The Infected [Books 1-6]

by P. S. Power

  There was no sound from the speaker for a while, so Denis waited for the kick to hit him in the balls or whatever Penny had planned. Instead he got a tired sounding voice from the box in front of him about a minute later.

  “I'll give you a chance to fix things. Just one though. If you go back to being... you, I will take you out. I may not be some hardcore killer, but I'll protect my friends no matter what.”

  Denis wanted to tease her but held his tongue. She could take him out and get away with it too. No camera could see her after all. If she was willing to kill, it wouldn't go well for him. It was so tempting to say something though...

  “All right. If I don't fix my... stuff, you take me out, and if I do manage to keep it altogether, in say, four months? I'll pay for dinner and take you out. Fair?” A smirk started to cross his face but he fought it.

  “What?” Penny sounded shocked rather than angry.

  “A bet. If I manage, at least roughly speaking, most of the time, within what you think are reasonable limits, not to be a jerk, for four months, you go out with me. If I don't, I end up dead in the desert. Sounds like incentive to me.”

  Karen grinned.

  “I have to say Penny, that sounds fair to me too. If he doesn't make the grade, well... but if he does he may even be worth spending time on. After all, he looks a lot better now without the silly outfit and clown hair.”

  Ouch. Clown hair? That this came from what was supposed to be one of the most compassionate people on the planet kind of hurt. That was just what his hair did, a fairly tight whitey-fro. He couldn't help it or anything. His hair hugged his head as it was, in strange tight waves thanks to it being so short. If he was ten years younger he could have sneaked onto a military base and no one would have thought twice about it.

  To his shock, no cursing came over the speaker box on the table, its blue and silver plastic case looking a bit out of place on the beige table cloth.

  “Deal. But I will kill you if you screw up too much and I want something actually nice if you make it. A real dinner, drinks, maybe a movie. And I'm not putting out, so don't get your hopes up too high.” She chuckled a little at the end.

  “Deal then.” He said seriously. It was too. A date with an invisible girl was better than being dead any day. Plus, his greedy inner self rubbed its little green hands together at the idea. She was a rare commodity, and as such, if he could get her, he'd...

  Still want more. Always.

  That part just didn't change. Denis had to stop himself from taking seconds at meals, even though he wasn't going to eat them. Greed. Everything he did was tainted by it. Even trying not to be a bad guy had to do with that, what could potentially be gained. Every second of each day.

  Closing his eyes he tried to do what he did in meditation, meaning listen to the noise in his skull and when he opened his eyes try to relax and just notice the world around him. It wasn't perfect by any means, just a little bit less stressful.

  Karen led him away happily, even as he limped a bit from the beating. It didn't hurt that much now, no broken bones, but there would be bruising along the ribs. A little tender, but he'd had worse. Mainly from Brian. His new best friend apparently. Talk about messed up, but still, he'd deal. After months alone like that he'd have agreed to be friends with Attila the Hun.

  Chris was in her office, a nice room, frosted glass on the outside, with a cluttered desk piled with folders, a coffee mug and a computer, a desktop built right in to the upper surface, the wood looking fine and worn.

  Christian Poures looked good too, well dressed, a light silver chain around her neck with a larger pendant of some kind on it. A big silver circle, shiny and glittering softly under the florescent track lighting above her. Her sweater was soft looking and a bit fuzzy, a light pink, and her hair was cut decently short, blonde as always and a bit waspish looking, but still attractive. Kind of hot really, and, if it wasn't for the fact that she was dating Mark, who really was a better person than he was, in the right age range.

  Denis shook his head. Sorry Chris, not trying to inundate you or anything. It's just been a bit lonely where I was. He thought this clearly, then tried to go all Zen again. It felt harder now, after the bit of excitement with Penny, but at least he was trying. If it would help at all he just didn't know.

