Deadline
Page 37
The worst part was that deep down in my heart, in the part of me that no one got to see but George, I was glad. Because if all the old shit was starting up again, that meant that we were moving again. Moving toward an answer to the question that kept me from sleeping at night, and probably kept me from killing myself:
Who really killed my sister?
Kelly met my eyes and looked away, expression guilt-stricken. I’d have to talk to her about that. This wasn’t her fault, any more than it was mine, or Alaric’s, or Maggie’s. She was a victim, just like the rest of us. None of us did anything wrong. But that could be dealt with tomorrow, when we’d had time to sleep, reassure Mahir that we were still alive, and really look at Kelly’s data.
“I think we all loved him at least a little,” I said, with complete honesty, and I stood in that homey-smelling kitchen surrounded by the remains of my team, and I held her while she cried.
Screw you, David Novakowski. Screw you for being noble and good and earnest and staying in that damn building, and screw you for that last transmission, and screw you twice for taking so f**king long to say anything. You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot.
I loved you, too, you idiot.
I can’t post this. I want to post this. I can’t post this. But writing it down helps, a little, because writing it down is what we do. They’re on their way here—they have to be, because if they’re not… I won’t think about it. The house feels so empty. God.
—From Dandelion Mine, the blog of Magdalene Grace Garcia, April 12, 2041. Unpublished.
I’m sorry, my darlings, but I won’t be able to make tonight’s chat. I know, I promised, and I’m sorry, but Auntie Maggie has a headache right now and needs to have a nap. Normal transmissions will resume tomorrow. Be good. Be kind to each other. And if there’s somebody you love, tell them. The world always needs more love.
—From Dandelion Mine, the blog of Magdalene Grace Garcia, April 12, 2041
Seven
Shaun?”
I raised a hand to rub my temple as I raised my head, trying to ward off the headache I could feel brewing there. I’d turned off most of the lights when the rest of the house went to bed, but I hadn’t stopped reading. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. “In here, Maggie.” I was sitting on the living room floor, back against the couch. I’d been sitting long enough that I wasn’t sure I could still stand.
Maggie made her way down the darkened hall to the doorway without tripping over anything. I had to admire how well she knew where everything was. I couldn’t have navigated that hall without causing my shins some serious damage. “How’s Mahir?”
“Relieved that we’re not dead. Broadcasting some old camping footage George and I took the last time we went to Santa Cruz. As long as he strips the dates, he should be able to make it look like we were all off having a grand time with the infected when they firebombed our building.”
Maggie swallowed. “And Dave?”
“Stayed behind to take care of the servers. We figure the cleanup on Oakland should be done by morning. They’ll contact his family, and we’ll announce it after they contact us.” It was heartless. It was unforgivable. It was the only choice we had. “I figure we can fake being out in the field for three or four days before we need to find somewhere else to be.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” The edge on her voice was surprising. I blinked. Drawing her tattered terrycloth bathrobe around her shoulders like it was a form of armor, Maggie scowled at me. “You’ll stay right here. My security systems can bounce your signal anywhere we want it to be.”
“Maggie—”
“Don’t you dare tell me it isn’t safe, Shaun Mason. Don’t you dare.” She stalked to the nearest overstuffed armchair and sat, curling her legs under herself and eyeing me like an aggravated cat. “I’ve never been safe in my life. I’m not planning to start now.”
“You can’t tell me that,” I protested. “I’ve seen your security system.”
Maggie’s laugh was rich, bright, and surprising. “I’m going to inherit enough money to buy a small country someday. My parents don’t have anyone else to leave it to. There’s a reason I live in the middle of nowhere and surround myself with reporters. Do you have any idea how good the security on this place really is? If I scream, someone comes. They can’t fake an outbreak on us here that won’t be immediately obvious as a setup. So unless the dead decide to rise en masse again—”
“Which is thankfully not very likely.”
“Exactly. You won’t be safe when you leave here.”
I looked at her measuringly. “Nice cage you’ve got here.”
“Thanks.” She smiled thinly. “The food’s pretty good, but, man, does the company suck.”
“We do our best.” I sighed. “I’m really sorry about all this.”
“Don’t be. Just get some sleep.” Maggie pulled her almost waist-length braid over one shoulder, picking aimlessly at the trailing end. “You’ve had a long day.”
“Yeah, well. Objects in the rearview mirror don’t get smaller just because they’re getting farther away.” I held up one of the folders from Kelly’s briefcase. “I’m trying to make sense out of all this crap while nothing’s catching on fire. I figure that won’t last for long.”
