Mira Grant: Symbiont

November 2027: Ronnie

It had been surprisingly easy for Ronnie to reach the reservoir. It was still under guard, of course; the soldiers supplied by USAMRIID and sent in with the doctors from FEMA were patrolling the borders of the area, rifles in hand and nervous sweat on their throats and temples. But Ronnie was quick, and lithe, and had nothing to fear from the sleepwalkers; they had long since learned what her ( his ) pheromone trail meant, and they stayed away, like worker ants avoiding the territory of a greater colony.

The water had been capped, of course, to keep seagulls from shitting in it and—more important now—to keep people from drowning and polluting the water supply of an entire region. This was the reservoir that fed the largest of the quarantine settlements. Some people drank bottled water, of course, but they were all higher-ups, people who could afford the luxury of worrying about contamination. For the average man on the street, crammed six to a bedroom in their shantytown containment, what came out of the faucet was the only option.

Some things could be filtered out of the water, and some things couldn’t. Ronnie slouched along the reservoir’s edge until he came to a small building, more like a hut than a pumping station, and slipped inside. There was a heavy lid, almost like a manhole cover, over the water access. That was easy enough to deal with. Crowbars were simple tools, and all you needed to operate them was pressure.

The lid slid open with a snarling rasp, like a file being dragged across concrete. Ronnie kept pushing until the opening was almost a foot across. Then he stepped onto the rim of the water access and pulled a small plastic bag from the inner pocket of his vest. Holding it over the water, Ronnie opened the seal and shook out the bag’s white, crystalline contents. They vanished into the darkness. Some of the powder would stick to the walls of the input, going nowhere, serving no purpose. But most would reach the water. Most would begin the journey toward their eventual homes.

The war had changed.

Ronnie took a deep breath and stepped off the edge of the access hatch, and plummeted, and was gone.

By the time you read this, it will be public knowledge that my duology, like the tapeworms that inspired it, has reproduced: it is now a trilogy, and what you hold is the middle volume. I credit this largely to the amazing medical professionals, scientists, public health workers, and readers who responded to the first volume with questions, critiques, and suggestions about what I could do to make my world more complete. I have done my best to honor their input, and I can’t wait for you to reach the broken doors.

Michelle Dockrey, Brooke Lunderville, and Diana Fox again contributed much of their time and expertise; I would be lost without them. Sarah Kuhn, Amber Benson, and Margaret Dunlap had a lot to do with keeping me from tearing my hair out: I owe them a great debt of gratitude, or at least a drink at Trader Sam’s.

My new editor at Orbit, Will Hinton, was happy to discuss the challenges of a middle book, and met my own idiosyncratic approach to the writing life with an open mind and an eager pen. I look forward to many more books with him. Lauren Panepinto, as always, has provided an incredible cover that I can’t wait to hang on my wall.

Once again, acknowledgment for forbearance goes to Amy McNally, Shawn Connolly, and Cat Valente, who put up with an amazing amount of “talking it out” as I tried to work through the back half of the book; to my agent, Diana Fox, who remains my favorite superhero; to the cats, for not eating me when I got too wrapped up in work to feed them; and to Chris Mangum, the incredible technical mind behind www.MiraGrant.com. This book might have been written without them. It would not have been the same.

If you’re curious about parasites, check out your local library. There’s a lot to learn, and some of it will really amaze you.

Finally, welcome to the world, Aislinn. You are so loved, and so wanted, and I am so delighted that you are here. I can’t wait to introduce you to the Birthday Skeleton.

Be careful now, my darling ones.

Don’t go out alone.

Parasite

Symbiont

Chimera (Coming 2015)

Feed

Deadline

Blackout

Countdown (e-only novella)

San Diego 2014: The Last Stand of the California Browncoats (e-only novella)

How Green This Land, How Blue This Sea (e-only novella)

The Day the Dead Came to Show and Tell (e-only novella)

Rosemary and Rue

A Local Habitation

An Artificial Night

Late Eclipses

One Salt Sea

Ashes of Honor

Chimes at Midnight

The Winter Long

Discount Armageddon

Midnight Blue-Light Special

Sparrow Hill Road

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The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Copyright © 2014 by Seanan McGuire

Jacket design by Lauren Panepinto

Jacket images © Shutterstock

Cover © 2014 Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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ISBN 978-0-316-21900-6

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