The Infected [Books 1-6]

by P. S. Power

  Brian's mind spun looking for a loophole, some way that he could trade his own life for hers even, anything. Nothing came to him.

  He didn't get out of the chair to go work out, or do much of anything. Brian stretched his mind, desperately searching for something. Anything. By the second day he had to sleep, his mind just wouldn't work anymore. Then he slept for nearly a full day. After that he got up and showered, changed his clothing and went out to look for possible answers. No one had any for him. Not even one good idea.

  Hitting bottom on it he went to the gym, fifteen, and worked himself to exhaustion pushing until Carl made him leave, trying to use pain to keep the thoughts from his head. In the afternoon he grabbed Marcia and took her outside to the back of the compound and practiced fighting with her, forcing her to work harder and harder to keep up with him. Moving no faster than normal, but not letting himself pause or think about what he wanted to do next. When they worked with weapons he did the same thing. By the end of it Marcia stood back, looking more than a little worried.

  Then he ran the interior perimeter of the fence line until he couldn't stand any more. It was the next day before that happened. Resting for a while on the ground, clothing soaked in sweat, breathing regular and deep, Brian waited for something, but nothing happened at all. After a while he got up, found some water and started everything all over again.

  Jason started bringing him food every six hours and made him eat, threatening to shoot him if Brian refused. The sidearm in his hand had the safety off, so Brian ate and drank water when it was offered. Other than that he worked. On the second day of this, without sleep or rest, Lauren came out with Marcia, her huge armored form glistened darkly, like a beetles shell.

  “Here, you seem to be looking for a challenge.” Lauren didn't wait, coming for him at over sixty miles per hour. He started to pull his knife, then left it in the sheath. Lauren was his friend, not someone to risk casually like that. The knife could actually kill her and this was just practice. Instead Brian stepped to the side calmly at the last second, then ran after her, his pace a lot slower than hers. A few steps later she had to slow in order to turn and try to attack again. When she slowed enough he jumped up on her back, climbing her like a tree, slapping the flat of his hand over the breathing ports on her armored face. She panicked and tried to grab him, which didn't work, Lauren lacking the needed flexibility to reach behind her head, her own super strong armored carapace in the way. She tried for his hand, to free her mouth and nose holes up, causing Brian to let go with the right hand and slap the left in place before she could get a good breath. This went on for a few minutes, her air reserve eventually running out, driving her to one knee, then both.

  Hopping off of her back and jumping in front of her as fast as possible, not letting her recover, he kicked her in the chest plate knocking her back. Without pause the knife finally flew into his hand, the tip of it touching the slit of her mouth, ready to go in. The woman hissed, sucking air in desperately.

  “I don't know for sure, but it should be long enough to reach the brain stem. Is that good enough for now? I could also go for trying to choke off the air supply if I didn't have the knife. Duct tape should work for that, if I could find some. Other than that... well, you'd just kill me.” He smiled, at least Brian thought he did. Marcia just waved her hand at him to get off the woman.

  He sheathed the knife and waited. Lauren got up slowly, then shook her head at Marcia, some kind of signal Brian just didn't understand and couldn't care about at the moment.

  They left, so he started running again. After that he added in other exercises every few hours to give himself a small change and use some other muscles. He pushed until he couldn't do any more and then moved on to the next exercise. Then he ran again, a steady lope, not fast by any means, but not stopping either, except when required.

  Marcia came back with Tobin, Dave, Lis and Soar. They all attacked at once without bothering to announce they were going to. Soar proved to be a problem and so did Marcia who seemed to be taking the whole thing much more seriously this time. He didn't win that one at all, in fact they “killed” him a half dozen times before he started figuring out how to win. After he got three in a row they all left, leaving him to run.

  On day five the new man from Team Two, Hobbs, came out alone. He held a single stick about four foot long in his hand, smiling gently. His expression looked a lot like the one Mark generally wore for some reason, calm, peaceful and happy. Brian stopped, waiting for him to speak or attack, but the man just stood for a long time. Then without warning he moved. The fight was... brutal, harder than any of the others had been by far. They punched, grappled, kicked and pulled hair. Hobbs wasn't faster than Brian, or even stronger, not by too much at least. Fresher, but not using superior physical abilities on the level the others had. But he clearly handed Brian his behind on a platter. They fought this way for hours, neither giving ground, but the strange man scoring again and again on Brian, no matter how hard he tried to fight. It took a while, but Hobbs finally nodded and dashed in quickly, a simple fist to the back of the neck took Brian to his knees. After that the world went dark, even as Brian kept trying to fight.

  When he came to Brian found himself in medical looking up at the ceiling. No one was there, so he went back to sleep. When he woke up Doctor Clinton came in to the room, meaning it would be night, unless the shifts had changed or something.

  “Brian. How do you feel?” The doctor seemed friendlier than he'd seen him before, like he actually cared about the state of his patient. Maybe the knowledge that Brian wasn't a secret drug fiend had actually helped?

