Infected: Die Like Supernovas (The Outlaw Book 2)

by Alan Janney

  “We were imprisoned together in Turkey for several years,” the Chemist sighed. “When we were younger. The Turks kept us weak through starvation, too weak to escape, too weak to kill each other, too weak to kill ourselves. Have you told him he’s special, Carter?”

  “He’s not special. Neither are you. Neither am I.”

  “And how do you plan on killing me this time?” The Chemist seemed genuinely bemused and interested, like he was enjoying this. No one paid attention to the helicopters circling helplessly far above.

  “I’m going to give drowning a try.”

  “This boy of yours seems authentically unspoiled. Perhaps we should leave him in peace?” the Chemist suggested.

  “That’s funny.”

  “I’m not joking,” he said.

  The man called Carter said, “It’s funny because you don’t know him. Kid’s got a noble streak. He’d chase you around the globe. He’d never leave you in peace.”

  “Oh, very well. Tell him why we’re both here, Carter.”

  “Yes,” the Outlaw chimed in. “Please. This is crazy boring.”

  Carter jumped off the bus, which rocked gently, and landed near the Outlaw. The Chemist stood up cautiously. The audience of faux Outlaws hooted and raged, but Carter ignored them.

  “I’d just as soon drag you to the ocean now, Martin,” Carter said. He was a tall man. Completely bald, dressed similarly to Walter. Walter had a fresh rocket trained on him. “And tie you to a submarine.”

  “We’re here for the Chosen that are emerging,” the Chemist told the Outlaw. Carter had rattled the Chemist’s dignity. His cool demeanor was tinged with anger and tension. I wanted to scream. Nothing made sense. “We’re here for you. And for those like you.”

  “Where are these Infected coming from?” the Outlaw asked. He’d risen too, forming a triangle with the other two men. He kept glancing towards the bus, towards me. “Why am I Infected?”

  The Chemist grinned triumphantly. “Your first good question of the night.”

  “Martin,” Carter warned him. His voice was low and menacing.

  The Chemist brought the staff down hard and sparks flew. He said loudly, “You have changed, Carter. For the worse. You can’t save him and you can’t save the rest. And since when do you even care?”

  “Perhaps I’m having second thoughts.”

  “Unlike you, I have resilience,” Martin said. Several other faces were beginning to materialize out of the darkness above the mini-market. They weren’t masked and they were sinister. They had the arrogant aggressiveness of Walter and Carla in their features. The good guys were wildly outnumbered. Assuming Carter was a good guy. “I have fortitude. I can finish what we started.”

  “What did you start?” the Outlaw asked in exasperation.

  The Chemist looked at the Outlaw and said, “You’re here because Carter infected you intentionally. At birth.”

  The Outlaw was visibly shocked.

  “He’s insane, hero,” Carter said. “Our insanity grows as we age. Don’t listen to him. Let’s just take him now.”

  The Chemist spat, “You’re delusional, Carter. You still think the boy is on your side.”

  The awful tension was briefly abated by a muffled roar, and then Tank burst through the side of the SUV! He pushed through the screaming metal but he was clearly woozy and unable to stand up.

  “Outlaw,” Tank growled, on all fours. The man in the mask was stunned. The audience laughed and mocked and fired celebratory rounds into the air.

  “Carla,” the Chemist called. “Hit the ogre with a lethal dose of the tranquilizers, please. It may kill him but at least it’ll shut him up. And remind me to alter the troops’ formula. We want our soldiers to have better control over their…animal instincts.”

  “Outlaw,” Tank coughed, trying to fend off Carla. “Katie. On the bus. Get her out.”

  “He’s still trying to save the girl,” the Chemist howled in wicked pleasure and he brought the staff around in a singing slice that showered sparks into the gasoline. “Let’s light the world on fire!”

  “The girl?” Carter asked, and he whirled and stared at the bus, at me. Then his eyes went to the Outlaw. “You’re here for her,” he breathed.

  Time started moving in awful split-second eternal frames.

  Walter fired.

  He missed; Carter was fast beyond belief. The rocket tore through our bus and detonated as it punched cleanly through the other side. The sound was deafening. Fire spilled onto the pavement and some of the smaller gasoline pools lit up.

