Symbiont (Parasitology Book 2) (49 page)

“I’m going to kill you,” someone said, and I was only a little bit surprised to realize that it was me.

Nathan pushed past me into the room. Dr. Banks followed
him. I stayed where I was in the doorway, one hand clutching Beverly’s leash, staring numbly as they bent over the bed where Tansy was lying. I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t a lab or medical technician, I couldn’t help, and I couldn’t kill Dr. Banks for what he’d done—not if we wanted to get out of here alive, with Tansy, and back to the ferry landing without SymboGen security or USAMRIID forces landing on our heads. That was already going to be difficult and would depend at least partially on Dr. Banks’s willingness to let our insult against his person stand—and whether or not he believed Fishy really had a bomb. I was deathly afraid we were going to be fighting our way out… and I was also looking forward to it. Maybe, in the chaos, I could kill him after all.

I had never been excited by the idea of killing someone before. I was surprised to find that I didn’t really mind the emotion.

“All right, let’s get her to the elevator.” Nathan started rolling the cot toward the door. To my surprise, Dr. Banks was on the other side, helping him.

That surprise was short-lived. Dr. Banks opened his mouth: “You’ll keep your end of the bargain, yes? Once you have my Anna stabilized…”

“We’ll contact you and arrange her return.
If
we can stabilize her, which we may not be able to do. Yes, we will let you know either way.” Nathan sounded disgusted. “I know you can contact your government buddies and make up some reason that they
have
to find us whenever you want to. So we’re not going to give you cause to want to until we’ve had time to disappear.”

“I’ll be honest, son, I’m surprised you’re willing to trust me.”

“Don’t ever mistake this for trust,” snapped Nathan. “You want Anna back and stabilized, you’ll leave us alone long enough for that to happen—which means you’ll leave us alone long enough that we can disappear completely.”

“What makes you think I’ll wait that long?” Dr. Banks sounded honestly curious.

Nathan looked at him flatly. “My mother says you will. She’s a better judge of character than I am in at least one regard: she knows how to spot a weasel before it starts biting. If she says you’ll risk losing us now to get something better later on, she means it.”

Dr. Banks laughed. “Good old Surrey.”

Nathan didn’t say anything. He just put his head down and kept pushing.

The elevator was a tight fit with four adults, a dog, and the cot Tansy was strapped to. They’d brought her catheter stand and three IV poles as well as the bed itself, and Fishy and I had to work quickly to keep them from getting tangled in the loading process. Then we were heading back toward the lobby, and we were finally home free; we had Tansy, and we were going back where we belonged.

Everything was going to be okay.

The elevator dinged. Dr. Banks said, “I really am sorry about this.” And the doors slid open to reveal eight soldiers with USAMRIID patches on their upper arms, standing in a flanking position around Colonel Alfred Mitchell, their drawn rifles aimed directly at us.

“Colonel Mitchell,” said Dr. Banks. “You’re just in time.”

The rest of us didn’t say anything. There was nothing left to say.

F
or a long moment, no one moved. It felt like no one even breathed, like everything had been put on hold while the world rearranged itself around us. Then, calmly, Colonel Mitchell said, “Hello, Sally.”

In that moment, I understood. Understood what Dr. Banks had been trying to accomplish, and understood how it could be used to our advantage, if I was willing to do what I had already done once before. If I was willing to sacrifice myself in the name of saving the people that I loved.

Please understand, Nathan
, I thought, and wished that there was some way I could explain to him what I was doing, and why I was doing it. It was the only option I had left, but that didn’t make it any easier, and that didn’t make it
right
. It didn’t make it not hurt.

I dropped Beverly’s leash, pasting what I hoped would look
like a sincere smile across my face in the same moment. Taking a half step forward—which was harder than I expected, thanks to all the damn guns aimed at me—I swallowed hard, and asked, “Daddy?”

Everything seemed to stand still. Then, smugly, Dr. Banks said, “I told you I could do it. It was simple, really.”

“Sally?” Colonel Mitchell sounded like he was afraid of his own question, like he was afraid of asking it where anyone else could hear. “Is that really you?”

“My head hurts,” I said, which wasn’t an answer. That made it the perfect reply. I took another step forward, and still the men with guns didn’t fire on me. “Where’s Mom?”

The Colonel’s shoulders sagged—in relief or sorrow, I didn’t know, and my genuine fear that something had happened to Sally’s mother informed my performance, making it easy to take another two steps with stumbling quickness, one hand half reaching for him. The guns didn’t track me.

“Are you here for me?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, eyes flicking first to my outstretched hand, and then to the people still standing behind me in the elevator. I heard Beverly whine. Taking Colonel Mitchell’s gaze as an excuse, I twisted to look back over my shoulder.

Nathan was holding Beverly’s leash. He looked resigned, like he hated this as much as I did, but understood its necessity. That made my heart hurt, in ways I couldn’t entirely name. I was hurting him, and he was letting me go, because we would never be able to fight our way out of here together. Somewhere along the line, I had managed to teach him—unintentionally—that it was all right to let me go. That was a lesson I had never wanted him to learn.

If Nathan was resigned, Fishy and Beverly were confused. My dog was straining against her leash, struggling to get to me, while Fishy was shaking his head slowly from side to side, a scowl on his face. He was smart enough not to argue when
there were that many guns pointed at him, but that wasn’t making him any happier with the situation. And as for Dr. Banks…

Dr. Banks looked proud of himself. That was the worst part of all.

I turned back to Colonel Mitchell. “You need to let them go,” I said.

His eyes snapped to me. “What?”

