“Miss Mason? If you’d like to come with me, I’d be happy to escort you to the restroom.”
“Thank you.” I unfolded my legs, ignoring the protest of pins and needles in my calves, and walked toward the man in the doorway. He didn’t quite cringe as I approached, but he definitely shied back, looking more profoundly uneasy with every step I took in his direction. Interesting.
“We do apologize for making you wait,” he said. His words had the distinct cadence of something recited by rote, like telephone tech support asking for your ID and computer serial number. “There were just a few things that had to be taken care of before we could proceed.”
“Let’s worry about that after I get to the bathroom, okay?” I sidestepped around him, out into the hall, and stopped as I found myself looking at three hospital orderlies in blue scrubs, each of them pointing a pistol in my direction. I put my hands up, palms outward. “Okay, okay, I get it. I can wait for my escort.”
“That’s probably for the best, Miss Mason,” said the nervous man, whose voice I now recognized from the intercom. It just took me a moment, without the filtering speakers between us. “We’re all a bit jumpy right now. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I lowered my hands as I fell into step behind the nervous man. The orderlies followed us down the hall, their aim never wavering. I did my best not to make any sudden moves. Having just returned to the land of the living, I was in no mood to exit it again before I had a few answers about what, exactly, was happening. “Am I ever going to get something I can call you?”
“Ah…” His mouth worked for a moment without a sound escaping before he said, “I’m Dr. Thomas. I’ve been one of your attending physicians since you first arrived at this facility. I’m not surprised that you don’t remember me. You’ve been sleeping for some time.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” The hall we were walking along was built along the model I’ve come to expect from CDC facilities, with nothing breaking the sterile white of the walls but the occasional door and the associated one-way mirrors that looked into patient-holding rooms. All of them were empty.
“You’re walking well.”
“It’s a skill.”
“How’s your head? Any disorientation, blurred vision, confusion?”
“Yes.” He tensed. I ignored it, continuing: “I’m confused about what the hell I’m doing here. I don’t know about you, but I get a little twitchy when I wake up in strange places with no idea of how I got there. Will I be getting some answers soon?”
“Soon enough, Miss Mason,” he said, looking relieved. We had stopped in front of a door with no mirror next to it. That implied that it wasn’t a patient room. Better yet, there was a visible blood test unit to one side. I never thought I’d be so happy for the chance to be jabbed with a needle. “We’ll give you a few minutes. If you need anything—”
“Using the bathroom, also a skill,” I said, and slapped my palm down flat on the test panel. Needles promptly bit into the heel of my hand and the tips of my fingers, and the light above the door changed from amber to red and finally to green. The door swung open. I smiled at Dr. Thomas, which just seemed to make him even more nervous, and I stepped into the bathroom, only to stop and scowl at the one-way mirror taking up most of the opposite wall. The door swung shut behind me.
“Cute,” I muttered. There was no way to cover it, and the need to pee was getting bad enough that I didn’t have time to protest the situation. I glared at the mirror the entire time I was using the facilities, all but daring someone to watch me. See? I can pee whether you’re spying on me or not, you sick bastards.
Other than the mirror—or maybe because of the mirror—the bathroom was as much standard-issue CDC as the hallway outside, with white walls, a white tile floor, and white porcelain fixtures. Everything was automatic, including the soap dispenser, and there were no towels; instead, I dried my hands by sticking them into a jet of hot air that activated as soon as the water turned off. It was one big exercise in minimizing contact with any surface. When I turned back to the door, the only thing I’d touched was the toilet seat, and I was willing to bet that it was in the process of self-sterilization by the time I started washing my hands.
No blood test was required to leave the bathroom. I guess they assumed you wouldn’t go into amplification while alone in a little white room. The three orderlies had arrayed themselves in a loose semicircle, with an unhappy Dr. Thomas between them and me. If I did anything bad enough to make them pull those triggers, the odds were good that he’d be treated as collateral damage.
“Wow,” I said. “Who did you piss off to get this gig?”
He flinched, looking at me guiltily. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course not. Thank you for bringing me to the bathroom. Now, could I get that water?” Better yet, a can of Coke. The thought of its acid sweetness and the snap of bubbles on my tongue was enough to make my mouth water. It’s always good to know that some things never change./pdiv height="0em"
“If you’d come this way?”
