The Blood of Ivy

by Jessica King

  Marcus Lee was the closest guess. They had been friends for a few years. Not best friends, but they chose each other as partners in class, and Marcus was a good laugh. It was nearly time for school to let out when he pulled Cameron aside and lowered his voice. “Did you join the Bloods or something?”

  “Or something,” Cameron said.

  “Had a cousin in the Bloods,” Marcus said. The use of the past tense and the sad flicker in his eyes gave Cameron pause.

  Monday, April 3, 2017, 5:16 p.m.

  Cameron didn’t know what “marking territory” for his new brothers in the Underworld entailed. But at least, in part, it meant tagging. He’d been taught the underworld tag, a traditional symbol for Hades consisting of a long line with a tick across it, topped with a crescent moon on its side, which reminded Cameron of a wine glass.

  Within the crescent moon was a single dot. It the easiest part of the design, considering his limited experience using spray paint. It dripped down even the most absorbent of materials, and his first few were sloppy until he learned to move the can fast, with swift, sharp movements.

  New apartments had gone up in what seemed like hours, and Cameron marked the dumpsters next to the apartments. Their territory. Underworld territory. He felt a sense of pride in it that he knew he shouldn’t have. Maybe the guilt of graffiti would go away. “Not a big deal, just some paint,” Robbie had said when he’d tossed Cameron the cans of paint before leaving.

  He heard a yell from the nearby gas station. It was new, but it looked old, the posters already covering the windows and bars cutting lines through the posters. “Not again,” he murmured under his breath. He still wasn’t healed up from being beaten by the other members two days ago.

  Angels had flooded the area of the new development that was still covered in dirt and construction equipment. Broadway had been pushed up against the oblong tires of a crane, a man twice his size had an armbar across his neck. Cameron felt the weight of his father’s concoction in his pocket. DB1307, and its “takedown agent.”

  He swallowed. Did it mean death? Surely if it was able to kill someone at all, the bottle would have to say lethal?

  The Underworlders were outnumbered. Cameron still had a bandana around his mouth and nose from the spray painting, as did most of the other Underworlders. He didn’t know if a bandana would maybe just burn away when exposed to the contents of the canister, or if it would provide fine cover. He heard a yell. Antony and Pogo were fighting a group of five, and Joaquin was getting socked in the face. But what made him feel as though time were stopped was the gun to Robbie’s head and an Angel’s finger on the trigger.

  He’d paused too long; an Angel had spotted him and was running toward him. Cameron sprinted away, over the unsteady ground of the construction site to Robbie. The Angel was yelling something at him, but he didn’t wait to hear what it was. He hit the man’s temple with the end of the spray paint’s metal can and sprayed DB1307 in his face. He coughed against it, and Cameron pulled Robbie away, telling him not to breathe. It was clearly an effort since he could tell all Robbie wanted was to suck down air. He was bleeding from his eye and lip.

  He mumbled something through his already-swollen lips, raising a hand. Cameron turned. The guy who had tried to attack him had followed, a short blade sticking out from his hand. Cameron pressed the trigger of the can as the Angel started yelling a slew of curses between demanding to know what Cameron had attacked him with. It was clear, barely visible. But effective. The man fell to his knees, coughing and spitting.

  Robbie was on his feet again, pulling Cameron toward a group of at least ten Angels who were taking their turns at Antony and Pogo. Cameron slipped into the ring, spraying in a circle, yelling at Antony and Pogo to hold their breath. He was starting to feel lightheaded himself with how much he was forcing himself to not breathe, and darkness clouded at the edges of his vision. He sprinted out of the coughing, moaning crowd, Antony and Pogo on his heels.

  Cameron drew in air, feeling dizzy.

  “Up, man. You gonna vomit?” It was Pogo, a tall, hefty kid hardly a year older than Cameron. Cameron shook his head, wheezing a bit. He’d set off his asthma. He hardly needed the inhaler anymore and had stopped carrying it around when he started high school, claiming that asthma was a thing of his childhood. He waved a hand, and Robbie shouted for Broadway. He grabbed the canister from Cameron’s hand and took off.

