by Alan Janney
“What?” she said finally. “Who cares? I like it.”
“You live out of your truck?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“How?”
She scoffed. “What do you mean how? Don’t be an idiot.”
“All your clothes? Do you have a pillow? Where do you shower? Don’t you get lonely?”
“Puck. I hate you.”
“Why do you live out of your truck?” I persisted.
She shouted, “Why not??”
“Because that means you’re homeless.”
She snorted and said, “I’m not homeless, Chase. I just told you. I have two homes. And my truck. Which I love.”
“Why don’t you rent a place?”
She shrugged and said, “Cheaper this way. Plus, I want to be near you in case of an emergency.”
“Then sleep in our guest bedroom,” I suggested.
“Hah! No way.”
“Why not?”
She said, exasperated, “Because of a thousand reasons.”
“Name one.”
“Chase. Just drop it.”
“No,” I said and I stood up too. “You’re going to live with me and dad. None of my friends are homeless while I have a guest bedroom.”
“Infected do not like living together,” she said. “The virus makes us mean and suspicious.”
“Are you suspicious of me?”
“….no. But still.”
“Come on,” I said, and I climbed back into my bedroom through the window. “Get your stuff from the truck. I’ll show you your room.”
“No.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go get your stuff.”
PuckDaddy hooted, “This is so cool. Infected never live together.”
“No, Chase, wait,” she said, almost pleading. She came into the bedroom too. “This is too weird.”
“No it’s not.”
“PuckDaddy is jealous,” he said. “PuckDaddy wants to live there too.”
“Puck, you should!” I cried. “How cool would that be??”
“PuckDaddy cannot,” he said and the clicking resumed.
“Let’s go, Gear,” I said. “Get your stuff. You’re living here now. We’ll work on Puck after you’ve settled in.”
“Chase.”
“What?”
“I’m bad at this,” she said. She hadn’t moved. Her arms hung limply by her side.
“Bad at what?”
“I’m bad at people. My family didn’t like me, and I don’t blame them. I was kicked out for a reason. I’m grouchy and I don’t like people, and this just won’t work.” She was staring at the floor, clenching and unclenching her fists.
“We’ll hardly ever be here, anyway.”
“Infected are loners. This is not how we do things,” she said.
“It is now.”
“It’s not a good idea to care about people, Chase. This is making me like you. I don’t want to like you. And I don’t want to like your father either. We could have gotten the Chemist if Katie hadn’t been in Compton that night. But we care about her. Emotional ties aren’t good. They get us into trouble.”
“Maybe PuckDaddy and I will get bunkbeds!” I cried. “And Cory and Lee can come sleepover!”
The clicking stopped. “PuckDaddy never had a sleepover.”
“I’m so pumped!”
“Chase,” Samantha Gear sighed and threw her hands up. “You’re as bad as Carter.”
* * *
I intercepted Dad at breakfast early the following morning. The sun wasn’t up, and Samantha hadn’t emerged from her room yet.
“Dad,” I whispered urgently. “Just so you know, there’s a girl upstairs.”
Dad’s blue mug of coffee paused at his mouth. He stared hard over the rim.
“Soooo…” I continued. “Just…act cool.”
He said, “Repeat that?”
“Ugh. Dad, come on. There’s this girl,” I began.
“I got that part.”
“And she doesn’t have a place to stay.”
“Uh huh,” he said and he finally lowered the mug.
“So I told her she could spend the night.”
“Uh huh.”
“In the guest bedroom,” I finished lamely.
My dad’s a big guy. He has thick fingers, and eyes that can drill a hole through concrete. After a long stint off the police force due to a back injury, he had returned to his job in a part-time role. Soon he’d be a full-time detective again.
He took a deep breath and said, “Chase-”
“Dad. No. Just…shhh. She’s coming down soon.”
“I realize you’re eighteen…”
“No, shush!”
“And we’ve never really talked about girls…”
“Oh my goooooooosh,” I said and I collapsed into the wooden chair opposite him. “Dad, it’s not like that. Please stop.”
“But we should talk before you have…sleepovers. With girls.”
I lowered my head and started banging it on the table. “Dad. Nothing. Happened. She. Is just. A friend. I. Want. To. Die.”
Samantha Gear opened the front door and strode into the kitchen. Samantha is strong and striking. She was wearing jogging clothes and earbuds, and she was sweating freely. She’d been out running already?? Dad stood up.
“I’m Samantha,” she panted and she stuck out her hand for Dad to shake. “I’m on the football team with Chase, and I slept in your guest bed. Thanks for having me. I’m going out for breakfast. Anyone want doughnuts?”
“Chocolate. With chocolate sprinkles. Many of them,” I groaned, face down on the table. This wasn’t going according to plan.
“I’m fine, thank you. Nice to meet you, Samantha,” Dad said.
The door closed again, and I raised my head up from the table. Dad’s eyes were boring holes into me.
“That girl was in the guest bed and you stayed in yours?” he asked.
“Yes,” I groaned.
“The football team.”
“I promise she’s on the team.” And then I clarified, “The kicker.”
“That girl is not your age.”
“She….she’s in my grade,” I said as truthfully as I could.
