Deadline

I grabbed the sleeve and yanked it back into place before running toward the bike, shooting as I went. The speaker in my helmet was beeping insistently. I didn’t know how long that had been going on. The encounter felt like it had started years ago, even if I was reasonably sure it had been only a few seconds. I nodded sharply.

g y—there? Shaun, please, are you there?”

“I’m here, Mahir.” I shot another zombie as it ran for me, and snickered. “Hey, did you know that rhymes? Where are you guys?”

“We’re coming back for you. Can you hold your position?”

“I can, but I gotta tell you, buddy, that’s not the best idea you’ve ever had.”

He took a sharp breath. “Shaun, please don’t tell me…”

“No test results yet, but I’m definitely bleeding.” The lights of the van blazed back into sight ahead of me. I groaned. “I told you not to come back!”

“Not in so many words, you didn’t, and if you think we’re leaving you without a test, you’re an arsehole. Now down!”

Mahir’s command was sharp enough that I obeyed without thinking, hitting the road on my hands and knees a second before bullets sprayed through the air where I’d been standing. The rest of the undead fell in twitching heaps. The gunfire stopped, leaving the night silent.

“Get on the bike and go,” said a voice in my ear. For a dazed second, I couldn’t tell whether it was George or Mahir. Then it continued: “We want the turnoff for Old Ferry Road.”

“Mahir, I really don’t think—”

“If you amplify before we get there, you’ll lose control of the bike. If you don’t, I’m sure Dr. Abbey will appreciate the chance to check your blood for signs that this is a new strain.” Mahir’s voice gentled. “Please, Shaun. Don’t make us leave you out here.”

“This is idiotic,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Just wanted to be sure you were aware.” I nodded again to cut the connection and took a moment to pull my sleeve closed as best as I could before righting the bike and getting back on. It started easily. There went that excuse for staying behind. I could want to protect them, but I couldn’t lie to them.

“Well?” asked George, next to my ear. “Are you going to follow them, or what?”

“I’ll follow,” I said.

The van turned laboriously around on the narrow road, taillights gleaming red through the darkness as Becks hit the gas and started forward once again. I squeezed the throttle, whispered a prayer for swift amplification, and followed them.

We took a tour of the government zombie holding facility on Alcatraz today.

A lot of people don’t like having it there, even though it’s been scientifically proven that Romero was wrong about at least one thing: Zombies can’t survive without oxygen. Since they’re too uncoordinated to swim, and they don’t know how to operate boats, if there were ever an outbreak, it would be naturally confined. That doesn’t maer. “Not in my backyard” comes out loud and clear where the dead are concerned.

I looked through the safety glass into the pens, into the dozens of eyes that looked just like mine, and I searched them as hard as I could for a sign of something, anything that would tell me they were still human. There was nothing there. Only darkness.

If I pray for anything tonight, it will be that when Shaun eventually does something insane and gets himself bitten, I’ll be there to shoot him. Because I couldn’t live with myself knowing I’d allowed him to amplify. No one deserves to end up like that. No one.

—From Postcards from the Wall, the unpublished files of Georgia Mason, originally posted June 24, 2034

Twenty-six

The building housing Dr. Abbey’s new lab must have started life as the local forestry center. The front looked like pure glass until you got close enough to see that it was backed with she

et metal. Better yet, the trees had been cut back on all sides, making room for a massive parking lot that provided clear sightlines for anyone trying to guard the building from the infected… or, as we pulled up to park near what looked like the front entrance, from us. There was even a structure on the roof that might have started out as an observatory but would make a damn good shooter’s nest, if necessity demanded.

Becks was the first out of the van, and she had a gun pointed at my head before I could get my helmet off. I could have kissed her for that, if it weren’t for the history between us and the fact that I was probably contagious. Field protocol said I was to be kept under constant guard until I could be confirmed as uninfected, and somehow that didn’t seem likely to me.

I pulled off my helmet. The night air was cool, and even cold where it hit the sweat on the back of my neck. “Hey,” I said, wearily. My throat was a little dry, but that was all; I wasn’t experiencing any of the other symptoms I knew would signal the start of amplification. Just my luck. I would have to go and develop a sturdy immune system.

“Hey,” Becks agreed, with a small tilt of her head. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I want to go redline a test and get this over with.” Mahir, Alaric, and Maggie got out of the van, all three looking shaken and nauseated. I offered them a nod. “Hey, guys, you know how to set up a guard formation?”

“Yes,” said Alaric.

“No,” said Maggie.

“I have absolutely no idea,” said Mahir.