Infected: Die Like Supernovas (The Outlaw Book 2)

by Alan Janney

  “Would you like to try Confession?” he smiled.

  “Maybe sometime. I’m not really Catholic, and I think that’d be a very bad idea right now. The confessional might catch fire if I really unloaded.”

  “Perhaps not,” he smiled. “I’ve heard some doozies.”

  “Coach. Trust me. You’ve never heard anything like this.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Saturday, February 18. 2018

  Los Angeles was becoming nightly global news. Even though there’d been no Outlaw sightings recently, except for a few grainy photos of Katie and me jumping between buildings, the city was ripping apart at the seams.

  A law enforcement task force was quarantining sections of south LA, trying to contain the spread of a new strain of highly addictive bath salt designer drugs, while also searching for a criminal mastermind they believed was behind both the new drugs and the recent civil unrest. Riots were spontaneously breaking out all over the sprawling city and the government could neither stop them nor determine if they were caused by the communities’ revolt against new immigration legislation or the drugs.

  To top it off, the LA Sniper was on a roll. He shot an average of three people a night for a week and the police were stumped. The Sniper was still using non-lethal wax bullets, but the public was petrified. Anytime I texted PuckDaddy and demanded he tell the Sniper to stop, he just laughed at me.

  I didn’t know how to help with the drugs or the riots or the criminal mastermind. But I had an idea how to make the Sniper stop. I was going to meet him.

  I knew Sniper attributes that the police didn’t. The police believed the Sniper was constantly roving, due to the wide dispersal of his targets. But I knew the Sniper was really Infected and could hit targets at an unheard of distance; he didn’t have to move as much as the police assumed in order to make those long range shots. I also knew the Sniper had shot Tank, shot me, and shot the vial of blood all within the northern limits of downtown. The Sniper had reached those venues extremely quickly, so I deduced he had a favorite perch with an excellent view and easy access to Natalie’s building. After all, he was in LA because of me so he wouldn’t stray far from my favorite haunts.

  I purchased a map of downtown and marked the locations of all known attacks, including mine and Tank’s. After glaring at the markings for three nights I decided he was setting up shop on the roof of either the Plaza skyscrapers or Los Angeles City Hall. An even better guess was that he rotated between them. Tonight I would investigate City Hall, for several reasons. First, the City Hall tower was much older than the Plaza towers so there was less chance of roof-top security cameras, which the Sniper would want to avoid. Second, it was closer geographically to two of the locations where I’d been shot. Third, the Plaza towers were nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows, like big single-sided mile high mirrors, so I didn’t know how I’d scale the side without being seen. City Hall looked much easier to climb. And fourth, the 450 foot City Hall tower was several hundred feet shorter than the Plaza towers. Much less scary. Hopefully.

  Last night I visited Lee as the Outlaw. He breathlessly showed me his two newest creations. The first item was a new black mask. This design had no velcro. It pulled down over my head like a sleeve, and still covered my nose and mouth. He said it was made from thin breathable lycra and I wouldn’t have to worry about it coming loose. He’d also made me a new vest with some of the remaining bounty he received in exchange for Guns. The vest was the same black North Face design but with dramatic red stitching that gave it a “more dramatic flair, to match the red bandana.” He’d also designed it with a built-in shoulder harness attached to a small parachute stuffed into an unused compartment located in the back.

  “I got the idea after watching you jump off Natalie North’s building, you know, dude?” he said. “After the chute’s been deployed, you can pull it back in with these two strings feeding through to the front chest pockets. The chute is small and if you were normal it wouldn’t decelerate you enough to prevent broken bones. Keep a sharp knife on your belt in case you need to slice the ropes. It’s smaller than a normal chute with fewer strings to get tangled, so it’ll be easier to stuff back. But next time you need to jump off a building it might come in handy, bro. Uh, Outlaw.”

  And that’s just where I was going. To the top of a building. I thanked Lee and told him I’d use his inventions when I ambushed the Sniper. He nearly passed out. On the way home that night I scampered up the side of my school, tossed the parachute in the air and jumped. The chute snapped open, almost ripping the vest off, right before I hit the ground. I pulled on the strings to retrieve the chute, which slowly gathered in a bunch at the back of my neck, and I stuffed it home. The contraption worked…kind of.

