The halls were practically deserted. I paused long enough to kick off Dr. Kimberley’s heels and kept running, heading for what I hoped would be one of the building’s outer walls. I hit a corner and turned, hit another corner and turned again. The first of my explosives would be going off at any second. I had to run, or else—
I was so focused on running that I didn’t look where I was going. I whipped around a corner and slammed straight into the man who was running in the opposite direction. We both staggered backward, my head going down as I tried to recover my equilibrium.
He spoke first. “George?”
“Shaun?” I stared at him. He stared back. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do first—scream, cry, or hug him until the world stopped spinning. I had to settle for the fourth option. Darting forward, I grabbed his hand and shouted, “Run!”
Thank God for habit. Shaun didn’t hesitate. He followed my lead, letting me tow him down the hallway and around the nearest corner, where two more familiar faces were waiting.
Shaun pulled me to a stop, saying, “We need to get out of here.”
Becks and Mahir stared at me in abject disbelief. They were clearly taking my appearance the way I’d expected Shaun to take it: with surprise, and no small amount of anger. A few seconds passed while none of us said anything. Then Becks reached for her gun.
“There isn’t time to shoot me!” I said. I didn’t let go of Shaun’s hand. I didn’t know what he was doing here or how he got in, but if I was going to die, I was going to do it holding on to him as tightly as I could. “This place is about to blow. Do you know the way out?”
“Why should we trust you?” she demanded.
Shaun’s eyes widened. “Wait a second. You can see her?”
“Yes, Shaun, we can see her,” said Mahir. He sounded more dazed than Becks, and less angry.
“I have no idea what that means, but if you don’t trust me, we’re all going to be dead before you can find out how I got here.” I focused on Mahir. “Do you know the way out?”
Mahir looked at me for only a moment before making his decision. “This way,” he said, and gestured for us to follow as he turned and stepped through an unmarked doorway. Shaun pulled me along with him, perfectly willing to accept my presence. Becks brought up the rear, and I knew without looking that she had a gun pointed at the back of my head. Shaun had trained her well.
The door led to a small storage room. A panel in the back wall was missing. I could see grass and the nighttime sky through the opening. Shaun pulled me along. I went without fighting.
We were almost outside when the explosions began.
This is not fucking possible. Do you hear me, world? THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE. I don’t care if she fools Shaun and Mahir and everyone else, she’s not who she’s claiming to be. This sort of thing doesn’t happen in the real world, and if we were living in a science fiction novel, good would triumph over evil a whole lot more often than it does.
I am going to find out who she is. I am going to find out what she’s doing here. And then I am going to take great satisfaction in blowing her smug little imposter head right off her fucking shoulders.
—From Charming Not Sincere, the blog of Rebecca Atherton, August 2, 2041. Unpublished.
Genetic testing of the remains found in Lab 175-c confirms that they belonged to Georgia Mason. Perhaps if we had fewer Georgia Masons running around the premises, we could be sure our rogue killed herself in her efforts to escape. As we do not have any mechanism for confirming the identity of the deceased, and as the explosions caused too much damage to determine the number of Georgias to die in the ensuing fire, we must assume for the time being that Subject 7c is now loose.
Congratulations, ladies and gentlemen. We have successfully resurrected a woman with every reason to want us all dead. I hope you can feel good about this accomplishment. I certainly cannot. Please consider this my resignation. Further, please send someone to clean my lab, as I am about to get blood all over the walls.
Everything went so very wrong so very fast. I will not take the fall for this.
I hope you’re happy.
—Taken from an e-mail sent by Dr. Matthew Thomas, August 2, 2041.
SHAUN: Twenty-four
She ran back the way I’d come. I ran with her, trying to wrap my mind around how solid her fingers felt. They were warm and strong and right, and I didn’t care if it meant I’d finally snapped. I had her back. Crazy or not, I had her back, and there was no way I was ever letting her go.
We caught up with Becks and Mahir less than a minute later. They turned and stared when they heard my footsteps. “We need to get out of here,” I said, skidding to a stop. They kept staring, but not at me.
They were looking at George. Scowling, Becks reached for her gun.
“There isn’t time to shoot me!” said George, not letting go of my hand. Thank God for that. “This place is about to blow. Do you know the way out?”
I opened my mouth to relay what she’d said, but Becks cut me off. Still staring straight at George, she demanded, “Why should we trust you?”