Parasite (Parasitology) (44 page)

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.

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.]

[She pauses, and smiles brightly into the camera.]

[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.]

T
he scrambler in
Don’t Go Out Alone
might have been good enough to block SymboGen’s bugs, but neither Nathan nor I wanted to test it against whatever listening devices USAMRIID had installed on their own property. We stayed silent until we were off Treasure Island and back inside the comforting Faraday cage of the Bay Bridge, whose metal infrastructure would prevent any signals from getting through, whether we wanted them to or not. Even if USAMRIID had planted bugs on my clothes or bag, we should be okay there.

Once we were safely surrounded by the steel frame of the bridge, Nathan glanced my way, lips thin with tension, and asked, “Are you all right? I mean, really all right?”

“Yes,” I said. “No. Maybe. I don’t know anymore.” I pulled
Don’t Go Out Alone
out of my bag and looked down at it, running my fingers over the letters of the title as I explained what
had happened, starting when he dropped me off at my house. Nathan didn’t say anything as I spoke, and I didn’t look up, both of us preferring to let this seem less like a real thing that had really happened and more like a story out of a book.

Only this story didn’t have a happy ending, at least not so far, and I wasn’t willing to bet there was one waiting up ahead of us.

I had just reached the point where I woke up in the dark when Nathan finally spoke up, asking, “Do you know what they injected you with?”

“No,” I said. “Some type of sedative. I passed out almost as soon as I felt the needle.”

Nathan punched the steering wheel. I jerked my head up and stared at him, eyes wide and heart hammering in my chest. The car hadn’t so much as swerved, but that didn’t matter.