you or retain you for further testing. We’d prefer to keep you, of course—undamaged live subjects are difficult to come by—but the choice would be yours, providing you made it before you finished amplifying.”
“You should absolutely be on the Maryland tourism board,” said Becks, and slipped her thumb into the kit.
There was a moment of quiet as everyone waited for confirmation that we were still among the legally living. Shaun watched the ceiling rather than watching the lights blinking on the test kits. Each set of lights blinked at its own tempo, analyzing the blood sample the kit had taken, looking for signs of seroconversion. One by one, they settled on a steady green. Clean. All of us were clean.
I elbowed Shaun in the side. “It’s good,” I said. “You can come down now.”
“Huh?” He looked down, eyes fixing on the green-lit test kit in his hand. “Oh.” He cast a quick sideways glance at my kit and visibly relaxed, some of the tension going out of his jaw.
Dr. Kimberley plucked the kit from his hand, sticking it into a small biohazard bag, which she then made disappear into the bag on her shoulder. The other kits went into a separate, larger biohazard bag, which she pushed into a chute in the side of the jet bridge. Then she smiled, not quite as brightly as when we first deplaned, and said, “Well. I suppose we’d best be moving along. Follow me.”
She turned and walked away. I was almost disappointed to see that she was wearing sensible sneakers instead of the impractical heels she’d sported at the Seattle CDC. The heels must have been one more part of her cover as Dr. Shaw, and sneakers would be a lot easier to run in if there was an outbreak. Still, it was odd to hear her walking without the gunshot clatter of her shoes hitting the floor.
The jet bridge let out on a small pre-Rising room painted a merciful shade of yellow-beige. I’d never considered beige the color of mercy before, but anything was better than that dreaded medicinal white. Chairs lined the windowed walls, presumably to give passengers a view of the airfield. There was no one there, and the air smelled like disinfectant and dust. We might have been the only things alive in the entire building.
Alaric was the last into the room. The door closed behind him, locks engaging with a loud beep. Dr. Shoji moved to the front of the group, waving for the rest of us to follow. “Come along,” he said. “The decontamination fumes can cause severe irritation if you stand too close.”
“And of course a door that actually sealed would look too much like competence,” muttered Alaric, and started walking faster.
Dr. Kimberley stepped back so that she was walking on my right. Shaun cast a suspicious look her way. She ignored it. “How do you feel?” she asked. “Any unusual pain or strange sensations in your hands or feet?”
“Hold on,” said Shaun. There was a tightly controlled note in his voice that I recognized as dawning alarm. “What are you asking her that for?”
“It’s okay, Shaun.” I put a hand on his arm as we walked, trying to soothe him. Looking back to Dr. Kimberley, I said, “I’m tired a lot. I ache. Everything feels pretty much normal.”
“You’re achy because you’re getting proper exercise, rather than the illusion of it,” she said, nodding. “That will fade as your body comes into alignment with your idea of what it’s capable of. I’d like to do a full physical, which there simply isn’t time for, but if that’s all you’re experiencing that seems out of the ordinary, I’d say that you’re entirely fine. Better than fine, really. You’re alive.”
“And she’s going to stay that way,” said Shaun.
Dr. Kimberley flashed a rueful smile his way. It was odd seeing her this emotive. Adjusting to her accent had been easier. “Let’s hope you’re the prophet in this scenario, rather than anyone with a more dire view of what’s to come.”
The hall ended at a pair of old-fashioned swinging doors. I frowned, studying them, but couldn’t see anything that looked even remotely like modern security upgrades. They were just doors, unsecured, with no scanners or test units installed beside them. We stopped in a ragged line, all of us looking at those doors—all of us looking for the catch. There had to be a catch.
There was always a catch.
Dr. Shoji didn’t seem to notice our dismay, and neither did Dr. Kimberley. They kept on walking, pushing those unsecured doors open to reveal an underground parking garage, and the big black SUV that was waiting at the curb.
There’s a certain shape of car that just screams “I belong to a private security force.” They’re always big and black and solid-looking, with run-flat tires and bulletproof glass in the windows. And then there are the cars that belong to the Secret Service. The differences are subtle, but you can see them if you know what to look for. Wireless relay webbing built into the rear window, for those times when cell service is compromised. Thin copper lines through the rest of the glass, ready to be turned on and cut off
I once asked a member of Senator Ryman’s security crew whether the Secret Service had a sign on the wall somewhere counting off the number of years since a sitting president had been eaten on their watch. He laughed, but he didn’t look happy about it. I think I was right.
“I miss Steve,” I said quietly, looking at the car.
“Me, too,” said Shaun.
The passenger-side door of the SUV opened, and a big blond mountain of a man unfolded himself, straightening until his head and shoulders were higher than the car’s roof. “It’s good to be remembered,” he said. “Shaun. Georgia.”
Shaun’s mouth fell open as a grin spread across his face. “Steve, my
“I could ask you the same thing. Last time I saw you, you were in no condition to be causing this much trouble.” Steve turned his face toward me, expression unreadable behind his government-issue sunglasses. I hate it when people use my own tricks on me. “You, on the other hand, were in an urn. Because it was your funeral.” His tone telegraphed what his expression didn’t: He was deeply uncomfortable about my presence.
I shrugged. “Sorry. I guess I was just too stubborn to stay dead for long.”
“Mad science,” said Alaric. “What
Shaun shook his head, snapping out of his delight over Steve’s appearance. “Sorry, man, I got distracted. Steve, this is Alaric Kwong, one of the site Newsies, and this is Rebecca Atherton, one of our Irwins.”
“Call me Becks,” said Becks. “Everyone else does.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” rumbled Steve. “If you’d all get in the car, please? I have instructions regarding your destination.”
“I’m afraid this is where we leave you,” said Dr. Shoji. “I’ll see you again, but I can’t arrive with you. That would be suspicious.”
“And I’m on house arrest,” said Dr. Kimberley. She smiled at Steve. “I couldn’t even have come this far if we hadn’t been sure of who was going to be coming to collect you.”
“Always glad to help, Dr. Kimberley,” said Steve. He opened the rear passenger door. “We need to get moving. The security changes at midnight, and it will be best if we’re past the checkpoints before that happens.”
“Where are we going?” asked Becks.
Steve didn’t answer. He just folded his arms, and waited.
“Come on,” I said, and started for the car. Working with Steve during the Ryman campaign taught me a lot of things about professional security. Chief among them was that once Steve made up his mind about something, that was the way things were going to go. He’d explain where we were going on the way.
Becks and Shaun followed me. Alaric stayed where he was, looking unsure. I waited until the others were in the car before turning on my heel and crossing back to him.
“What’s wrong?”
“This seems a bit… convenient, don’t you think?”
I surprised us both by laughing, a single, sharp expression of both amusement and regret. “This has all been ‘convenient,’ Alaric. They’ve been herding us since Seattle. Maybe before, I don’t know. I wasn’t with you to see the signs. At this point, what’s one more leap of faith between friends?”
