Feed: The Newsflesh Trilogy - By Mira Grant Page 0,155

heading for the outskirts of town. Once, Sacramento was known for hosting the state fair, along with various rodeos, horse shows, and other large outdoor gatherings. After the Rising made those impractical, the city found itself missing a lot of vital revenue and it started looking for another way to make money. Several local taxes, a few private donations, and several major security contracts later, the fairgrounds reopened, given new life as the Sacramento Secure Assembly Center. Open-air, with standing structures and mobile home hookups for traveling convoys, a four-star hotel, a conference center and the country?s largest outdoor space certified as safe for public assembly. If you wanted to see a candidate speak outside, looking heroic and all-American against a blue summer sky, you did it in Sacramento. Presidencies were made there; no matter what your politics were or how clean a campaign you ran, it all came down to how the people reacted when they saw your silhouette against that sky.

According to the itinerary, Senator Ryman and Governor Tate were going to be spending the next seven days in Sacramento, giving speeches, meeting the press, and getting endorsements from California?s political leaders. Not just the Republicans. My notes indicated that several prominent Democrats and Independents would be coming to have their pictures taken with the man many were beginning to suspect would be our next president. Assuming the scandal when we outed Tate didn?t kill his career, of course.

?Jesus,? said Rick, whistling as the fence around the Center came into view. ?You people don?t do anything small, do you??

?Welcome to California,? I said, rolling up my sleeves. Shaun was doing the same. Rick glanced at us, wincing, and I smiled. ?Don?t worry. They?ll leave you a little bit.?

After four blood tests and a call to the CDC databases to confirm that my retinal KA was legitimately registered and not a recent affliction, we were permitted to move into the Center. From here, blood tests would be required if we wished to enter a standing structure or leave the grounds; we?d also be subject to random testing by the Center?s staff, which could happen as often as twice an hour or as rarely as once a week. Shaun made a game of pointing out the security cameras and motion detectors as we drove toward the spot assigned to the convoy.

?Start moving like a dead thing and they?ll be on you in less than a minute,? he said, with some satisfaction.

?Please tell me you?re not speaking from experience,? Rick said.

?I?m smarter than that.? Shaun tried to sound affronted. He failed.

?Someone else got there first,? I said. ?How long did he get in state prison??

?Two years, but it was for science,? said Shaun.

?Uh-huh,? I said. I might have gone on, but the car was turning, pulling down a narrow drive whose signpost identified it as ?Convoy Parking #11.? I sat up straighter, resettling my sunglasses. ?We?re here.?

?Thank God,? said Rick.

The Sacramento sun hadn?t gotten any cooler during our drive. I shed my jacket and grabbed my laptop bag, scanning the assembled vehicles and trailers until I spotted my objective. A slow smile spread across my face.

?Van sweet van,? murmured Shaun.

?Exactly.? I started walking, trusting the security detail to bring the rest of our things. Our vehicles and the majority of our equipment were already in place.

?In a hurry?? Rick asked, trotting to catch up with me. Shaun gave him a look. He ignored it.

?I want to see if the boys have made any progress,? I said, pressing my palm against the pressure pad on the van door. Needles bit into my hand. The door unloaded a few seconds later. Looking back over my shoulder, I asked, ?Steve, which trailer are we??

?The one on the far left with your name over the door. Mr. Cousins is in the trailer next to it,? Steve said. ?I assume you?re anxious to get to work??

?Yes, actually?crap.? I paused, dismayed. ?The keynote speech.?

?I?ve got it,? said Shaun. I must have looked stunned, because he shrugged. ?I can wear a monkey suit and take notes like a Newsie. They?ll never know the difference, and I bet the invite just says ?Mason.? Steve??

?Yes ? said Steve, looking perplexed.

?It?s settled. C?mon, Rick. Let?s let George get some work done.? My brother grabbed the startled Newsie by the arm and hauled him away. Steve smirked and followed, leaving me standing at the entrance to the van, wondering what had just happened. Then, not being one to look a bit of