“If she’s under twenty then I’m the Outlaw,” he pronounced gruffly and walked out of the room.
* * *
Cory and Lee came over after morning's football practice ended. We played Call-of-Duty on my Xbox for several hours. The virus I’d been infected with had done something to my frontal cortex, or so Carter told me. The video game moved much slower than it once had. I was traditionally awful at first-person shooter games, but now I won more than I lost, which I pointed out often to my confused and frustrated compatriots.
Katie Lopez walked into my living room and said, “Hi boys!”
I dropped my controller and stood up. Cory and Lee said, “Hey” over their shoulders but otherwise didn’t budge.
“Hi Katie,” I said.
“You guys having fun?”
“I’m winning.”
“Wow,” she said sarcastically. “That’s so great you’re winning at video games.”
“I think so.”
She beckoned with her finger and said, “Can we talk? In the hall?”
“Absolutely,” I said, my heart suddenly pounding like a drum. I had to be careful, because sometimes my body swelled when I was nervous and I wasn’t wearing my loose shirt or shoes. “It’s nice to see you. Finally. Are you on your way to the press conference?”
“Yes. How do I look?”
“Desirable.”
“Chase,” she said quietly and stepped closer. “You should know. I think about our conversation. Every minute.”
I didn’t know what to say so I nodded.
“Life has been crazy since he woke up, but…I’ve thought about you. A lot. You’re everything to me.”
“Thanks. I know.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” she said. “And I won’t forget. And we�
��ll talk soon. About all this.”
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I really want you to write me that letter,” she smiled. “I check for it every day.”
“I will,” I grinned. “I’m just not sure how to phrase ‘I love you for every reason.’”
She smiled wider. “Do Cory and Lee know that…that you love me?”
“They know. I think everyone knew but you.”
The front door opened, spilling in sunlight, and Samantha walked in.
“Hi Katie,” she said. “You look hot! Oh…you’re going to Tank’s press conference… Well, have fun with that.” She slammed the door and stomped upstairs.
“Thanks,” Katie called after her. “Nice to see you too, Samantha.” She paused and then whispered, “Why is she going upstairs?”
I said, “Oh right, I didn’t tell you. Samantha lives here now.”
“What?”
“Yeah! Cool, huh?” I grinned.
“Why is…what’s….why?”
“She’s homeless! I had no idea. She’s been living in her truck this whole time.”
“So?” Katie said, peering up the staircase. “What’s wrong with that?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s staying in the guest room,” she said slowly.
“Right.”
“The room beside your bedroom.”
“Right,” I said again. “Perfect, huh?”
“Yes,” Katie said. “Perfect. For her. I’m so glad to hear she has a place to sleep now. Here, with you.”
“Dad thinks it’s weird,” I admitted.
“How…closed-minded of him. Chase, I have a great idea,” she said. “Samantha should come stay with me!”
“But you don’t have a guest room,” I frowned.
“Right, but I don’t mind. It’d be fun! I like Samantha.”
“Where would she sleep?”
“On the floor. I mean, I would sleep on the floor and she can have my bed,” she said.
“Well…I can ask her…”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s…I can…I mean, I think I’m just…wow, I can’t believe she’s sleeping here.”
“Are you okay?”
“I…I have to go, or…it’s time for me to go,” she laughed nervously. “Yeah. I’ll call you later. Or text you. I’ll text you.”
She left in a rush, and I strolled back into the living room.
“Yo, she going to the interview now?” Lee asked. Lee is one of my closest friends. He’s a stereotypical Asian math genius, and he also obsesses over the mysterious Outlaw, to the extent that he designed the Outlaw’s vest.
“Yes,” I said and I sat down with a big exhalation.
“She cold,” Cory rumbled. Cory is my other best friend. He’s a mountain of a man that will play offensive line in college football one day.
“No,” I said. “She’s conflicted.”
“Dude, I wish Tank had just died, yo,” Lee proclaimed, eyes glued to the screen. “Everything would be better.”
“We can’t start wishing death on people,” I said. “We have to be bigger than that. Even if we don’t want to be.”
“Start wishing death? Tank plays for the Patrick Henry Dragons, dude. I’ve been wishing he was dead for months.”
Cory grunted, “What’s Tank gonna say, anyway? In the press conference.”
“Someone once told me,” I remembered, “that Tank is haunted with being the best. That’s why he hates the Outlaw, because suddenly his sack total was no longer big news. The hero in the pajamas was getting the front page. Tank wasn’t the best anymore, in the eyes of the public. And in March he got beat up on national television by the Chemist, so…maybe he’s just trying to reassert his dominance. It’s a vanity thing.”
“Yeah,” Cory nodded. “He a pretty boy. Prima donna.”
“Dude. That ugly monster is no media darling,” Lee scoffed. “Not to me.”
Samantha came down and smeared us in Call-of-Duty, even when we played three versus one. The game seemed to provide some relief from the perpetual siren call of her disease, so we played for two more hours until the interview started.
