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The security team that had been so dedicatedly disassembling the testing unit was gone. So was Audrey. Ben was still there, lit by his camera's lamp, speaking quickly into his microphone. When he saw me he stopped, reached out with one long arm, and caught hold of my elbow.

I did not punch him in the throat, which showed both excellent reflexes and admirable restraint on my part. Instead, I came skidding to a halt, feeling the gravel turn under my feet, and looked at him without saying a word.

Ben let go. “Ash. I was hoping you'd come back. The team that was tearing down that false front you found up and left a few minutes ago, and they took Audrey with them. Mat's monitoring the security feeds, but there hasn't been anything to tell us what's going on. Do you know what's happening?”

Amber hadn't asked me to keep mum about the virus, and frankly, even if she had, I wouldn't have listened. We were journalists. We were here to report the news.

I turned toward the point Ben had been speaking to, flipping my hair expertly back over my shoulder. I didn't smile. A large part of my video persona was built on knowing when to smile and when to look as serious as the grave, and this moment was most definitely the latter. “Are we live?” I asked.

“Three-second delay,” said Ben. “Mat's patching the feed as quickly as it spools, so that we can lose anything that really doesn't work.”

“Good. Mat, patch me in here.” I took a breath, focused on the camera, and said, “The false front was used to hide a secondary needle array that some clever, horrible folks set up and tipped with Kellis-Amberlee. If we'd put our hands on the thing, we'd have gone into conversion before the lights stopped flashing.”

My throat tightened at the thought. The adrenaline rush—my second of the day—was wearing off, and as always, the crash was threatening to be a bad one. There was a
reason
I didn't linger in the field after the immediate danger had passed. No sensible Irwins did. I forced myself to keep speaking, secure in the knowledge that I was too well trained for anyone to have seen my misery in my face.

“I just got back from a consultation with the governor's staff, during which we discussed their findings, and how I was able to spot the thing in the first place. No one was hurt, and it looks like we're going to be all right.”

“How
did
you spot it?” asked Ben. There hadn't been time to explain before, not with the false front sitting there like a snake about to strike, and the governor's people closing in—at my request—to take over the scene.

I flashed him a tight-lipped smile. “Trade secret. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go check in with Audrey.” I ducked away before he had a chance to ask me any follow-up questions. He was already talking again as I stepped out of the light.

If I'd been someone who wanted to disrupt a political campaign, and I'd been aware that the campaign was traveling with a troop of professional journalists, I would still have wanted eyes directly on the ground, but I would absolutely have been monitoring all their public reports, announcements, and other updates.
We
were the enemy's eyes in Governor Kilburn's camp, just as surely as we were the eyes of the public, and that meant that certain things couldn't be said on the air.

If the leak was in the governor's security staff, keeping quiet wasn't going to do us any good. But if it wasn't, not saying things like “hey, we'd all be dead if you'd bothered to sling a little mud around” seemed ill-advised.

A tent had been set up in a corner of the parking lot, springing into existence while I was off talking to the governor. The flap opened as I was approaching, and there was Audrey, plastic scrubs over her clothing and booties over her feet. She moved purposefully toward me, pulling the gloves off her hands as she moved. I didn't stop or slow down. A collision was just what we needed right now.

“We're in trouble,” she said, once I was close enough for her to speak without shouting. There was a cold, hard note in her voice. It was the sound of her past rising up, threatening to overwhelm the soft suburban artist she'd been struggling to become. Not even I knew the details of where Audrey came from, but she knew more about police procedure than made sense for a Fictional, and she always wound up drinking with the people who had the biggest guns. Whatever that background was, it was going to come in handy soon. I could feel it down to my bones, and I hated it.

“I know,” I said, and took that girl in my arms, and held her, and hoped that the future would pass us by.

W
e were still on lockdown at the Embassy Suites three days later.

It was better than it could have been. The governor's staff had booked three rooms for the four of us, letting Ben and Mat sleep alone while Audrey and I enjoyed the seemingly endless supply of hot water in our shower. Our equipment was spread through all three rooms, and we all had key cards to each door. “Do Not Disturb” signs were respected like hazmat warnings. More than once, when I'd forgotten to take ours down, Ben had stayed stationary in the hall and called my phone rather than risk accidental nudity. So it wasn't like we were being
tortured
or anything. Just being penned up and refused access to the rest of the world, where things were actually happening.

Ben was okay—he had plenty of news to filter through, exclusive interviews with the governor to unveil, and footage to comb—and Mat had done a series of elaborate makeup tutorials based on the victims of the rose garden attack. Even Audrey had gotten into the act, running profiles on each of the people who'd died there, stressing the fact that they were
victims
, they had been
taken
, and most of all, that they had names: names we shouldn't allow ourselves to forget, not after everything that had happened. She was a demon at her keyboard, and every post she uploaded made me love her a little bit more. We were nearing the point of critical mass, and I didn't know what was going to happen after that. My heart would probably explode or something.

