“I’m sure.”
“All right, then. ‘Shaun of the Dead, Part Two.’ ” He stopped. I said nothing. He must have taken that as a cue because he continued: “ ‘Shaun Phillip Mason, the world’s most well-known and well-regarded action blogger (known as an ‘Irwin’ to the informed, named in honor of a pre-Rising naturalist with a fondness for handling dangerous creatures), returned to the field today after almost a year of full-time desk duty. Does this mark the end of his much-debated ‘retirement,’ a career choice made during the emotionally charged weeks following the death of his adoptive sister, Georgia Mason, a factual news blogger? Or does it—’ ”
“That’s enough, Mahir,” I said quietly.
He stopped immediately. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I wouldn’t have called if I hadn’t expected them to be bad. At least this tells me what I’ll be dealing with when I get back to the office.” George was as pissed off by the world’s refusal to leave me the fuck alone as I was, and she was swearing steadily in the back of my head. It was more reassuring than distracting. The things that get under my skin don’t always get under hers, and I feel the closest to crazy when I’m disagreeing with the voice in my head.
“Are you all right?”
I paused before answering, trying to find the best words. If George had a best friend—a best friend who wasn’t me, anyway—it was Mahir. He was her second-in-command before she died and gave him a promotion that he’d never wanted. Sometimes, I thought he was the only person who fully understood how close we’d been, or how much her death had broken me. He was the only one who never questioned the fact that she still talked to me.
Frankly, I think he was jealous that she never spoke to him.
“Ignoring the part where you know the answer to that is ‘fuck, no,’ I’m fine, Mahir. Tired. I shouldn’t have gone out there.”
“If you hadn’t—”
“Becks had it under control. It’s her department now. I shouldn’t have interfered.”
“You know that isn’t true.”
“Do I?”
Mahir paused before saying, “I was actually pleased to see you out there. If you don’t mind my saying so, Shaun, you looked more like yourself than you have in quite some time. You might want to consider making this the beginning of a true… well, revival, if the word isn’t in poor taste. You could do with something beyond spending all your time in an office.”
“I’ll take that under consideration.”
No, you won’t.
“No, you won’t,” said Mahir, in eerie imitation of George.
“Now you’re ganging up on me,” I muttered.
“What?”
Sometimes Mahir was a little too sharp for my own good. “Nothing,” I said, more loudly. “I’m signing off now, Mahir. I need to concentrate on the drive.”
“Shaun, I really think you should—”
“Tell the management I won’t call back until it’s a decent hour in your part of the world. Say, five minutes before the alarm clock?”
“Shaun, really—”
“Later.” I hit the manual switch on the dashboard, cutting Mahir off midsentence. The silence that followed was almost reassuring enough to distract me from the fact that I was still apparently being filmed. I raised a hand and amiably flipped off the van.
Not nice, chided Georgia.
“George, please.”
She fell sullenly quiet. For a change, I didn’t mind. A sulking sister is better than a scolding sister, especially when I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that the world wants me back in the field on a regular basis. One dead Mason just isn’t enough for some people.
To distract myself, I hit the gas, sped up, and passed the van. It was a deviation from our standing driving formation, but not enough of one that it was likely to cause any real distress with the occupants of the van. With our viewing audience, maybe—especially the percentage that was hoping to see me fight off a horde of the infected through the rearview cam—but the staff would understand.