Parasite (Parasitology) (37 page)

I didn’t say any of that. I just nodded minutely, and waited for him to keep going.

“SymboGen never reported the people in our yard to the authorities. I made inquiries—discreetly—and no similar incidents have been formally reported. We know about it only because we’ve been monitoring patient intake at SymboGen, and because a few groups have been picked up wandering in areas that allowed the police to back-trace to the invaded homes. We suspect that SymboGen is illegally detaining the afflicted, although we have no proof yet.”

My head was starting to spin. I frowned at him. “And Lafayette?”

“We think it was another home invasion scenario. This one involving multiple houses in the hills, and spilling down onto the freeway once the sleepwalkers could find no one else who appealed to them. What’s most interesting is that several of the cars in the traffic jam were accosted by sleepwalkers, and some of the drivers joined the gang.”

“How is that
interesting
?” I demanded, staring at him. “That’s
horrible
.”

“Yes, it is, but Sal, even more cars
weren’t
accosted by sleepwalkers.” Dad shook his head. “They’re choosing who they go after. They’re choosing very carefully. What we don’t know is what they’re basing those decisions on. The sleepwalkers don’t seem to do anything consciously.”

I was terribly afraid that I knew what the sleepwalkers were
basing their decisions on: they were going for the people whose implants had infiltrated the largest possible percentage of their brains and nervous systems, making it easy for them to encourage the implant into taking the final steps toward autonomy. How they were managing that encouragement was something I didn’t know yet.

“They went after our car,” I said quietly.

“I know,” said my father. “The fact that you and Nathan are both okay is a bigger relief to me than I can properly express.”

Were we really?

On the other hand, I felt totally normal, and Nathan didn’t have an implant for the sleepwalkers to activate. Maybe they’d come for us because they could sense Tansy, and thought that she was inside the car. It was as good an explanation as any, and one that might allow me to sleep again. I allowed my shoulders to unlock a little.

Dad was watching me carefully. “Sal, the last time we really talked, before the sleepwalkers came here to the house, you said something.”

“Did I?” I asked, blinking at him.

“Yes. You said SymboGen had a test for infection. Were you telling the truth about that? Do they really have a way of knowing whether someone is about to get sick?”

Any sting that he thought I might be lying to him was dulled by the realization that even after all this, he still didn’t know. “Yes,” I said. “They have a test. They used it on me, after I was exposed, and then Nathan tested some confirmed patients after I described what happened. It’s real.”

“And they aren’t sharing.” Dad shook his head. “Some people need to learn that the public health matters more than their profit margins.”

“Can you
make
them share?”

“No.” Sudden hope lit his eyes. “But you can tell me what they did. I need you to tell me
everything
, Sal. You may be able
to save a lot of lives. A reliable test is the first step toward developing a treatment.”

I wasn’t sure I followed his logic—knowing that something is wrong and knowing how to fix it are two very different things—but I was willing to go along with it, for the moment, because it was going to get me something that I needed.

“Take me to work with you, and I’ll show you,” I said.

Dad blinked. Then he frowned. “I don’t think you understand the importance of my request.”

“I don’t think you understand the importance of mine.” I had Dr. Cale’s side of the story. I’d been getting SymboGen’s side of the story since the day I woke up from my coma. Now it was time to get a neutral perspective. Maybe that would tell me what I had to do next.

For a long moment, Dad just sat and looked at me. Finally, sighing, he stood. “All right,” he said. “Get your things. We’re leaving in five minutes.”

“Thank you,” I said, and clutched
Don’t Go Out Alone
a little tighter as I jumped to my feet and ran back to my room.

The drive to the San Francisco USAMRIID field office was quiet. Dad didn’t say anything, and so neither did I. He turned on the radio once, scanning quickly through the bands of pop music, classic rock, and overcaffeinated morning DJs making prank calls and telling sexist jokes. Then he turned the radio off again, letting silence reclaim ownership of the car.

We were halfway there when it got to be too much for me. “Where’s Joyce?” I asked, desperate for conversation. After five days of isolation, I was ready for social contact, no matter how strained.

Dad grimaced. “She’s at the lab,” he said.

I paused. “Did she come home last night?” I didn’t remember hearing her, but that didn’t mean anything. I’d been so
wrapped up with feeling sorry for myself and hating my parents that I wouldn’t have heard a bomb go off in the kitchen.

“No.” He sounded almost grudging. “She felt that our treatment of you was extreme, no matter how good our reasons were for making the decisions that we did. She also understood that there wasn’t a better way, and so, rather than continuing to argue, she stayed at the office to make her feelings clear. We have a break room with a few cots in it, for times when exhaustion makes it unsafe to drive. After an eighteen-hour shift working in Biohazard Safety Level 4, you’re not getting behind the wheel. Not while I have anything to say about it.”

“She’s sleeping in the Ebola Room?”

Dad actually chuckled at that. “No, the break room isn’t
in
Level 4, just adjacent to it. We haven’t had a leak since ’02. She’s perfectly safe, and I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you, especially when you demonstrate the SymboGen test for infection.”

I squirmed a little in my seat. “About that…”

“Sal.” Dad shot me a warning glance. “Please don’t tell me you lied to me just to get out of the house.”

