Deadline (7 page)

Becks and I exchanged a blank look, Becks mouthing “What the fuck?” I shrugged.

Kelly, meanwhile, was smiling half-smugly, with that look on her face that famous people always seem to get when they’re pretending not to be pleased about being recognized. Mom used to walk around with that expression permanently locked in place. “I am.”

“Oh, wow,” said Alaric, eyes going even wider. “It’s an honor to meet you, ma’am. I mean a real, genuine honor.”

“Uh, excuse me for asking, but does someone want to explain to the nice Irwins,” I caught the hopeful look in Becks’s eyes, and hastened to clarify, “nice Irwins and
former
Irwins exactly what ‘
the
Kelly Connolly’ is supposed to mean? Because I have to say, I’m clueless.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” Becks muttered, almost under her breath.

“Dr. Matras was her grandfather,” said Alaric, like that explained everything.

I paused, filtering through my recollections of college history seminars. Finally, I ventured, “You mean the CDC treason guy?”

They dropped the charges,
George chided.

“Sorry,” I said, automatically.

Kelly must have assumed the apology was directed at her, because she shook her head and said, “It’s okay; that’s how most people outside of epidemiological circles remember him. His trial was a pretty big deal. They made us watch the tapes when I was in medical school.”

“Right,” I said. I was starting to remember more, probably because George was practically yelling in my inner ear. “He’s the guy who hijacked his kid’s blog so
he could get the word out.” I could vaguely recall seeing Kelly in CDC press releases and interviews, always in the background, but pretty steadily there all the same. I always figured it was because she was photogenic. Turns out it was because she was an asset.

“His eleven-year-old kid’s blog,” said Becks, eyeing Kelly suspiciously. “You’re at least twenty-one. How did you manage that?”

“My Aunt Wendy was the youngest of six,” Kelly replied, with the ease of someone fielding an all-too-familiar question. “She was actually the flower girl at my mother’s wedding. My mother is Deborah Connolly, born Deborah Matras, age twenty-five at the time of the Rising.”

Becks nodded, her former Newsie’s instincts mollified. “So what brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“Uh, guys?”

“Dave, I told you, we’ll edit that report together in a minute,” Becks said impatiently.

My phone beeped. Holding up a hand to excuse myself, I took a step backward and pulled the phone out of my pocket, clicking it open. “Shaun here.”

“Why aren’t you online?”

“Hello to you, too, Mahir. Why are you still awake? Shouldn’t the Bride of Bollywood be threatening towithhold sex for a month if you don’t put down your keyboard and crawl back to the nuptial bed?”

“She’s asleep,” he said, flatly. “No thanks to you. Why aren’t you online?”

“There are a great many answers to that philosophical question, but for right now, I’m going to settle for ‘because we have company, and my mama taught me it was rude to use your computer in front of company unless you’ve got enough for everybody.’ ”

“You’re a bloody bad liar, Shaun Mason. Your mother didn’t teach you anything of the sort.”

“Maybe not, but she should have. Why do you need me online?”

“Guys?” Dave again, a little more insistent this time.

“Turn on the news and see for yourself. I’m blocking the live feeds out of the office and claiming site issues. You can thank me for it later.”

Mahir hung up.

Mahir
never
hung up on me like that.

Frowning, I lowered the phone. “Dave? What are you trying to tell us?”

“I was looking for CDC-related reports from the last few days, to see if I could figure out why we have company, and there’s a report from this morning of a break-in at the Memphis CDC.”

“So?”

“So they’re saying one of the doctors died.”

I didn’t need to ask which one. The answer was in Kelly’s sudden pallor, and the way her eyes darted from side to side, like she was looking for an escape route from the apartment. There wasn’t one. With the entire resident staff inside, the door had automatically sealed itself, and it wasn’t going to open for anyone who didn’t have a key.

Or couldn’t pass a blood test.