I gave the orderlies a pointed look. “I don’t think I have much of a choice, do you?”
“No,” he said, guilty expression growing. “I suppose you don’t. It’s just a precaution. You understand.”
“Not really, no. I’m unarmed. I’ve already passed one blood test. I don’t really understand why I need three men with guns covering my every move.”
“Security.”
“Why is it people always say that when they don’t feel like giving a straight answer?” I shook my head. “I’m not going to make trouble. Please, just take me to the water.”
“Right this way,” he said, and started walking back the way we’d come. Interesting.
More interesting was what awaited us in the room I first woke up in, distinguishable from the others only by the messed-up bedclothes and the fingerprints on the inside of the one-way mirror. There was a tray on the bolted-down table. It held a plate with two pieces of buttered toast, a tall tumbler filled with water, and, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, a can of Coke with condensation beading on the sides in tiny, enticing droplets. I made for the tray without pausing to consider how the orderlies might react to my moving at something faster than a casual stroll. None of them shot me in the back. That was something.
The first bite of toast was the best thing I’d ever tasted, at least until I took the second bite, and then the third. Finally, I crammed most of the slice into my mouth, barely chewing. I managed to resist the siren song of the Coke long enough to drink half the water. It tasted just as good as the toast. I put down the glass, popped the tab on the can of soda, and took my first postdeath sip of Coke. I was smart enough not to gulp it; even that tiny amount was enough to make my knees weak. I slowly turned to face Dr. Thomas.
As I’d expected, he was standing in the doorway, watching me carefully and making notes on his clipboard. Wouldn’t want to miss a moment, after all. There were probably a few dozen video and audio recorders running, catching every move I made, but any good reporter will tell you that there’s nothing like real field experience. I guess the same thing applies to scientists.
“How do you feel?” he asked, lowering his pen. “Dizzy? Are you already full? Did you want something besides toast? It’s a bit early for anything overly complicated, but I might be able to arrange for some soup, if you’d prefer that…”
“Mostly, what’d I’d prefer is having some questions answered, if you don’t mind.” I shifted the familiar weight of my Coke from one hand to the other. If I couldn’t have my sunglasses, I guess a can of soda would have to do. “I think I’ve been pretty cooperative up to now. I also think that could change, if you’re not willing to play fair with me.”
Dr. Thomas looked uncomfortable. “Well, I suppose that will depend on what sort of questions you want to ask.”
“Oh, this one should be pretty easy fo you. I mean, it’s definitely with
in your skill set.”
“All right. I can’t promise to know the answer, but I’m happy to try. We want you to be comfortable.”
“Good.” I looked at him levelly, missing my black-eyed gaze. It always made people so uncomfortable. I got more honest answers out of those eyes…“You said you were my attending physician.”
“That’s correct.”
“So tell me: How long have I been a clone?”
Dr. Thomas dropped his pen.
Still watching him, I raised my Coke, took a sip, and waited for his reply.
Subject 139b was confirmed as bitten on the evening of June 24, 2041. The exact time of the bite was not recorded, but a period of no less than twenty minutes elapsed between exposure and initial testing. The infected individual responsible for delivering the bite was retrieved from the road. Posthumous analysis confirmed that the individual was heavily contagious and had been so for at least six days, as the virus had fully amplified through all parts of the body.
Analysis of blood taken from the outside of Subject 139b’s hand confirmed that infection had been successfully passed when the bite was delivered. (For proof of viral bodies in Subject 139b’s blood, please see the attached file.) Amplification appears to have begun normally and followed the established progression toward full loss of cognitive functionality. Samples taken from Subject 139b’s clothing confirm this diagnosis.
Subject 139b was given a blood test shortly after arriving at this facility and tested clean of all live viral particles. Subject 139b was given a second test, using a more sensitive unit, and once again tested clean. After forty-eight hours of isolation, following standard Kellis-Amberlee quarantine procedures, it is my professional opinion that the subject is not now infected, and does not represent a danger to himself or others.
With God as my witness, Joey, I swear to you that Shaun Mason is not infected with the live state of Kellis-Amberlee. He should be. He’s not. He started to amplify, and he somehow fought the infection off. This could change everything… if we had the slightest fucking clue how he did it.
