Boston Under Siege (Book 1): Virus:

by Willson, Fisher

  Every evening, Commonwealth Avenue changed into a medieval landscape of ashcan fires and roving vigilantes. The authorities maintained that Boston was safer than Cambridge, but it didn’t feel safer to her. Fires were already ablaze, and a new tent city had popped up on the green while they’d been at work, but these temporary housing situations were commonplace since the outbreak.

  Alexx tapped Ami’s arm reminding her to hide her badge. She nodded. Neither of them wanted to engage with some revolutionary or street person about what they were doing. It could get ugly quickly if they think we’re dealing with the virus.

  Ami tugged on Alexx’s sleeve. The lines at the food trucks were too long. She tipped her head toward the magnificent cream-colored apartment building. “Let’s just go up. I’m tired.”

  Climbing the worn marble steps into Charlesgate House Ami tried to convince herself that she was glad to be back at Black Hall Institute, but it was a hard sell. I’m sick of acting as a statistician. I know analyzing and categorizing local data is important, but dang, never getting a crack at the live virus? This sucks! If they’d just let us, we could do so much more. It makes me tired just to think about. She was beginning to mutter with too much regularity: “Wish we had a lab.”

  Alexx turned to her, “You hear that?”

  The sun glistened off the brass kick plate as they entered the building. Ami arched an eyebrow as they climbed the stairs up to the apartment. “I totally hear that.”

  “Yeah, I can feel it.” Alexx said, regarding the throbbing bass and muffled beat of drums. When Alexx opened the apartment door, the loud music masked the yowls of a fistfight.

  From the far right, Trips slid on his back across the living room slamming into the wall. A lamp crashed to the floor as Ichiro leaped at him. “Had enough? Give up?”

  “Uh. Never!” Trips slapped the floor yanking on Ichiro’s elbow crooked under his chin.

  Ichiro straddled Trips pulling his dreadlocks back. “You sure?”

  “No hair pulling!” Trips yelled, as he wrestled Ichiro’s chokehold away and flopped over.

  “You called no rules, dude!” Ichiro said, flipping a knee over Trips’ shoulder.

  Trips was purple, as Ami crossed to the stereo and turned down the volume on the distorted cacophony. Alexx stood in the center of the room and clapped her hands, and cried the Vulcan word for stop, “Kroykah!”

  Ichiro got up, breathing heavily, and tapped Trips’ arm as he reached out a hand. “Dude?”

  Trips lay on the floor, his face shielded by his mop of hair. A muffled “What?” issued from the moppet.

  Ichiro cracked his back. “Orange whip?”

  Trips groaned as Ichiro stepped over him. He flinched when Ami squatted down and touched his shoulder. “What happened to 'I'm just doing my project today?'”

  Trips groaned holding his side. He stayed prone. Ichiro wiggled a bottle of beer within view. Trips sneered, “What? No glass?”

  Ichiro slammed the bottle on the dining table. The liquid frothed out of the bottle. “You're such a pussy!”

  “Fuck you!” Came a strangled bark from the moppet.

  Alexx snatched up the foaming beer bottle, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as she crossed into the kitchen. “You're both fucktards.”

  “C'mon, I'll help you up,” Ami said, wrapping her fingers around Trips’ forearm. Trips gave her a nasty look. Ami dropped his arm and stood up. “Fine.”

  “Your beverage awaits, fucktard number one,” Alexx said, stepping over Trips. “In the kitchen.”

  Trips lay still a moment longer. When he entered the kitchen, Ami was pouring herself a glass of Chardonnay. He leaned over the sink and drank directly from the tap, his mouth opening and closing like a guppy's.

  “You're gonna be up all night.” Ami brushed past him. I should just go home.

  “Bite me,” Trips said, breathlessly, then burped so loud Ami could hear it in the hallway.

  She rolled her eyes as she entered his bedroom. It was a mess. She sidestepped balled up sweat socks, squeezed past bike equipment, musical and computer components, and stepped over manuals. She made room for herself amongst the clutter on the bed. If I could just call an Uber, but it’s not that easy. She sighed. I’m just too tired.

