Kriegspiel [Sequel to The Turing Test]

19. Only Human

One chance to love.

Davis's words haunt me the whole way back into the city. With a beanie I swiped from Ayo's clothes stash on the way out pulled low over my temples, I sink into a bus seat and lean my head against the window.

One chance.

Sven has seen the code. Does he know he's the only one? Does he know he doesn't even have to try to win me back, because it's already written into my circuits?

"Next stop, Huntington," the automated announcement system drones as we pull away from a curb. As it fades away, the radio kicks in, stuck on a news show.

"Yet another influenza death has been reported this evening, bringing the total up to ten in half as many days. Officials are advising residents to stay home and avoid travel, particularly public transportation, if they begin to show symptoms such as fever, chills, sweating, or nausea. While it's unclear what strain of virus is causing the symptoms, it appears to be piggybacking off of this year's flu season. Hospitals are struggling to keep up with the volume of incoming patients, resulting in overcrowded emergency rooms and long waits."

The bus jerks to a halt at the next stop, and a few passengers climb aboard. One coughs into her trembling hand as she passes my seat, and I wrap my fingers tightly around the vial in my jacket pocket. It won't do any good here, I tell myself, ignoring the fact that it might save that woman's life. But if a busload of people have been exposed, the cure needs to be distributed on a larger scale. Much larger.

The bus crawls out of the city, and I listen to every shift and sniffle and clearing of a throat, wondering who is sick and who will survive. On the streets outside, nothing seems different. Panic hasn't set in yet. If I succeed, it never will.

When I step off the bus, it's close to nine o'clock. I remember a time when being out on this street so late would have had me running for my life. Now, my feet drag as I imagine what he'll say when I open the door.

I pause on the front porch. One chance.

The only person I'll ever be able to love is inside.

The door creaks as I push it open. Sven must be feeling rough these days if he didn't even lock the door behind him. Then I stop, a tiny shock jolting my heart as I consider another possibility.

Maybe he wanted to make sure I could come back.

I can't process the implications right now. Closing the door softly behind me, I tiptoe forward.

"Hello?" His name teeters on the tip of my tongue, unable or unwilling to leave my lips. As if he's a monster, and speaking of him, even in the tiniest whisper, will summon him out of the darkness.

"Hello?" I venture again, louder this time. I fumble in the pitch black for a light switch, surprised at how quickly I've forgotten the layout of the house we used to share. "Anyone home?"

No answer. I should have checked a hospital first. Surely the CEO of the city's resident tech giant would get priority care.

Even as I think it, I know it's insane. There are too many hospitals to count, and searching all of them for information they wouldn't even willingly give out is an impossible task.

My knuckle finally hooks under the light switch, and I flick it on. Everything looks exactly as I left it when Ayo knocked me out. Too similar, as if nothing has been touched.

Then I notice a shard of pottery on the kitchen floor. The patterned ceramic belongs to a dish set that Davis gave us as an engagement gift last year; I rush through the entryway, letting out a squeak when I round the corner.