by Sean Platt
Bobby’s eyes flicked to Ian’s face. He looked almost offended, and Ian realized he was smiling.
“What?”
“It’s just strange to hear a famous deadhead hunter get freaked out.”
“They’re zombies, man. That never quite settles, no matter how much you see.” Bobby took a piece of his own bacon. “Did you know that early on, it was common for the bitten to turn immediately? Except that they didn’t really turn; they’d just kind of convinced themselves that was what happened when a zombie bit you?”
“Bullshit.”
Bobby smirked, turning back to his bacon. “I’ve seen it happen. Even with skilled hunters who should know better. Guys who act tough, but then you realize they hunt because they’re terrified and prefer action to sitting in the corner slowly going crazy. Happened once with a group I was leading. Motherfucker actually bit me.” Bobby pulled up a sleeve, showing Ian his shoulder. “Didn’t break the skin because I was wearing a bite shirt, but pinched something bad enough that it never quite faded. We had to hold him down. Gave him the medkit infusion from the big Gadget then made him stare at the empty cylinder until he calmed down. But if we hadn’t done that, reminded him that there’s a cure? He’d have gone out into the park and gone instantly feral, I swear.”
“Could he have infected others, that early?”
“Oh, sure. But if we’d let him get away, there’d have been no doubt about his status. The first group of ferals he ran into would have shredded him. They can tell the difference, you know. They only attack the uninfected or newly bitten, like, within maybe a day. You knew that, right?”
Ian nodded. He’d been at the mall yesterday … and oh God, had that been only yesterday? He’d seen the way the ferals had avoided the mostly necrotic shopping population in Grover and gone straight for the uninfected. Straight for his wife.
“You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen. I guess that’s why August invited me to this shindig.” He tipped his hand toward the sizzling pan. “First science sleepover I’ve had, you know. Discoveries so riveting, you’ll stick around for bacon in the morning.”
“What have you seen out there in Yosemite?”
Bobby sighed. Ian got the impression of Bobby holding back something he believed, while doubting that Ian would share his faith. The kind of thing a person tires of voicing to mockery.
“They’re not as mindless as people say,” he finally said.
“Who?”
“The deadheads in Yosemite.”
Ian nodded. “I guess I got that from Alice’s documentary.”
“You heard the tip of it. I only told Alice so much on the record because nobody wants to hear what I really believe.”
“And what’s that?” Ian asked, taking another bite.
“Golem,” said a voice behind them.
Ian and Bobby turned to find Holly standing in the doorway.
“He knows the name you have for him,” Holly said. “And he says a change is coming.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
COFFEE
AUGUST REMOVED HIS GLASSES AND rubbed his face with a handkerchief. He was exhausted and energetic. He was his own species of walking dead, animated only by burning curiosity.
He picked up the phone and tried to call Alice Frank. Again, his attempt went straight to voicemail. It occurred to August that he was only tightening a noose — that if Alice was still in custody, which seemed certain, he was only making it clearer how badly their little anti-Hemisphere underground needed her loud mouth. But August couldn’t help checking in. He barely knew Alice beyond the way anyone knew a public personality (the way she probably knew him, come to think of it), but simple humanity begged to know she was okay. That she hadn’t totally vanished or been removed for knowing too much and threatening to blurt the truth.
Of course, if keeping beans in the can was Hemisphere’s aim, they’d missed their mark. August was the one unearthing damning connections, whose computer models showed the way Necrophage’s two components seemed to fit both BioFuse and Sherman Pope like a key in a lock.
He set the phone down. It was fine. Not only was it early; she shouldn’t have been able to call from her own phone anyway. If he wanted to track her down, he’d call the cops. Or Panacea. Or Hemisphere. They all felt the same right now.
He left the office to find Ian, Bobby, and Holly standing in the kitchen, staring at each other as if someone had told a highly inappropriate joke.
“Who made bacon?” he asked.
Bobby looked up, spatula in hand. There was that answer, anyway.
“Do you know how expensive that bacon was?” August went on.
“Are you seriously bothered by this?” Bobby asked.
“Just trying to break the mood. Do you people have a cat-and-mouse thing going on here? Should I leave you alone?” He pointed to the living room. “I’m going in there. You can follow, or you can resume your pork standoff. Cool? Cool.”
August plodded into the living room, suddenly feeling the past day droop its full weight onto his shoulders. When his ass hit the couch, it seemed to declare its intention to stay. But then Ian was coming around from the other end, followed by Holly. Bobby arrived a moment later, carrying a plate full of grease.
“Have you been up all night?” he asked August.
“Pretty much.”
“Find anything new?”
“I still need a real lab. I can only theorize. But I’ve made more guesses, yes.”
“Such as?”
August forced himself to sit up, to take one of the offered strips to feed his tired mind and wake him up.
“I remember Archibald used to talk about helping humanity evolve. It was drunk talk, though, even when we weren’t drinking. Maybe stargazing talk. The kind of thing nobody really expects can happen, but ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if.’” August yawned. “The phrase that kept coming back to me all night is ‘designer brain.’ He wanted to create a designer brain.”