  Trips banged open the door, stomped over to the bed, and flopped down next to Ami.

  “Let me see.” Ami closed the bedroom door as Trips gulped down a third of a quart of Gatorade and lifted his shirt. His bandage was a mess of yellow and brown ooze, and he was actively bleeding. “Trips, you can't keep doing this!”

  “I'm fine,” he said huskily, breathing heavy. He finished the container of Gatorade and dropped it on the floor, then cracked a can of beer, holding it on his side. “Just need another beer is all.”

  Ami stood up and crossed her arms. “No, you don't.”

  Trips lumbered up to sitting. “The fuck I don't!”

  Ami found her shoes. “Fine. I'm tired. I'm going home.”

  “The fuck you are!” They stared at each other. Trips rolled his eyes. “C'mere. I'm sorry.” She didn’t move. They stared at each other. “Uh. C'mere! C'mon.”

  Ami pursed her lips together, then huffed. “You're a fucktard.”

  Trips nodded. “I know, I'm the number one fucktard.” He rolled his hands in the air. “C'mere, c'mere.”

  Ami waved his request aside and crossed to the closet. Trips sat back and watched her carefully hang her clothes, then change into his blue flannel shirt and shorts. He smiled as she crawled into bed with him. “Ami, I'm sorry. You’re right. I just, you know...”

  “You could have gotten hurt.” Ami sat back and picked up her wine. “Or hurt Ichiro.”

  “I wouldn't have let it get that far.” Trips frowned. “Doesn't seem to work like that.”

  Ami arched an eyebrow and took a sip of her wine. “Trips you don't know how it works.”

  Trips shrugged. “Depends on how amped I am, that's all.” He lifted his shirt and looked at his oozy bandage. “Ugh. Gross.”

  Ami got up to find medical supplies. “I know it’s a tall order for you, but can you stop being a douche and let your body heal?”

  Chapter 45: Smitten And Bashed

  Dewey and Trips sat on red vinyl benches in the dark Somerville club. It had been almost six months since they’d played out. No practice and Dewey was as cool as ever, in contrast, Trips was a hot mess in triplicate. The sound check had been awful. He kept speeding up, drumming too fast. Snake thumped his bass and nodded to keep him on track, with a head tilt here and there for the changes. Trips took a deep breath trying not to think about it.

  Dewey studied the menu. They were allowed a free meal from the bar. Trips glanced at the sticky upside-down menu, his knee bobbing through the hole in his destroyed jeans. He sipped his beer. It was making his stomach hurt. “What time we go on?”

  “Ten thirty, same like always.” Dewey took a sip of beer and unfolded his newspaper.

  Trips glanced from the menu to Dewey. “D'you order?”

  Dewey cocked an eyebrow. “Yep.”

  Trips slouched in his seat, trying to look relaxed. “What'd you get?”

  “The tips. You need to go out and play,” Dewey peered at Trips over his reading glasses, “in traffic.”

  Trips rubbed his belly and deflated over the table. “I’m not hungry.”

  “You have time.” Dewey put down his paper and rolled up the sleeves on his dark green work shirt. “Go see her.”

  Trips threw his head back and pinched his lips into a snarl. “She's workin'.”

  Dewey went back to his paper. “Suit yourself.”

  “Where's Snake?” He shot a penny across the table at Dewey's glass.

  “I don't fuckin' know!” Dewey cleared the menu and slid the penny back at Trips. “Would you let me read, please?”

  “Sorry.” Trips slid out of the booth. “I'm out. I'll be back.”

  “Mm,” Dewey said. Trips pushed his beer toward Dewey, as
an offering. Dewey turned the page on his newspaper. “Ten fifteen, or you carry my gear.”

  * * *

  Snake was holding court on the brick patio of a closed coffee shop across the street. Trips hung for a minute exchanging pleasantries, then asked Snake for the use of his bike.

