How Green This Land, How Blue This Sea: A Newsflesh Novella

by Grant, Mira

“Did you save me anything?” I asked, finally stepping inside.

  “He lives!” Jack thrust his hands into the air, grinning ear to ear. “There’s pancakes and toast and oatmeal and fried egg and fried tomato and fried mushroom and croissant with cheese. Sit down and stuff your face.”

  “What Jack means to say is that he tried really hard, but not even he could conquer my ability to keep ordering more food,” said Olivia. “We did save you a seat, though, even if the food is mostly here because Jack is a failure at life.”

  “Well, thank you all,” I said, and moved to sit. “Is there tea?”

  “There’s tea,” confirmed Juliet, and pushed the pot over to me.

  “Then this morning is truly perfect.” I busied myself with preparing a plate. The table was set family-style, with bowls and platters of food, rather than individual servings. As I reached for the mushrooms, I glanced to Olivia and asked, “What time is our appointment for the biological containment center?”

  “Half an hour,” she said. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did, I would have come looking for you with a go-box. Have you got a recorder on you?”

  “I never leave my bed without one.”

  Olivia nodded, looking satisfied. “Good.”

  “Meanwhile, we’re going to be making sure that our escape route is still fully intact and ready to fly our handsome butts out of here,” said Jack, making an airplane gesture with one hand. “You’ll call if anything really interesting happens, yeah?”

  “Yeah,” confirmed Olivia. “You can play grease monkey with impunity.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Juliet. “I intend to work the stupid out of him.” She stood and walked toward the door without looking back or saying good-bye.

  Jack laughed, pushing his own chair away from the table. “I recognize a hint when I hear one. See you lot later.”

  “Bye, Jack,” said Olivia cheerfully.

  “See you soon,” I said, and reached for my fork. With only half an hour before I needed to be fed, presentable, and professional, I intended to eat as fast as I could. A man must have his priorities, after all.

  5.

  The biological containment facility—helpfully identified by a large sign reading RABBIT-PROOF FENCE BIOLOGICAL CONTAINMENT #17—was an attractive, white-walled facility that could easily have been repurposed as a museum, had the need ever arisen. Only the four men standing outside the door with rifles at the ready disrupted the illusion that we were on our way to a day of education and enlightenment. Which was perhaps not such an illusion after all, once I stopped to think about it.

  “ID?” said the first of the guards.

  Olivia produced her photo ID. I did the same. The guard took them both before pulling a small scanner out of his pocket and running it over our names. He squinted at the screen. I maintained a carefully casual posture, wondering what would happen if he didn’t like the results. Something unpleasant, no doubt.

  “Here you go.” He handed back our IDs. “You’re on today’s list. Will you be entering the airlock separately or together?”

  “Together,” said Olivia, before I could formulate a response. “We haven’t done anything that could have resulted in an infection.”

  That seemed to be the right answer. “On you go, and have a nice visit,” said the guard.

  “Cheers,” said Olivia.

  “Thank you,” I said, and followed her through the facility door into the airlock on the other side. It was a fairly standard design, with three testing units arrayed against the glass wall in front of us. As I watched, yellow lights came on above two of the test units, while the third remained dark. Olivia walked calmly to the unit on my right. I moved to take my position in front of the other one.

  “I hate these high-security places,” she said, slapping her hand down on the test panel. “It’s such a waste of time.”

  “If we were anywhere else in the world, this would be our sixth blood test today,” I said, mimicking her gesture.

  Olivia wrinkled her nose. “Everywhere else in the world wastes an unconscionable amount of time.”

  “You know, I actually cannot argue with that.” The light above my testing panel blinked green, and a lock disengaged somewhere in the glass wall with a soft hiss. A second later, the same thing happened with Olivia’s testing panel. This time, the hiss of the lock letting go was followed by the entire glass wall sliding open, allowing us to finally step unencumbered into the lobby of the biological containment facility.