“Like in The Beam,” Bobby said.
“No, without technology. An enhanced organic brain. He really thought he could move evolution’s needle. That he could really ‘upgrade nature.’”
“Like X-Men,” Ian clarified.
“What I keep coming back to is, why BioFuse? It’s clear it interacted somehow with the Rip Daddy virus, maybe as a weird kind of vector. But if Archibald meant to inject money into the company by creating a for-sure profit center, why was it this one?”
“Why not?” Bobby asked.
“It’s unnecessarily complicated.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s all making a jumble. I need sleep.”
“Get some then,” Ian said.
“When we’re done.”
Ian looked around the room as if he was waiting for someone to arrive. “Done with what?”
“Ian, is there any reason your key card wouldn’t work at Hemisphere HQ today? There was that attack yesterday on your wife, but what’s your gut feel … do you think Hemisphere has cut you off?”
Ian shook his head. “I logged in last night. It’s the same code for remote access as for the doors. Why?”
“Has anyone heard from Alice Frank?”
Heads shook.
“Someone is trying to shut her up. Just her. Ian, that guy on the phone said they only want to scare you.”
Ian’s eyes flicked toward the closed study door, where his wife and daughter were sleeping. Safe, at least for now.
“That’s what he said.”
“Shut Alice up, keep you in line. Alice was supposed to do the broadcasting, but for now at least, she can’t. And we can’t tell her what to say, either. So that means it’s up to us.”
“Us?”
“You and me, Ian. Your guy pushed us together so we could find what I’ve found. Alice was supposed to be our third, but she’s not here. That means we have to do the rest ourselves.”
“The rest? You mean … what … broadcasting?”
“Maybe I can help,” Bobby said
. “YouTube and all.”
“Thanks, Bobby.” August turned to look at Ian. “But first I need to confirm what I think I know. For that, I need a lab.”
Something clicked in Ian’s eyes. To his credit, he didn’t protest.
“When?”
“As soon as possible. Unless Hemisphere has changed a lot since my day, I’m thinking people don’t really start arriving for work until eight or so.” He looked at a sleek black clock on the wall. “It’s 6:15 now. We can get across town and sneak inside. I know there are cameras, but I doubt anyone will be watching too close because they’ll expect you to lie down after yesterday. Give me a few hours to work. I’d like more time, of course, but details can come later.”
“Then YouTube,” Bobby said. He looked at Ian. “It’s best from you two, right? With my introduction, on my channel? Don’t worry about spread. It’ll go fast, if you’re going to say what I think you will.”
“I’m actually thinking of something else. Ian, you need to act like business as usual today anyway, right?”
Ian closed his eyes and nodded, another understanding settling. “The picnic. You want me to go.”
“Archibald will speak. After that, it’s open mic for people to tell their stories of how Necrophage saved their lives. Nobody would question it if you wanted to speak, too. Archibald might even expect it.”
“Why would he expect it?”
“You said he talked to you about loyalty. Now they’ve sharpened the point when you met with Alice. Now that they’ve gone to your house and scared your wife and daughter. If you show up tomorrow … ” August trailed off.
Ian’s head again flicked toward the study door. “Oh. No. No way.”
“It’ll be fine, Ian. Archibald needs you, remember?”
Holly sat up. She’d been so quiet, August had practically forgotten she was there. Her body still tended toward laziness, due to her necrosis, and she’d been like a silent hole in the room. But damned if it didn’t seem as if her body, like her brain, might be healing, too.
“What are you two talking about?”
“He wants me to take my family to Hemisphere Picnic.”
“Why would you do that after last night?” She looked at August. “Why would he do that, August?”
“Because it’s exactly what Archibald expects. Hemisphere threatened them so he’d be quiet. If they all show up as they’re expected to, nobody will question his taking the mic. It’s the perfect venue.”
“But they’ll be in danger!”
“In the middle of a televised event? Surrounded by stable necrotics who won’t like Ian’s message? Nobody will touch his family. They wouldn’t dare. They’ll already be on the defensive. They might drag Ian off stage, but I imagine a lot of ire will turn on the Hemisphere officials. There won’t be much security. It’s a picnic, for shit’s sake.”
“We can watch them, Ian,” Bobby said. “Just to be sure.”
“No way.”
“It’s the best option.”
“Recording something and uploading it to Bobby’s YouTube channel is best,” Ian said.
“I’d be shocked if Bobby’s channel isn’t being vetted, especially after the documentary he did with Alice. If we try that and they block it before it goes live, our hand will be played. They’ll know we know. And then how safe will Ian and his family be?”
Ian, across the circle from August, looked trapped. August felt a moment of sympathy. He’d helped create BioFuse and was, in some small way, responsible for all that had happened. Bobby made his living in the public eye. But Ian was just a loyal executive, living a nice, comfortable life playing by the rules. He’d never wanted to rock the boat.
Holly and Bobby were looking at each other, some ghost of their interrupted conversation from earlier perhaps resurfacing. But Ian was staring straight at August. Almost begging.