  There was a rallying cry of more Angels down the street as Broadway and Robbie made it back to the small group, where Cameron was trying to breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. The nurse who told him that hadn’t factored in the possible panic of a gang battle.

  “C’mon, we gotta go,” Broadway said.

  “We still gotta—” Antony started, looking back at their would-be territory, but was cut off by the sound of a bullet being shot in the air. The next wave of Angels was only a few seconds away.

  “We’ll recover it later,” Broadway said. He took off.

  Cameron looked at Robbie, who was no longer holding the canister. “Where’s the stuff, man?” he asked Robbie, even as they started running.

  “Ran out,” Robbie said. “Chucked it. What even was that? Wasp spray?” Cameron looked over his shoulder to see the Angels he’d sprayed DB1307 with slowly starting to stand. They were still coughing, clearly confused. “Stop lookin’ at ‘em,” Robbie said, pulling Cameron’s arm hard enough that he almost stumbled onto the pavement.

  “Ah, kinda,” Cameron said when they managed to turn a corner and slow. “Not like real wasp spray, but kinda.”

  “Whatever it was, it worked,” Broadway said. “Let’s call him Bug spray,” he said, laughing.

  Cameron hoped that wouldn’t stick.

  +++

  Monday, April 3, 2017, 9:43 p.m.

  The scientist swept through the streets. Construction was still going on, which often meant leftovers he could pick up and use. It was hard to find good hardware for cheap, and he’d never had a project approved for funding. Fools.

  The beam of his flashlight caught a discarded spray canister. Normally, he didn’t go for things that looked like trash, but the sticker labeling the thing as a piece of toxic material caught his attention. He slipped on the gloves in his back pocket. A cheap pair of yellow rubber ones from the cleaning aisle, but it was better than nothing. He picked it up.

  DB1307 Immediate Takedown Agent.

  “Interesting,” he said, rolling the aerosol further. Non-lethal Biotoxin.

  “If you’re not lethal, what do you do?” he asked the can. He shook the can. Almost empty. He’d take it back to the lab.

  He put the thing into his bag and continued to pick through the rather disappointing spread of what the construction crew had left behind. They were learning. This always happened after the second or third day of going through a site. They realized things were gone. Realized they had to take everything with them. He cursed under his breath. He’d been hoping for a particular kind of solvent, but at least he had something to play with. The canister clanked against the few metal tubes he’d managed to find, and the large PVC pipe, the end of it sawed off at an angle.

  His “lab” was the living area of his apartment and was barely large enough for him to stand in comfortably, but it’d have to do. He poked a hole in the top of the can, dunking it in a sink filled with hot water and waited for the air to settle before using a can opener to open the can. He was breathing heavily by the time he’d gotten the nozzle part of the bottle off; he’d used the opener for too many non-can opening activities, and now the blades were nearly too dull to cut through the thick aluminum.

  But he’d done it, and a bit of the semitransparent white-green liquid’s leftovers sat at the bottom of the can. Despite the fact that it said nonlethal on the bottle, he was afraid to sniff it. He searched through a crate on the floor for anything germ-related he might have. He first went for a slide and used a pipette to drop a bit of the liquid onto it. Under the microscope, th
e drop was a thriving community of tightly packed bacteria and virus cells. “Yikes,” he said, watching them move around one another in the liquid. He dropped a bit of hand sanitizer into the liquid and mixed it with a glass stirrer. He slid it back under the microscope.

  “Completely resistant?” he asked, turning to the can still sitting on his desk.

  He then did a flu test on it. The lines that were supposed to turn red only turned a faint pink. He stared at it for a long time. He’d never seen anything like that before. It was like the flu, maybe? He put on a mask and poured the rest of the liquid into a glass vial. Whatever it was, it was powerful, and he respected it. He’d figure out what it was, and he’d make it better. That’s what scientists did.