“What? Jeez, Dad, no! But I don’t know how much the test really
means
. Nathan and I both checked out clean, and someone we knew for sure was sick checked out infected, but I have no idea whether it can show you the early stages. Maybe it’s something that just works on people who have already started sleepwalking.”

“You said that SymboGen checked you after you were exposed, yes? Well, that means it’s at least somewhat useful as a form of early detection—and I’ll be honest, Sal. We’re to the point of grasping at straws, here. Whatever you can give us, we’ll take it.”

“I could have given this to you days ago.” It was a cheap dig, but it felt worth taking.

“You could. But then SymboGen might have realized that
we were onto them. I couldn’t take that chance.” Dad glanced my way again, this time without the warning. “The last thing I want to do is put you, or anyone else, in danger. Please believe that.”

“I do.” I settled back in my seat, resisting the urge to hug
Don’t Go Out Alone
to my chest again. “I really do.”

We finished the drive in silence.

The San Francisco branch of USAMRIID—the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases—was constructed in what used to be the Treasure Island military base, before changes in personnel and deployment caused the base’s original purpose to become outmoded. It sat empty for several years, before the property was repurposed to allow the military to keep an eye on the growing California biotech and medical research fields.

I knew the history of the facility because I lived with my father and Joyce, both of whom were more than happy to talk about where they worked, if not what they did every day. I knew the word “outmoded” because of Sherman, who had chosen it as our word of the day over a year before.

My cautiously optimistic mood deflated, leaving me feeling hollow, without even the comforting sound of drums to buoy me up. No matter what we did, no matter what I learned or what I was able to share with my father’s lab, Sherman was still going to be dead. He was never going to teach me another vocabulary word, or threaten to seduce my boyfriend away from me. Sherman was gone.

In that moment, I hated SymboGen, I hated
D. symbogenesis
, and most of all, I hated Dr. Shanti Cale, for making it possible for the rest of it to happen in the first place. I hated them for ruining everything, and for hurting so many of the people I cared about. They were the ones who opened the broken doors, not us. But we were the ones who were paying for their actions.

My father pulled up at the gate, where sturdy-looking guard stations loomed on either side of the car. A young man in army green was seated in the driver’s side booth, a clipboard in his hands. My father rolled down his window. The young man rose, and saluted.

“Colonel Mitchell,” he said.

“At ease, soldier.” My father indicated me. “This is my daughter, Sally Mitchell. She’s on the approved visitor’s list. I need a pass for her.”

“Yes, sir.” The young man gestured to the uniformed woman in the other guard booth. The window rolled down as she approached my door. I hate it when drivers do that. It just reminds me of how little control I have.

“Ma’am,” she said.

“Hello,” I said.

“Please look at the blue dot.” The woman indicated a blue dot at the center of a smooth black metal box mounted on the guard station wall. I looked at it, bemused. The woman typed something on a keyboard. “Her pass will be waiting when you get inside.”

“Thank you,” said my father, and drove onward to the barrier, which rose as we approached it.

I sat back in my seat, blinking. “What just happened?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Dad—”

“We’re here.”

The San Francisco USAMRIID installation consisted of four main buildings, connected by stone walkways, and the boxy shape of the Level 4 lab, which was isolated from the rest of the facility by more than twenty yards. Collapsible tunnels connected it to the administration building. They could be sterilized and removed in less than ninety seconds, leaving the L4 lab completely cut off. The doors would lock automatically at the same time. Anyone left inside would find themselves
depending on the vending machines and their own ability not to die from unspeakable pathogens until someone came up with an extraction plan.

Naturally, that was where my sister worked, and naturally, that was our destination. Dad parked the car just outside the lab’s main entrance, in the spot marked
DIRECTOR
. Similar spaces were reserved outside all the lab buildings, since there was no telling where he’d need to be at any given time.

“Now, remember,” he cautioned, as we got out of the car. “Don’t touch anything unless I tell you it’s safe, and don’t—”

“If you tell me not to lick anything, I’m going to throw something at you,” I cautioned. Not
Don’t Go Out Alone
—I couldn’t justify leaving it at home, but I wasn’t taking it inside, either. The book was in my shoulder bag, which was safely tucked under my seat, along with my notebook. Hopefully, no one was going to notice it there. It felt a little odd to be worrying about an old picture book and a bunch of half-coherent dreams. Then again, everything felt a little odd these days.

Dad looked abashed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that you haven’t been trained the way Joyce has, and I worry about you.”

I smiled wanly. “It’s okay. Let’s just go inside, and I’ll show you what I can.”

He nodded. “All right. But Sal… we’re going into a live research project. The L4 building is almost entirely dedicated to the sleepwalkers right now. You must follow my instructions at all times. Do you understand?”

“I do,” I said. “Let’s go.”

Dad nodded one more time before turning and leading me out of the parking lot, toward the unmarked but somehow menacing door of the Level 4 lab. I took a deep breath and followed him, with the oddly comforting sound of drums hammering in my ears. Whatever was behind that door, it would be something I didn’t know yet, and every piece of this puzzle counted.

Guards flanked the door. They saluted my father as he approached. He returned the salute almost absentmindedly, and turned to shield the keypad with his body as he entered his security code. The lock disengaged, and he pulled the door open, beckoning me inside.

“Be careful now,” I murmured, and stepped through.