  He took off on the silver fixie toward Ami’s office. He knew she was working because he was working. They’d only been dating six months. He wanted her to be his wife, and he was crazy aware that she knew when they played out, he was working the room. He got that it would be totally annoying to watch him flirt with other girls and boys for that matter. But he'd really wanted her to be there. It made him nervous to think of her not being there. They’d argued. Ami lay into him - she knew that already; did he think she was stupid? She knew it didn't mean anything, but in her agitated state, she didn't want to deal. She was fragile, brittle to the breaking point. So, she'd pass. She was certain that Amos was alive, and Sandy might show up at the gig.

  He dismounted in front of Ami's office on Kirkland Street and grumbled as he realized he didn’t have a bike lock. He stashed Snake's bike in the bushes and climbed the steps into the office. He waved through the glass door sliding his messenger bag forward and was buzzed into the building.

  The security guard behind the desk stood up. “Can I help you?”

  “Delivery for Alpert.” Trips said, tapping his messenger bag. He tilted his head looking at the register.

  “Here,” said the guard, handing Trips a pen. “It’s after hours. Might not be in.” He tapped the phone on his desk. “What’d you say the name was?”

  “Amelia Alpert.” Trips signed the register and put the time. He tapped his bag. “I’m supposed to deliver it in person.”

  The guard pointed at the elevator. “Upstairs, third floor, 323-b.”

  “Thanks.” Trips passed the elevator and opened the door to the stairs. He ran up two at a time. The sign on the door at 232-b said: “After 7:00 PM Door Is Locked. Please, Ring Buzzer.” Trips leaned on the buzzer. No one answered. “Dagnabit.”

  He heard Ami say: “Looking for me?” from behind. He turned to see her leaning against the wall in a sleeveless tee, form fitting jeans and engineer boots. She took his breath away. He blushed. “Special delivery. Err, me!” he chuckled. “Supper?”

  “Sure,” she said, brushing against him to reach the door lock. “But I thought you were eating at the club.” She eyed him up and down as she waved her badge over the lock.

  Trips felt an electric jolt as her skin touched his and his ears got hot. “I've got Snake's bike in the bushes. I’m not….. I should…..”

  Ami crossed into her glass-enclosed office and dropped her keycard on the desk. “I’ve got to close out of my programs.”

  Trips stood in her doorway and glanced around. She was the only one there. He stepped in behind her and angled her jaw up toward his, breathing in her soft breath. He grazed her cheek with his thumb as she closed her gray eyes. He pressed his lips to hers.

  God, you are so hot! Still in the kiss, he opened his eyes, looking for a way to lay her down. He thought of Snake's bike in the bushes, but this was way more important. He backed her against the desk.

  To his delight, Ami scrambled up onto the desk, her legs wide. He could feel her nails digging into his back as he kissed her again. He slipped off his jacket and peeled her out of her t-shirt. I can hardly believe it. Office sex!

  He ripped off his tee in one smooth motion and undid his vintage mountain lion belt buckle, kissing the tops of her scrumptious breasts, as she cleared the office supplies underneath her, paper clips stuck to her skin as she slid out of her jeans. The stapler, keyboard, and mouse tumbled to the floor.

  Trips picked up the monitor and kissed her.

  “The floor. Just the floor,” Ami said breathlessly.

  He flipped it into the desk chair as Ami unzipped her jeans and boots. “Lock?” he asked, glancing at the door.

  Ami nodded, seeking his mouth. “Automatic.”

  “Oh my God, I've missed you.” Her warm body leaned into his. You are so delicious.

  She nuzzled his chest as he teased her. She moaned, and pitched forward, wrapping her legs around him, her fingers directing him. She groaned, “Oh, just - yeah.”

  A shockwave erupted up his spine as he undulated, his pants slipping below his knees. His eyes rolled back. Goddamn.

  She clasped her arms around his shoulders, as he tried to climb onto the desk. “Trips, wait, I’m slipping off the desk.”

  His pants were around his ankles. He tried to raise his leg. “Can't...get...leg...”

  “You're...Shatnerizing.” Ami laughed.