  +++

  Monday, April 3, 2017, 10:12 p.m.

  Rubio didn’t know what that Underworlder had sprayed him with, but it was still in his lungs. It felt almost sticky, like no amount of coughing was able to get it out. By the time he’d made it home, he was unsteady on his feet.

  When he opened the door, his mother ran to him. “Did you get hurt? Are you shot? Oh, Rubio, oh no.” Did he really look that bad? His mother ushered him to the couch, where she pushed him down until he relaxed into the cushions and tried to breathe. The house smelled of cooked onions; he must have missed dinner, but he didn’t want to eat anything. He felt so nauseous, he groaned against the smell and tried to breathe in the scent of his T-shirt, which smelled like dirt and sweat. That didn’t help with the nausea.

  His mother covered him in cool rags, which was when he realized he was sweating, soaking the couch cushions beneath him. She begged him to tell her where he’d been. “Just in the neighborhood, Ma,” he said. “Must’ve caught something.”

  She clicked her tongue before coughing herself. His mother dropped into the flower patterned-upholstered armchair next to him, saying something about the ache in her body. Rubio felt achy, too, though he thought it was from the fight. He tried to scan his body but couldn’t tell the difference from where he’d been punched or where he was aching from sickness. Had she really gotten sick in five minutes?

  His little sister, Christina, sauntered down the stairs. “I tried falling asleep for an hour,” she announced, an edge of drama to her voice. “And I can’t sleep. Can I watch Kitten TV?” Kitten TV was a horrible site his little sister had found somewhere on the child side of the internet that was a live cam of a huge enclosure of kittens with songs from cartoon movies playing in the background, which made it the perfect combination for his little sister, who loved singalongs and kittens.

  “No, Tina,” his mother said, her eyes closed, sweat forming along her brow. “Go to sleep. Your brother and I don’t feel so good.” She dropped a cool cloth over her eyes.

  Christina sat on the ground and meowed.

  “Tina,” Rubio said, groaning. He turned to look at his sister, though his vision felt too bright and made him dizzy. She licked the back of her hand and ran it across her hair, meowing again. “Go bed Tina,” he said. “You’re not helping, yeah? Go to bed.”

  Christina hissed at him before rolling onto her back, her hands and feet batting at imaginary yarn. Her nose twitched like something had touched her whiskers. “Meow!”

  “Tina!” his mother said, her voice sounding exhausted and exasperated at the same time. “Can’t you see we’re sick? You want to get sick too? Go to bed.”

  Christina hissed again, but she rolled around until she was on all fours and crawled up the stairs. She’d reached the creaky top stairs, which groaned beneath her miniature weight, right before she sneezed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Signed: Tuesday, April 4, 2017, 2:35 p.m.

  Doctor/Dentist Excuse for Lehigh Elementary

  Date: April 4, 2017

  This is to certify that Christina Lopez appeared in my office at 1:20 p.m. for an appointment. The appointment was over by 2:35 p.m. The student should be excused for the following dates: April 4—April 11. This student may return to school on April 12 (severe flu-like symptoms).

  Signed: Dr. Leeland Carter, M.D.

  Published: Tuesday, April 4, 3:32 p.m.

  An unprecedented shutdown occurred today at Lehigh Elementary School this morning after a kindergarten student was sent home around noon to go to a doctor after exhibiting “flu-like” symptoms. By 2:00 p.m., all parents had been called as every child in the school’s kindergarten was experiencing symptoms, as well as the teachers. Many kids from the other grades (1—5) also appeared to be exhibiting symptoms.

  We got in contact with the doctor the originally infected child visited, and he declined an in-person interview as he headed home shortly after seeing the ill student, saying he felt many of the same symptoms. Over the phone, he said that the young girl had exhibited severe flu-like symptoms, but that her flu test came back inconclusive.

