“Actually, Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster,” said Maggie. “Common misconception.”
“Way to ruin the moment, Maggie.” I walked over to the bike, picking up my helmet. “Everyone cool?”
“I still say this is a very poorly conceived idea,” said Kelly. “I mean, maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe the CDC will let you walk out alive. But I wouldn’t place bets on it.”
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and they’ll let us leave,” I corrected, gently. “Becks here may be the one voted most likely to point a gun at somebody’s head just for kicks, but Maggie…”
“They’ll never find the body,” said Maggie. Her tone was blithely chipper, like she was talking about the latest fund-raiser for the Bulldog Rescue Association. That made it worse. “Not that anyone’s going to be looking, since you’re legally dead, but even if they looked for you, they’d never come close. All I’d need to do is call my father and tell him I finally had a problem he could fix. You could be the best Father’s Day present I’ve ever given him. He’s so hard to shop for.”
Kelly’s eyes widened, fear flickering in their depths. “Is she serious?”
“Almost certainly, but I wouldn’t worry about it just yet,” I said. “Come on, crew. Let’s find us a hotel.”
In the end, we wound up checking into the first hotel we found in downtown Portland, a nondescript little Holiday Inn whose front door boasted about their recent security upgrades. I was barely picking up any wireless frequencies, which meant “recent” was probably more like ten years ago, but that didn’t matter. Their clearances were up-to-date, and the local review sites said that the rooms were generally clean. We didn’t need five-star accommodations. We just needed a place to stash our semi-hostage and regroup without being attacked by zombies.
We got two rooms, one for the boys, one for the girls. If Alaric was uncomfortable about rooming with me—and hence with George—he didn’t say anything about it. He just started hooking up his equipment and plugging things in to recharge, while Becks marched Maggie and Kelly into the room across the hall with all the tenderness of a drill sergeant. Maggie took the barked orders gracefully, while Kelly just looked unsettled. I found myself feeling sorry for her, even after everything. After all, I liked her before she told me what the reservoir conditions really meant. It wasn’t like she designed the disease.
She’s out of her element, said George.
“We all are,” I muttered. Alaric glanced my way but didn’t say anything. He just kept connecting cables, getting the mobile office of After the End Times up and online.
The message boards had been busy while we were off gallivanting around the Pacific Northwest, harassing mad scientists, and uncovering corruption in the CDC. I skimmed the comment feeds as I waited for my mail to finish downloading. The usual cadre of trolls, ass**les, and conspiracy nuts were out in force, almost drowning out the more reserved forum participants. Mahir and the rest of the Newsies had them essentially under control. Technically I’m in charge of the site, but it can be easy to lose track of how big we really are these days. It used to be me, George, and Buffy. Now it’s dozens of people, half of whom I’ve never met and probably never will. Thank God for Mahir. Without him, we’d fall apart, becoming another fringe site clinging to the edges of extinction. He manages the marketing and merchandising that George used to handle, and somehow all the bills get paid. Even the ones relating to ammo supplies for the Irwins, which I know from experience can get pretty damn expensive.
“Anything on fire?” asked Alaric.
“Not as such, but that’s okay. I’m sure tomorrow’s field trip will supply us with plenty of matches.” I put my laptop on the bedside table, stretching until I felt my shoulders pop. “For right now, I’m going to see about catching a little sleep before I go back to professionally risking my life. You have things under control on your end?”
“Yeah. I’m going to write up a few articles on medical ethics and the lack of high-level oversight; I figure Mahir should be up by the time I finish, and I want to check in with him before I crash.” As the head of the Newsie division, Mahir was Alaric’s direct superior and the one who actually approved his articles. They worked together well, which was a relief. I don’t know how I would have dealt if they’d hated each other. Probably by punching the walls until the two of them settled down and said they’d play nicely.
You never did have any people skills, said George, tone managing to be dry and fond at the same time.
“You’re one to talk,” I mumbled, and closed my eyes, sinking into the too-soft hotel mattress. The sound of Alaric typing away was soothing, helping me relax even further. George and I shared a lot of rooms exactly like this one, one of us dozing while the other kept working, the staccato click of keys providing the white noise that meant it was safe to sleep.
Hush, chided George. You need to get some rest. You’re running yourself too hard.
“I learned from the best.” I sighed, letting out my breath in a deep, slow exhalation. Somewhere in the middle of breathing out, the world slipped away, and I slipped into sleep.
In my dreams that night, George had coppery eyes that she didn’t need to hide behind her sunglasses, and we walked in the sunlight, and we didn’t have to be afraid. Everything was perfect. Those are the worst dreams of all, because in the end, I can’t stay asleep forever.