TO: [email protected]
CC: [email protected], [email protected]
BCC: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Travel permit
Erika,
The travel permit for you and Caitlin’s been canceled at the request of the CEO and CFO. You’re required to report to the office asap. I shared that it might take you a few days or more to get back, since you left a few days ago.
Given all the problems with gas / gas stations getting supplies right now, they agreed a little leeway return-wise is acceptable, but you need to keep us updated on the return journey and if you run into problems. Per your contract, you’re required to turn on ‘shared location’ so the team can confirm you’re making progress back.
We need you back in the office promptly to discuss your use of Neuragene IP.
Dr. Brandon Freeman
Head of Laboratory Services
Itero Biotechnology LLC
An OstBank Investment
#
while talking to smtp.itero.com [f016:47bb:5302:c82e:248c:7642:982c:b38d]
RCPT TO:[email protected]
<<< 550 No such user here: [email protected]
<<< Returning message to sender
<<< 251 User not local, will forward: [email protected] -> [email protected]
Message content:
TO: [email protected]
CC: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: R-1728 Roll out and a new project
Hi Bran,
Okay, I guess we can remote the R-1728 project changes. I’ve got some open time on Tuesday and Wednesday – 10 am thru 2 pm both days. If either works for a zoom let me know. We’ll see if we can’t get the issues ironed out.
I’m guessing the ‘New Project’ not-a-vaccine’s off the table now, given its source. That Neuragene IP in there is a big problem for us, to be honest. We don’t do a lot with Neuragene, but we can’t afford to lose the contracts we have.
On a personal note, I’m sorry that you’ve had to recall her and cancel the permit. I figured when she was named in the news, but I was kinda hoping to meet her. Her work’s really good! It’s kinda funny that you had this incredible biochemist working there the whole damn time. Itero really did change the world in the end – Audra always said you had it in you. Don’t think this was what she had in mind though.
Anyhow, her research on the vaccine stuff does look solid enough. So was she trying to stop it or spread it? Maybe she regretted releasing it? I guess you don’t know that either. If you still have any contact with her maybe ask her to check this paper out.
- The Role of Targeted Proteases in Synthetic CD8+ Viral Treatments (http://doi.org/10.193623/openmedtechnol.v22.11215).
There’s enough infected people now that we could probably get samples and create a good CD8+ T-cells. That’s the chatter in the biochem forum where I found it, anyhow.
Good luck and stay safe!
Sab.
Dr. Sabrina Bilski
Research Production
Beckweth Pharma | 1723 North Burgard Road | Portland | Oregon
Reproduce your dreams
on 19 Aug 2031, 17:46, [email protected] wrote:
>Hey Sab,
>I had to cancel the travel permit for Erika and Caitlin. You probably already know why. After the meeting with Neuragene I’m not exactly flavor of the month, but they said Erika needs to “get her ass back here, pronto.” I’ve messaged her, obviously.
>We’re still a go for R-1728 as far as I know. Hopefully we can get those kinks worked out and get a better yield.
>That might change though, I can’t say too much but Dr. Rue was touring the facility and I think the word acquisition was used. I guess we might be a bit of a liability now.
>Anyhow, let me know your availability and we’ll schedule something.
>Dr. Brandon Freeman
>Head of Laboratory Services
>Itero Biotechnology LLC
>An OstBank Investment
#
“Quiet down y’all,” Marcie commands. She waits until people stop chatting and focus on her — it doesn’t take long. “Each one of y’all that wanted to has a time slot to leave. Remember folks, we’re moving everyone and everything out from the medical RV — that means all the equipment and all the meds so there’s gonna be no support crew here. So, if you didn't ask for a departure time and you’ve changed your mind, let me or Hailey know.
“If you’ve changed your mind and want to stay, the same — please let us know. That way we can shuffle departure slots if we need to.
“And if you don’t think you’re gonna be able to drive: you’re sick, you’re tired, whatever reason; guess what? You need to let me or Hailey know. We’ve got some extra bodies we’ve dragged down here to take your rigs over with us if needed.”
Hailey steps forward from the uninfected group — just a couple of paces — still well clear of the infected side. “I think we’re all well aware that this is going to look sketch as hell, so please try to keep a low profile. Those of you moving with us, along with your time slot you’ve got a route plan. Stick to it unless there’s some disaster. Keep to the limits, don't attract more attention to yourself than you have to. If you’re heading out on your own, please try and stay away from the main drag. We really don't want cops getting interested and rocking up here before everyone's away. Thankfully it’s a small site so there aren’t too many vehicles to move out.
“We’ve spaced departures out as much as we can given the limited time we’ve got.” I try and ignore the way she, and everyone else, simultaneously look at me. “We’ve also set up a few calls that’re gonna go into dispatch to make sure the worst cops we know who’re on shift are out of the way. But if you’ve got out-of-state plates, if your trailer’s sporting Antifa 2032 decals — naming no names, Jayden — then make sure you’ve got a valid travel permit, and maybe just cover the damn sticker up.” Hailey laughs. “We've got a big stack of Blue Lives Matter and Neighborhood Watch decals so throw one of those over them.”
“Questions?” Marcie says.
Sangatham’s voice — hoarse but sharp — cuts through the mumbled conversations, “Who’s taking that?” He points at me.
“Sangatham,” she warns. “She’s a her, not a ‘that’, not an ‘it’. That’s not okay. But to answer your question, she is going with me.”
“What about the kid?” he says.
“We’re going together!” I realize I’m almost shouting. I still myself for a second before, more calmly saying, “No one comes between me and Ash. No one.”
“Maybe you shoulda thought of that before you—” anger flares in his eyes as he wrecks his voice shouting at me.
“Sangatham. Now isn’t the time; Erika, shut up.”
He paces a little, grumbling before turning and glaring. “You’re putting yourself at risk for — for that,” he spits out. “And that young girl shouldn’t be around that behavior anyhow. For all our sakes you should split them up. Makes them less noticeable.” There are murmurs of assent from the group.
“No!” I’m on my feet to grab her. Already five steps toward Marcie’s RV — Ash’s second rest of the day took precedence over a tedious logistics meeting — before anyone can move to stop me. No idea what’ll come after I grab her.
Marcie’s voice cuts through the sudden chaos springing up around me, “Goddamn it. All of you be quiet. And for fuck’s sake, sit down, Erika.” Silence descends. Some of the group stare at their feet. I stand still, suddenly unsure what I should do.
“Sangatham, your concern is noted. I get it, I do. But still, stop being an asshole, you’re better than that. I know you’re pissed at her but that’s no reason not to be a decent human being. Is that clear?”
“Fuck it,” he says. “I’ll just sort out my own stuff,” he mutters, turning his back and stalking — or at least trying to — toward his RV.
I stare at Marcie, at the crowd; despite the movement they're still firmly split into infected and, away from that, a small, deeply wary group of not-yet-infected. Most of them, regardless of team, are eying me with obvious hostility.
A few are watching Sangatham’s departure.
In the background, there’re a lot of mumbled voices.
“I will talk to him later,” Marcie says decisively. “Erika—”
“I am not being split from my daughter. I already let you separate me from—”
“What do I have to do to make you trust me, even a little bit? For God’s sakes, we got your daughter to a hospital. We got your wife there with her, both of them supplied with damn IDs; those are things I don't have an infinite supply of. And we're trying to look after you and your other daughter,” Marcie says, exasperation coming through. “I’m not some evil bitch out to get you, Erika. My job — at least right now — is to help folks. The folks here. That does include you, but it also means getting all of them somewhere safe is my priority.
“A thing that's only become very, very pressing because you decided to burn down the world.”
“That's not—” I half-heartedly try to argue, but Marcie is unstoppable.
“So, since it apparently wasn’t clear the first twenty times, I’m saying it again: Barring disasters, getting you two back with Caitlin and Addy is on the list, but it’ll have to wait until all these other people are safe. Okay?” I slowly nod. “Good. Now, sit down. We’ve wasted more than enough time on this bullshit.”
I risk another glance around the crowd; what the hell else can I do? It’s not like I can leave, not really. It’d just be me and Ash walking down miles of dirt road out to an empty desert highway.
Fuck.
I try not to look defeated as I drop back onto the POS folding chair I’d colonized to try and slip into the background.
“Right. Moving on. As most of you know by now, we’re only taking vehicles that’re in good enough shape that we’re sure — as sure as we can be — are not gonna break down. If you think your POS isn’t going to make it, come talk to me or Hailey. We borrowed a tame mechanic and she’s happy to see what she can do. That’s option A. Option B is you wait until the last of our groups have gone before you head out. We can talk about retrievals later for anyone that finds themselves stranded. Y’all have mine and Hailey’s contacts, so use ’em. And I know a few of y’all took us up on the last buses outta town. There’s still a few seats left in those — both for folks who’ve been infected and those that aren’t.”
“Questions? No? Good.
“Okay, if you need fuel…”
I tune out the rest of the conversation — first up because I know the answer to that. The box trucks that arrived shortly after the small crowd of interlopers who’ll be driving, mechanicking, helping and who are currently stripping out anything useful from the site, are loaded up with barrels of gasoline and diesel, along with a bunch of hand pumps.
There’s enough there to get the RVs wherever we’re going, so Marcie said when I asked. “If we’ve got enough fuel left over when we’ve got everyone out of here, then we can look at getting you to Caitlin,” she added, before I could raise the question myself.
The rest of the questions are more logistical and route stuff, and interminable discussions about the complexity of travel permits for the non-Nevadan vehicles. I ignore all of that too, since not only do I not have a travel permit anymore, even if I did I doubt it’d do me much good to show it to cops. Not unless we’re looking for the one-weird-trick that gets you imprisoned real fucking fast.
#
CM: They said to make it easier on her they’re going to put her in a coma.
CM: Erika, I don't know what to do. I can't help her at all.
CM: They're going to put a tube down to help her breathe? He said her numbers were getting worse.
CM: I can't lose her, Erika.
EM: Shit.
EM: I’m sorry.
EM: I wish I was there to help. I think we just have to trust them. Marcie says we can. If they say she needs it, she must.
CM: They keep saying how the disease is new and they don't know how kids will respod and they don't see that many of the they're doing everything theycn but shes not respding much to the treatmsn t and she's so sjck Erika what if I did ths? Ehat if I gavr it to her
CM: what is when e sprayd helr we mde it wors
EM: Caitlin. Oh my love. It's not your fault.
Fuuuuck.
EM: God it's not your fault.
It’s mine.
EM: And I'm certain that it's too soon for us spraying her to have had an effect.
I say, trying to have faith in my experience.
It shouldn’t have.
It's too soon.
I know it’s too soon.
EM: If it has an effect it'll be later when her body really physically starts to shift.
EM: It should just make that quicker
EM: This is not your fault.
CM: i broght it home
CM: into or house
CM: i got sick fst
CM: you had it for yesrs and didnt give it to her
EM: We don't know you gave it to her.
EM: She probably caught it at school or on the bus
EM: You got sick too close together. It's almost impossible that she caught it from you.
CM: im mean tto keep her safe
EM: God, please don't blame yourself Caitlin.
EM: None of this is your fault.
#
“Erika. Erika. Lord have mercy. Why’d I bother.” She snaps her fingers in front of my face dragging me back out from wherever I'd gone. It was definitely nowhere good. Just as I resurface, she drags my name out. “E-R-I-K-A,” she says, as if speaking to a dense rock.
A particularly dense rock.
“Shit. Yes. What?” I start, realizing most of the group have apparently left already. When did that happen? Well that’s amazing; I’ve just been sitting pretty much alone, zoning out. Been a while since I properly dissociated I guess.
I bet that looked great to everyone.
Callous bitch who wrecked everyone's life just sitting there ignoring them all.
Perfect.
A-plus work there, Erika.
“Where’d you go? The meeting too much for you?” She studies my face, looks down at the phone I’m still holding in my hand. Suddenly she looks concerned. “Addy?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“Oh no,” she says, eyes widening in fear. “Oh no, Erika. Is she…”
“No, she’s just really sick. Worse. Caitlin blames herself. And I'm here.”
“Sorry,” she says simply. “But,” she pauses and sighs, “— and look, I’m really not trying to be cruel. What would you do if you were nearer? It’s not like you can exactly walk in there is it? ‘Hi, I’m Addy’s other mom, the internationally wanted criminal.’”
“I don't fucking know, Marcie. I’d do something,” I spit out. I scream; frustration erupting in a raw, throat-shredding wail. A few people rush over, mostly gawking, and fade away almost as quickly when they see Marcie's fine, it's just the evil bitch that's returned to sobbing.
She hugs me.
Marcie steps in and fucking hugs me. I shrink away at first, then…look, whether I can trust her or not I actually feel marginally better.
“You know,” she says when I’ve stopped crying; or more accurately moved on to desultory sniffing, “I'm not — I'm not advocating for this because it's a terrible idea but since we’re doing the new ID the—”
“Wait, what?”
“New ID, the one we talked about.”
I stare blankly back. “What?”
“It’s like you’re already blonde.” She smiles, gently. “In your pocket maybe? You took it from me so it must be on you somewhere.”
I shove my hand in my pocket, sure enough there’s a driver’s license. Some bleach-blonde short-haired butch looks back at me. “I — I don’t…”
“You said it was okay. You took the ID, looked at it and said it was fine.”
“I did?”
“Yeah,” she says, looking equal parts perplexed and frustrated. “When I asked if you were sure, if you were okay with it, you nodded, said it was fine. ‘What's one more new identity?’ you said. Well, muttered.”
New identity? Obvious, really. I can’t go around being Dr. Erika Morgen right now. So, then, I’ll be...
“Marcie? Fuck. No. This is a guy,” I say, old anxiety clawing out from a grave.
She takes a breath, steps back. “Oh hell,” she says. “Give people grace, Marcie. Hailey always says: Marcie, give people grace,” she murmurs. “That’s why I asked. I don’t have a ton of IDs and if you look at him and you squint and you think ‘post-viral’ then you could kinda get you? I know it’s less than ideal.”
“Less than ideal?! You're asking a trans woman to pretend to be a man,” I hiss.
“Maybe try not to look at it like that. It's more being an ex-man.”
“Marcie. I don’t think—”
“Look, the guy’s pretty enough I almost want him to catch the virus. He’d make such a fire lesbian.” She laughs lightly. “Well, a good-looking lesbian at least. He might be an a-hole. Hell, it took you until you saw the M on the license to realize he was a guy.”
“Don’t — Fuck, Marcie. Don’t.” I swallow down the anger and resentment bubbling inside of me. “Marcie, I don’t think you’re meaning to do this, but what I’m hearing is you telling me I look kinda like a guy.”
“That’s not—”
“Jesus, I know there aren’t many trans folks around — at least, not out, anymore. But you know we exist, you’ve clearly met or spoken to some of them, you know I’m fucking one of them, and then you say that shit to me?”
“Erika. Stop. That is not what I said. Take a breath, unfocus your eyes, look at that photo and think post-viral. Stop thinking about the him part and look at the damn picture: yeah, there’s bleach blond hair — but we can sort that. But actually look at that face and the pretty brown eyes, the slight build, even the skin tone’s pretty much the right shade of brown. Passably like a boy version of you. Honestly, passably like the pictures of Dr. Tavish—”
“Marcie,” I say, warningly.