  Olivia walked to the middle of the room and stopped. Lacking any better idea of the protocol, I did the same. She looked to me and smiled. “Rey should be here in a moment,” she said. “He’s going to take us on a tour of the necropsy lab, the specimen storage unit, and the viewing lounge. That should give you a solid grounding in what they do here.”

  “Rey is a doctor? A scientist? A government employee?”

  “All of the above, but he was my boyfriend before he was any of those things, so I still get to abuse him mercilessly,” said Olivia. She brightened, suddenly focusing on something past my head. “And there he is now.”

  I turned. Rey was a tall man of apparently Pacific Islander descent, with long, dark hair pulled into a ponytail and dangling over one shoulder. He was wearing a lab coat, tan slacks, and a black button-down shirt, and he looked surprisingly relaxed for someone working in the most secure facility I had thus far encountered in Australia.

  “You must be Mahir Gowda,” he said, walking toward me and extending his hand. “I’m Dr. Reynaldo Fajardo. Olivia’s told me quite a bit about you, all of it remarkably positive. I was starting to think you were the boss version of ‘my girlfriend who lives in Sydney.’”

  “Is that like ‘my girlfriend who lives in Ireland’?” I asked, shaking his hand.

  “Or Canada,” agreed Rey amiably. “So how much has Liv told you about our work here?”

  “Virtually nothing,” I said.

  “I wanted him to get the story without my biases,” piped up Olivia.

  Rey smiled. “Same old Liv,” he said. “Are you coming on the tour, at least?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t.” He turned, motioning for us to follow. “As I’m sure you gathered from the sign outside, this is research post seventeen on the fence line. There are thirty-one stations, all told. Most are manned. The unmanned ones are checked on three times a week, to be sure the cameras are in working order and that there’s nothing we need to investigate further within their designated territory. Each station is responsible for between four and twelve kilometers of fence monitoring. That includes the visible land inside the fence.”

  “Are there research stations inside the fence line?” I asked.

  “Yes, but none of them have permanent staff. Everyone who works there goes on a voluntary basis and receives hazard pay. They’re very picky about who can volunteer. No one with children, no one with dependent parents, and no one who is currently in a serious relationship.”

  “That’s why we broke up,” added Olivia.

  Rey nodded, mouth twisting a little. “I wanted to do deep research. Can’t do that with a girl waiting for you back at port. It might split your attention when it needs to be singular, and you’re not the only one who’ll get killed in a situation like that one.”

  “I see,” I said. “Are you enlisted?”

  “No; we’re employed by the government, but the researchers are not technically part of the armed forces, since we’re studying the structure of the virus, and any breakthroughs we have could be considered an attempt to weaponize Kellis-Amberlee if we were part of the army.” Rey’s mouth twisted further. “It’s remarkable the hoops you have to jump through if you want to do proper medical science without joining the World Health Organization.”

  “At least WHO wasn’t involved in the CDC conspiracy,” I offered.

  “Doesn’t change the part where I’d murder for their resources.” Rey stopped in front of a door and produced a key
card from inside his lab coat, swiping it through the reader next to the doorknob. “Please do not lick anything past this point. Do not touch anything that looks like it might be dangerous, which really means ‘don’t touch anything at all,’ and try not to scream if something jumps out at you.” On that encouraging note, he pulled the door open and motioned for us to step inside.

  “Yes, thank you, that’s quite terrifying,” I said, and went where I was bid.

  The next room was actually more like a viewing area, roughly the size of a stretched-out closet with a solid glass wall separating us from a second, larger room, in which the two kangaroos from the night before were laid out on tables, their bodies split down the middle by tidy incisions before being pinned open like frogs in biology class. Three figures in hazmat suits moved between them, taking notes, extracting organs, and making measurements.