But none of that gave
me
anything to do. I wasn't the smart one—that was Ben. And I wasn't the savvy one, or the creative one, or any of the other things my teammates brought to the table just by breathing. I was the pretty one, according to some of my viewers. I was the one who took brainless risks, dangling myself over crevices and hanging out in trees, and there was nothing for me to accomplish here.

I slid off the bed, smoothed my skirt with the heels of my hands, and started for the hotel-room door.

“Where are you going?” Audrey didn't look up from her screen. Her fingers continued to fly across the keyboard, moving so fast that it was virtually a miracle she was typing actual words, not just chickenscratch shorthand.

“Out,” I said, with a vague wave of my hand that she wouldn't see, but might somehow intuit all the same. “I figure I'll go see whether John has any news on this lockdown. Governor Kilburn's schedule says she's supposed to be in Montana in two days. Maybe that means we're going to pack up and roll out sometime soon. Or ever. Ever would be nice.”

“Poor Ash hasn't gone zombie-bothering in days.” Now Audrey
did
look up, twisting in her seat to look at me. “Are you armed?”

“Am I dressed?” I crossed my arms and mock-pouted at her. All my sundresses were made according to a series of patterns I'd worked up, leaving room for the gun at my thigh and the pockets hidden at the waist. It was a rare day when I didn't have enough ammo on me to significantly change my weight class.

“Good,” said Audrey. She turned back to her computer. “Tell John I said hey, and ask him if he wants to drop by for a hand of poker tonight after his shift ends.”

“Oh, yes, another private poker game is precisely what I need to help me sleep,” I said airily, and let myself out of the room. The door didn't close quickly enough to keep me from hearing Audrey's laughter, and that was fine by me. Sometimes laughter was the sweetest sound there was.

The hotel hallway was deserted. I considered crossing to Ben's door and seeing whether he wanted to come, but dismissed the notion. He was too serious for what I was about to try. Much of my image depended on my seeming too sweet to do or say or think the things I did, weaponized femininity on the prowl. Ben wouldn't help me get the information I needed out of the governor's security team. I needed them off balance, willing to answer my questions, and most of all, willing to help me
move
.

Our hallway was bracketed by elevators, one at either end. There were four halls on this floor, all told. To get to either of the east-west oriented halls, I would need to ride the lobby elevator down to the next floor, which was a transitional level, and switch to their midfloor elevator. Our midfloor elevator only had access to the north-south halls. It was an incredibly inefficient system, especially when you stopped to consider that all the floors connected to the same lobby. Someone trying to get away from an outbreak didn't have time to change elevators over and over again, looking for the magic combination that would get them to safety; they needed to have a straight shot to freedom. And that was exactly what this hotel was designed to avoid.

Security theater is practically the new American pastime. I rode down to the floor below us, switched to their midfloor elevator, and rode back up. Having successfully walked a few hundred feet to travel less than fifty feet from where I'd started, I shot a glare at the closed elevator doors and made my way over to the conference room that had been claimed for use by the governor's people.

The door was propped open. So much for security. As I approached, I could hear voices coming from within, raised in vehement argument.

“—you we have to get back on schedule!” That was Chuck. He sounded pissed. Poor mite wasn't dealing well with the fact that his campaign had been derailed by something as small as terrorism and attempted murder. “The governor's approval ratings got a spike when she survived the rose garden attack, but the public is fickle! Blackburn is making real hay out of the fact that she has an open playing field right now!”

“Yes, and we're making real hay out of the fact that we have a candidate who isn't
dead
,” said Amber. I put a hand over my mouth to block the laughter threatening to escape. She just sounded so offended, like she couldn't believe she had to say these things out loud. “The security sweep is ongoing. We have a lot of data to review before we'll know who did this, or why.”

“The Ryman campaign experienced something similar in Eakly,” said a third voice. Governor Kilburn was apparently coming to her own party. That was both a good thing—she was more likely to be able to approve changes to the status of our team—and a bad one, since she might have firm ideas about how the next few days were going to go, and it was always difficult to talk my way around the policy makers. “Peter hasn't locked down his campaign.”

“Not just Ryman,” I said, finally stepping into the conference room doorway. All conversation stopped as the people inside turned to look at me, some pleasantly, others with an air of narrow-eyed suspicion that did my heart good. If I was that much of a threat, they couldn't be
that
committed to keeping me penned up in here. It was always best to put the biting dogs in the yard, if you had any choice in the matter. “They're trying to play it coy and quiet, but we've heard from the team following Congresswoman Wagman, and apparently there was an outbreak at her most recent fund-raiser.”

“Banquet?” guessed John.

“Catered burlesque show,” I said. “Really nice place, good dancers,
excellent
security. A friend of mine was on the team, which is the only reason I know anything.” And the reason I hadn't actually said anything, despite how nicely this fit into the greater pattern of shit going terribly wrong. Tina was good at her job. More importantly, she enjoyed
having
her job. If I'd gone repeating things she'd told me in confidence, she wouldn't have that job for much longer.

Governor Kilburn sat up a little straighter. “I'll call Kirsten and see what she knows,” she said.

I blinked. “Kirsten Wagman? You just… have her in your phone? Is there anyone you don't know?”

