Feed: the newsflesh trilogy by Mira Grant

Author:Mira Grant [Mira Grant]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: SF
ISBN: 9781841498980
Published: 2010-08-15T07:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

It turns out that calling a United States senator from inside a quarantined biohazard zone to report that you’ve found a live cat and a syringe containing what you suspect to be a small but terrifying amount of live Kellis-Amberlee is a great way to get the full and immediate attention of both the army and the Secret Service. I’ve always known radio and cellular transmissions out of quarantine zones were monitored, but I’d never seen the fact so clearly illustrated. The words “intact syringe” were barely out of my mouth before we were surrounded by grim-faced men carrying large guns.

“Keep filming,” I hissed to Rick and Shaun. They answered with small nods but were otherwise as frozen as I was, staring at the many, many guns around us.

“Put the syringe and any weapons you may be carrying on the ground and raise your hands above your heads,” boomed a dispassionate voice, distorted by the crackle of a loudspeaker.

Shaun and I exchanged a look.

“Uh, we’re journalists?” called Shaun. “On Class A-15 licenses with the concealed carry allowance? We’ve been following Senator Ryman’s campaign? So we’re carrying a lot of weapons, and we’re sort of uncomfortable with this whole ‘syringe’ thing. Do you really want to wait while we take off everything?”

“God, I hope not,” I muttered. “We’ll be here all day.”

The nearest of the armed men—one of the ones in army green rather than Secret Service black—tapped his right ear and said something under his breath. After a long pause, he nodded and called, in a much less intimidating voice than the one from the loudspeaker, “Just put down the syringe and any visible weapons, raise your hands, and don’t make any threatening moves.”

“Much easier, thanks,” said Shaun, flashing a grin. At first, I couldn’t figure out why he was wasting the energy to show off for the crowd, which was probably pretty high-strung and might be trigger-happy. Then I followed his line of sight and had to swallow a smile. Hello, fixed-point camera number four. Hello, ratings like you wouldn’t believe, especially with Shaun doing his best to keep it interesting.

I stepped forward and placed the syringe on the ground. It was safe inside its reinforced plastic bubble, which was safe inside a second plastic bubble. A thin layer of bleach separated them. Anything that leaked out of that syringe would die before it hit the open air. Still moving with extreme care, I put my gun a few feet away, followed by my Taser, the pepper spray I keep clipped to my shoulder bag—there are dangerous things out there other than the infected, and most of them hate getting stinging mist in their eyes—and the collapsible baton Shaun gave me for my last birthday. Holding up my hands to show that I didn’t have anything else, I began to step back into the line.

“The sunglasses too, ma’am,” said the soldier.

“Oh, for crying—she’s got retinal KA! You have our files from when we came in here, you should know that!” Shaun’s earlier grandstanding was gone, replaced by genuine irritation.

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