  Carter and the Chemist met in midair. Their elegance and civil words disintegrated into hate and they hammered each other savagely in a blur too fast for comprehension. It was ugly and horrible.

  The Outlaw tried to reach the bus but Walter and Carla overwhelmed him. They both had knives and they pinned him down. The surrounding crowd of gunmen shrieked in tribal pleasure. More bullets hit our bus. A war was raging above the mini-market, silhouettes thrashing in the dark.

  Chaos! Madness, pure and terrible.

  “Katie MOVE!” the Outlaw screamed at me from underneath writhing bodies. The gasoline under the bus finally ignited, like a lake of fire. I stomped on the gas pedal and we lumbered forward.

  I didn’t see what happened but Carla cried out and was propelled fifteen feet into the air. Her arms rotated wildly to gain balance and she landed on the remaining shreds of our bus’s roof. A passenger behind me screamed in terror and Carla laughed. Carla wasn’t scared; she was mentally unhinged, drunk with excitement. Before she could move, a gunshot louder than all the others crushed her, flinging her from the roof. She landed in the fire but quickly rolled out, holding a bleeding shoulder. Who shot her??

  I swung the HUGE bus through the intersection, away from the gunmen, and cried, “Everyone out!” I jammed buttons until the hydraulic doors protested and crashed open.

  >>What are you people DOING down there??!

  Dying, Hannah. We’re dying. I rammed the bus against the overpass’s support post, directly under the bridge. “Hannah!” I screamed. “Jump onto the bus! The gas is going to catch fire!”

  Carter lost the fight. The Chemist had Carter by the throat with a gun pointed directly into his ear. They both had blood spilling out of their eyes and noses. The rest of the fighting stopped, which was good for Walter. He’d lost the fight too. The Outlaw let him go and he collapsed. No sign of the injured Carla.

  “One final offer, Outlaw,” the Chemist panted haggardly. With his chin he indicated the complete circle of guns surrounding the Outlaw. “But you’ll have to ask politely.”

  “So if I want to live,” the Outlaw said, “I have to beg?”

  “More or less. Your place is here. With me.”

  The Outlaw raised his arms to the sides, like he was about to surrender. “No deal. Remember this, Chemist. Los Angeles is mine. And I’m coming for you.” The night seemed drawn towards him, as though he held darkness like a blanket in his fist. He made phony guns with his thumbs and fingers, pointed them at the idiots in the masks, and said, “Bang!”

  “No!” the Chemist cried.

  The Outlaw jumped and disappeared into the night as a hundred guns erupted. I couldn’t even watch. It was horrendous. The exhausted drug addicts tore into each other, mowing down the other side of the circle. It was meaningless carnage. The sound alone almost caused me to vomit. Blood and screaming everywhere.

  The Outlaw landed silently on the bus’s roof. I muffled a startled cry. He hurled something at the Chemist. I never saw what it was, just a blur. The Chemist’s head snapped back from the impact, allowing Carter to stagger free. Before the white-haired man could recover, a phantom detached from the roof of the mini-market and collided with him. The phantom was a man dressed in black, like a shadow. The Chemist fought like a man possessed. More and more fighters were pouring into our intersection, fueling the fire. In confusion they were even fighting each other.

  The Outlaw dropped next to m
e and said, “Time to go. This place is about to be overrun.”

  “What about Tank? He’ll be killed,” I said weakly, trying not to cry again.

  “Who cares about Tank,” he answered.

  “I do.”

  He looked at me a long time while the war raged but at last he said, “For you, Katie, anything.”

  He turned to fetch Tank but…Tank was gone. He’d vanished. What…?!

  “A fortunate turn of events,” the Outlaw remarked. “I’d have surely died fetching that overgrown moron.”

  “Outlaw!” someone yelled from a nearby roof. “Move! Now!”

  “We’re out of here,” he said, almost cheerfully.

  “No wait!”

  “Now what?” he sighed but I thought he was smiling. How could he be enjoying this?

  “There’s a girl named Hannah. She’s stuck up on the bridge in her car.”

  “She can walk home. Actually that’d be really good for her,” he laughed. “Besides, half a dozen police helicopters are about to show up.”