I wasn’t the only person who’d put two and two together. Alaric took two quick steps backward, nearly tripping over a beanbag chair someone had abandoned in the middle of the floor. Becks stayed where she was, tucking her hands behind herself. She always kept a firearm of some sort in a holster at the small of her back, where it wouldn’t necessarily be spotted. I knew
from field trials that she could have it out and aimed in under a second.

Take charge of this situation, or it’s going to get messy.
George sounded worried. That worried me, in a “less important than the possibly infected CDC doctor in our apartment” sort of a way. If my inner George was becoming more nuanced, did that mean I was getting more crazy? And if I was, did I mind?

“What do you want me to do here?” I asked, forgetting the whole “don’t talk to George in front of strangers” rule in the face of a bigger problem.

You trained Becks and Dave. That means they’ll shoot first and ask questions later. Alaric might have been helpful if this had happened yesterday, but hes sudo wound up from the field to think clearly right now. You need to settle them down.

Great. It wasn’t enough that my sister was dead and living inside my head; now she was giving me orders. “It never stops,” I muttered, and looked back toward Kelly. “If you died, want to tell us how it is you’re standing here and not trying to eat us?” I paused, then added, “That wasn’t actually a request.”

“If you listen to the report, it doesn’t say I died. It just says they found my body,” she said, in a careful tone that I recognized from way too many press conferences. It was the voice people use when they aren’t saying something.

The silence in the room for the next few seconds was almost palpable, as all four of us struggled with that statement. Dave spoke first, asking, “So you’re listed as dead because you’ve started amplification?”

“No,” Kelly said emphatically. “I’m not infected. I’m willing to submit to as many blood tests as you need in order to prove that.”

She was technically lying: We’re all infected. Anyone
born after the Rising was infected in the womb, since Kellis-Amberlee is totally untroubled by the placental barrier. It’s just that in most of us, the virus is sleeping peacefully, rather than taking over our bodies and turning us into something from a horror show. That’s what the blood tests look for. Not infection; amplification. Which raised another question: amplification takes minutes, not hours. If Kelly was exposed to the live virus in Memphis, how could she possibly have traveled all the way to Oakland without fully amplifying?

“So why do they think you’re dead?” Becks sounded pissed, like she was considering drawing on Kelly just to make the confusing situation stop. I shot her a warning look. She glared back.

George was right. I needed to take control of things before they got bad.

“Becks—” I said, cautioning.

“It’s all right, Shaun. I knew I’d have to answer some questions.” Kelly looked toward Becks, saying calmly, “They think I’m dead because the body they found was mine.”

Pandemonium. I doubt there was anything else she could have said that would cause that much chaos, that quickly, amidst my staff. Even “Look, a zombie” would probably have inspired only general interest and a search for things to poke it with. It’s only because we were viewing her as friend, not foe, that she didn’t get a bullet in the forehead as soon as she finished speaking. As it was, the sentence was barely out of her mouth before Dave was on his feet, guns drawn and aimed in her direction. Becks provided a mirror image on the other side of the room. Meanwhile, Alaric was showing a rare degree of common sense for a Newsie and had resumed his retreat, taking cover behind the couch.

All three of them were shouting. Dave and Becks were coordinating their actions; Alaric was just yelling. And through it all, Kelly stood perfectly still, keeping her hands clearly in view. She was trembling, and the whites showed all the way around her eyes, but she didn’t move. I had to admire that. It was the smartest thing she could possibly have done.

“Guys!” I clapped my hands. I didn’t need to draw, since Dave and Becks were already holding guns on her. I could actually be the one playing Good Cop in the potentially life-threatening situation for a change. “She had to pass a blood test to get inside, remember? Chill the fuck out. I’m sure she has a good explanation.” I glanced toward Kelly. “Just a friendly hint, Doc: This would be a really, really good time to say something that makes enough sense that it can keep my people from shooting you. Because around here, dead things are for target practice.”

Kelly turned toward me, making the motion as economical as possible. Even so, Dave’s hands twitched, putting the slightest degree of extra pressure on the triggers. Catching his eye, I shook my head. He eased off. Not enough. If Kelly didn’t have a truly excellent explanation, we were going to need a new carpet.

“Cloning,” she said.

That qualified as a truly excellent explanation.

“What?” I demanded, almost in unison with Becks’s “You can’t be serious!” and Dave’s “No fucking way.” Alaric stuck his head up from behind the couch, expression disbelieving.

“We’ve been using cloning technology in hospitals for fifteen years,” said Kelly, a certain bitter amusement in her voice. “What makes you think this is so unreasonable?”

“Full-body cloning is illegal, immoral, and impossible,” said Becks, slowly. “Try again, princess.”

“If we can clone a kidney, why can’t we clone a Kelly?” asked Kelly.

Becks didn’t seem to have an answer for that.

“Actually…” Alaric stood up, eyes still fixed on Kelly. He wasn’t coming back to the center of the room, but he was abandoning at least a small measure of cover. That was a good sign. “Full-body cloning isn’t
impossible
. It’s just illegal for anyone outside the three major medical research entities. They use clones to study the progression of Kellis-Amberlee. The World Heath Organization, USAMRIID—”

“—and the CDC,” I finished. Everyone turned to look at me, Dave and Alaric included. I shrugged. “I can count. So we can clone people?”

“Yes,” said Alaric.

“And the CDC gets cloning privileges?”

“Yes,” said Kelly.

“And they decided to clone you because…?”

“I think at this point, it’s going to be easier for me to explain if I can do it without people holding guns on me.” Kelly glanced at Becks, licking her lips in agitation. “I’m not used to it.”

“You’re going to need to get used to it if you’re planning to hang out around here.” I crossed to the rack of medical supplies next to the weapons locker. Grabbing a high-end testing unit—not the best the market has to offer, but good enough that we could have faith in the results—I tossed it overhand at Kelly. She fumbled the cach, nearly dropping the unit before she got a good grip.

“Loss of manual dexterity is an early sign of amplification,” said Becks.

“Loss of manual dexterity is also a sign of a lab rat surrounded by people who seem likely to shoot her in the face,” I said. “You’d better go ahead and get some results for us, Doc, before one of my people decides they’re done being civilized.”

“You sure do know how to treat a guest,” said Kelly. She popped the test open, shoving her hand inside.

“We try,” I said.

Becks was right about the loss of manual dexterity: It’s related to the virus basically hip-checking the brain out of the way and taking over. Once Kellis-Amberlee amplification begins, victims lose motor control at a fairly impressive pace. Viruses—even genetically engineered viruses designed to better the human condition—aren’t all that smart, and they don’t have to pass driver’s ed before they get a shot at driving
us
. So zombies don’t know how to use their fingers very well, and most of them are a little clumsy even when we’re talking about things like “walking” and “not getting shot in the head.”

About the only thing a zombie can do with any reliable accuracy is bite, spit, and scratch. The easiest routes to infection.

The lights on Kelly’s test unit were just beginning to flash when my phone beeped again. I clicked it on, not bothering to check the caller ID. “Hey, Mahir.”

“Is she still there?”

“Yeah, she’s still here.” I watched the lights flash between red and green, resisting the urge to look away.

“Is the situation contained?”

Red, green, pause. Red, green, pause. “I’m not sure. Dave and Becks have guns trained on her head right now.”

“What, only the pair?”

“Alaric’s busy hiding behind the couch—”

“Hey!”

“—and I figured I’d try being the reasonable one for a change.”

“Really? How’s that going, then?”

Not well,
muttered George.

“Not bad,” I said, wishing I had a way to glare at the inside of my own head. The lights were slowing down, lingering on green for longer and longer periods of time. “We’re just about done with the blood tests over here. Do you want to video conference in or something? Because it’s time to play twenty questions with Doc, and you might have some good ones.”