Feedback (48 page)

Sometimes the right thing to do is to walk away.

—A
ISLINN
N
ORTH

I never said I wasn't a coward.

—B
ENJAMIN
R
OSS

Next time someone tells you the American political process is fair, point them to the short career and brutal death of Susan Kilburn. I'm sure they'll find it very educational.

—F
ROM
I
T
W
ASN'T THE
W
IND
,
THE BLOG OF
F
RANKLIN
G
ELLER
, N
OVEMBER
7, 2040

We know who you are. We'll catch you one day. Watch your ass.

—
ANONYMOUS COMMENT ON
I
T
W
ASN'T THE
W
IND
,
N
OVEMBER
8, 2040

E
veryone saw the footage.

It didn't make as much of a splash as Georgia Mason's last blog post—it's sort of hard to top a reporter reporting their own death by government conspiracy—but everyone saw the footage, because it was the sort of thing you couldn't
not
see. We were living in an abandoned vacation home in the woods of North Vancouver when it happened, running the lights and heat off an old generator that broke down as often as not, stealing wireless from the sky, and we still saw it. It was one of those moments that made the world stop, if only for a few seconds.

The election results had come in, and Peter Ryman was the new President-elect of the United States, with Richard Cousins—that sweet man who had stopped to talk while we were all in Wagman's employee lounge—standing as his Vice President. He'd been giving speeches and shaking hands when someone realized that the defeated Democratic candidate was nowhere to be seen. Susan Kilburn had simply slipped away in all the chaos, ducking her handlers and her disappointed campaign staff.

She reappeared on the roof of her hotel some fifteen minutes later, wearing a bathrobe, with her hair tied neatly back from her face. “Hello,” she said, and the microphone she had clipped to her collar picked up her voice and bounced it back to the world. People began to turn. Parties began to stop. In our ever-monitored world, she was captured on film as soon as she began to speak.

“Hello,” she said again, and followed it with, “My name is Susan Kilburn. I am of sound mind and body. I have congratulated my opponent, Peter Ryman, on defeating me. I hope he is a stronger person than I am. What I do now, I do for my family, and for the people I represent. The people who wished to control me will not be able to use them as leverage. Thank you, America, for the opportunity, however brief, to serve. To my poor bloggers… I'm so sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

And then, without turning off the microphone, she stepped off the edge.

Her body burst when she hit the courtyard, some fifteen stories below. That part of the building had been designed to hold private events, weddings and engagement parties; it was architecturally isolated from the rest of the hotel. She died on impact, her organs rupturing and her skeleton shattering. The virus that had slumbered so patiently in her bloodstream could find nothing to resurrect. Like everyone who dies violently, she had created a biohazard, but she neither reanimated nor endangered anyone else. Susan Kilburn was a patriot to the end.

We were not.

People all over the Internet were asking why. Why did she do it, why would she kill herself when she had a cabinet position waiting for her, when she had the world at her feet, and could run again in four years. Me, I looked at the shadows in Governor Kilburn's eyes, the absolute emptiness that lurked there, hiding in the body of a broken woman, and I said nothing. I already knew everything I needed to know. Oh, there were questions. What did they have over Governor Kilburn at this stage, what had they threatened, what could they
do
? But those answers were for someone else to chase down. Someone who was safe; someone who was staying. We were neither.

That night, I rousted Ben and Audrey, got them into the ATV, and started driving farther east. We had a long way to go before we'd reach the Irish embassy in Toronto, and most of the journey would be along the Trans-Canada Highway, long swaths of which were no longer maintained. But we'd make it. We'd get to the embassy, get tickets on the next transatlantic flight, and make for Dublin. I knew people who would take us in, help us get our feet back under ourselves. And Ireland, as I'd reminded myself so many times before, was a non-extradition country. Maybe the WHO would come after us. Maybe the EIS would try to follow. It didn't matter. Whatever happened, we'd find a way to deal with it, and when we had our balance back, we'd disappear again. Australia was supposed to be lovely. Ben and Audrey were Americans, but there were ways around that. There were always ways around that.

Audrey was asleep with her head resting on the window; Ben was in back, lit by the soft glow of his computer screen. My family. Both of them, forever. And I was going to protect them, if it killed me. That's my job. I'm an Irwin, after all.

Our part in this tale was done, and we were getting the hell out. Leave the lies to the living and the truth to the dead. Nothing ever stays buried for long.

Parasitology

Parasite

Symbiont

Chimera

Newsflesh

Feed

Deadline

Blackout

Feedback

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Rosemary and Rue

A Local Habitation

An Artificial Night

Late Eclipses

One Salt Sea

Ashes of Honor

Chimes at Midnight

The Winter Long

A Red-Rose Chain

Once Broken Faith

Discount Armageddon

Midnight Blue-Light Special

Half-Off Ragnarok

Pocket Apocalypse

Chaos Choreography

Sparrow Hill Road

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 by Seanan McGuire

Cover design by Lauren Panepinto

Cover art by Rob Sheridan

Cover images by Shutterstock

Cover copyright © 2016 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Grant, Mira, author.

Title: Feedback / Mira Grant.

Description: First edition. | New York : Orbit, 2016. | Series: Newsflesh ; 4

Identifiers: LCCN 2016013017| ISBN 9780316379342 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781478912781 (audio book downloadable) | ISBN 9780316379328 (ebook)

Subjects: LCSH: Reporters and reporting—Fiction. | Virus diseases—Fiction. | Journalists—Fiction. | Zombies—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Science Fiction / Adventure. | FICTION / Horror. | GSAFD: Science fiction. | Horror fiction.

Classification: LCC PS3607.R36395 F45 2016 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016013017

ISBNs: 978-0-316-37934-2 (hardcover), 978-0-316-37932-8 (ebook)

E3-20160623-JV-PC