  The team leader stared at him for a while, her face not changing, her eyes not shifting from his. If it was supposed to be unnerving she didn't quite make it, being too pretty for that, and he already knew that she could read his mind at will, she didn't need eye contact for it. She liked to claim that she had an upper range, but the truth was that he'd seen her link to people from all around the world when she wanted. Her deal was that she really just didn't want to. She couldn't help but use her power, but her first mode made her hate being too close to people. Not a social anxiety either, she just didn't like being near them, she'd explained it to the group once, but Denis hadn't really gotten it, he knew. He shrugged and tried to smile. Finally she spoke, her voice even and firm sounding.

  “Room eleven. I hope we can make the situation... better for you this time Denis.” Christian didn't move much, no flipping of hair or touching her face. She barely blinked. That was a little intimidating.

  “Thanks. I'm trying, for my part, if anyone cares.”

  “I know. So far at least. Keep it up. We could really use the help. More than I can say right now.”

  Then she waved him away. Dismissive, but a common enough move for her. She liked to be alone as often as not, unless she really liked a person. Karen patted him on the shoulder, as they left the room and then left him to wander over to his own new digs without an escort. The door opened to his thumb print so it was really the right place at least. It also meant that Christian didn't feel like playing games with him over the room assignment. Nice of her really.

  The inside didn't thrill him, it was small, about fifteen by twenty, half the size of his old room down the hall, and had only a twin bed in it, rather than a king like they'd given him before. It had its own bathroom, not huge, but no worse than what most people had, so he wouldn't complain about that.

  Really, he couldn't complain about anything. Yeah, it was tiny and yes, it probably had the smallest shower on the whole floor most likely, true. It also had a door he could open and close at will, a real shower with warm water on demand and sitting on the bathroom counter a pile of toiletries, soap, deodorant and thankfully, fingernail clippers. Toenail too and even a little sand paper board thing to smooth them down after he cut them. That he felt slightly thrilled by the idea of basic grooming bothered Denis a little. A person shouldn't have things like that taken away as a punishment, should they? It wasn't humane.

  Denis went to work, first trimming his nails, nose hair and everything else that hadn't been tended in half of forever. Then he showered, for a long time. Nearly an hour, trying to wash and scrub the stink of captivity off of him.

  It didn't work.

  No, that reek had driven to the bone already. Into his soul. An odor of stale sweat, urine and desperation that clung to him like slime, shifting with his every movement. It whispered to him that he'd be going back soon, or to an even smaller box.

  A grave. It frightened him, of course. There was no reason it shouldn't. Marcia didn't seem like she'd been kidding earlier about him being killed, and Brian Yi being the only person on the planet that would step forward for him.

  That scared him worst of all.

  If anyone had a right to be mad, to hate him, it was that guy, so how close had he really been to death without even knowing it?

  Re-dressing in the same clothes, since it neared five and he felt just a little hungry, Denis made his way to the dining room, only to find that a different hot redhead sat waiting for the meal to start. Her hair was brighter than Karen's and she looked maybe a year or two older than the twenty-something gymnast. Possibly thirty, but if so, she wore it really well. She looked good. Not just “I just got out of prison let's fuck” good either, th
e real deal. If Karen was a sports nut, this woman must be insane about it...

  Her clothing was just the normal Team Three sweats that most people wore day to day. A subtle reminder to actually work out Denis guessed. He'd always eschewed them in favor of bad tweed and plaid jackets and slacks himself, going for a unique and “dapper” look. Another legacy of his upbringing in a diehard Christian cult. Everyone had to look “good”, all the time, mainly so that “Prophet Darren” could decide who he wanted to fuck that night at a moment's notice.

  The guy only liked girls, thank God, but used to tease Denis about being gay or liking men or even secretly being a girl. Later, when he hit his teens, he'd outright accused him of it, the gay part at least. That was about the time he started getting sarcastic and mouthy, to “prove” his manhood to the supposed “mouthpiece of God”.

  Maybe it would be a good change if he just dressed like a regular guy for a while? The woman in front of him didn't seem put off by the idea. No, she just looked at him and smiled, staring a bit.

