“Cloning,” she said.

That qualified as a truly excellent explanation.

“What?” I demanded, almost in unison with Becks’s “You can’t be serious!” and Dave’s “No f**king way.” Alaric stuck his head up from behind the couch, expression disbelieving.

“We’ve been using cloning technology in hospitals for fifteen years,” said Kelly, a certain bitter amusement in her voice. “What makes you think this is so unreasonable?”

“Full-body cloning is illegal, immoral, and impossible,” said Becks, slowly. “Try again, princess.”

“If we can clone a kidney, why can’t we clone a Kelly?” asked Kelly.

Becks didn’t seem to have an answer for that.

“Actually…” Alaric stood up, eyes still fixed on Kelly. He wasn’t coming back to the center of the room, but he was abandoning at least a small measure of cover. That was a good sign. “Full-body cloning isn’t impossible. It’s just illegal for anyone outside the three major medical research entities. They use clones to study the progression of Kellis-Amberlee. The World Heath Organization, USAMRIID—”

“—and the CDC,” I finished. Everyone turned to look at me, Dave and Alaric included. I shrugged. “I can count. So we can clone people?”

“Yes,” said Alaric.

“And the CDC gets cloning privileges?”

“Yes,” said Kelly.

“And they decided to clone you because…?”

“I think at this point, it’s going to be easier for me to explain if I can do it without people holding guns on me.” Kelly glanced at Becks, licking her lips in agitation. “I’m not used to it.”

“You’re going to need to get used to it if you’re planning to hang out around here.” I crossed to the rack of medical supplies next to the weapons locker. Grabbing a high-end testing unit—not the best the market has to offer, but good enough that we could have faith in the results—I tossed it overhand at Kelly. She fumbled the cach, nearly dropping the unit before she got a good grip.

“Loss of manual dexterity is an early sign of amplification,” said Becks.

“Loss of manual dexterity is also a sign of a lab rat surrounded by people who seem likely to shoot her in the face,” I said. “You’d better go ahead and get some results for us, Doc, before one of my people decides they’re done being civilized.”

“You sure do know how to treat a guest,” said Kelly. She popped the test open, shoving her hand inside.

“We try,” I said.

Becks was right about the loss of manual dexterity: It’s related to the virus basically hip-checking the brain out of the way and taking over. Once Kellis-Amberlee amplification begins, victims lose motor control at a fairly impressive pace. Viruses—even genetically engineered viruses designed to better the human condition—aren’t all that smart, and they don’t have to pass driver’s ed before they get a shot at driving us. So zombies don’t know how to use their fingers very well, and most of them are a little clumsy even when we’re talking about things like “walking” and “not getting shot in the head.”

About the only thing a zombie can do with any reliable accuracy is bite, spit, and scratch. The easiest routes to infection.

The lights on Kelly’s test unit were just beginning to flash when my phone beeped again. I clicked it on, not bothering to check the caller ID. “Hey, Mahir.”

“Is she still there?”

“Yeah, she’s still here.” I watched the lights flash between red and green, resisting the urge to look away.

“Is the situation contained?”

Red, green, pause. Red, green, pause. “I’m not sure. Dave and Becks have guns trained on her head right now.”

“What, only the pair?”

“Alaric’s busy hiding behind the couch—”

“Hey!”

“—and I figured I’d try being the reasonable one for a change.”

“Really? How’s that going, then?”

Not well, muttered George.

“Not bad,” I said, wishing I had a way to glare at the inside of my own head. The lights were slowing down, lingering on green for longer and longer periods of time. “We’re just about done with the blood tests over here. Do you want to video conference in or something? Because it’s time to play twenty questions with Doc, and you might have some good ones.”

“I can’t.” There was genuine regret in his tone. This was news, happening right in our company headquarters, and as the head of the Newsies, Mahir had a serious jones for information. That was part of what made him so good at his job. “This is a secure conction, but if I go for a video link, it’ll attract attention, and I’ll have to answer questions.”

“I take it from your tone that this would be a bad idea right about now?”

The lights on Kelly’s unit settled on a firm, unblinking green. She held it up, smiling a little, like she’d known the answer all along. Dave lowered his guns, sliding them back into their holsters. Becks lowered one of hers, hesitated, and lowered the other. I gave her an approving nod. The Masons may not have taught me much about how to treat a guest, but they taught me not to shoot at them unless it was absolutely necessary.

Mahir sighed. “Yes. A very bad idea.”

“I told you not to marry her, Mahir.”