A pang of guilt lanced through me as I realized that if those treatments worked, the doctors would probably also use them on the sleepwalkers. After all, medicine was medicine, and saving lives was important. But the people who originally owned those bodies were gone, and the tapeworms that had taken them over had as much of a right to live as anyone else. Didn’t they? They’d been acting out of instinct, and because they wanted lives of their own, not out of malice. It was still theft. The thought of infection terrified me. But once those bodies were stolen…
It was apparently a day for revelations. I was actually starting to understand Dr. Cale’s point of view.
Fighting the urge to start shuddering, I raised the phone to my ear. “Nathan?”
“Sal.” He sounded relieved. “Are you all right?”
I smiled, allowing my own relief to show. “Is that how we’re going to start all conversations from now on?”
“Until you stop getting yourself into situations where I have to worry about your safety, yes. It absolutely is.” Nathan sighed. “Is your father there?”
“No. He went to supervise Joyce’s medication. He left me with two soldiers to make sure I made it back to where I’m supposed to be, though.” I offered the privates who were guarding me a little wave with my free hand. They didn’t wave back. “Are you coming to get me?”
“I’m already on my way. I should be there in about ten minutes.”
Now that I was listening for it, I could hear the faint sounds of traffic behind his voice. He was driving. He was coming to get me. My knees went weak with relief. I gripped the desk, and said, “We need to go back to the house. I want to get some things, and Beverly, before I go to your place. I should probably also leave a note for Mom.” I had no idea what it was going to say. It still seemed like the right thing to do.
“And you’re all right?”
“What?”
“I keep asking you if you’re all right because you keep not answering me. Are you all right?”
“I…” I hesitated, looking first to the two privates, and then to the open office door. Dad was somewhere in the building, talking to the doctors who were going to try to save my sister from sharing the fate of the sleepwalkers who had killed Dr. Snyder and that intern in front of me. They might have a right to live. But so did Dr. Snyder. So did the woman in the white lab coat.
So did Devi.
“I don’t know,” I said finally. “Just come and get me, Nathan. Just get me away from here before I have to figure it out.”
“I’ll be right there,” he promised.
The line went dead, a dial tone sounding dully in my ear. I dropped the receiver carefully back into its cradle, turning my attention to the two men assigned to watch over me. “Please take me to my father now,” I said. “I want to see how my sister is doing.”
“Yes, Miss Mitchell,” said one of them—I didn’t know which one was Private Dowell and which one was Private Fabris, and I didn’t really care. I was never going to see these men again. That wasn’t how things like this worked out.
I followed them out of the office.
Not one of us paused to turn out the light. After everything that had happened that day, somehow the shadows had lost their appeal.
The soldiers led me to a hallway where my father stood talking to a small cluster of men in lab coats with an oddly military cut. USAMRIID doctors, the real kind, not the interns from the containment lab or the enlisted men who sometimes served as security. There were three of them, all looking very serious, like this was an exam that they were afraid of failing.
Through the window behind them, I could see Joyce and three other people, all still awake and clearly alert, watching the nurses who adjusted their IV drips with trained hands. Joyce glanced in my direction and froze, eyes widening. Her mouth moved. I shook my head. I could barely read words on a page. Reading lips was a bit beyond me.
“Colonel Mitchell,” said one of my escorts. “Do you have any further instructions, sir?”
My father turned to face us. He looked tired, but he didn’t scowl when he saw me. That was something, anyway. “My daughter’s boyfriend should be arriving in the visitors’ lot soon,” he said. “His name is Dr. Nathan Kim. Please escort him to the main entry and wait there for my word.”
“Yes, sir,” said the two men, and saluted before turning and heading back the way we’d come. They didn’t say goodbye to me. I guess I didn’t matter anymore, now that I was no longer their assignment.
“Sally.” My father gestured for me to come closer to the glass. Unsure of what else to do, I came. He pointed to where Joyce was lying strapped to her own cot, watching us. She hadn’t taken her eyes off me since I arrived. “Her symptoms haven’t progressed, but they haven’t improved. Are you sure there’s nothing you aren’t telling us?”
There was so much I wasn’t telling them that I wasn’t sure where I would begin to explain. The one thing I could think of that might be relevant was one that hopefully they already knew, and so I said, in a halting voice, “You know the implants have some human DNA in them, don’t you…?”
“Yes.” His expression hardened as he stole a glance of his own toward Joyce. “That’s part of what makes treatment so difficult. Most of the things that we know would kill the SymboGen implant have to reach it first, which means injection. But if you inject something that attacks human DNA into a human, you stand a very good chance of killing the patient along with the parasite.” And he didn’t want to kill Joyce, or even risk it.
I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t want to kill Joyce, either. “Dad…” I said, and paused before continuing, forcing the words out one by one: “If this is in the brain, is there any point in treating people that are already all the way gone? Aren’t they just going to… well, aren’t they just going to die if you take away the thing that’s keeping them alive?”
“First you tell me the SymboGen implants are somehow infiltrating human brains, and then you ask me whether we can let those implants keep the brains they’ve taken over.” His attention swung back to me. “I can’t believe you’d even say that. Of course we’ll treat those people. They deserve the dignity of a peaceful death, rather than living on under the control of some inhuman thing.”
His glare was hot enough to make my skin crawl. I took a step backward, once again wishing for the comforting pounding of the drums. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Dad paused. Then he sighed, rubbing one hand across his face, and said, “I’m sorry, too, Sal. I don’t mean to take things out on you. I know none of this is your fault.”
“Colonel—” began one of the doctors. My father shot him a look, and he quieted, lowering the hand he’d been about to gesture with.
My father turned his attention back to me. “Are you sure you want to go off with Nathan? Your mother won’t be very happy to have one daughter in the hospital and the other with her boyfriend.”
“I’m sure,” I said. “If SymboGen is trying to bug the house because I’m in it, it’s best if I’m not there while Joyce is recovering. That would just make things worse. And I have some things I need to get straightened out in my head. I should be away until I can finish doing that.”
“If this is about our grounding you…” He looked briefly, profoundly uncomfortable. It made me want to hug him and scream at him at the same time. What else could it possibly be about?
And I was tired, and I was done. “It is, yes,” I said. “It’s also about everything else. It’s about you lying to me, and scaring me, and deciding that you don’t have to treat me like an adult when it’s not convenient for you. None of that was fair, and I don’t want to risk you deciding to do it again. This is something I have to do. I’d like it if you would understand that.” Because I’m doing it either way. “And when all this is over, we’re dissolving your guardianship.”
“All right, Sal. All right.” He sighed, looking toward Joyce one more time. “I’ll let you know how her recovery goes. Hopefully, she’ll
start responding to the treatment that you and Nathan have recommended. I wouldn’t be taking those suggestions if we weren’t so desperate.”
“I know that.”
“I do love you. No matter what may have happened, or what may happen, I do love you.”
“I know that, too, Dad,” I said—and I did know it, no matter how many problems I had with him. I had questioned a lot of things about my parents. I had never wondered whether they loved me. Something occurred to me then, and I asked, “Can I borrow the car keys? I’ll send them back with whoever walks me out.” Because it wasn’t going to be him, not with Joyce strapped to a cot and being treated to prevent tapeworms from taking over her brain.
My father raised an eyebrow. “What do you need from the car?”
“My bag.”
“Can’t I just give it back to you when you come home?”
That would give him time to figure out that the book jammed tracking signals. I didn’t know the answer, but whatever it was, it would probably point him back to Dr. Cale, and I didn’t want to do that. Besides which, I wasn’t going back to SymboGen voluntarily, and having a way to hide from them would be a big help. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I need it now.”
“Fine. But I won’t give you the keys. I’m walking you to the car myself.” My surprise must have shown in my face, because he smiled, and said, “There’s nothing I can do for Joyce right now, and standing here staring at her isn’t going to make her get better any faster. I should make sure you get on your way safely before I do anything else.”
Gratitude swept over me, feeling too big to be put into words. So I just nodded, and stepped off to one side as he turned and muttered instructions to the doctors who would presumably be monitoring Joyce’s condition in his absence. I stole glances at my sister through the window. She was staring up at the ceiling, jaw set in the firm line that meant she was terrified and refusing to let herself cry. Joyce could seem silly sometimes, but she was always stronger than she thought she was. She would come through this.
Assuming the treatments worked. Assuming it wasn’t already too late, and the implant hadn’t already worked too much of itself into her brain. Assuming—
“They were saying her name, Colonel.” The unfamiliar voice dragged my attention back into the present. I turned to see one of the doctors glaring at my father, frustration and confusion writ large across his features. “You can’t pretend this isn’t relevant. The implications—”
“The implications are that these people can mimic sounds, no matter how advanced their illnesses, which tells me there’s still hope to save them,” said my father. “Please continue the treatment, and keep me apprised of any progress. Sal, come with me. You’ll need to change back into your street clothes before you leave here.”
“Coming, Dad,” I said, and followed him as he walked down the hall.
Maybe it was because I didn’t spend enough time at USAMRIID—or any time, really, when I could avoid it—but the layout of the building didn’t make any sense to me. Hallways joined and split according to no logical pattern, sometimes leading into large open spaces that then proceeded to blend seamlessly back into more hallways. I hurried to keep up with my father’s longer steps, unwilling to let myself be separated from him in those endless halls. I would never have been able to find my own way out.
Finally, we reached a somewhat familiar door, which he opened with a swipe of his key card to reveal the antechamber connecting the male and female changing rooms. He walked to the female changing-room door, unlocking it with another swipe. “I’ll wait here for you,” he said.
I ducked straight into the room, quietly unsurprised when I opened the locker holding my clothes and saw that everything had been neatly folded. Someone had been through my things, probably while I was unconscious in the lab. I stripped off my scrubs, trying not to be disturbed by the invasion of my privacy. It wasn’t like there was anything for them to find.
My clothes wouldn’t lead them to Dr. Cale, or tell them about Tansy and Adam. We were still okay. I kept that thought firmly in mind as I got dressed. There was a bruise on the side of my neck, where the needle had been shoved in a bit too hard in the process of sedating me. I touched the spot and hissed between my teeth, wondering why they hadn’t bothered with a gauze pad.