Tank had lost weight during his three-month long coma, but none of it was muscle weight, apparently. His skin looked shrink-wrapped over his bulk. Katie, resplendent and beautiful, was sitting beside him with his parents. Katie and Tank both had Latin American ancestry, and I had to admit they made an attractive couple. Several local television crews set up microphones.
“I’d like to begin,” he said, his voice a deep earthquake, “by thanking everyone for their concern. I appreciate all the cards and prayers. I’m going home tomorrow and I will be fully recovered soon. I know this has been a scary time for Los Angeles, but I’m okay now.”
“Nobody cares!” Lee shouted at the television.
“I also want to thank my girlfriend, Katie,” he continued, “for standing by my side through this. I just hope she stops getting kidnapped.” Everyone laughed at the bad joke. “Saving her is hard work.”
“Like you would know,” I muttered. Samantha shot me a look.
“Thank you to the doctors and to my parents. And to my fans, I want you to know that I’ll be ready for football season. And I’m going to lead our team to another championship. And I’m going to break every quarterback stupid enough to get on the field with me. Every. Quarterback.”
Samantha chuckled, “Charming guy. I like his rage. Good looking, too.”
“And lastly, to the stupid old man with the staff,” he said, and Samantha and I leaned forward. He was referencing the big fight in Compton. Tank had been there, and the Chemist had badly beaten him. “The Chemist. If I ever see you again, I’m going to impale you with that staff.” His parents fidgeted uncomfortably on their chairs. Katie managed to keep a straight face.
One of the reporters raised a hand and said, “Tank, glad to see you up and around. What were you doing in Compton that evening?”
“That’s personal,” he said.
“No one seems to know how you got from that intersection to the hospital. Do you know?”
“I don’t care,” he said.
“On the videos, it appears you spoke to the Outlaw. Do you remember what you said?”
“No. But if I see him again, I’mma beat his ass too.”
Confusion among the reporters. “The Outlaw? Why? Weren’t you two working together?”
“Just a joke,” he grinned.
“The Outlaw died in the Compton explosion, unfortunately,” one of the reporters told him.
Tank laughed darkly and quietly. “Oh no. The punk in pajamas fooled you suckers. He’s still around.”
Samantha sucked air in between her teeth. “That moron.”
A pause in the interview and then several reporters started talking at once. Katie’s eyes were wide with surprise.
“How do you know the Outlaw’s not dead? Do you know the Outlaw’s identity? Who is he? What about the explosion?”
“He’s not dead,” Tank repeated. “But he’s a fool. He’s a liar and a coward. And the world wouldn’t like him if they knew who he really was. Maybe I’ll tell you, one of these days. One day soon.”
Chapter Four
Tuesday, August 4. 2018.
Samantha shook me awake at three in the morning.
“Get up. We gotta go.”
“Mmmmmmmrrgppffffooooawaaay,” I said, helpfully.
“Chase. Now,” she hissed.
“‘Manthalemmelone,” I groaned. If I had a taser, I would’ve zapped her right in the neck.
“Carter needs us.”
“This is your job,” I moaned and I pulled a pillow over my head. “Not mine. I’m a kid. A child. An innocent youth that needs sleep.”
“I’m going to screw on my silencer and shoot you with wax bullets until you get up.
“Oh my goooooooosh,” I sat up with a huff in the dark room. The only light came fro
m my red alarm clock. My eyes wouldn’t fully open. “What could Carter possibly want?”
“Doctors at Hollywood Presbyterian Medical just revived an Infected kid,” she said and she flipped my covers off. “Camera phones caught him throwing motorcycles before he passed out. Carter’s out of town and the kid is unguarded.”
“So?”
“So?” she snapped and she started throwing clothes at me. “Start thinking like an Infected. We need you. This is a war. A war of accumulation, and right now the Chemist is winning. He’s going to come snatch that kid. We need to get there first.”
Five minutes later I was howling down the interstate on my bike, peering through sleepy eyes at a blurry world. Samantha was nearby in her truck.
“How do we bust a kid out of a hospital without being seen?” I asked through my helmet mic. I was cold and tired and grouchy.
“Leave that to PuckDaddy,” he said in my ear. “Breaking into their systems now.”
“I’m getting sick of you two.”
“Thanks!”
“What do we do with him? Isn’t the kid insane? And freakishly strong?”
Samantha crackled, “I’m going to steal some tranquilizers. Keep him under until Carter gets back. We can stash the kid at your downtown hideout. Our main objective is to keep him away from the Chemist.”
“Do either of you know how many Infected soldiers the Chemist has? I have no idea.”
“PuckDaddy has a guess,” he responded. “I’ve been scanning Compton with facial tracking software. Puck estimates six.”
“Six dastardly Infected,” I mused.
“Dastardly?”
“Yup.”
“Only nerds say dastardly.”
“Six plus the Chemist,” Samantha said. “Plus the others he hasn’t hatched yet. Remember, Carter said the Chemist has found a way to keep new Infected comatose for months while their brains heal.”
“And we have…”
“You two,” Puck said. “Plus me, kinda. And Carter.”
“Seven verse four. Seems fair,” I grunted.
“Carter called in reinforcements,” Puck said. “Arriving soon.”
“Good! I like reinforcements.”
Samantha growled, “Not me.”