  “Well, hello.” She nearly purred at him, her voice rich and full bodied. “I'm Rachel.”

  Extending his hand and trying to not stare at the woman's breasts overly, which took work, all things considered, since they were perky and, um, happy to see him? Or cold. The room didn't feel bad to him, but the hand was hot. Either she had malaria or a metabolism so fast she had to eat butter by the stick just to keep her weight steady.

  “Denis Tompkins. Pleased to meet you.” There, it was polite and didn't involve suggestions about what they might do later at all. No one could fault him on that, could they? “Call me Denis, please.”

  The look she gave him spoke of a lot of things they might do together anyway, even if they'd just met.

  That, or Denis was imagining things. Possible. Things really had been lonely for a long time.

  The room filled up shortly, and to his surprise no one hit him or anything. Everyone on the team was there, which gave him the biggest shock he'd had in a long time. Marcia wasn't on Team Three anymore at all, but the fucking Director of the whole IPB was? Just to watch him? That seemed likely. Why though? This place had cameras in places that barely counted as places at all. If he wanted to keep tabs on him...

  Well, this just didn't make sense. Before he could ask about it the next shock came as the nearly seventy year old, fairly portly, fellow in a nice suit sat down next to Rachel and they started to get more than a little chummy. Ack. Denis started to make a quip about robbing the cradle, but caught a sudden kick to the shin from across the table, where the ever so proper Christian sat looking at him innocently.

  So... something not to talk about? Fine. Keeping his mouth shut seemed like a good enough plan to him. Also Chris was wearing hard soled shoes and the edge stung where it met shin. Denis kind of wanted to avoid having that happen again if he could. Aversion therapy after a fashion. Probably her point.

  After dinner there was nothing to do, and no one wanted to stick around with him, which was fair, so he went back to his room and just sat for a while. At seven, he decided to curl up in an actually dark room and sleep. It had been too long for that and things had gotten really freaking weird in his life. The man he tried to murder had saved his life and now he was not just being given a job, but something that sounded important.

  He needed a drink, but couldn't afford one for so many reasons. Not the least of which was that he'd insult someone if he did. Even a sip of booze turned him into a raging ass. Penny might not actually kill him for a single lapse, but Marcia would. That woman had hard written all over her and always had. Denis needed to be careful, or death would be a real possibility.

  With that in mind he fell asleep.

  The next morning started with a pounding on his door. Normal enough, being woken suddenly. It surprised him when he realized that there wasn't a cold cell around him and it was pitch black. After a moment he grinned. Free again. After a fashion at least. The pounding continued, hopefully it wasn't an emergency. When he got the hollow wooden door open Mark stood smiling gently. For a calm guy, he sure knocked loud.

  “Time for work! Normally we won't have to start this early, but today we need to get several display cakes done for the first episode, so meet me up on one in half an hour? Just in the restaurant.” Then, without giving him a chance to back out or even complain, the man disappeared, looking at the clock Denis winced.

  Four-thirty? What the fuck was this bullshit? Even the prison guards hadn't gotten him up that early.

  Still, he'd gotten to bed at a decent hour, so why not? It was a struggle to get going, his eyes still heavy and dragging for a long time. The shower helped, turned up full blast, hot water pounding, then cold, followed by hot again. It sucked. Got him to wake up fast though. As kid's they'd had to endure long cold showers to “purify” their souls at the church. The compound really. It did work. After all, they'd purified him so much he wasn't at Faithhome anymore, right? Taken the sin that was that place right out of him.

  He dragged into the restaurant fifteen minutes later, and settled by his teammate at the four person table along the front wall, the second table into the room. It was covered with a fine white linen tablecloth and had a small, but tasteful flower arrangement in the middle. White and red carnations in a white base along with those little white dried nibs everyone loved to use so much. Baby's breath? They didn't smell like sour milk to him, so he'd never gotten the name.

