Page 3

He drops his gaze, his body sagging slightly as if he finally let a weight settle on top of him without resistance. He’s silent for a few beats, his gaze on the floor. “Do you remember that night?” he asks softly.

I pretend not to hear him. Ican’thear him. That past doesn’t exist anymore. There’s only the future. Only the plague. “If I can work on finding a vaccine, then that’s what I’m going to do. If you want to hide out in the woods at Camp Karen, then do so. Just give me the keys to your lab in case I can salvage anything for mine.”

He meets my gaze again. I look away. I don’t want to see his sadness. I don’t have room for it. He sighs and stands, the crease between his brows even deeper than before. “I have regrets. Plenty of them. But that night …” He shakes his shaggy head.

“Don’t.”

“You were too young. You thought I was something I’m not. If I’d made a move—” His eyes meet mine, and in them there is a burning, vivid surge of emotion. “If I’d done it, you would’ve hated me eventually.”

The apology in his words almost stings. “You don’t know?—”

“I do.” He smiles sadly, the movement hidden from me but somehow felt. “I’m the one who’s running away to Camp Karen, after all. That’s who I am, Georgia.” He slides his lab key onto the only clean edge of desk. “I’m not brave. I’m not determined. I would’ve disappointed you the same way I’m disappointing you now.” Maneuvering to my door, he steps out, finality in every movement. “It just would’ve happened sooner.”

Words crawl up my throat and lodge against each other. There’re things I want to say, but nothing comes out. Nothing forms. There’s … nothing.

“Goodbye, Georgia.” He looks up as the generator kicks on, the building groaning and coughing itself awake. “Be careful with that space heater. It’s a fire hazard.” He closes the door.

2

“It’s not supposed to be this cold in Texas.” I slump in front of the fireplace outside my sister’s office.

“Global warming.” Candice rolls her eyes. “They say the earth is getting hot. Idiots. It might even snow tomorrow night! How’s that for hot?”

“Candice …” I let my lecture fade. There’s no point. Not with Candice. She’s been my sister’s secretary for almost fifteen years. Sweet as can be, but somehow tougher than leather and just as stubborn. Science is not—and never has been—her thing.

She looks at me over her glasses, her iron gray hair not moving a centimeter from its severe updo. “Something to say,professor?”

I hold my hands to the flames, relishing the easy warmth. “Nope.” Candice started calling me professor when I graduated from high school at thirteen. Now she likes to take credit for my career path.

“Good.” She pulls a blue tin from one of her drawers and sets it on the edge of her desk. “Since you’ve decided not to lecture me with your big fancy words, you can have one of the cookies the president sent.”

“The president sent cookies? Why?” I’m suspicious but also starved. I open the tin and pillage three chocolate sprinkle cookies while eyeing a fourth. I groan when I take a bite. “This is like, real cocoa, isn’t it?”

She nods. “Only the best from Washington.” Her disdain isn’t hidden as she pops the top back on and stashes the tin. “That old coot thinks he can sweet talk your sister out of taking his job.”

I stop mid-chew. “She’s really going to run? I thought that was just in the ‘maybe’ phase.”

She gives me a sharp look. “It’s in the serious phase if the cookies with real cocoa tell you anything.”

I sit back down, the antique chair protesting with a few squeaks. With just a little sugar and chocolate, my world has begun to spin too quickly on its axis. If Juno runs for president, what does that mean for my work here? She’s the only reason I have a roof over my head and food in my belly. Austin isn’t exactly handling the plague well. All the tech jobs that moved here have dried up, and basic services are becoming more and more spotty. The Texas energy grid was already a dumpster fire, but now we can sometimes suffer through days on end without power. But Washington—maybe that means more than a tiny office with intermittent electricity? Maybe I could actually have what I need to work on a vaccine?

“I hate when I see the gears turning in there.” Candice spins her finger in a circular motion. Somehow, despite the shortages and closed shops, her nails are still manicured a shiny power red.

“You should encourage the gears to turn.” I catch a few sweet, sprinkly crumbs before they can fall out of my hand, then pop them into my mouth.

She sighs. “When you get to thinking is when you get dangerous. Or worse, stupid.”

I gawk at her as I swallow more delicious cookie. “Stupid?”

“You’re a smart egghead, sure. But you’re dumb in so many other ways. I was just telling Juno that you need to get some new clothes. You live in the same t-shirt and jeans. I bet they smell.”

I cock my head at her. “I don’t smell! And it’s not like I can just pop over to the mall and go on a shopping spree, is it?”

She sits back, a slight smile on her lips. “Lord Almighty, I did love shopping. I used to go when Earl was sleeping in, then I’d come home with all sorts of stuff we didn’t need. Hiding it all in my trunk until I was sure he was still asleep or out and about, maybe in the garden.” She smiles more, but there’s a shine in her eyes. “I miss those days and that old man.”

Earl was one of the first in Austin to succumb to the plague. He was a long-haul truck driver, doing runs from Florida to California. Contact-tracing never conclusively showed where he came into contact with Sierravirus, but most signs point to a quick stop outside Los Angeles. He went into a rest station, bought a package of powdered donuts and an energy drink, then started his leg back home. By the time he hit Austin, he already had the shakes. The first sign of infection, though we didn’t know it at the time.

“I miss him, too.” I give her as much of a smile as I can muster. “He was the nice one out of the two of you.”