  “But she’s stuck in a lake of gasoline.”

  “Oh.”

  I’ll remember what happened next for the rest of my life. I saw it over his shoulder. The Chemist threw off the attacking shadow and started deflecting gunfire with his remarkable staff. He could actually move fast enough to block bullets!

  Sparks flew from the staff. The sparks landed on gasoline, which ignited with a WHUMP! The trail of fire flew up the grassy hill towards the abandoned cars. Twenty miles of interstate were about to blow.

  The Outlaw saw flames on the hill. I barely had time to scream before he pulled me onto his back and jumped.

  My ability to focus was exhausted. Time lost all meaning. Only my throbbing heart marked it’s passage.

  We were in the air. Over the bridge. The fire was roaring, moving quicker than us. We reached Hannah’s car. The vehicles began erupting, jumping in succession as flames hit punctured gas tanks. The Outlaw shattered the windshield with his fist. Where had Hannah gone? The flames were right behind us. Hannah was at the side of the bridge, one leg over the guard rail, six feet away. The flames were under us.

  The Outlaw leapt for her. The tanker beside Hannah’s car ignited like a bomb going off. The blast of unbearable heat flung everything into the air, including us. The Outlaw and I separated like rag dolls.

  “Katie!” he yelled.

  I looked down. Hannah was gone. Nothing but fire. Fire and falling cars everywhere. The bridge began collapsing.

  I was falling through the sky above the intersection from hell. It was lit with fire and spotlights, like a demonic ceremony.

  Then the Outlaw had me wrapped in a tight embrace. “Gotcha!” Something snapped and we jerked. A small parachute above us. I closed my eyes and kept them that way. The parachute worked well enough to pull us away from the fire but we hit the earth hard. My ankle popped.

  Briefly, all was quiet. He simply held me. We were lying in thick grass. The distant sounds of war were muted by my ringing ears. Our enemies still fought each other.

  Someone was coming. I didn’t care. My thoughts were no longer lucid. I was being carried. Strange voices.

  “Is she okay?”

  “I think so.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “…Hannah…she was on the bridge.”

  “The cheerleader? Oh no…”

  “I couldn’t get to her.”

  Silence.

  “Okay, we have to go,” he said. “We’re moving, Puck.”

  “Any sign of Carter?”

  “None.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Everything hurts. You?”

  “All over. But Katie is safe. Other than what appears to be a broken ankle. And being blown up. And almost killed half a dozen times.”

  “Can’t believe it. You got her out. Well done.”

  “We didn’t get the Chemist.”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Until we do, no one in Los Angeles is safe.”

  “We?”

  “Of course, we.”

  “Carter is going to have very mixed emotions about this.”

  I could no longer listen. Exhaustion took over.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Wednesday, March 8. 2018

  “Is he really dead?” Carter asked.

  I was sitting on my front porch in the sunshine, reading a newspaper. I usually didn’t read papers, but I figured I owed the LA Times after all the free publicity they granted me. The front page headline was OUTLAW ASSUMED DEAD. The helicopter cameras had lost track of the masked man after the big explosion. Complete incineration was the likely cause of death.

  “I’m not sure yet,” I grinned. “The Outlaw’s a lot of trouble but I kind of like the guy.”

  “He was growing on me. Despite the stupid newspaper stunt,” Carter said and he sat down beside me. “I hope he sticks around.”

  “I have to ask. Why do you always wear gloves? Tank does too. I can’t figure it out.”

  Carter said, “Simple,” and tugged off a glove. His hand was misshaped. Or…something. The fingers were blocky, and the bones looked like they were about to push out when he made a fist. “The virus causes it. Bones grow too big. Same with toes. The rest of the body hides the abnormal growth, but no such luck with finger and toes.”

  “Tank has it too?”

  “Assume so. Kid’s got some big bones. Doesn’t happen to many of us. Virus affects us all differently. You just get back from the girl’s funeral?” he asked, indicating my shirt and tie.