  Trips groaned and picked Ami up from the desk and nearly toppled as he lay her on the floor. Moments later they were done, laying side-by-side panting, and holding hands half on the chair mat and half on the stain resistant carpet. Trips cracked a smile. “That was hot.”

  Ami looked over at him, swiping at the hair sticking to her face. “That was hellfire hot. That was scorchin'.”

  Trips turned to her. “Did you?”

  Ami laughed in that throaty way he loved. “Hell, yeah.”

  He smiled and sat up. “What time is it?”

  Ami shrugged. “No idea.”

  Trips stood up and pulled up his artfully torn jeans and buckled his oversized belt buckle. “You want to grab something to eat, or we can just eat at the club?” He dropped Ami's jeans on her tummy and yanked his t-shirt over his head. It was backward and inside out. All the better. You are so stupid in love, Kentigern. After he dressed he placed the monitor back on the desk with the mouse and keyboard.

  “Still have to close out of my programs.” She smiled. “Hope we didn’t start some weird search or something.”

  “Well, I got what I was searching for.” He laughed and glanced her over. “You’re unbelievable.”

  Ami put her arms around him. “I'll just be a minute.”

  Trips ran downstairs, signed out, and sat on Snake’s bike. In the afterglow of sex, he was wondering what it would be like to have a cigarette when he caught something flit by in his peripheral vision. He looked for it but didn’t find it. He pulled out his phone to text Dewey he was on his way when he heard something; he looked up and saw Ami pounding down the steps. “Hey.” His stomach did a back flip, and he grinned. “We don’t have time for --”

  She cut him off, knocking his arms off the handlebars. “I know. Wish we did, but don’t worry about it.” She gave him a peck on the nose. “Damn, you're fine.” She wiggled onto the top tube. “Let’s go.”

  “You bet.” Trips took off, kissing the back of Ami's neck, and whispered in her ear, “You should have on a helmet.”

  “So should you,” she laughed, into the wind.

  Trips peddled harder. “My hair will protect me.”

  Ami glanced at him. “I've been meaning to discuss that with you.”

  “Oh, really?” Trips arched an eyebrow as he forced the front tire of the bike over a curb. From the right, out of the bushes, a dark body sideswiped them, whomping them to the ground. They splayed over the sidewalk.

  As Ami came to, she heard the click of the spinning bicycle wheel. She turned over painfully. Her throat was hot from the air pushed from her lungs. She massaged her ballooning wrist and touched her aching head. A cell phone chimed. She lurched to standing.

  She heard the ravaged vampire slurping. The dark tattered figure was hunched over Trips. She held her head and spread her feet wide to stay upright. “Hey, get offa him!”

  The creature hissed at her. Ami stepped back, and the creature went back to feeding. She heard something glass crack underfoot. She bent over unsteadily and picked up the broken cell phone, and wavered. It chimed. She toggled to answer and spoke into the phone. “Something happened.”

  She staggered forward. “Hey! I said get away from him!” she yelled, dropping the cell phone as she tried to pry the creature away from Trips. It backhanded her, sending her spraw
ling onto the campus green.

  The vampire closed in on Ami, holding her in its gaze, its red eyes mesmerizing her. It flicked its long filthy fingernails, and its greasy black hair looked like a river of lead in the gloom. She struggled to move, hot breath caught in her throat as it got closer.

  From behind the creature Ami heard a low menacing Scottish accent she had grown to adore. “Get away from her!”

  Trips tapped Snake’s tire pump in his palm. The vampire growled and flew at him. They grappled. Trips whacked it with the tire pump until it fell to the ground, gurgling. But he wasn’t finished. He called to Ami, panting, telling her to turn away, that he was going to stomp the creature as it grabbed his ankle and twisted. Trips fell to the ground and scuttled backward. The vampire crawled after him when Ami heard the soft zing of two tiny arrows. One struck the creature’s chest, and the other hit it between the eyes. It keeled over as Ichiro stepped out of the shadows.

  “You okay little dude?” Ichiro asked, helping Ami to her feet.

  Trips handed Alexx the bent tire pump.

  Ami smiled at her friends. “Well, kids, I guess this is the new normal.”