Indexing by Seanan McGuire Page B

outside, it wasn’t obvious that the building that housed the ATI Management
Bureau belonged to the government. It was unmarked, and there were an unusually
high number of security cameras, but those were the only sign that most people
would have that anything was unusual about the place. Everything else about it
screamed generic office building, probably belonging to some start-up that
hadn’t bothered to invest in exterior signage yet. That was the way we liked
it.
    There
were no bears in the parking lot when we came roaring through the gate, and
there were no people standing outside on the sidewalk. That could be a good
sign—they hadn’t evacuated the building—or it could be a bad one—they hadn’t
had time to evacuate the building. I
parked our van at the curb closest to the entrance, ignoring the fact that it
technically wasn’t a parking space, and cautiously opened the door.
    “Coast
looks clear,” I said, swinging my legs out of the car. When nothing came
roaring out of the bushes to attack me, I got the rest of the way out, drawing
my gun in the same motion. Still there were no bears. “Okay, you two, we’re
moving for the building.”
    “Do
we have to?” asked Jeff.
    “ Now ,” I snarled.
    Demi
and Jeff got out of the van.
    We
made our way down the sidewalk to the front door, only to find it locked from
inside. The windows were shuttered. It hadn’t been obvious from the parking lot
with the midday sun glinting off the glass, but up close, it was clear that we
wouldn’t be getting any visual clues as to what was happening inside.
    “There’s
a back entrance,” murmured Jeff.
    “Does
it lock down when the alarm is pulled?” I asked.
    “It’s
supposed to, but the circuit doesn’t always connect,” he said. “I’ve been
asking Maintenance to fix it for months.”
    “Well
then, let’s hope they didn’t finally decide to start doing their jobs,” I said.
“Lead the way.”
    Jeff
took us in a counterclockwise circuit around the building, finally ducking
behind a scrubby-looking tree and into a narrow alcove. There was a clicking
sound, followed by the soft creak of hinges. “We’re in,” he said.
    “Demi,
get your flute up,” I said. “Let’s go.”
#
    Jeff’s
back entrance let us into a hall that didn’t seem to be used for much of
anything; it was spotlessly clean, but had that dead-aired quality that only
comes from isolation and abandonment. The lights were dim, and I took point as
we made our way toward the main building. The hall was straight, and the
bullpen and interview rooms were all in front of us. That was convenient. I’m
not sure I could have handled a labyrinth under these conditions.
    This
little unsealed door revealed a massive flaw in our security system—I was going
to have Maintenance’s ass for this. Once lockdown began, once a narrative was
loose and live in the building, the agency was supposed to become impregnable.
Well, we hadn’t worked all that hard, and we were inside.
    Worrying
about security was a matter for another time. Right now, we had bears to deal
with.
    We
were almost to the interior door when sounds began filtering through the thick,
blast-reinforced steel. Alarms: someone had triggered the internal lockdown
system, and it was making sure everyone knew about it. And
screams. They were softer than the amplified alarms, but they were
somewhat harder to ignore.
    Jeff
tapped me on the shoulder. I turned, and he offered me a pair of earmuffs.
    “Demi’s
almost certainly going to need to play,” he said. “There’s nothing we’ll need
to hear in there that we won’t be able to pick up through visual cues.”
    “I’m
not so sure about that,” I said, but took the earmuffs, making sure that they
were firmly in place before I looked back to my teammates, nodding once, and
hauling the door open.
    We
stepped through into chaos. Red light bathed everything, and screams came
intermittently from behind closed doors, loud enough to be