“Alright, alright.” She steps back, hands up in apology. “Look, at the end of the day I don’t have a lot of IDs to just throw around. This one’s the closest match and the best in terms of throwing the cops off.”
“But… fuck.”
“It’s just until we get there. Probably half a day, really. A bit of bleach, a haircut and you’re Hector López. Who’s newly a girl and probably salty as fuck about it. And then tomorrow you can go back to being Dr. Erika Morgen, PhD. Well — I say a half a day, but, like I was trying to say, you could maybe use it to get into the hospital.
“Maybe. If you’re good enough at acting. I can’t get you out of jail if you fuck this up, but…”
I stare at the photo. The worst thing is, she’s kinda right. If you squint a bit; if you think, what might I have aged into? Then yeah, Hector’s not a million miles away.
“Wait,” I mutter, “I’m not Hispanic either.”
“No, you’re not, babe. But those cops out there? How often have you been ‘mistaken’ for someone Hispanic when they pulled you over? How often have they assumed you were Latina? Made some crack about you going back to Mexico?”
“I don’t think I want to answer that…”
“Because you know the answer is, ‘It happens all the time, Marcie.’ You and I both know it. They’re racist pieces of shit and everyone brown’s the same to them. Well, this time we are gonna use that to our advantage.”
“Do I get a choice about this?”
“Not if you want to get out of here with us, no. You wanna walk out? Be my guest. But you’re gonna be in my rig, and that means you’re under my rules. It’s not like if we get stopped you can hand over your ID and be like ‘So, we all good, officer?’ They’ll either shoot you — and probably me — and maybe Ash. Or at best, they’ll drag you and me off to the brig, and stick Ash in one of their camps. Or maybe, give her as a gift to some bitch trad-wife.
“All that means is we’re gonna need to change up your look to match this.” She leans over and gently taps the picture.
“Shit. Like… No, just shit.” I drop back against the chair, exhausted. “Caitlin’s so much better at this sort of stuff than me,” I sigh. “She’d — she makes plans. I just make shit up as I go along. And then, I end up fucking here. It’s just rinse-and-repeat for when I ran away the last time. Nearly ended up dead in a desert then, too.” I stare at the photo some more. “Fuck, Marcie, just fuck.”
“I guess you probably haven’t worked out how you’re gonna tell Ash yet, then?” she says.
“Ha. Ha. No.”
#
“Are you gonna grow it out again?” Ash asks.
She’s always loved playing with my hair, even if once, when she was young, she did threaten it with scissors. “Mom E, can I play hairdresser?” she said, a pair of Caitlin’s scissors in hand. “Sure,” I said, eyes closed, dozing. It wasn’t until I felt the cold steel brushing against my neck I woke up enough to realize what she meant.
And now the hair’s clippered off, about an inch of fuzz left. The woman in the mirror feels unreal. I see Ash’s eyes flicking between me and the heaps of hair on the floor of the bathroom. Each time, she looks like she might cry.
“This stuff stinks,” Ash says. The tiny bathroom block reeks of hydrogen peroxide and ammonium persulfate, and it’s vile. The little plastic hair cap hasn’t done anything to keep in the smell. “Is it bad for you?” she adds, scrunching her nose.
“Well, it’s probably not great for my hair, but it won’t hurt you. Not unless you get it in your eye, or a cut, or something,” I say, contemplating the uncanny-valley, AI generated woman cheerfully smiling on the box of convenience store hair bleach. Hopefully it’s working and between this and the clippers I’ll transform into Hector López. “It’ll be okay though.” I promise Ash. “I’ll do something fun with my hair after — I bet we can find a hairdresser to make it look cool while I grow it back out.”
“I think it looks stupid,” she says unhelpfully. “Your hair was real pretty before.”
“I know, sweetheart. It’s just until—” Until when, Erika? “—things are better.” I conclude weakly. I sigh, and then cough having inhaled a little too much ammonia. “God, you’d think with so much being great just going on all the damn time, we’d have moved beyond slathering your hair in vicious chemicals to make it blonde, but here we are.” I grumble, mostly to myself.
Ash just looks confused.
I’ve never bleached my hair before and I’m horrified to be box-bleaching it now. But there’s so little left of it I guess it doesn’t matter that it’s cheap shit that’s probably ruining what’s left.
As Marcie reminded me about a million different ways, my options are limited. She wants to leave as soon as possible — Hailey drew the short straw and she’s finishing up here, which means Marcie, Ash and I get to go as soon as we’re all finished packing up.
No time to come up with some clever alternate plan; just follow Marcie’s and get the fuck out of Dodge.
At the very least I wanted to be the one to load our stuff into Marcie’s toad; some tired-ass Subaru Forester that looks like it was pulled from a ditch. She vetoed that, said she’d get some folks to do it. “If it’s not done by the time you’re looking suitably Floridian, you can help,” she said, tossing the box toward me.
“Ten minutes!” Ash says, and I peel up the cap. “Another ten,” I say, disappointed. My hair now looks kinda reddish-green, which is not an improvement.
“Are we gonna stay with Mom C?” Ash asks quietly. She knows the answer, she just wants it to be different.
“No, sweetie. Not yet. She’s staying with Addy in the hospital right now.”
“Is Addy going to be okay?”
“I — I hope so.”
#
CM: dr said shes stable
CM: the machines breathing for her
CM: dr said she was getting too tired even with the mask thing on
CM: by pap i think
CM: anyhow. it went well she said.
CM: as well as it can go i guess
CM: they keep saying things are good or she's stable and then things get worse
CM: what do I do
EM: You're doing everything you can 🫂
EM: You're there for her and I'm sure she knows it.
EM: I love you and she loves you and we all know you’re doing everything you can.
EM: I will be there as soon as I can
#
“Where’re the underpants?”
“You’re gonna be going commando. Didn’t think you’d want second-hand mens’ pants.” I swear to God Marcie’s trying not to laugh, and not doing a great job of it. At least Ash is snickering too.
“Board shorts? Really?” I roll my eyes as I grab them from Marcie through the gap in the door. The tropical print on these things is so ugly. “Are you trying to make me into a f’ing stereotype?”
“Yes,” Marcie says, now actually laughing. “Oh shit, Elle, this is perfect. Where’d you get it?”
“Lost and found,” Elle says. She’s also laughing.
Amazing.
“What’s perfect? Shit, Marcie, I can barely get these over my hips.”
“Well obviously, if you’re on vacation and the world’s falling apart and you get a virus that—”
“Fine.” I angrily draw in a slow breath and endeavor not to slam the door and hurl myself on the bed. “Bra?” I say, waving my hand through the gap.
“Obviously not. No guy is gonna be caught dead wearing a bra.”
“But my— I have breasts, Marcie.”
“So? So do a bunch of guys, now,” she says, ignoring my complaints.
“Couldn’t I just say I’ve borrowed one from someone and wear mine?”
“Hector’s a guy, Erika. A guy. He is not gonna wear a bra unless there’s a full-blown apocalypse that somehow demands it. Possibly not even then.” Instead her arm shoots through the gap in the door holding a T-shirt which…
“Marcie, why the hell is there a cockroach on this?”
“It’s a Palmetto bug.”
“And that’s better how?”
“It’s a Florida Icon.” I can hear the capitals.
“Built different my ass,” I mutter, reading the slogan and dragging the ill-fitting shirt over my newly short hair.
“Come on then. Let’s see the final result.”
Ash just laughs harder when I come out, which I can’t say is great for my mood, but at least it’s distracting her.
Probably something to talk about when we’re y’know, fleeing, again. Given that half the population’s probably gonna look like this soon.
“Flawless. Perfect,” Elle says. “Come on, Uncle Hector. You can sit up front with Marcie.”
#
“You can sleep, or read, or whatever,” Marcie says. “We’re gonna be on the road a good few hours.”
Unsurprisingly, Marcie’s driving.
I’m slightly surprised I haven’t got a bag over my head or been heavily sedated. Maybe that happens later? Maybe the lunch she made is dosed with sedatives. Or maybe she just didn’t want me to be able to warn anyone about where I was going, and since I still don’t know other than “nearer Henderson,” it’s not really a problem.
Less surprisingly it’s not just me, Marcie and Ash in here. Elle’s sitting in the way-back. I’m guessing she’s my sitter, no matter that Marcie claimed she was just getting a ride. I’ve seen her watching me, and I’ve also seen the way she unconsciously checks her gun every now and then. Her being here frees Marcie up to play good cop. Or maybe Marcie being here frees Elle to shoot me when it’s convenient?
Although mostly Marcie’s focused on navigating the rutted road out of the site, then the gravel track, and finally on bringing the vehicle lumbering onto the seemingly empty highway.
I glance back. Ash is sitting on the couch back there, distracting herself with games. At least, that’s what she said she was doing last I checked. She’s got headphones on so who knows. When I told her about Addy being put in a coma, she didn’t know what to do with herself. What she did decide, after a while, is that she wanted to do something that’d stop her thinking about it.
“It’s weird, y’know,” Marcie says out of the blue. “I didn’t like, expect to die there or anything, but I’d gotten kinda used to the place. I expected to be out there a couple more years before I moved on — and I’d gotten used to the crew there. It’s a bit weird to be leaving so suddenly.” She pauses, laughs darkly. “I guess preaching to the choir here — you left your house in some kinda hurry.”
I mumble something non-committal.
“How’d you figure it’d play out?” she says, after another uncomfortable silence.
“What?” I say cautiously.
“When the virus struck. How’d you figure it’d play out? You knew it was coming so you must have had a plan.”
“Not… really. I was kinda a mess when I made it — the virus — and honestly, I hoped it’d just die out,” I say, risking a glance at her, then back at my observer. Elle’s hand is resting on the butt of her pistol. I’m not sure if this is meant as a sign the questions aren’t optional, or her just being wary.
“Seriously?” Marcie says sounding surprised. “You didn’t like, have a timeline for it spreading, and when you needed to get out or whatever?”
“I mean — like, when I — before, no, uh, test subjects were around long enough for it to reactivate. And after it got out, after the initial infections died down, when I didn’t get sick again, I figured maybe I’d gotten lucky. Maybe no one else would get sick. I’d just live out my life. Wait for the fashies to kill me, or their lies to bring them down; it’s always one or the other in the end.” I trail my fingers across the arm of the captain’s seat. “Also, gotta be honest, I knew they were dumb as rocks, but I don’t think I could’ve planned for the level of backstabbing stupidity and incompetence.” I laugh.