Oh, well. That was the least of my problems. I checked my reflection in the locker’s built-in mirror, making sure that I looked at least halfway presentable. Then I turned to go back to where my father was waiting.
He’d been joined by one of the two soldiers from earlier, who looked up almost guiltily when I emerged. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Miss Mitchell, your ride is here.”
“Oh, good.” I looked to my father. “I just need to get my stuff from the car, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, still sounding like he wasn’t entirely happy about the idea. “Private Dowell, you may return to your post.”
“Sir, yes sir,” said the soldier, saluting him. My father saluted back, and Private Dowell turned to head for the door, his duty discharged.
“Come along, Sal,” said my father, starting for the exit.
I followed him to the front door and out into the dim light of the evening. The sun was setting over the San Francisco Bay, turning everything the same red as the emergency lights in the lab, and Nathan’s car was cozied up to the sidewalk, with Nathan himself standing in front of it.
He started to move when he saw us, and I motioned for him to stay where he was. He stopped, light glinting off his glasses and masking the confusion that I knew was there. I made a “wait” sign with my hand, and followed my father to his car. He unlocked the doors, and I retrieved my bag from under the seat. I didn’t realize until my fingers found the strap just how afraid I’d been that it wasn’t going to be there. The staff at USAMRIID had gone through my locker. There was nothing to stop them from going through the car.
Nothing, except maybe for a father who really did want what was best for me, even if he didn’t know what that was. I slung the bag over my shoulder as I straightened, and turned to throw my arms around his neck.
“I love you, Dad,” I said.
He sighed. “I love you too, Sal.”
I let go and ran toward Nathan’s car, so anxious to be out of there that I almost didn’t stop when I heard my father shouting, “Wait!” behind me. But he was letting me go, and so I owed it to him to at least pause. I stopped, turning, and waited to hear what he had to say.
He just looked at me for a long moment. Then, barely loud enough for me to hear, he said, “Goodbye, Sally.”
“Bye, Dad,” I said, and turned away, walking to the car where Nathan waited. He opened the door for me. I got in, and watched through the windshield as he walked around to the driver’s side. Then he took his own seat, and together, we drove away into the bloody sunset.
INTERLUDE III: JUDGES
The world is out of order. It’s been broken since you came.
—SIMONE KIMBERLEY, DON’T GO OUT ALONE
Let’s party.
—TANSY (SUBJECT VIII, ITERATION II)
March 23, 2019: Time stamp 04:22.
[The recording quality has improved over the past three years, as has the lab. The equipment is still mismatched, but it is better maintained: the scanners and terminals are newer. A hospital bed dominates the frame. Its occupant is a young woman, head shaved, eyes closed. She does not move. A blonde woman in a wheelchair is positioned next to the bed.]
DR. CALE: Doctor Shanti Cale, third status report of subject eight, iteration two. The host remains unresponsive, but blood tests present hopeful signs: the D. symbogenesis markers had increased up until two days ago, when they began a sharp and sudden decline. Today’s tests showed no signs of infection. She may be coming out of the woods. We have discontinued twilight sedation, and are now waiting for the subject to awaken.
[She pauses, and smiles brightly into the camera.]
DR. CALE: I think I’m going to call he
r “Tansy.”
[The woman on the bed opens her eyes and groans. There is a sudden shakiness to the scene, as if whoever was holding the camera put it abruptly down. Dr. Cale turns, waving to someone out of frame.]
[The recording stops.]
[End report.]
STAGE III: INTEGRATION
SymboGen: turning problems into solutions since 2015.
—EARLY SYMBOGEN ADVERTISING SLOGAN
This isn’t going to end well for anyone.
—SAL MITCHELL
I always knew the truth would come out eventually; truth has a tendency to do that, especially when all of the parties involved want it to stay hidden. I knew the truth would come out on the day I ingested the samples of the first-generation D. symbogenesis to keep them from being destroyed; I knew it would come out when I lost all feeling in my lower body; I knew it would come out when the national news first began reporting incidents that had clearly been caused by the implants compromising their human hosts. Steven could only conceal the truth for so long.
Mostly, I have lived my life for this past decade and a half simply hoping that I would still be alive when the judgment day arrived. After all, what’s the point of helping to create an apocalypse if you’re not going to be around to see it?
—FROM CAN OF WORMS: THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SHANTI CALE, PHD. AS YET UNPUBLISHED.
The question of legal liability was raised early and often during the advent of the SymboGen Intestinal Bodyguard™. After all, most medical procedures and treatments carried with them the risk of lawsuits in the case of adverse reactions. Why should a biological organism used for medical purposes be any different?
SymboGen’s response to this question was a second flurry of advertisements, this time virtually begging anyone who might have had an adverse reaction to the Intestinal Bodyguard™ to come forward and let them make it right. Finding someone who had reacted poorly to the SymboGen implant became a modern-day quest for Bigfoot—only catch your quarry and all your troubles would be solved by an endless flood of reparations. There were reports, but they were all proven to be false, and gradually, the ad campaign was phased out, leaving the world sold not once, but twice, on the idea that a worm was the solution to all their problems.