a normal thing, right?”

She muttered something in sour-sounding Spanish before saying, “It was never normal before I started traveling with you.”

“See? It’s like I always say. Travel is broadening.”

Maggie showed me a finger.

I clucked my tongue. “Really? You’re going to flip me off? I mean, jeez, Maggie. In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve broken into the CDC—”

“Again,” called Becks from the backseat. “Don’t forget Portland.”

“—okay, point, broken into the CDC again, which, PS, kind of blew up while I was still there, seen my sister come back from the dead, and had a lot of coffee. It’s going to take more than a middle finger to upset me.”

Maggie raised both hands, backs to me, and showed me two fingers.

I nodded agreeably. “Much better. Hey, look! There’s the serial killer van!” It seemed a little odd to use a burned-out pre-Rising van as a landmark, but it made a certain amount of sense. In a neighborhood as decrepit as this one, you couldn’t exactly use paint colors or house numbers to navigate, and saying “turn at the house that looks like it was painted to blend in with viscera” would probably inspire even less confidence than “turn at the serial killer van.”

“Goodie,” said Maggie.

“You don’t sound excited.”

“That’s because I would rather be home, with my dogs, writing porn,” she said.

I glanced over at her. “Soon you will be.”

She didn’t have anything to say to that.

The van bumped and jounced down the driveway to the Brainpan. I parked outside the garage and killed the engine, waiting.