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I opened my eyes. All the brooding in the world wasn’t going to bring Buffy and Chuck back, and it didn’t change the facts of the situation: The Memphis CDC had, for whatever reason, drugged us and transported us to a holding facility. I didn’t have my clothes, my weapons, or any of my recording equipment. My ears were bare; they’d taken my short-range cellular devices along with everything else. Even my sunglasses were gone, replaced by a UV blocker that, while doubtless more effective, left me feeling naked.

My mother once told me that no woman is naked when she comes equipped with a bad mood and a steady glare. Fixing that fact at the forefront of my mind, I walked over to the room’s single door and tried the knob.

It was unlocked.

That wasn’t necessarily good.

The hallway was as sterile as the room where I woke up, all white walls, white floors, and stark white overhead lighting. More of those large faux-mirrors were spaced every ten feet, lining both sides of the corridor. I was in the isolation wing. That was even less reassuring than the unlocked door. Pushing the UV blocker up the bridge of my nose in a gesture that was deeply reassuring if not strictly functional, I started down the hall.

Rick was in the third room on the left, lying atop his bedcovers in white cotton pajamas identical to mine. The CDC isn’t big on gender stereotyping. I knocked on the “window” to warn him that I was coming before opening the door and stepping inside.

“Do they actually have room service in this place? Because I’d just about die for a can of Coke right about now. Reanimation strictly optional.”

“Georgia!” Rick sat up, relief and delight warring for control over his features. “Thank God! When I woke up in here alone, I was afraid—”

“What, that you were the last one left? Sorry, guy, but you don’t get promoted that easily.” I leaned against the door frame, assessing him. He wasn’t visibly injured. That was good. If we needed to exit in a hurry, maybe he could keep up. “I am, in fact, immortal when annoyed.”

“Wow.”

“Wow?”

“You’ll never die.” He paused and raised his right hand, making vague gestures toward his eyes. “Georgia, you’re not—”

“It’s all right.” I tapped the band. “UV-blocking plastic. The latest thing. Technically better than my sunglasses, even if everything is a little bright right now.”

“Oh,” he said. “Your eyes are brown.”

“Well, yeah.”

He shrugged. “I never knew.”

“Life is an education.” Keeping my tone as light as possible, I asked, “So were you just waiting for me? Have you seen Shaun?”

“No—like I said before, I woke up alone. I haven’t seen anyone since the CDC Mickeyed us. Any idea what the hell is going on here?”

“I’m thinking it’s more like they roofied us, and right now, I’m marginally more interested in finding my brother.”

He gave me a speculative look. “You’re more interested in your brother than in figuring out the truth?”

“Shaun’s the only thing that concerns me more than the truth does.”

“He’s not here right now.”

“Which is why we’re going to find him.” I stepped back into the hall. “Come on.”

To his credit, Rick rose without argument. “They didn’t lock the doors. That means they don’t think we’re infectious.”

“That, or it means we’re already in the middle of an outbreak, and they’ve sealed this whole wing.”

“Aren’t you just a little ray of happy sunshine?”

I slanted a tight smile in his direction. “I always have been.”

“I understand your brother a little bit more with every day that passes.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that remark.” The hall was empty, stretching in both directions with no distinguishing features either way. I frowned. “Know anything about isolation ward layouts?”

“Yes.”

His answer was surprisingly firm. I glanced toward him, eyebrows raised in silent question. He shrugged.

“Lisa and I spent a lot of time in places like this.”

“Right,” I said, after an uncomfortable pause. “Which way?”

“CDC iso wards all follow the same basic layout. We go left.”

That made sense. Zombies don’t learn, and if there’s a chance your personnel are uninfected, you want them to know which way to run. It would also serve as a herding mechanism; those that had already amplified but were hoping for a way out would charge straight into the air lock, where a positive blood test would buy them a bullet to the brain.

Rick started walking. I hurried to keep up, and he glanced at me.

“I’m sure Shaun’s fine.”

“Mmm.”

“If he’d amplified, we’d be seeing signs of the outbreak. Or at least smelling fresher disinfectant.”

“Mmm.”

“I’d like to take this opportunity to say, off the record, that your eyes are much more attractive when you don’t hide them behind those freaky-ass contact lenses. Blue really doesn’t suit you.”

I gave him a sidelong look.

Rick smiled. “You didn’t go ‘mmm’ at me that time.”

“Sorry. I get a little anxious when I don’t know where Shaun is.”

“Georgia, if this is ‘a little anxious,’ I never want to see you when you’re actually uptight.”

I shot him another sidelong look. “You’re awfully relaxed.”

“No,” he said, in a measured tone, “I’m in shock. See, the difference is that if I were relaxed, I wouldn’t be walking along, waiting for the reality of Buffy being dead to hit me like a brick to the side of the head.”

“Oh.”

This time, his smile was small and tight and held not a trace of humor. “Ethan taught me about CDC isolation. Lisa taught me about shock.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. We walked through the white halls, our white-clad reflections flickering like ghosts in the tinted-glass “windows” until something new appeared up ahead: a steel-barred door with an intercom and a blood testing unit set into the wall next to it.