“Huh,” she says, and focuses back on the road for a while. “So, what did you think when it started popping up again?”
“Fuck, mostly.”
She laughs. “No shit.”
I quickly check Ash’s still sufficiently engaged in whatever she’s doing. “Look, Marcie, this —” I gesture at the whole of the outside, “— it’s awful. It’s dire. It’s goddamn-evil. And yeah, I’m not gonna lie, I want to burn it to the ground, salt the earth, fucking rip it apart. I want Miller and Davis and Rue to suffer, along with everyone who ever enabled them. And I don’t care much about all the people who couldn’t be bothered to do even the minimum to stop it. But,” I pause, watching the desert slide by. “But — at the same time — I didn’t want to hurt as many innocent people as I will. As it will. And if I’m really honest? I didn’t want to destroy my nice slice of life along with it. It’s always the problem, you get invested in saving your little tiny piece of not-hell.
“It’s not like it was easy. But when we could escape it all? Me and Caitlin and the kiddos? It was good. It was real good. I remember one year we took them both, went out…” I smile fondly; the smile doesn’t last. “But yeah, the kids… Addy in particular, I guess, would have made it impossible to not do something soon anyhow. Even before Addy told us about herself, it was already stupid difficult though. People treating us like crap, the school trying to fill their heads with hate, telling them we’re evil for being two women together. I couldn’t stand it, not really. But we were stuck.
“We talked about moving to one of the sequestered states; apparently it’s not quite so bad for queer people there. But it was always a case of ‘when we have the money’ or ‘when your contract’s done’ and there was always not quite enough money, or just needing one more contract extension. We were always just clinging on to make sure we didn’t lose what little we had.
“But I guess past-me made sure that current-me didn’t get a choice in the end.” I rub my forehead.
“I wish I could change what I did. I don’t know that what I did was wrong, not exactly. Fucked up, but I mean, world’s completely fucked up, and at least making the virus itself? Not sure. It’s not like I really planned to release it. And the first guy who died when it escaped? Fuck, he deserved it. A thousand times over, he deserved it.
“And that’s where it falls apart. I think I shouldn’t have done it. I feel bad about the harm I’ve caused. But fuck if I can find it in me to care about a lot of the people who didn’t give a shit when it was my family, when it was people like me being dragged out of their houses, locked in camps, disappeared, killed.”
More desert. More sand, more closed gas stations and half-abandoned main streets. More uncomfortable silence. Just the occasional chirp of whatever it is Ash’s playing barely audible from her headphones.
Marcie finally clears her throat and checks I’m paying attention, “I’m not going to pretend to be on your side, Erika. I don’t take you as dumb enough to believe it anyhow. What you did was fucked up, and it’s going to hurt a lot of people. But you get that, and that’s not much, but it’s not nothing. I’m just not sure how to get past the harm. Not completely. Like there must have been a better way.
“And I’ll be honest; I liked you, before I knew. I like Caitlin, I like Ash. I’ll probably like Addy too; when she’s well enough for me to get to know.
“But the truth of the matter is you’re still here, and still alive because you’re useful. At least, I think you are. So do other folks who matter. And before you think it, or say it, you’re not just someone to be a burnt offering when we need a bit more leeway from some fuck-face administrator. We want you because you can help people.
“I dunno about fixing this mess, I think we’re probably well past that. But helping us survive it? I figure a good — or at least chaotic neutral — biochemist is probably useful to have around.”
“What does that mean, though?” I say, a current of fear running through me. “Are you gonna hold me hostage for my research?”
“I think I said, ‘we don’t do that way,’ and I meant it.”
“Then what then?”
“We’ll see what the deal is that you get offered. I don’t know the shape of it yet. That’s definitely beyond my paygrade,” she says, glancing and giving me something I think she thinks is a reassuring smile.
“What about Sangatham?” I say quietly.
“He’s scared, Erika. All the guys are. Good, bad, indifferent, whatever. They’re all shitting themselves.
“And guys like Sangatham, they’re mostly not terrible. They’re taught to be fucking vile — and I’m not giving him a pass — what he said, how he behaved, not okay. But understanding where they’ve come from and how to get them out from there, for the guys who’re not absolute shits, it’s worth understanding the how.
“But maybe Sangatham more than most, he sees how shit women’ve got it right now and he’s terrified. He’s had his fill of profiling, and he’s heard the women around the site talking about the shit they’ve had, so he can put two and two together. He knows being the brown ass ‘intersex’ no-longer guy is gonna suck, and then some. And again, I’m not excusing it, not saying its acceptable, just trying to get where that came from. Because he met trans people before today, outside of you, and he’s never misgendered ’em. At least not to my knowledge. He’s always been respectful.”
“Huh, well, today he fucked that,” I mutter.
“Yeah. Yeah he definitely did. And I told him so.
