Mira Grant - Blackout

“It was no trouble, really, Dr. Shaw. If there’s anything I can do to assist—”

“There’s nothing you can help me with,” she said, still not looking in his direction. She was studying my face avidly, like she expected it to provide the answer to some question she hadn’t told me anything about. “I’ll have you contacted when it’s time to return her to her holding cell. Thank you.”

“Dr. Shaw, I’m not sure—”

Annoyance flashed across her features as she looked away from me for the first time. “I have tests to perform, Dr. Thomas, and as you have made so abundantly clear, we are on a schedule, one that required me to jump through a ludicrous number of hoops in order to get even this much access. I refuse to waste any of my allotted time in shepherding you around my equipment. You may go, and take your trained monkeys with you. I will send one of my assistants to collect you when I’m prepared to remand the subject to your care.”

Dr. Thomas hesitated, looking like he was going to argue. Dr. Shaw narrowed her eyes very slightly, and took a single half step forward. The heel of her shoe hit the floor with a loud snapping sound, like a pencil being broken in half.

That seemed to decide the matter. “Georgia, Dr. Shaw is in charge until I return,” he said. “Cooperate with whatever she requests.” He turned and stepped quickly out of the room, gesturing for the guards to follow him. Looking uncertain about the whole situation, they did.

Dr. Shaw waited for the door to shut before returning her attention to me. Something about her expression made me want to squirm, which just annoyed me even more. I stood up a little straighter, narrowing my eyes, and met her stare for stare.

Finally, surprisingly, she laughed. “Oh, very good! They really did bring you back, didn’t they? Or good as, one supposes. If you would be so kind as to step behind the screen there and remove your clothing, we can begin.”

“Sorry. Can’t.” I held up my hands, showing her the cuffs. “I’m too much of a threat to run around without restraints.”

“I see.” Dr. Shaw reached into her pocket, producing a key. She smiled at my startled expression. “They’re standard CDC issue, for control of troublesome subjects. It wouldn’t do to have someone require the services of a locksmith simply because their primary physician was unavailable when their cuffs needed to be removed.”

I kept still as she unlocked me, waiting until the cuffs had vanished into her pocket before I asked, “Does the CDC make a practice of handcuffing patients?”

“Only the potentially dangerous ones.” Her amusement vanished as quickly as it had come. “Now please. Behind the screen, and remove your clothing. Kathleen will supply a robe once you’re done.”

“Why is it that you people always try to get me naked first thing? It’s not like I have any weapons to hide in my pajama pants.” I rubbed my wrists as I walked to the indicated screen and stepped behind it. Then I stopped, my heart jumping up into my throat as I saw what the screen had been concealing from the rest of the room.

“Go ahead, Georgia,” said Dr. Shaw’s voice from the main room. “We really must get started as quickly as possible.”

I stepped slowly forward, barely breathing as I picked up the tiny pistol that was sitting on the stool, almost like it was waiting for me. I revised that thought to remove the “almost” as I felt the way the gun fit into my palm, vanishing behind my fingers. Firearms this small were usually mass-manufactured, but this was a custom job. There was no other way to explain the rightness of it sliding into my hand. It felt like it was made for me because it was made for me.

It was made of hardened ceramic and heat-resistant plastic polymer. All the metal detectors in the world wouldn’t be able to catch the fact that I was carrying it, and the guards’ reluctance to touch me when they didn’t have to meant I was pretty much safe from a pat down. It was mine. They wouldn’t take it away from me, because they wouldn’t know I had it. Not until I needed them to.

The gun had been holding down a piece of folded paper. I picked it up with my free hand, unfolding it, and read.

Georgia—

This is all the protection we can give you right now. We’re still working on an exit plan. Trust Dr. Shaw. She’s been working with me for a long time. Keep cooperating. They can’t know you’re planning to escape. You have to keep trusting me

.

The gun was enough to buy a lot of trust. I kept reading, and stopped breathing for the second time in as many minutes as I saw the second part of his message:

I have received confirmation from my West Coast contact: Shaun Phillip Mason is alive. I repeat: Shaun is alive. He’s been off the grid for a little while, for reasons I hope to have the opportunity to explain soon, but he is alive, and he will be waiting when we get you out of here. Whatever they say, whatever lies they try to make you believe, believe me:

Shaun is alive. All we have to do now is keep you that way long enough to get you back to him .

Yours—G .

I sank onto the stool, staring at the letter. My fingers were creasing the paper, rendering some of the words almost illegible, but that didn’t matter. I knew what they said. They were burning behind my eyes, lighting up a darkness that I hadn’t even realized was there.

Shaun was alive. I wasn’t making educated guesses. I wasn’t just telling myself something I wanted to believe: Shaun was actually and genuinely alive. That, or the CDC had planted Gregory to earn my trust… But the gun nixed that line of thinking. I paused, turning my attention from the paper to the pistol just long enough to eject the clip and check that it was loaded. It was. Those tiny bullets made all the difference, because no matter how hard the CDC was trying to make me believe them, they weren’t going to give me a gun.

“There you are.” Dr. Shaw stepped around the screen, moving with a silence that made it plain how much she’d been exaggerating the sound of her footsteps before. She plucked the paper from my hand, not seeming to mind when she ripped it in the process. “Thank you for cleaning up the lab, Georgia. I’ll just go feed this through the shredder while you finish undressing. You can leave your clothing here. No one will disturb it.”

My eyes widened as I glanced from her to the gun and back again. Dr. Shaw followed my gaze and nodded understandingly.

“I appreciate that you have little privacy in your current circumstances, but I assure you, no one will touch your things while you’re here. I take privacy concerns very seriously.” Her smile was thin and cold, briefly recalling the way she’d first presented herself. “You have my word.”

Gregory said I could trust her, and she wasn’t sounding the alarm over my possession of a weapon. I swallowed to clear my throat, and nodded. “I’ll get ready.”

“Thank you. Call for Kathleen when you want the robe.” She paused, as if one more thing had just occurred to her, and added, “You may keep your underwear.”

“I appreciate that.”

“I thought you might.” Dr. Shaw walked away, her heels clacking on the floor, as if to illustrate that outside this small, screened-in space, we were playing by the CDC’s rules.

I may not enjoy playing by other people’s rules, but I’ve had enough experience to be good at it. I slid off the stool, putting the pistol back where I originally found it, and disrobed, piling my white pajamas over the gun. If any of Dr. Shaw’s technicians weren’t in on things—and I had no real reason to believe that any of them were in on things—they’d need to actively look before they found anything awry.