  Rey stepped up beside me, the door swinging closed behind him. “The necropsies began immediately, and continued through the night,” he said. “They’ll be finished sometime around noon, when we’re positive that there’s nothing left to learn from these bodies. At that point, the remains will be cremated and put into storage. We’ve been arguing for years that the ashes should be used to fertilize the land on the other side of the fence, since we’re removing bodies that would otherwise enrich the soil, but there are some silly buggers in Parliament who believe that it would be a health hazard.”

  “They don’t think it would be a health hazard,” said Olivia. “They think it would upset people unduly, and they’re happy to keep buying fertilizer if it comes with a little peace.”

  “But they continue to sell it as a health hazard, which means people continue to believe that cremains are somehow capable of passing along the Kellis-Amberlee virus,” said Rey, with the air of an argument that had been going on since long before I arrived on the scene and would be continuing long after I was gone.

  “Can you learn anything from the stored remains?” I asked, before the discussion could go any further. It was an interesting local news angle, but “Australian scientists argue for dispersing powdered kangaroo into the atmosphere” would just start a public panic, no matter how hard I worked to add context.

  “Most of what we learn comes from the biological samples we take before we burn things, since cremains are essentially biologically inert,” said Rey, with a faintly aggravated air that didn’t seem to be aimed at me, precisely, so much as aimed at his ongoing argument with Olivia. “Look.” He pointed to the glass. “Susan’s taking brain tissue samples from both of the specimens. She’s already done that twice by this stage in the examination, but since the Kellis-Amberlee virus continues to work after death, sometimes for days, we need to see the tissue at different stages of reanimation in order to properly assess the effect of the virus on the body.”

  “How do you store your samples?”

  “Some are flash frozen, others are preserved the old-fashioned way, in formaldehyde. They don’t pose an immediate danger, if that’s what you’re asking; there’s never been an outbreak traced back to the specimens we collect in these research stations.”

  “That’s reassuring,” I said.

  Rey nodded. “I tend to think so as well, since I live here. Come on. There’s something else I want you to see.” He turned, walking to a door at the far end of the narrow room. He unlocked it with a swipe of his key card and stepped through, holding it open for us to follow.

  The next room was as narrow and confined as the first, with one unpleasant difference: There were no lights, and when Olivia stepped in after me and closed the door, it became completely dark.

  “Everyone in?” asked Rey. “Good.”

  He must have done something—flipped a switch or pressed a button—but of course, I couldn’t see whatever it was he did. All I saw was a window slowly opening, filling the same amount of space as the previous room’s glass wall, but showing an entirely different scene. This window looked out, not on a lab full of working scientists, but on a tangled forest enclosure that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a zoo. It was dark inside, with infrared lights providing sufficient illumination for our weak human eyes to see what was in front of us. Something moved in the brush. I managed, somehow, not to jump. It still felt as if my skin separated an inch or so from my body before settling back down into its normal configuration.

  “This is where we keep the swamp wallabies that we’ve recovered from the fence line,” said Rey. “They get stepped on by the larger kangaroos, but the injuries are very rarely fatal, so we’re able to bring them inside for observation.”

  “Are they infected?” I asked.

  “They’re too small to amplify, but they can be carriers; since they’ve been inside the fence, they can’t be released outside of it, for fear that they’ll somehow carry the infection to an unprepared population.” Rey snorted. “As if there were any unprepared populations left on this continent. Regardless, we can learn a lot about the ecology inside the fence by observing them while they recover, and once they’re healthy enough that they can evade the bigger fellows, we put them back where we found them. Usually a few miles in, that is—we don’t want to drop them right on the fence line. That would just be cruel of us.”

  I peered into the darkened enclosure, studying the flickers of motion until they resolved themselves into gray-furred, kangaroo-shaped creatures like the one we’d seen on the road during our drive in. Some of them looked toward the glass; others ignored us completely, choosing to focus their attention on chewing bits of greenery or grooming one another. “Can they see us?”