  “Um, not bad. A little sore, but that's to be expected. Headache, but also to be expected. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  It turned out that he'd slept for over a day and had to be given intravenous fluids to correct the fairly severe dehydration he'd worked himself into. Clinton vacated the room after a bit, once he made sure Brian wasn't feeling too bad. About half an hour later Doctor Tull came in, sat by his bed and started asking him questions.

  Things that made sense in a way, but didn't seem important. Was he suicidal? No, but really, what did that matter? Did he want to see anyone in particular? He almost said no, but then decided he would.

  “Karen, Team Three and the Chambers family if they'll come.” Tull wrote this all down and left.

  He slept some more and finally got up when Kern came in. His back felt stiff from sleep and his limbs were heavy from disuse. On the good side about half the bruising had gone away, so he looked a little less like a plum. He told Kern he was headed back to his room, but didn't ask permission, figuring the guy would tell him if he had to stay for medical reasons. Kern just called out to remind him to eat.

  Brian went to his room, thinking about how he should be able to save Melany. Nothing came to mind at all still. He just felt so hopeless there.

  A knock came at the door. He moved to answer it, hoping it would be good news of some sort.

  “It's Marcia, open up or at least tell me you aren't decent if you don't want me to come in.” Brian opened it for her and she took him into her arms, holding him for a second. It was a strange move and made him tense.

  “The situation in Canada has changed. The creatures have found the lake and surrounded it. The Canadians are planning to use bombs on the whole are, about ten of them. Huge ones... The Director wanted me to come get you...”

  Brian followed her as fast as they could go up the stairs. The elevators needed the top two levels to work right, so until those were finished, everyone had to use the stairs for everything. They ran, taking two and three steps at a time. Marcia swung through the door, grabbing on to the molding as she pushed on the bar of the heavy blue door leading into floor three. They kept running, right into a large office, with a single huge table, a war room of sorts.

  Brian listened at first trying to figure out what the plan from the Canadians might be. It didn't take long, since Moore summed it up for him, looking
sad and tired.

  “The Canadians are taking out the whole area with fuel air bombs... Each one is about as powerful as a small nuclear device, so it should work to remove the threat... We, uh, have the young lady, Melany Miller, on the phone with the Prime Minister of Canada on conference.”

  Marcia pulled a chair over as his legs collapsed, making a loud thump when he hit the seat. The voices became clear to him a deep, sad sounding male voice came over the phone talking to someone.

  “Melany, is... is there anything I can do for you? Anyone you need contacted or want done... after?”

  The room went silent, the only sounds those of people subtly rustling and a single clock ticking away on the wall, reminding them all of how little time they had left before this happened. When he swallowed the sound felt like it would deafen him. Finally a tiny voice came from another speaker.

  “Yes... Tell the people that have been helping me, that man that kept saving me – Brian – tell him I said thank you? He's done so much for me. Let him know I didn't give up...” A sob took her voice, the tears obvious.

  “Will it hurt?” She said almost too softly for Brian to hear.

  Marcia leaned forward, still standing, so that her voice could reach the speaker on the phone without shouting.

  “Melany? This is Marcia Turner, I have Brian here... He heard what you said. He knows... It won't hurt. Not at all. The whole thing will happen too fast for you to be able to perceive pain from it. If you have to die it's one of the better ways to go.”

  Half the people in the room glared at her for being insensitive, but the little voice on the other end of the line didn't sound unhappy about what she'd said at all.

  “Oh... that makes sense. Good. I don't want to hurt.”

  Brian stood.

  “No. Call it off. I'll go... I'll take her place or... I can get there in about a day, twelve hours. I'll kill them all, she doesn't have to die. There has to be another way...” His voice shook with fear and rage.

  The girl on the phone sobbed into a laugh, it sounded wracked with pain and sorrow, her voice came after a minute sounding stronger, older suddenly, as if she'd made up her mind about something.

  “Is that Brian?”

  The Director leaned in and told her it was.

  “No. I caused all this. I didn't mean to, but hundreds have died because of me already. If you save me now, this just keeps happening, and I could kill everyone, everywhere. This has to end.” Her voice shifted a little into something familiar, a placating tone that people used to convince children that things would be all right even when they weren't going to be right ever again. “I'm... I'm ready. It's OK. I'm not even sad about it. Really. Thank you, thank you all for being with me, but I'm fine. You have to drop it. Drop the bombs. You have to let me go Brian. There's no other way. I know that now. I'm not giving up... I... What's that? Oh. I think the planes are here.”

  A gasp came from the phone, a shuddering inhalation that shook Brian to the core.

  He stood up. Forcing his chair back.

  “Dharma! Send me now. Fuck. Now! Now!” A tingling started, building fast and hard, his skin almost aching from it.

  “No. It's fine. Thank you for trying to save me. Goodbye.” The girl cried when she said it, sobbing.

  The tingling built, pain starting to rip through him as he willed himself to move, to save her. Something stopped him, like a wall of force, holding him in place, even as he locked his mind onto the idea, trying to figure out what he had to do in order to save her. It hit him what must be stopping him.