—Taken from a letter sent by Dr. Shannon Abbey to Dr. Joseph Shoji at the Kauai Institute of Virology, June 27, 2041
Contents
Front Cover Image
Welcome
Dedication
Extras
Meet the Author
A Preview of BLACKOUT
BOOK I: Point of Infection
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
BOOK II: Vectors and Victims
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
BOOK III: The Mourning Edition
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
BOOK IV: Immunological Memory
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
BOOK V: The Rising
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Coda: Living for You
Twenty-seven
Acknowledgments
By Mira Grant
Praise for Feed
Copyright
BY MIRA GRANT
The Newsflesh Trilogy
Feed
Deadline
Writing as Seanan McGuire
Rosemary and Rue
A Local Habitation
An Artificial Night
Late Eclipses
Praise for Feed
“Welcome to the world of Feed. It’s perfect summer apocalypse reading.”
—io9.com
“Gripping, thrilling, and brutal… Shunning misogynistic horror tropes in favor of genuine drama and pure creepiness, Grant has crafted a masterpiece of suspense with engaging, appealing characters who conduct a soul-shredding examination of what’s true and what’s reported.”
—Publishers Weekly (Starred Review)
“… Complex, amazingly intelligent…”
—blogcritics.org
“It’s a novel with as much brains as heart, and both are filling and delicious.”
—The A.V. Club
“The zombie novel Robert A. Heinlein might have written.”
—Sci-Fi Magazine
“The story starts with a bang as corruption, mystery, danger and excitement abound.”
—Romantic Times (4-1/2 Stars)
“What I know for a fact is that this book is terrific entertainment, likely to be remembered as the one that put zombies over for the previously uninitiated.”
—greenmanreview.com
“So if you want a dash of political intrigue, a dose of journalism, zombies, horror, suspense, brilliant writing and a heaping and often steaming pile of truth—then go get yourself a copy of Feed by Mira Grant.”
—flamesrising.com
“While there’s plenty of zombie mayhem, political snark, and pointedly funny observations here, the heart of this book is about human relationships, which are still the most important thing in the world… even in a world where you might have to shoot the person you love most in the head, just to stop them from biting off your face.”
—Locus
“Feed is a proper thriller with zombies. Grant doesn’t get carried away with describing her world or the virus. She’s clearly thought both out brilliantly, but she doesn’t let it get in the way of a taut, well-written story.”
—SFX
“Like the most memorable works in the zombie canon, Feed uses its zombies (those reanimated corpses teeming with Kellis-Amberlee) to examine humanity. And this, dear readers, is really goddamn cool.”
—thebooksmugglers.com
“This is a thriller… the worldbuilding here is fascinating in and of itself. And the characters kept me hooked all the way through, particularly as Grant pulls no punches in showing just how ugly a conspiracy in high places can get… I can’t wait for the next book.”
—N.K. JEMISIN, author of The Broken Kingdoms
“Feed is a cross-country tour through a post-apocalyptic America with certain contemporary digital trends blown up to satirical proportions, punctuated regularly by zombie attacks… Grant delivers some excellent surprises along the way.”
—Beatrice.com
“A classic zombie tale with a great new twenty-first century media twist.”
—DAVID WELLINGTON, author of Monster Island
“Plain and simple, zombie fiction fans should definitely seek out and read this ingenious (and deeply thought-provoking) novel.”
—Explorations, PAUL GOAT ALLEN
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coThis book ental.
Copyright © 2011 by Seanan McGuire
Excerpt from Blackout copyright © 2011 by Seanan McGuire
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.
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The publisher does not have any responsibility for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
First eBook Edition: June 2011
ISBN: 978-0-316-13426-2
Table of
Contents
Extras
Meet the Author
A Preview of BLACKOUT
BOOK I: Point of Infection
One
Tw
Three
Four
Five
BOOK II: Vectors and Victims
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
BOOK III: The Mourning Edition
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
BOOK IV: Immunological Memory
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
BOOK V: The Rising
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Coda: Living for You
Twenty-seven
Acknowledgments
By Mira Grant
Praise for Feed
Copyright
Mira Grant, Deadline
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