“It never does,” Maggie agreed. “How bad is it?”
Who really killed my sister?
Kelly met my eyes and looked away, expression guilt-stricken. I’d have to talk to her about that. This wasn’t her fault, any more than it was mine, or Alaric’s, or Maggie’s. She was a victim, just like the rest of us. None of us did anything wrong. But that could be dealt with tomorrow, when we’d had time to sleep, reassure Mahir that we were still alive, and really look at Kelly’s data.
“I think we all loved him at least a little,” I said, with complete honesty, and I stood in that homey-smelling kitchen surrounded by the remains of my team, and I held her while she cried.
Screw you, David Novakowski. Screw you for being noble and good and earnest and staying in that damn building, and screw you for that last transmission, and screw you twice for taking so f**king long to say anything. You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot.
I loved you, too, you idiot.
I can’t post this. I want to post this. I can’t post this. But writing it down helps, a little, because writing it down is what we do. They’re on their way here—they have to be, because if they’re not… I won’t think about it. The house feels so empty. God.
—From Dandelion Mine, the blog of Magdalene Grace Garcia, April 12, 2041. Unpublished.
I’m sorry, my darlings, but I won’t be able to make tonight’s chat. I know, I promised, and I’m sorry, but Auntie Maggie has a headache right now and needs to have a nap. Normal transmissions will resume tomorrow. Be good. Be kind to each other. And if there’s somebody you love, tell them. The world always needs more love.
—From Dandelion Mine, the blog of Magdalene Grace Garcia, April 12, 2041
Seven
Shaun?”
I raised a hand to rub my temple as I raised my head, trying to ward off the headache I could feel brewing there. I’d turned off most of the lights when the rest of the house went to bed, but I hadn’t stopped reading. Maybe that wasn’t such a good idea. “In here, Maggie.” I was sitting on the living room floor, back against the couch. I’d been sitting long enough that I wasn’t sure I could still stand.
Maggie made her way down the darkened hall to the doorway without tripping over anything. I had to admire how well she knew where everything was. I couldn’t have navigated that hall without causing my shins some serious damage. “How’s Mahir?”
“Relieved that we’re not dead. Broadcasting some old camping footage George and I took the last time we went to Santa Cruz. As long as he strips the dates, he should be able to make it look like we were all off having a grand time with the infected when they firebombed our building.”
Maggie swallowed. “And Dave?”
“Stayed behind to take care of the servers. We figure the cleanup on Oakland should be done by morning. They’ll contact his family, and we’ll announce it after they contact us.” It was heartless. It was unforgivable. It was the only choice we had. “I figure we can fake being out in the field for three or four days before we need to find somewhere else to be.”
“Don’t be an idiot.” The edge on her voice was surprising. I blinked. Drawing her tattered terrycloth bathrobe around her shoulders like it was a form of armor, Maggie scowled at me. “You’ll stay right here. My security systems can bounce your signal anywhere we want it to be.”
“Maggie—”
“Don’t you dare tell me it isn’t safe, Shaun Mason. Don’t you dare.” She stalked to the nearest overstuffed armchair and sat, curling her legs under herself and eyeing me like an aggravated cat. “I’ve never been safe in my life. I’m not planning to start now.”
“You can’t tell me that,” I protested. “I’ve seen your security system.”
Maggie’s laugh was rich, bright, and surprising. “I’m going to inherit enough money to buy a small country someday. My parents don’t have anyone else to leave it to. There’s a reason I live in the middle of nowhere and surround myself with reporters. Do you have any idea how good the security on this place really is? If I scream, someone comes. They can’t fake an outbreak on us here that won’t be immediately obvious as a setup. So unless the dead decide to rise en masse again—”
“Which is thankfully not very likely.”
“Exactly. You won’t be safe when you leave here.”
I looked at her measuringly. “Nice cage you’ve got here.”
“Thanks.” She smiled thinly. “The food’s pretty good, but, man, does the company suck.”
“We do our best.” I sighed. “I’m really sorry about all this.”
“Don’t be. Just get some sleep.” Maggie pulled her almost waist-length braid over one shoulder, picking aimlessly at the trailing end. “You’ve had a long day.”
“Yeah, well. Objects in the rearview mirror don’t get smaller just because they’re getting farther away.” I held up one of the folders from Kelly’s briefcase. “I’m trying to make sense out of all this crap while nothing’s catching on fire. I figure that won’t last for long.”
“It never does,” Maggie agreed. “How bad is it?”