  “Some of them can, yes,” said Rey. “That’s the other thing that keeps us from releasing them outside the fence line. They’re too small to amplify, but anything mammalian has the Kellis-Amberlee virus. It’s why no one has to get chemotherapy for their cats anymore.”

  “Did people really do that?” I asked distractedly, watching as one of the larger swamp wallabies bounded across the floor of the enclosure.

  “Oh, yeah. It was a big market, cancer treatments for pets. Anyway, everything mammalian is infected now, which sort of stopped that. And about half the wallabies we’re retrieving from inside the fence have reservoir conditions. Mostly retinal, probably because that gives them a survival edge, so the ones who go retinal live longer.”

  I turned to stare at him. The darkness obscured most of his face, but I got the distinct impression from his tone that he was enjoying this.

  The impression only strengthened when he said, “Come on, then. Next up’s the nursery, and that’s always a hit with the tourists.”

  “You mean it makes them wet themselves in terror,” chided Olivia.

  “Same difference,” said Rey. “Follow me.”

  6.

  The nursery reminded me uncomfortably of a pre-Rising thriller that Maggie had forced me to watch while we were staying at the Agora in Seattle: a dinosaur adventure called Jurassic Park, in which scientists with more brains than sense cloned enormous prehistoric predators just because they could. Maybe that’s an oversimplification of the movie’s premise, but really, who looks at a three-ton thunder lizard and thinks, “I should get one of those for the back garden”?

  Rey had led us through another unmarked door, this time into a hallway that managed to be substantially wider than either of the rooms that came before it, and then down the hall to a door labeled QUIET PLEASE! BABIES COULD BE SLEEPING! He’d pressed a button, and a few moments later, a cheerful-looking woman with improbably red hair had opened the door.

  “Just in time,” she’d said. “I’ve put out their lunch.” Then she’d stepped to the side and ushered us into hell.

  The nursery was a large, open room, with no sharp edges anywhere in sight. The furniture was all padded in a way I recognized from Nandini’s attempts to baby-proof our flat after Sanjukta was born. Some of the corner guards looked suspiciously identical to the ones we had at home. Large, colorful blocks and foam structures were scattered everywhere
, and the floor was covered in a spongy mat that sank down beneath our feet, yielding easily. It would take effort to hurt yourself in this room.

  Perhaps none of that seems overly nightmarish, but nightmares take many forms, and the redheaded woman had, after all, just put down lunch for the “babies.” Easily a dozen small kangaroos were clustered around bowls on the floor, heads down as they focused on the important business of eating. Several half-sized koalas were hanging nearby in an artificial tree, watching us as they systematically shoved clumps of eucalyptus into their mouths. Something spiny that looked like a horribly mutated hedgehog was bumbling around the edges of the room, looking for whatever it is that mutant hedgehogs are interested in. I had never been near this many unconfined animals in my life, and the urge to turn and run was virtually overwhelming.

  “We have seventeen joeys here, from three different types of kangaroo,” said the redheaded woman, with all indications of pride. “All were retrieved from mothers who died at the fence line.”

  “So…these are the babies of infected mothers?” I couldn’t keep the horror from my voice, much as I tried.

  “Many female kangaroos are infected during mating season,” said the woman. “They still gestate and give birth, in part because marsupial reproduction is a faster process. They seem strangely disinclined to eat their own infants while they remain in the pouch—we’re doing several research studies into exactly what causes that aversion. It isn’t shared by nonmarsupial mammals, but if we could somehow reproduce it—”

  “What she’s trying to say is that these joeys aren’t any more infected than you or I, and you shouldn’t be unfairly prejudiced against them,” said Olivia. With no more warning than that, she scooped a passing joey off the floor and dropped it into my hands. I instinctively pulled it closer to my body, holding it the way I would have held Sanjukta. The tiny kangaroo responded by beginning to investigate my shirtfront with its clever paws, apparently checking me for treats.

  “I am not comfortable with this,” I announced.