Free Asimov's Science Fiction: October/November 2013 by Penny Publications

I can go back to school?"
    "If you agree to wear your gear, not just on the quarantine bus, but during classes, too."
    Perfect! I could finally escape the house, and the coversuit would hide my skin. Plus, I could smear foundation on my face, so that I'd look normal behind the helmet's faceplate. After school, I could ditch the bus, cross the park to see if Dad was back, and tell Becca about all the changes I was going through. "Yes," I said. "Sure, that would be great."
    "Really?"
    "Really." I tried to hold still, but felt hot all of a sudden, and sweat streamed down my neck. To wipe the sweat off, I pulled my hands from under my thighs, then changed my mind and kept them under the table so that I could relieve the itching. I peeled the right thumbnail off and felt new tendrils squirming in its place. I started to giggle, then brayed hysterically.
    Mom pushed back her chair and stood up. "What's going on?"
    I began breathing fast, through my mouth, and the prickling sped up, surging along my body like a million sparks. She crossed the dining room in three quick strides.
    "Show me your hands."
    I squirmed and laid them flat on the table, palms down. Purple coils snaked between the black webs I had drawn, and fresh pink tendrils twined around the thumb tips. She tore the tunic's plastic sleeve off my right arm, exposing the tangle of lines. Some of them pulsed.
    I expected her to scream, or jump back from me, so I wouldn't contaminate her. Instead, she took the big-brimmed hat off my head, leaned over the chair back, and wrapped her arms around me, her head against my cheek. "How long, honey?"
    I let out a sob. "Last week," I wheezed, "after I went through the vac."
    She nodded, still holding me.
    "I'm scared, Mom. What can I do?"
    She knelt beside me and held my hands lightly. A few smears of my foundation streaked her left cheek. "Breathe slowly. Count to five as you inhale, and then again as you exhale."
    I closed my eyes. After each breath, the prickling sensation faded.
    "Good," she said. "Keep it up while I check the vidscreen." Her overalls rustled as she pulled out the system pod. The familiar click of the vidscreen turning on comforted me almost as much as the breathing.
    "Here's something we can try," she said. "The Eco-Friends newsgroup claims that an herb tea diminished 'the line effect' on victims in the New Sierra coast."
    I flicked my eyes open and watched her scroll down through the screen. "Star anise, fennel... we have everything except Codonopsis root," she murmured, clicking the system pod to copy the list.
    She helped me up from the chair and led me into the living room. "Just relax. Lie on the couch and rest, while I go out to find what we need. I'll bet the co-op's open."
    I curled on the couch. She drew a blanket over me, then went into the pantry to double check the herbs. Pretending to sleep, I listened as she tiptoed from the kitchen into the entryway. When I heard her approach the airlock, I slid off the couch and crept to the edge of the living room. I knelt and peered around the corner right when she punched the new code into the keypad. The light turned green, and she crossed into the vestibule to put on her gear.
    My skin prickled everywhere—not from the tendrils, this time, but from excitement. All I had to do was burn those numbers into my brain, and then I'd be free.
    No—better to write them down. My coversuit and daypack hung on a hook next to the airlock door. I crawled over and risked standing for a second to grab the pack. Through the porthole, I saw Mom strip off her clothes, her back to me. Maroon tendrils dotted her shoulder blades.
    It was my fault. I must have infected her, maybe with the window breach, maybe before.
    I started sobbing again, then held my breath, afraid that Mom might hear me.
    Leaving the pack on its hook, I crouched in the entryway even after I heard the van pull out of the driveway.
    I hadn't written down the code, but the numbers rang through my head: