“I’m telling you I have the capacity to try.” Dr. Abbey shook her head. “Please don’t misunderstand what I’m offering here. I can’t guarantee anything. The mosquitoes haven’t reached Ferry Pass, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. It also doesn’t mean there won’t be another form of outbreak before we can get there. All I’m offering is a chance, and yes, sometimes, chances have to be paid for.”
Alaric gave me a pleading look. The others followed suit, even Dr. Abbey, all looking at me with varying degrees of hope, or reluctance, or resignation. In that instant, I knew that what came next was entirely my decision. Maybe I was the crazy one, maybe I was the one who felt like he had nothing left to lose, but I was also their leader, and the only one my team had left. They needed someone to tell them what to do. Even Mahir, for all that half the time it seemed like he was the one who was actually in charge, needed me to be the one to pull the trigger.
“I didn’t sign up for this shit,” I muttered, as quietly as I could.
Good thing you’re such a natural, then, isn’t it?
I managed to bite back my laughter before it could escape. The team might be used to me talking to myself, but that didn’t mean they’d forgive me for laughing at a time like this. I turned my laugh into a smile, calling up all the old tricks I’d been forced to learn back when I was a working Irwin and needed to smile despite pain, or terror, or just plain not wanting to be the dancing monkey for a little while.
“You know we can’t all go, right, Doc?” I asked.
Dr. Abbey nodded. “I know.”
“Alisa’s going to need ID, papers, everything. There’s no way she can use her real name. It wouldn’t hurt for the rest of us to have a fallback plan, either. I want to send Mahir and Maggie up the coast. There’s an ID fixer there who comes pretty highly recommended.”
“The Monkey,” said Alaric.
“I’ve heard of him. He’s supposedly the best, and things are going to get worse before they get better,” said Dr. Abbey, apparently unperturbed by my desire to split the team. “I’m even willing to supply an unmarked car, to help them get there.”
“And someone’s staying with you, to coordinate.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I’m going with you,” Becks said, stepping up next to me before Alaric could speak. She raised a warning finger in his direction. “Don’t argue. You aren’t good at fieldwork, you don’t like being away from your computer, and if Dr. Abbey can get Alisa out of Florida, your sister will want to know that you’re safe. We won’t be.”
Alaric deflated slightly, looking ashamed. I couldn’t blame him. He was clearly relieved not to be the one going, and just as clearly felt like he should have insisted on it.
“Hey,” I said. He didn’t look at me. “Hey.”
This time Alaric’s attention swung my way. “What?”
“Becks is right. Alisa needs you more than we do. Stay with Dr. Abbey. Keep the crazy science lady happy, or at least non-homicidal. We’ll be back as soon as we can. Okay?”
For a moment, I didn’t think Alaric was going to give in. Finally, he nodded. “Okay,” he said. “If that’s the best way.”
“It is.” I looked to Dr. Abbey. “Well? What are we waiting for? Let’s get this show on the road.”
She smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.”
But I’m scared a lot, too. There are ten girls sleeping in the classroom with me, and also our chaperone, Ms. Hyland. I don’t think anyone here realizes my e-diary can also transmit. They’re not supposed to be able to do that. That’s why the people let me keep it. I don’t know what I’d do if they took it away from me. Thank you, thank you, thank you for giving me this for last Christmas. I think it’s saving my life.
They’re starting to say scary things when they think none of us are listening—or maybe they don’t care anymore whether we’re listening or not, and that’s scary, too. Please come get me. Please find a way to come and get me. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I’m really scared, and I need my brother.
Please come.
—Taken from an e-mail sent by Alisa Kwong to Alaric Kwong, July 19, 2041.
This morning I woke up, and for almost ten minutes, I forgot that George was dead. I could hear her in the bathroom, getting her clothes on and waiting for her painkillers to kick in. I could even see the indent her head left in the pillow. And then I turned to get something from my bag, and when I looked back, the indent was gone. No one was in the bathroom. I was alone, and George was dead again.
It’s been happening more and more often. Just those little moments where something slips, and it becomes possible, for one beautiful, horrible moment, to lie to myself about the world. I won’t pretend that I mind them, or that I’m not sorry when they end. I also won’t pretend that I’m not afraid.
The last big break with reality is coming. I can practically hear it knocking at the door. And I’m terrified I won’t have time to finish everything I need to do before it gets here.
I’m sorry, George. But I’m afraid I might want you back so much that I’m willing to let myself let you down.
—From Adaptive Immunities, the blog of Shaun Mason, July 17, 2041. Unpublished.
Five