Back Deadline
Chapters (51)
  1. Book 2 of The Newsflesh Trilogy
  2. MIRA GRANT
  3. BOOK I
  4. Point of Infection
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. BOOK II
  11. Vectors and Victims
  12. Six
  13. Seven
  14. Eight
  15. Nine
  16. Ten
  17. BOOK III
  18. The Mourning Edition
  19. Eleven
  20. Twelve
  21. Thirteen
  22. Fourteen
  23. Fifteen
  24. Sixteen
  25. Seventeen
  26. BOOK IV
  27. Immunological Memory
  28. Nineteen
  29. Twenty
  30. Twenty-one
  31. Twenty-two
  32. BOOK V
  33. The Rising
  34. Twenty-three
  35. Twenty-four
  36. Twenty-five
  37. Twenty-six
  38. Coda: Living for You
  39. Twenty-seven
  40. Acknowledgments
  41. extras
  42. meet the author
  43. introducing
  44. BOOK I
  45. From the Dead
  46. One
  47. Contents
  48. BY MIRA GRANT
  49. Praise for Feed
  50. Copyright

“We’ll shoot you ourselves,” said Becks, causing Alaric to shoot her a distressed look. She ignored it. You learn to shrug that sort of thing off after you’ve been in the field for a while. That, or you stop trying to talk to people who aren’t Irwins.

“Thanks.” I opened the garage door, shoving a bulldog aside with my foot before it could sneak by me, and slipped through.

The garage lights were motion-activated white fluorescents. They clicked on as soon as the door to the kitchen swung shut, filling the enclosed space with an even, sterile glow. I scanned the area, automatically assessing the load-bearing capacity of the shelves lining the walls and the security of the pipes connecting to the water heater and emergency backup generator. Maggie used the garage primarily for storage, cramming most of the shelves with boxes and using the ones nearest the door as an extension of the pantry. One entire floor-to-ceiling shelving unit was dedicated to bags of dried dog food. At least the bulldogs wouldn’t be going crazy with hunger anytime soon.

Our van was sitting at the center of the room. It had been washed before it was put away, and its paint almost gleamed in the antiseptic light. I took a step toward it.

“Hello, Mr. Mason,” said the voice of the house. It managed to sound chiding, which was a nice trick, since it didn’t have normal human intonations. I stopped where I was, looking vainly for the speaker. “I am afraid the house is presently in a sealed state. You will be unable to exit, and should return to the interior.”

“That’s cool. I’m not trying to get out.” I forced myself to relax, one inch at a time. “I just need to get something from the van.”

“Attempts to break the isolation seals will be met with necessary force.”

“Necessary force” was a polite way of saying that the house security system would shoot me where I stood if I looked like I was trying to get the doors open. “Noted,” I said. “I’m not trying to get out, I swear. The van is right there, and I won’t even be turning on the engine. Promise.”