  Three o'clock Saturday afternoon, I texted PuckDaddy from the Outlaw’s phone.

  I’m going to visit Natalie North tonight. See if you can delete the evidence from…you know…everyone’s computers and stuff.

  >>not a good idea

  Tough. I’m going. Nine pm. Might get steamy. Don’t watch.

  >> dont go stoopid but if u do then im watching

  Hah. I grinned and stuffed both phones under my pillow. The trap was set.

  I walked out of my house at 3:30 wearing the Outlaw gear under my jogging suit.

  “Hi handsome!” Hannah Walker greeted me.

  “Whoa!” I shouted in alarm and almost fell off my front porch.

  “That’s just the type of greeting a girl wants,” she smiled wryly. She was learning against her convertible Audi, looking like a million dollars. People shouldn’t be allowed to look that good; it puts the rest of us at an awful disadvantage.

  “Hi Hannah,” I stammered, recovering from the shock as rapidly as I could manage. “This is a nice surprise.”

  “I thought it would be,” she smiled and hugged me. Her hands began curiously probing the strange lumps in my vest so I backed away quickly. “Going somewhere?”

  “No! Well, yeah, I guess. Over to see…Cory.”

  “You’re not off to meet Samantha?” she asked and gave me a piercing, searching glare that I didn’t understand.

  “Samantha? Samantha who?”

  “The kicker.” She said the word ‘kicker’ with severe distaste.

  “Samantha Gear? No. Why would I? I don’t even know where she lives.”

  “Good. Can we talk?”

  “Ah, yeah, sure. I mean, for a little while?”

  “I miss you,” she said simply with the force of slap.

  “You do?” I asked incredulously. “But…but we never… we never did anything. We never went on dates or…hung out or anything.”

  “We went from making-out to broken-up like that,” she said and snapped her fingers. “Of course I miss you.”

  “But we never really made-out either.”

  “Well,” she said and she stepped into me. “Let’s do that. Right now.” Her lips hovered inches from mine and her blue eyes were everywhere.

  “You want to?”

  “Very much,” she whispered.

  “I don’t know, Katie,” I said, trying to think clearly. “This is all…” I stopped when I heard her breath catch. She stepped away from me and expelled a short, chopped laugh. Disbelief, hurt, and anger all clouded her face. “What’s wrong?”

  “You just called me Katie.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Force of habit. She’s my best friend.”

  “That’s all she is?” she asked. She hugged herself and shivered, despite the relatively warm afternoon.

  “Yes. I promise. She’s dating someone else,” I said.

  “But. Do you love her?” she asked, again searching my face.

  I took a deep breath and said, “Yes. I do, very much. I’m sorry. But please don’t tell her.” Hannah would have known the truth if I tried to lie. My face would have revealed it.

  “Did you two ever…?”

  “No. Never.”

  Actually. That wasn’t exactly true. Just remembered. Katie and t
he Outlaw almost kissed, after I’d broken up with Hannah. Buuuuut that’d probably remain a secret.

  “Ugh. This sucks,” Hannah said. “You’re in love with Katie but I’m in love with you.”

  “You’re…you love me?”

  “I guess,” she rolled her eyes. “I could have any boy at our school, Chase. Any. Boy. But I only want you. I suppose that’s love.”

  “That’s what I feel for Katie.”

  “I think I also hate you, too. Does Katie know?”

  “She does not. Please don’t tell her?”

  “That’s a pretty juicy tidbit, Chase Jackson,” she said slyly. Uh oh. “I’ll cut you a deal, quarterback. Your secret is safe with me, until you tell her. Up until then, you are my boyfriend.”

  “I can do that. No problem.”

  “With benefits,” she clarified. “What does that mean?”

  “My god, Chase,” she cackled, her hand over her mouth. “You are so adorable. I mean, I want you to kiss me.”

  “Hannah, you can’t be serious.”

