“No,” Gregory admitted.
I took a deep breath. The painkillers hadn’t had time to work, but the chill was muffling the pain nicely, making everything seem a little more distant, and hence a little easier to deal with. “Well, all right. I guess that means it’s time to get me the hell out of Dodge, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does,” said Gregory—and now he sounded sad, and deeply concerned. “There’s just one problem.”
I closed my eyes. “You still don’t know how you’re going to do that, do you?”
“No. We don’t.”
“Well.” I opened my eyes, sighing once. “This is going to be fun.”
BOOK III
Foundations
Given a choice between life and death, choose life. Given a choice between right and wrong, choose what’s right. And given a choice between a terrible truth and a beautiful lie, choose the truth every time.
—GEORGIA MASON
Fuck it. Let’s blow some shit up.
—SHAUN MASON
Every time I think my life can’t get any weirder, it does. Today has included a missing Newsie from the Rising generation who just happens to be running a rest stop on the smuggler’s route to Canada, rednecks with guns, listening to Shaun sing along with the radio (badly), and a zombie bear. Who knows what delights tomorrow will bring? And will tomorrow bring a shower with enough hot water to finish washing my hair?
Stay tuned for our next exciting update that I can’t post because it might give our location away to some mysterious shadow conspiracy.
Fuck, this sucks.
—From Charming Not Sincere, the blog of Rebecca Atherton, July 26, 2041. Unpublished.
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, DO NOT LEAVE YOUR ROOM. If you are already outside your room, find a secure location immediately. The following places on campus are currently secure: The library. The Life Sciences building. The student store. Durant Hall. The Optometry lab. The following places are confirmed compromised: The English and Literature building. The Bear’s Den. The administrative offices.
THIS IS NOT A HOAX. THIS IS NOT A PRANK. This is Professor Michael Mason. We are in a state of emergency. If you are reading this, do not leave your room.
Stacy, darling, I’ll be home as soon as I can.
—From Breathing Biology, the blog of Michael Mason, July 18, 2014. Taken from the archives of The Wall.
Fourteen
Dad’s map was just that: a large piece of paper with roads and landmarks drawn on it. He spread it out on the dining room table, smirking a bit when he saw the disbelieving expressions Becks and I were wearing. “What?” he asked. “You’ve never seen a map before?”
“Not outside of a history book,” I said. “Haven’t you ever heard of GPS?”
“What isn’t on a computer can’t be hacked, oh foolish son of mine,” said Dad. He was comfortably in professor mode now, that old “I am imparting wisdom to the young” twinkle in his eye. George used to love it when he’d get like this, like it was some secret language the two of them could share—the language of knowledge and the truth. Naturally, that meant I’d always hated it when he’d get like this, because he was lying to her. He was letting her believe he cared.
“Mom, make Dad stop acting like he knows everything,” I said, without any real rancor.
“Michael, tell the kids what they need to know,” said Mom. “And in exchange, Shaun will tell us what we need to know. Isn’t that right, Shaun?”
“Yeah, Mom. That’s right.” I’ll tell you how to steal the last things in the world that belong to your adopted daughter, and you won’t even think of yourselves as grave robbers. The acid in the thought was almost shocking, even to me. I realized I was digging my nails into my palms again. I rested my hands on the edge of the table, forcing my fingers to uncurl. “So what are we looking at here?”
“The trouble is the distance. There’s no single safe route from here into the Florida quarantine zone—maybe if you were aiming for something in the contaminated parts of Texas?” Dad glanced up, a canny glint appearing behind the amiable twinkle in his eyes. “You didn’t mention exactly what you were trying to accomplish on this little road trip, come to think of it.”
“True, and we’re not going to mention it, so don’t bother fishing,” I said. The map covered the Southwestern United States, stopping shortly after it crossed into Texas. “Are you saying this is as far as you can get us?”
“I’m saying this is as far as we can get you before things become complicated,” Dad replied. “You don’t mind complicated, do you, Shaun?”