Invasive by Chuck Wendig Read Free Book Online Page B

sudden knife-stick of guilt in her gut. That was a petty barb and she knows it.
    â€œHe’s not doing well enough for a call,” Mom says. Her words are rushed. Hannah knows she’s lying.
    â€œI’ll try tomorrow,” Hannah says.
    â€œIf you have time, dear.”
    Hannah sits back in her hotel room, chewing a fingernail and stewing. She bites the nail down to the quick and tastes blood. The panic hits her like a wave she wasn’t facing: Antibiotics are becoming useless. Superbugs are rampant. Even a small infection can end your life. You’re bleeding and it could become infected and just because you had to chew your stupid fingernail you could lose the finger or maybe the hand or maybe your life and then—and then!—what happens tothe world when antibiotics fail us all? Everything from heart operations to getting a tattoo will go from being rote explorations of the human body to perilous trips like the first pioneers crossing the badlands . . . Once antibiotics go, everything goes. Maybe that won’t be the first domino to fall. Maybe it’ll be the one where we lose all the honeybees, or maybe it’ll be when we lose all the ice caps, or, or, or—
    She’s sweating even in the conditioned air of her hotel room. Her chest tightens. Her arms feel loose, rubbery. Her eyes are watering. Her jaw is so tight she could crush a Brazil nut between her back teeth. I’m having a heart attack.
    No. She’s having a panic attack.
    She lies back. Tries to breathe. In through her nose, out through her mouth. Her fingernails are digging into her palms and it takes truly heroic effort to relax her hands enough that her fingers straighten. She repeats her mantra in her head:
    The future is a door.
    The future is a door.
    The future is a door.
    She pictures the door: A black rectangle at the end of a white hallway. A silver doorknob. Bright light shining in around the edges.
    The door is unknowable. It is perfect in its uncertainty. It isn’t an answer. It remains a question. The world’s destiny is not set. Her life is not ending.
    The future is a door.
    Hannah looks up. Night has settled over Tucson.
    She clears her mind and looks out her window for a while. In another hotel room, a woman unpacks a suitcase with meticulous attention. Lifting up shirts and skirts and dresses, placing them on hangers, picking off bits of lint with pinching fingers. It’s calming to watch someone else go about her life. Focusing so much on little things.
    The suitcase looks fancy. Not black like other suitcases, but patterned. Probably monogrammed. Maybe even custom-made—
    Something nibbles at the back of her mind like a dog biting at an itch.
    Custom suitcase. Container. Ez said the container was like the ones they use, but not the ones they use. She said it could be custom.
    She texts Ez:

    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Hannah: You said the container could be custom?
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Ez: weirdest way to ask for a booty call ever, H
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Hannah: Do you think Arca has proprietary cases?
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Ez: would make sense yah
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Hannah: How do I get Einar Geirsson’s email address?
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Ez: hes my boyfriend so hold on let me just grab it from my contacts list
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Ez: [email protected]
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Hannah: Ha ha.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Ez: i met him on tinder LOL #blessed
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Hannah: So what you’re saying is, I have no way of getting his personal address.
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Ez: gaaahd hannah jeez let me Google that for you
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â  Ez: btw my autocorrect