  “Dead serious, handsome. Otherwise I’m off to see Katie.” This was messed up and we both knew it. I just stared at her. She glared back. “Obviously this isn’t ideal. I concede that. But I’ve invested a lot of time into this and it still might work and I want your mouth on mine this instant.”

  So I did. I grabbed her face and mashed it into mine. It was false and uncomfortable but it was a kiss.

  “Whatever,” she sighed, wiping her mouth with her hand. “Just make it look good at school until I replace you. Got it?” I didn’t say anything. “And if you ever want more? My door is always open.”

  PuckDaddy could track my phones so I left them both at home. He could also follow my bike because the dash was a tablet with wifi. So I ran to the bus stop, over two miles away, and caught a ride downtown. If my plan worked, he’d assume I was in my bedroom for the next several hours.

  I sat on a bench looking up at City Hall until after dusk. The tower is flanked by two shorter wings, each about ten stories tall, and the whole campus is stylish and well manicured, like most of Los Angeles. I grew dizzy staring up at the peak. Nothing moved up there except an American flag flapping in the breeze.

  At six thirty, I jumped over the campus hedges and hid in a corner of the lawn. Everything was dark. Everything was still. I took off my track suit, stuffed it into the bushes, and pulled out my mask.

  The new mask Lee made was a dream. It slid perfectly into place over my mouth and nose. It was tight but very light, almost like air. I tied on my trusty red bandana, Rambo style.

  I became the Outlaw.

  This was truly living. I filled the Outlaw’s lungs with air and had to smother a triumphant roar. Being the Outlaw was intoxicating and addictive. He was determined, quick, strong, furious, and unafraid. The Outlaw can do anything! This is life!

  I needed to gain the roof before the Sniper arrived. With a quick jump I reached the second story egressed windows and began leap-frogging the protruding sills. I zigzagged up the building, gloves and feet finding solid purchases, glancing into windows I passed. I saw a dark office with an empty desk. Jump. Dark hallway. Jump. Lighted empty office with full bookshelves and an open Diet Pepsi. Jump. Dark hallway. Jump. Bathroom, maybe? Jump. Dark hallway. Office. Office. Bathroom. Conference room. Vacant observation deck. I wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

  An outdoor service walkway, cluttered with big circular antennas, surrounds the tip of the tower. To be safe, I circumnavigated the breezy pinnacle twice. Empty. Perfect. Even though I discovered no evidence of recent occupancy, I had a sixth-sense inclination that the Sniper frequented this aerie.

  Wow, what a view! No wonder the Sniper liked coming up here. I’m not afraid of heights, but this was a heady outlook. Far below, Natalie’s building looked like a miniature model dominated by tall skyscrapers. I also located the street where Tank’s house was.

  I found a suitable hiding spot behind a big antenna disk and settled in to wait for the Sniper’s arrival. If this didn’t work then I’d try again soon, and if that failed then I’d switch towers.

  Very quickly I made a discovery; man, I was addicted to my phone! I missed it so much! Ugh. I felt like I was going through detox. I tried sorting out my train wreck of a love life. Simplifying obviously hadn’t worked.

  Twenty minutes later, in the midst of my self-pity, I heard a noise.

  I’d been unlucky for months. Contracting the disease was unlucky, so was meeting Tank, and falling in love with my best friend, and dating Hannah, and my Dad’s injuries, and a thousand other things. Well, unlucky or stupid. But tonight, finally, I hit the jackpot.

  The Shooter climbed over the parapet. The Shooter! My pulse quickened. He was wearing night-vision goggles, a black knitted cap, and a leather shooting jacket. A powerful rifle was slung over his back. He moved effortlessly, efficiently, and the long climb had clearly not taxed him. It was impossible to judge in the dark from my angle but he looked shorter than me. He was trim and wiry.

  I pressed further into my cleft, anxious about those night-vision goggles exposing my hideout. So far, however, the Sniper was oblivious to me, secure in his solitude. He rested the rifle against the outer rail and he stretched while looking over the city. I waited and tried not to breathe. His hearing was probably heightened, like Carter had once explained. After a few minutes he pulled out a small telescope and began scanning.