  “It’s something else,” he told ParentsWeb.com. “I’m coughing, sneezing, shaking, and feeling very nauseous. I can hardly stand when this morning I felt in perfect health. It took about ten minutes for me to feel so sick that I needed to go home. [ Coughing ]. I have already had my nurses inform everyone else who was in the office that day that they may have been exposed to this illness, which I suspect is some sort of fast-acting, highly contagious virus. However, this is just a guess, I [ coughing ] am fairly certain that this is out of my range. I diagnose illnesses; I don’t discover them, and I fear [ coughing ] that this is something we haven’t seen before. I’ve certainly never seen it.”

  The CDC is currently receiving blood samples from many of the infected, hoping to figure out what the virus is, and how they might combat it. Right now, they are encouraging anyone who felt a sudden onslaught of symptoms to stay hydrated, try to get plenty of rest and to eat healthy foods until they can figure out a more effective means of bringing people suffering from this supposed virus back to health.

  Lehigh Elementary will remain closed for the rest of the week as the school’s board has decided to have all the buildings disinfected with strong chemical agents. “In general, our teachers and cleaning crews use natural products for the safety of our children,” said Lehigh Elementary’s Principal McLaughlin. “But we will be using heavy chemicals in the schools to ensure that there are no germs associated with this illness come Monday morning when our children will continue their education here at Lehigh.” McLaughlin said he was confident that this cleansing would be sufficient for the safety of the school’s students and staff.

  +++

  Published: Tuesday, April 4, 2017, 4:45 p.m.

  A Cry for Help from West L.A.’s Low-Income Neighborhoods

  After a series of emergency calls in close quarters from West L.A.’s low-income neighborhoods, authorities have determined the fast-acting virus agent originally identified earlier today Lehigh Elementary has made an appearance among several neighborhoods in West L.A., specifically in areas that have been known for several decades to have belonged to the Angels Gang.

  Because of the new battles between local gangs like the Angels over new territory, and as the gangs continue to fraction into smaller pieces, as well as the rapid spread of debilitating symptoms, one source who wished to remain nameless has suggested a biological weapon.

  Are gangs stepping up their methods from old-school violence, tagging, and fighting to biological and psychological warfare? After a drive through the neighborhood earlier in the day, it is clear this usually active neighborhood has decided to remain indoors, likely in response to how quick and easy it is to catch this virus from one another. Without knowing how it was made, the fear might be just as dangerous as the virus.

  +++

  Published: Tuesday, April 4, 2017, 7:02 p.m.

  For those of you who have been following my experiments for some time, you know my speculations about the lab that turned down my genius last fall, Gray Dynamics. I have regaled my tales of my time there many times in these blogs, where I believed that something less than legal might be going on there. Now, we know
that they are a well-known defense crafter. And when I inquired into why I was not hired, an HR drone told me that I did not possess the restraint needed for someone who worked in the development of defense techniques.

  However, I feel that perhaps they knew that I would just take them to places that we are meant to go, but they refused to go. Biological warfare. It is the way of the next world war, which I have predicted many times will begin in the next fifty years. We have signed so many deals about nuclear war that we have ruled that out, but biological warfare is nearly untraceable. Smarter. I told them this in my interview.

  And as it turns out, wouldn’t you know, that they have stolen my idea. I recently found a chemical agent I believe was developed at Gray Dynamics. My tests have shown that the agent causes immediate and intense symptoms of illness, though it is likely not lethal to those without underlying conditions. This is not what I suggested they make. Why would we develop an agent to feed to our enemies that only allows them to return to the game a week later?

  No, friends. Death is what is needed.

  While I believe Gray Dynamics is in the wrong for keeping their work under wraps, I believe it is because they are too dumb to realize what type of biological warfare we would need to engage in warfare. We’re not playing tag.

  Do not worry, dear followers of my work. With this beginning, I’m certain I can develop the agent we actually need in this country to prepare for the next war.

  Gray Dynamics might not be ready when we are attacked on our home turf, but I will be. And I will save our great nation from the destruction of the path we are on with our fellow nations.

  +++

  Published: Wednesday, April 5, 2017, 6:14 a.m.