“Ironically, I'm not very well acquainted with Governor Blackburn,” said the governor dryly. “We've always been competing for the same votes and the same spots at the table, so she's never felt much like making friends. Whereas my colleagues on the other side of the political divide have always been more than happy to extend the hand of friendship. It's easier if we can argue without hating each other.”

“I am so glad not to be a politician,” I said, although I understood, in theory, why things would work as she was describing them. I got along reasonably well with most of my fellow Irwins, but some of them would always look at me and see nothing but the competition. Every story I broke first was one they hadn't gotten; every risk I got acclaim for taking was a risk that was no longer available to them. Newsies were much more likely to be blatantly friendly toward me. Ben was the one they had to worry about. I was just another potential asset.

“That may be, but I'm sure that if I call Kirsten, she'll tell me what's been going on. She's a smart lady.”

“She wouldn't be running for President if she wasn't,” I said.

“The jury's still out on that one,” said Amber.

Governor Kilburn shot her a sharp look. Amber simply shrugged.

“Permission to speak?” she asked.

“Granted,” said Governor Kilburn.

“In that case, I'm just saying,” said Amber. “If you were smart, maybe we wouldn't be here. Let someone else take all the risks, while you sit home and enjoy not being attacked by terrorists.”

“Can we sling that word around a little less in front of the journalist?” asked Chuck. “If we can even call her that. She's more of a shock jock, and you know how the shock jocks love their buzzwords.”

I looked at him flatly. “If you want to go with me, we can go,” I said. “Step outside and I'll show you how an Irish girl defends her honor. But since I don't think you'd enjoy that much, maybe you should stop saying things you don't want to pay for.”

“I would enjoy it,” said Amber solemnly. “I would enjoy it so much that I'd need to get my phone out and record the whole thing. Then I could watch you knocking his teeth out during every staff meeting from here to the election.”

“Amber, I know I gave you permission to speak freely, but please stop for now. Chuck, stop picking fights with the reporters. Mrs. North, stop letting Chuck goad you. He's been under a lot of pressure recently.” Governor Kilburn rubbed her face with one hand. “We all have.”

“Oh, believe you me, his goading hasn't succeeded yet,” I said. “If it had, you'd know. I'm a bit difficult to miss when I fly into a towering rage. Like Vesuvius, I am. The fact remains that you weren't the only one attacked. At least three of the current campaigns have been.”

“I have no way of knowing whether Tate or Blackburn got hit, but I can start sending out feelers into their camps,” said Governor Kilburn. “Even if they won't talk, maybe someone internal will.”

“And that's all well and good, really. It still brings us back to what brought me here. Neither of them have locked down their campaigns. Neither of them have put the rest of their schedule on hold while they sit around and argue about whether people are trying to kill them. The show must go on, and all of that.” I crossed my arms. “We need to be moving.”

“I actually agree with the shock jock,” said Chuck.

“Aw, did it hurt to say those words out loud?” asked Amber.

He shot her a venomous look before refocusing on the governor and saying, “A political campaign is like a shark. It has to keep moving, or it will die. Right now, your core constituency feels bad about what happened, but let's be serious: None of us died. Your camp suffered no losses, and the people who were used against us were taken from the ranks of those who wouldn't be missed.”

“Careful,” I said quietly. “Some of us have been those people, a time or two.”

Chuck ignored me. That was probably for the best, if he wanted to get through the rest of his speech without a fist to the face. “We need to be out there. We need to be in motion, showing people that you're still a contender in this race, and that you will not be cowed by—by—”

He stopped, a sick look crossing his face. Amber realized what was happening before I did. She pounced. “By terrorists?” she asked sweetly.

“Please do not break my campaign manager,” said Governor Kilburn. She rubbed her face again. “I'm starting to think he might be hard to replace.”

“But he's right,” I said. “A political campaign is a lot like a news team. It needs to be generating content constantly—good, interesting content that makes people want to keep coming back. Ben's interview series will hold eyes for a while, but we're getting crushed by Ryman's Eakly incident. They had deaths during the event. That makes them inherently more dramatic in the public eye.” Even though, privately, I felt like the governor's camp had experienced the more
interesting
attack. The senator had been beset by a bunch of zombies outside the fence, some of whom had been killed or infected in violent, frankly clumsy ways. Our attack…

Burying the infected under a bunch of prize roses might not be original, and it might result in something out of an old horror comic, but it was
striking
. It was the sort of thing that, had it worked—had we all died, and not started picking the scenario apart with a fine-tooth comb—would have sparked a public panic, and probably closed all the green spaces in the city. There had been urban legends about zombies going to ground in soft earth, under leaf piles, and otherwise burrowing, for decades. This would have been taken as proving all those secondhand accounts true, and if there was anything the American public did well, it was overreact to a change in the undead status quo.

“I wonder if ours was intended to knock us out of the running, while his was intended to make him look good,” I mused quietly.

“What's that?” asked the governor.

“Nothing, yet,” I said. “I need to talk to Mat, and then maybe it'll be something. Please tell me you're going to let us out of here. We need to move.”