  I nodded. Hannah Walker’s funeral had been brutal. No body had been left to bury. Her mother could barely function. Our whole school had shown up, looking for ways to make sense of the nonsensical. How are people supposed to process video of a genuine superhuman battle? It was beyond belief but a large section of our city was being held hostage by a criminal mastermind with…super powers. The police had besieged his kingdom but could now only guess how to deal with him. This was both impossible to believe and also just fifteen miles down the road. I’d been there and I still couldn’t fathom it. Like everyone else, I was walking around numb. A lot of people had died. One of them had been the most popular kid at our school. The secret of our breakup died with her. I cried my eyes out while everyone watched and I hadn’t been pretending.

  “This is probably a sore subject, but…” I said. “How did the Chemist get you in that headlock? I thought you had him.”

  “Bah,” he growled. “That stupid stick of his. He’s had it for years and I don’t even know what it’s made of. Hurts like hell, though,” he said, rubbing the side of his head in memory.

  “I saw him block gunshots with it,” I shook my head. It had been a haunting sight. “How do you fight that?”

  “He was showing off, mate. When you’re as old as Martin you can hear the bullets coming and step around them.”

  “How many Infected you figure he had?” I asked.

  “Seven, at the beginning. I think. He kept three with him at all times. Puck told me you killed one, that makes four. Shooter says there were three others on surrounding rooftops. And there was a pretty girl watching from a chair I can’t figure out, so maybe eight.”

  “Troy died. And Martin shot one of his girls. So it’s down to five. Did Samantha or your shadow kill any of them?”

  “My shadow?” he grunted.

  “Well, what the heck do you want us to call him? I won’t pretend I didn’t see your body guard.”

  “Shadow works,” he sighed. “And Samantha thinks they got two.”

  “So he has three Infected left, maybe four.”

  “That we know of.”

  I said, “We got lucky. We didn’t lose any.”

  “Not luck. Martin’s recruits were young and inexperienced. Not ready yet.”

  “What a mess.”

  “I owe you an explanation,” he said. “After what Martin told you.”

  “About time.

&n
bsp; He lit a cigarette and smoked it silently for several minutes. I didn’t mind. I had nothing to do. After the funeral Katie had gone to the hospital to visit Tank, who still hadn’t woken from a coma.

  Gosh I hate that guy.

  Tank’s involvement had been recorded by helicopter cameras, and by all appearances he looked like he was trying to save the hostages trapped in the bus, not just on a personal vendetta against the Chemist. The video showed him getting shot, but since he survived everyone assumed it was a wax bullet and the shooter was the infamous Sniper. Tank was being hailed as a hero, especially after his relationship with Katie Lopez became public knowledge. News channels were reporting on his condition hourly and his awakening would be a celebrated event in an otherwise depressed and shell-shocked city.

  GOSH I hate that guy.

  “Martin was telling the truth,” he said finally. “You were intentionally infected with the disease at birth. So were a lot of other newborns during a sixty-day span at Glendale Memorial.”

  “That’s why so many have suddenly been popping up,” I observed. “And why they’re all my age.”

  “Yes,” he nodded. Smoke was leaking out of his nostrils as he stared off into the past. “Most of the kids died around puberty. A lot of them moved away, so we might potentially hear rumors of them around the globe soon. But the rest are here.”

  “Which is why the Chemist is here. He’s collecting them.”

  “Yes. He’s collecting them. We both are. It was a mistake and I regret it, and I’m fixing it the only way I know how. We thought it was too much work to track all the children growing up, but in retrospect we should have. Now we’re just…looking for clues.”

  “Mathematically not many should survive, right?” I asked.

  “He’s figured out a way to preserve their sanity. He is using powerful medicine to keep them comatose for months at a time. Somewhere in Compton. That should increase his numbers. Might double the survival rate,” he chuckled without humor. “Clever bastard.”

  “Great,” I groaned. “What will he do with his growing squad of physical freaks?”

  “Martin is arrogant. He creates chaos and draws power from it. He was the ruler of a small country in northeast Europe in the 50’s. Arranged for his own assassination, and threw the entire country into chaos. Not sure it even exists anymore, now that I think about it. I’d forgotten about that debacle,” he smiled as if in fond memory. “He’s here for the attention and the chaos and the power. He doesn’t have too much longer to live before his organs give out, so I bet he has something big planned. Whatever it is, we’ll have to stop him.”