  Well, I was here. I had him. Now what? …no idea. So I did nothing. And then I continued to do nothing. Forever. And ever. I didn’t dare look at my watch.

  After a million hours of cowardice, the Sniper answered a phone call by pressing a button on the headset in his ear.

  “Yes?……….okay. Is he still at home? Both phones? Good………I don’t understand. Explain………….got it. Understood, probably just asleep……………Maybe? I need more intel…………well, Carter will have to come up here and tell me that, then. If the old man can make the climb then I’ll listen…………that’s his fault………”

  Fascinating! I’d bet anything the Sniper was talking to PuckDaddy. Another Infected, right in front of me! His voice was serious and stern, but not deep like mine. The breeze was snatching most of the sounds away but I heard enough.

  So this was a terrible plan, it turns out. Now that I was up here it was obvious too much could go wrong. He could fall. I could fall. We could be seen. One of us could get hurt. This might finally be my last straw with Carter. But it was too late and my best chance at getting the rifle away from the Sniper was now while he was distracted on the phone.

  Utilizing every bit of care and caution I possessed, I crept forward. Small steps. Shallow breaths. No big movements. Seven feet away.

  “I don’t care,” the Sniper said, voice pitched high in frustration.

  Five feet away. Sweaty hands inside my gloves. Stepping on the outside of my soles to avoid scrapes.

  “I won’t clean up his messes forever. Tell him that. Or I can.”

  Two feet. Reaching out for the weapon.

  He saw me. He hissed in surprise and anger, my fingertips frozen on the stock of the gun. Like lightening he kicked away my empty fist, spun, and struck out with the heel of his hand. I smacked the blow aside using reflexes I didn’t know I had. Another kick, another parry.

  “Stop!” I shouted, backpedaling desperately.

  Kick, kick, kick. Block, block, boom! Too fast! A boot connected solidly with my chest, propelling me up and over the security parapet and out into the endless night.

  My ambush had gone downhill fast.

  Free falling!

  I somersaulted backwards through the void. On instinct I reached over my shoulder, released the parachute clasp and hurled the fabric into the air. A rush of wind and then the material filled with a Pop! The chute caught the air and jerked me upwards. I hauled furiously on the right hand cords, changing the angle of my dangerous descent. The parachute tilted and swung me around underneath, like a ball on the
end of a string, and I slammed into the tower wall.

  “Big mistake,” I growled, using one hand to hastily stuff the small chute back as best I could. “Now I’m mad.”

  Thirty seconds after I’d been kicked off the roof, I leapt back over the security rail, ready to break something. I approached from a different direction. The Sniper was silhouetted against the city lights, head in his hands.

  “No! That’s what I’m telling you! I think that was Chase! His texts were a trick…oh god…” the Sniper was saying into the ear piece as I ran up, left my feet and drove them through his body. I caught him by complete surprise. His thin frame collapsed like paper machete. That kick would have killed a normal man. I landed, pinning his arms down with my knees.

  “Now,” I snarled, “we talk.”

  The Sniper was sucking air, dazed and trying to form words. I tore off the night vision goggles and balled up his knitted cap in my fist. But in that instant I couldn’t speak either. I was staring down into the wide eyes of Samantha Gear.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Saturday, February 18. 2018

  Later that night

  “How could you not figure it out?” she asked again. We were perched side by side on the rim of the sky, the uppermost part of the tower, staring down on normal humanity. To my surprise, Samantha had risen and hugged me in a fierce embrace during those first few moments of deep shock. Then she punched me really hard and now we were trying to talk things through.

  “I realized the LA Sniper was also the Infected Shooter,” I said. “But I never dreamt he was a girl that went to my school.”

  “Hah,” she smiled victoriously. “I told them I could pass for a high school junior.”

  “How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-nine. So you really shouldn’t be checking me out so often. How’d you survive that fall, anyway? Thought I’d killed you.”

  “Parachute. In the back of the vest.” I indicated the compartment with my thumb.