“He took a while to talk to me about it. I told him I get that he’s angry. Angry at you for sure, and at the situation, but I’ve known him a long time. He thought you — and the, what, thousands at least who must be infected by now, aren’t properly trans. Maybe he still thinks that about them, told him you’re trans though. Read him the riot act.
“’course he’s fucking it up for himself too. Preparing to shove himself into some special box where you had to know you were trans all along to be properly trans, and like, who gives a fuck whether you choose it or it chooses you. If you’re happier as a girl, fucking be a girl. He doesn’t get a choice about his body now, but he can still choose who he wants to be.
“Who knows what that’ll be though. But if he keeps fucking around pretending like you have to be some special fucking flower that knew in the womb then he’s never gonna be happy.
“Either way, though, I talked to him. What he said was not okay. He seemed to get that, and it better stick real fucking fast — for himself as much as anyone else. I won’t stand for it, so if he wants our help or support…”
I watch the road disappearing under us, sand licking over the edges of dusty gray asphalt, and paint so worn you can barely see the fog line.“I —” I start, and fail. “I — Like, I knew. I knew what I did… I knew guys would be…
“I mean I never really thought about the individuals. Not really. I didn’t think about how guys would feel about it. It sounds dumb, but like, it took me a while to realize I wasn’t going to be killed by Rue right away. And by the time I did, then sure, I was working on the vaccine but I never really thought about the individual impact.”
“That’s kinda shit, Erika. Kinda shit, and kinda dumb.”
“Yeah. I know. I have realized that maybe I should have put more thought into y’know, everything.” I hesitate, formulating the thought. “But he’s so angry. He’s meant to be one of the good ones and he was that angry… God he was that angry when he just thought I'd fucked up the vaccine. Even before he knew the virus was my fault.”
#
If it weren’t for the emptiness of the roads, things could almost feel normal out here. The sparse landscape mostly exists in its own bubble, quietly ignoring the civilization collapsing around it. And in the stretches where you’re far enough from the built environment it feels the same as — I guess — it always has.
Well, at least, the same as it has since bands of asphalt crisscrossed the desert.
But then you hit the towns.
It’s not like they were doing well before. In each place that we pass through, wherever you look the signs of terminal decay are obvious. Derelict buildings, peeling paint, old boarded-up store fronts, and faded billboards advertising long-dead brands. But now there's no fuel, so there’s no deliveries. And since there’s no deliveries there’s no food. In some places the preppers are already out with their gangs and their sketch-ass roadblocks, forcing people to the perimeters of their dying towns. I half wonder what they’ll do in six months when their packaged food runs out, and hope that Marcie’s clan, whatever it is, have got a stash of seeds somewhere. Some means of growing food. Hopefully they’ve actually prepped, not just macho dick-swinging prepped.
Outside those weirdos, there's basically no one else on the road. No one tailgating us despite Marcie’s rigid adherence to the limit. No one lurking at the viewpoints. No one parked up outside the diners. Even the bar lots are empty.
And whenever we get near a Next Gas Station in whatever miles sign, the shoulder starts being littered with abandoned cars and trucks. People who played and lost in their last round of fuel-gauge Russian roulette. Folks who tried to squeak out the last miles from their last tank of gas hoping to get to the next town. The place they heard still had gas.
As you get nearer to the towns the occasional cars gradually become clumps of vehicles, then a torrent of failure that eventually terminates with scattered automotive dereliction across gas station forecourts. The store doors are shut tight, but the pumps have their lock chains hanging, cut. Desperate people hoping the dregs of fuel might be something they could steal, enough to get them someplace else.
The hoses and nozzles lie strewn about. Presumably dropped when they realized there really was no more gas.
It’s not just that, though. There’s been more than one smash-and-grabbed convenience store sporting a car halfway through the frontage. 7/11s with windows shattered. No police tape, no keep out signs, just plate glass in a thousand pieces sparkling across the empty spaces, wrecked shelving dragged part-way out or across the stores.
Because Marcie’s driving I get far too much time to watch all of this rolling past.
Thank God Ash’s tiredness overcame her; she fell asleep, console still chirruping away. With any luck she’ll sleep through it, maybe miss out on the destruction for a whole ’nother day. This gives me a little more time to try to come up with something reassuring to say.
Not that I have a single solitary clue what that might be, because, well, fuck.
In the back of my mind I remember the “I did this” stickers of Trump pointing up at ten dollar gas prices, except in this it's just me cheerfully pointing at images Ash’s never gonna be able to fucking unsee. Images that belong in some post-apocalyptic Hollywood movie.
Or maybe me pointing at the occasional bodies we’ve seen with people standing around at a distance, presumably waiting for an ambulance that might never come. Women nearer, crouching, checking on them, and the guys standing way back, too scared to go near the infected.
It’s all a bit reminiscent of the opening of I Think We’re Alone Now, which I very decidedly do not think about.
#
Even the freeway’s uncomfortably empty. Sure, there’s army truck after army truck running in convoy, but outside that the traffic’s freakishly light.
“Where is everyone?” I whisper.
“You really want an answer to that question?”
“No,” I say, facing Marcie. “Probably not. I can guess though, anyway.”
“Gas pretty much ran out a couple of days ago. So most regular drivers are preserving what little they have for emergencies.