  “Dharma!”

  The ghost girl was there, standing, not looking at him, her right hand holding her left arm, which hung straight by her side. “No. I can't... it's too late already. If you go you'll just die and so will she...”

  There was a low rumble and a gasp of fear, then the line went dead. Brian went down, just sitting on the floor without catching himself or even trying too. Tears dripped from his eyes as he pulled his knees into his chest and started rocking back and forth gently.

  Marcia came and sat next to him, holding him close and rocking with him, tears in her own eyes he thought. It was hard to tell.

  Eventually someone led him away, back to his own room, where Karen came to find him shortly thereafter. He let her hold him and tell him things would be alright, trying as hard as he could to believe it. Nothing would ever be right again though.

  Not ever.

  After a while he got up and went running again, no plan, not even thinking, just running around the inside of the fence line. He picked a speed too fast to be comfortable, not a slow grind, but that point where any faster would mean feeling sick, lungs starting to burn. The pace was a thing just below that level, the lactate threshold someone, Jason the Team Three trainer, had told him. He held it until his legs stopped moving about five hours later.

  People stood watching him run. Karen and Marcia stood with the Chambers. Penny nearby looking like she felt alone. She probably did. He did and other people could even see and hear him. Brian walked over after a few minutes, Marcia handing him a bottle of water. Tap he could tell, but that didn't matter, it tasted good anyway. The well water here was always clean tasting. They could probably bottle it for sale, but somehow “Infected water” just didn't sound like it would go over very well.

  “Hey.” His voice didn't have life in it right now.

  Bridget ran over to him and wrapped her little arms around him. “I'm so sorry Brian. I... really I don't know what to say. You tried doesn't cover it at all. But... you can't sink into depression over it. I mean, you could, but don't. Too many other people need you now. I need you. So... don't.”

  Brian made himself smile and patted her on the back softly.

  “You're right. I'll be OK. I mean, this is sad, but I know that I didn't have anything else I could do. I... just wasn't enough this time. I... Look, I know it's going to happen, sometimes I'm going to lose people no matter how hard I try and I promise I won't let this be a permanent thing, but... could I collect some hugs here and then be alone for a while? Just for today?”

  Everyone hugged him, coated with sweat or not and then walked away, Marcia telling him to remember to eat.

  He started running again, slower, barely a walk this time. Remembering back when no one else ever had to remind him of that. How his biggest goal in life had been beating the next level of a video game or finding the secret super weapon in the hidden chest, usually of the same game. Back when Doug and he had been friends and he dreamed of working up the nerve to ask out the girl from the book store, knowing the whole time that she would have said no if he had.

  Now what did he have?

  He didn't worry about food anymore and had lost weight, almost too much. He had pretty hard looking abs under the scars now. He could run a lot farther than he would have even dreamed of before and really didn't worry about casual crime. Muggers? The idea made him laugh, mainly because he never carried money.

  He had friends. The idea surprised him, but it was true. A lot of people here seemed to actually like him and think that he was worth something. Some of them seemed proud of him, even if he wasn't ever going to excel at math. At least when they weren't trying to kill him or each other.

  Things were, well, good wasn't exactly the right phrase, but definitely better than anything he'd expected the first time Lancaster had told him about all this. The biggest thing was that he'd saved lives. Way more than anyone had even hoped at the beginning.

  That was something.

  He picked up speed and tried to hold on to all that.

  Was it enough?

  Right now, no.

  But maybe it would be later, if he didn't give up.

  Chapter sixteen

  Senator Hooper used Melany's death at the hands of the Canadian government as a banner, a beacon. Showing how regular people could stop the “evil Infected”, if they just had the will. The press releases glossed over the fact that she was an eleven year old girl for so
me reason. Where it did get mentioned it was used by his followers to demonstrate how very dangerous being Infected could make a person. After all, if one little girl could do all that, anyone could.

  Brian watched the screen sitting between Bridget and Rachel on the hotel bed in the girls room, the gold and tan comforter underneath them wrinkling a little as he shifted to look at the screen dead on. The reporter on the screen interviewing the dour looking man asked questions that sounded reasonable, but were just tools to give the gray suited politician an excuse to incite the audience. After a while Rachel just took the remote from her granddaughter gently and clicked the box off.

  “This is why I don't even own a TV. Could you imagine what would happen if we struck up a national conversation about all the problems non-infected people cause? Most of the crime, all of the wars ever fought, global warming... garbage like that on television...” Rachel flipped the remote in her hand, anxious and wanting to burn off the extra energy that sitting around caused in her.

  Both the women had that vibrating kind of energy that you normally only saw when people were on drugs, good ones that kept you up all night and made you not want to eat. They ate though, the food coming in a decently steady stream all day long. Brian didn't even try to keep up with them on that score. He'd done fat and it didn't work for him. Instead of eating when they did, he talked, carefully guiding them back to the base, in their minds. Not that he was subtle about it.