  Denis hoped he could get a cup of coffee or six before they started for the day and mentioned that out loud, half expecting to be told he hadn't earned it yet. Mark agreed to let him have one, since a few other people had to show up first. The agreement came with a smile though, and not an edgy thing either, a joke then? Maybe Mark wouldn't deprive a man of his coffee if he could help it? A saint if that was the case. One of the people to come in was a plain, but not ugly, girl from Team Two named Kerry who looked at him sleepily and held out her hand as if to shake. His half full cup of coffee moved from his hand and landed in hers. She promptly drank the rest.

  “Thanks. I need more though. Ugh it's early. Whoever invented mornings should be shot.”

  Laughing Denis scored a full pot of coffee and a few more cups from the morning hostess, the same kind one from the day before, making a point of thanking her profusely, then cooled his cup with water, figuring that Mark wanted to get going as soon as the last person arrived. The guy that showed up wasn't anyone he knew at all, but they shook hands anyway.

  “Warren; nice to meet you?” The man said with a tired looking yawn.

  “Denis; I have coffee?” It was an attempt to be playful but the guy just nodded and yawned again.

  “That probably means you're a living saint. Set me up and I'm your new best friend. Should we get to work before Mark starts hitting us or what?”

  Denis blinked, hearing his own thoughts of a few minutes before repeated, but didn't mention it. Here it could mean anything from telepathy to great minds thinking alike. The guy had slightly thinning hair and a thin build, and wore all white, like a real cook or baker already. It kind of made him feel a little jealous, having only Team Three sweats on and all. He wanted a dorky looking white outfit too.

  They walked out the front door of the fine place carrying cups with them, which made him wonder if the morning hostess was going to jump them or at least yell, but she just grabbed the coffee pot, a nice dispenser with shiny silver legs and a glass body, topped it off and sent it along, handing it to Denis with a smile. He thanked her again and took the thing by the warm glass handle, grinning back as best as his sleepy face could manage. It made his cheeks hurt a little, smiling wasn't something he was used to.

  The room they went to looked good. It was a half kitchen really, a huge space about fifty foot long and sixty wide, with cameras already set up in half of it. Mark showed them the room proudly.

  “This is just the set, the real kitchen is in the back. Through that door to the left. OK, we need to move fast, so division
of labor and chain of command here.” Mark smiled, his voice still dreamy and soft.

  “My show, so I'm boss. If Warren tells you to do something, do it, obviously, but we'll try to stay on the same page as much as possible. Kerry next, since she actually has a culinary arts degree and then Denis, who's our runner. Any questions?”

  Denis raised his hand a little so Mark nodded.

  “Runner? Is that like a gopher?” Or just everyone's bitch? He stopped the words before they were spoken and tried to keep an interested look on his face instead of the surly one that wanted to come out.

  Kerry smiled at him, it actually made her a bit prettier. Not a lot, but enough to get attention from him. Wholesome looking might work as a descriptor. She had a cute little snubbed nose that reminded him a little of some of his sisters. Not too different than his own really. It would have been off-putting if he hadn't been so freaking lonely for so long and probably wouldn't be until he could get laid. Unless she was willing...

  He could suck up the similarity in that case.

  “Kind of, but a good runner does everything in the kitchen. It basically means that we all get to yell at you, and work you half to death, but in the real world it's a place to start learning, not just scutt work. That too though. The runner does most of the scutt work. Keep that part in mind. You equals menial tasks.” It came with a wink attached and a playful tone.

  Denis sighed. Sounded about right didn't it? Get out of prison only to be used as near slave labor. Well, it beat dying, so far at least and they had coffee. Good coffee too. He just sat and listened while everyone else went over the plan for the day. He didn't try to do more than pay attention, since most of what they said didn't make sense. What he got was that they were making two small cakes, and a large decorative one in the shape of a turn of the last century dirigible for the Director's birthday. That wasn't for six months, but it made a good gimmick and brought the IPB into the show with one of their most public figures. Not everyone liked the Director, but no one was afraid of him either. Denis could see it working.