“Nobody’s forcing you to do anything, Ian,” August said. “But for better or for worse, you and Alice came to me.”
“I need time to think,” Ian said, his voice smaller than before.
August stood. He looked at Bobby.
“Bobby, did you make coffee to go with that bacon?”
Bobby shook his head.
August nodded at Ian. “I’ll brew a pot, so that’s how long you have to decide.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
FIVE MINUTES
BRIDGET WOKE TO THE FEEL of being gently shaken. She opened her eyes and saw Ana sitting up across from her in the foreign room. Then she saw something even more foreign: Holly Gaynor with her hand on Bridget’s arm, waking her up like maid service. She’d known Holly was here from what Ian had said at her last night (not to her; Bridget hadn’t wanted discussion from Ian, and the factoid had merely been spoken at her turned back), but seeing the star of stage and screen in front of her now was downright surreal.
“Good morning,” Holly said, every trace of her famous necrotic accent gone.
“Um, hi.”
“I’m Holly.”
“I know. I’m Bridget.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Bridget looked at Ana, who was positively vibrant. She’d never met anyone famous in person, despite Aberdeen Valley hosting more than its fair share. Her lips were pressed tightly together, her whole body bouncing atop folded legs, her eyes giddy.
Then she looked up at Holly. The situation’s bizarreness struck her hard. She sat up, pushing at her surely mashed hair to make it hopefully presentable in the presence of celebrity.
“Nice to meet you too.”
Holly’s soft brown eyes flicked toward Ana then back to Bridget. “I’m sorry to wake you. But we need to talk, and I only have five minutes.”
“Why only five minutes?”
“Please.”
Bridget looked at Analise. “Ana, honey? Why don’t you see if you can find some cereal? I’m sure Mr. August has something.” Although she wasn’t sure. August Maughan was almost as famous as Holly, just as bizarre an addition to her recently strange life. What did famous people eat? Organic granola? She doubted they stocked Lucky Charms.
Ana sighed with disappointment at being excluded, but August’s geeky breed of fame wasn’t the only one out there. There was also Bobby Baltimore because this almost-abduction was a star-studded affair. She left, closing the door behind her.
“Did your husband tell you what they discovered last night, about Hemisphere and Sherman Pope?”
Bridget nodded. She’d tried to shut it out, seeing as it was Ian who’d said it at her, but she hadn’t been able. Her entire night had been filled with nightmares.
“August has asked your husband to make a public statement. Today. At the Hemisphere Family Picnic. The event will be televised.”
“Why Ian? Why not August?”
“August has an axe to grind against the company in most people’s eyes. I could do it, but they think what happened the day before with me will cast suspicion on anything I say. People don’t know who Ian is, but Hemisphere is a public company, and they can look him up. He’s never made waves and seems to always have been loyal. He’s right at the top, not far down from Archibald Burgess. He’s the perfect whistleblower. If he talks about this, people will listen.”
“O … okay,” Bridget said, trying to wake up.
“But there’s something else you need to know.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you need to be there, too. I know how that might feel, but it’s the safest place for you, and Bobby’s people will be there. They’ll be armed. Nobody is searched. There’s no reason.”
Except in the event that something like this happens, Bridget thought but didn’t say.
“I want to tell Bobby, but I can feel something telling me not to. I mentioned it a bit ago, in the kitchen. His wave of obsession almost knocked me over.”
“What are you talking ab—” Bridget tried to ask. But Holly went on.
“Bobby is compromised by his own fixation. Ian is worried, almost entirel
y about you and your daughter. He won’t hear me, and even if he does, it’ll be so far down his priorities as to not matter. August won’t be on site at the picnic. You’ll leave soon, and August will be inside the lab, making confirmations, and will stay there, cleared by Ian’s codes, until after the afternoon picnic is over. I’m not going; I’d only draw attention. That leaves you.”
“I’m not going,” Bridget said, thinking of last night. Even if the mysterious Danny Almond was on his own, there was no question she’d felt Hemisphere’s pressure. She felt it right now, and here she was in the thick of it: her home dangerous territory, her husband about to lose all he’d built, and her without the luxury of Zen’s calming influence. Her brain was too loud, too busy.
“You have to go.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the only one who knows what I’m about to tell you.”
From the front room, Bridget heard someone say, “Where’s Holly?” And Holly, minding the time, glanced at a clock on the bookshelf.
“What do you need to tell me?”
“Something will happen today. Something bad.”
“How can you know that?” Bridget heard the pleading in her voice, not so much disbelieving Holly’s impossible statement as asking her to make it untrue.
“I can hear it.”
“Hear what?”
“I can hear the others. In my head. August says it has to do with the way my brain is changing as I take something he makes for me, a modified Necrophage. It doesn’t matter if you believe me.”
“I … I believe you.” She did, too. Maybe it was because she was tired, or maybe something August had said last night about the way Sherman Pope appeared to rewire the brain the way a longevity treatment was once intended to.