“And the big-rigs? When they can get fuel, diesel’s so expensive that even if half the drivers weren’t sick, they’d probably be refusing to fill up. The corporates that bought up all the indie trucks after prices f’ed ’em last year? They all put a bunch of restrictions on the drivers — on where and when they can fill up.
I imagine a bunch of corporates are trying to work out how to weasel out of their delivery contracts since it costs more to fill their trucks than they’ll get paid for delivering the stuff. I know we were getting reports of a bunch of abandoned trailers up north. So, no regular commuters, no truckers moving goods. And then the chaos with the travel permits. Davis relaxed a bunch of that but still no-one knows what the f’s happening.
Add in that no ships want to dock or deal with the US right now, so we’re not getting crude from China or Yemen or Saudi, and then they can’t even get the oil out of the oil reserve,” she runs her hands through her hair. “Not that there was much left in it, anyhow. Not when compared to the grand disaster of “no one else will sell us oil” — which, like, I shouldn’t be surprised by how incompetent Davis is, or Miller was before him, or the good’ol white boys they’ve affirmative-actioned into place are. But wow are they bad at their jobs.”
“How come we’ve got fuel then?”
“That’s a need-to-know thing, Dr. Morgen, and you most definitely do not need to know.”
#
It looks like rolling brownouts have hit Las Vegas. Most of the city’s still gaudily lit, but big chunks of it are completely dark. It turns out Henderson's the same. Not that it matters, the closest I get to Addy and Caitlin is an update from Caitlin saying that Jordan told her Addy's at least not gotten any worse, and that's enough that Caitlin is going to try and get some sleep.
As for me, I just watch the sporadic lights drift past the window as we brush against the outside of the city limits. I'm guessing we'll be heading back out to the desert.
“Mom.” Ash appears at my shoulder, glancing anxiously backward. I realize Elle’s disappeared into the bathroom. “Stephanie says you're a man.” Marcie turns her head, watching me, while I rack my brains trying to remember which of the kids from school is Stephanie. “I told her she's wrong,” Ash says as I fail to come up with a good answer. “She said you're some crazy man she saw on the news, but I told her she's wrong about that too.”
“Well…” I say, not really sure where I'm going with the statement. “I'm not a man, but Stephanie probably would think I was a guy once. When I told you I had the virus…” she stares at me with the intensity only kids and preteens can muster.“Before I caught it… Yeah, Stephanie would definitely have said I was a boy. I wasn't… I was very unhappy trying to be a boy. So, I guess, as far as it matters anymore I’m trans. The news is not telling the truth about me in general, but that bit is kinda right. I kept it a secret — well — I kept it secret for a lot of reasons. Partly because I wanted to, because it's easier when folks don't know. But partly because I wouldn’t have been allowed to look after you and Addy if the government knew.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “So, you are like Addy?”
“Yeah, Ash, I am.”
“Why didn’t you tell Addy?” She finishes the question just as Elle steps back out of the bathroom and starts walking up the narrow strip to the front of the truck.
“I, uh, I was—”
“Why didn't you tell Addy?” she says more insistently. “She was so scared, Mom.”
“I was goi—”
“I can't believe you didn't tell her. She was so scared. Don't you care about her?”
“Of cour—”
“How could you do that to her?! You're meant to be our Mom but you just kept—”
“Ash,” I say, trying to regain some control. “I woul—”
“You’re not my proper mom. I want Mom C,” she says, pushing past Elle and walking toward the back of the RV. “I want Mom C,” she says again, louder.
I stand and start walking toward the back after her. “I know, sweetie, but I ca—”
“You don’t care about Addy or me,” she says, slipping through into the rearmost bedroom and slamming the door.
“Ash?” I say, trying to keep it together. “Ash?”
“Give her some time,” Elle says as I drop onto the chair she’d been sitting in.
I slump forward, first resting my head on the table, then gently smacking my forehead against it repetitively. “Fuck,” I whisper. “Fuck, fuck fuck.”
#
Marcie gradually slows before she swings off the road down a hard-packed track ending in a scrubby parking area.
“What’s happening?”
“Don’t worry,” Marcie says. “If we wanted you dead it would’a been much easier to bury you in the desert than trying to kill you a few miles outside of town.”
“Strangely, I don’t find that reassuring.”
“Oh, huh, well, it was sort-of meant to be,” Marcie laughs. “At least, a little.”
“I’m not really in the mood for jokes, to be honest,” I say, looking back toward the door which Ash has kept resolutely closed. She's refused to come out, and she's refused to speak to me at all. Which I guess might be an advantage. Obviously I want to talk to her about it — but what can I say.
There is no reason that’s good enough. I let my daughter suffer to protect myself. Let her feel like she was alone in the world when I know what that's like. And sure I was planning to tell her, but what difference does that make? Planning isn't doing and she was so clearly scared.
Call it what it is, Erika. You fucked up. All you can do now is add it to the giant pile of things you need to fix.
“It’s time for Ash and you to change vehicle, sweetheart,” Elle says from behind me, before striding past me toward the back of the RV. “Ash!” she says, knocking sharply against the wood, “You need to come out now.” Her shout goes unacknowledged, but Elle clearly doesn't care to wait. She twists the handle and with barely perceptible levels of difficulty shoves the door open.