“These people brought me here because they wanted to get that girl back; she’s theirs, and Dr. Banks took her without permission. He came so that we could get me here safe. They don’t have any part in this. Let them go.” I took a deep breath. “And they have a bomb. They’ll kill us all if you don’t let them leave.”

“It’s true,” said Fishy. “Boom, baby, boom.”

Colonel Mitchell frowned slowly, and with every part of his face, eyes hardening and brows drawing downward until he was nothing but suspicion. I felt suddenly unsure, and wanted to run back to the elevator, where I would be safe, where I wouldn’t have to pretend to be someone I’d never met. Would Sally have requested the freedom of a bunch of people she didn’t care about? Joyce hadn’t liked her very much. She hadn’t been a very nice person.

I forced myself to keep looking at Colonel Mitchell. If I looked away, we were lost. “You have to let them go,” I said, slowly and clearly. “I’m very fragile right now. Any shock could cause me to go away again. Getting blown up would be a
big
shock.”

He narrowed his eyes. I held my breath. If he called my bluff…

But this was a man who had been willing to get into bed with the enemy on the barest chance of getting his daughter back. He wasn’t going to let me slip away again. Colonel Mitchell looked away first, then said, “Your friends are free to go. Steven, you’re with me.”

Dr. Banks didn’t try to argue. He was as trapped as the rest
of us, even if he was the one who had originally built the cage. He crossed the floor to stand beside me, and we fell into step with Colonel Mitchell as he turned and led us away. I didn’t look back.

It’s all right, Nathan
, I thought.
I’ll find my way home. I always do
.

The broken doors were open. We had so far left to go.

November 2027: Ronnie

I
t had been surprisingly easy for Ronnie to reach the reservoir. It was still under guard, of course; the soldiers supplied by USAMRIID and sent in with the doctors from FEMA were patrolling the borders of the area, rifles in hand and nervous sweat on their throats and temples. But Ronnie was quick, and lithe, and had nothing to fear from the sleepwalkers; they had long since learned what her (
his
) pheromone trail meant, and they stayed away, like worker ants avoiding the territory of a greater colony.

The water had been capped, of course, to keep seagulls from shitting in it and—more important now—to keep people from drowning and polluting the water supply of an entire region. This was the reservoir that fed the largest of the quarantine settlements. Some people drank bottled water, of course, but they were all higher-ups, people who could afford the luxury of worrying about contamination. For the average man on the street, crammed six to a bedroom in their shantytown containment, what came out of the faucet was the only option.

Some things could be filtered out of the water, and some things couldn’t. Ronnie slouched along the reservoir’s edge until he came to a small building, more like a hut than a
pumping station, and slipped inside. There was a heavy lid, almost like a manhole cover, over the water access. That was easy enough to deal with. Crowbars were simple tools, and all you needed to operate them was pressure.

The lid slid open with a snarling rasp, like a file being dragged across concrete. Ronnie kept pushing until the opening was almost a foot across. Then he stepped onto the rim of the water access and pulled a small plastic bag from the inner pocket of his vest. Holding it over the water, Ronnie opened the seal and shook out the bag’s white, crystalline contents. They vanished into the darkness. Some of the powder would stick to the walls of the input, going nowhere, serving no purpose. But most would reach the water. Most would begin the journey toward their eventual homes.

The war had changed.

Ronnie took a deep breath and stepped off the edge of the access hatch, and plummeted, and was gone.

TO BE CONTINUED…

By the time you read this, it will be public knowledge that my duology, like the tapeworms that inspired it, has reproduced: it is now a trilogy, and what you hold is the middle volume. I credit this largely to the amazing medical professionals, scientists, public health workers, and readers who responded to the first volume with questions, critiques, and suggestions about what I could do to make my world more complete. I have done my best to honor their input, and I can’t wait for you to reach the broken doors.

Michelle Dockrey, Brooke Lunderville, and Diana Fox again contributed much of their time and expertise; I would be lost without them. Sarah Kuhn, Amber Benson, and Margaret Dunlap had a lot to do with keeping me from tearing my hair out: I owe them a great debt of gratitude, or at least a drink at Trader Sam’s.

My new editor at Orbit, Will Hinton, was happy to discuss the challenges of a middle book, and met my own idiosyncratic approach to the writing life with an open mind and an eager pen. I look forward to many more books with him. Lauren Panepinto, as always, has provided an incredible cover that I can’t wait to hang on my wall.

Once again, acknowledgment for forbearance goes to Amy McNally, Shawn Connolly, and Cat Valente, who put up with an amazing amount of “talking it out” as I tried to work through the back half of the book; to my agent, Diana Fox, who remains
my favorite superhero; to the cats, for not eating me when I got too wrapped up in work to feed them; and to Chris Mangum, the incredible technical mind behind www.MiraGrant.com. This book might have been written without them. It would not have been the same.

If you’re curious about parasites, check out your local library. There’s a lot to learn, and some of it will really amaze you.

Finally, welcome to the world, Aislinn. You are so loved, and so wanted, and I am so delighted that you are here. I can’t wait to introduce you to the Birthday Skeleton.

Be careful now, my darling ones.

Don’t go out alone.

Parasite

Symbiont

Chimera
(Coming 2015)

Feed

Deadline

Blackout

Countdown
(e-only novella)

San Diego 2014: The Last Stand of the California Browncoats
(e-only novella)

How Green This Land, How Blue This Sea
(e-only novella)

The Day the Dead Came to Show and Tell
(e-only novella)

Rosemary and Rue

A Local Habitation

An Artificial Night

Late Eclipses

One Salt Sea

Ashes of Honor

Chimes at Midnight

The Winter Long

Discount Armageddon

Midnight Blue-Light Special

Sparrow Hill Road