Infected 8: Impulse: A Whole New Day

by P. S. Power

  After all, she'd killed a lot of people earlier. In a few instants, responding on instinct mainly, she'd changed the face of the world. Her alone. That, she felt, might well end up being a big part of her existence, if she wasn't careful. Bridget Chambers, ending up on her own, over and over again as all her people died. Not that the ones she'd done away with hadn't needed it. They were being insane, and Infected or not, they were going to hurt people, if someone else hadn't stood up and made them cut it out.

  They'd had their chance to go along with the program. Not that the press would see it that way, when they were making her look bad the next day on the news. No, it would all be about how she should have given out candy and kisses to the people trying to kill everyone else. If not that exactly, it would be something nearly as stupid sounding. She was, after all, Infected. It didn't matter who you saved, in the end, if you had that hanging over you.

  Honestly, she didn't know if it would have made a difference even if she weren't. Her favorite kid's book series, Debbie Danger, was all about a regular girl that delusionally saw problems and tried to fight them. No one loved her for it either, did they? It was part of the culture Bridget lived in. People would beg desperately to be saved, but once you did it, well, then you were marked as an outcast. Debbie wasn't even Infected, just a bit imaginative. People still kind of hated her for being a superhero.

  It was, no doubt, a thing that would always be with them, one way or the other.

  The outdoor telephone hookup box was a light mint green, and made of smooth metal that seemed to be of one piece, but the installed device was black again. It showed a lack of style, she thought. It looked menacing, as she waved to it as Frank and Marcia crowded in beside her. The man's arm touched hers, but he pulled away, almost instantly. She hadn't thought he was a bigot, so frowned at him.

  He grinned, "Sorry, not trying to get cuddly there."

  That was all he said, and Marcia looked at him, but didn't seem too suspicious of the scene, which was odd. It was, she realized, that the woman simply accepted that it was all about the man trying to act normally. Not hidden bigotry or anti-her hate coming out.

  She forced herself to nod.

  "No big thing. Now, how do we get the box out? I want the phones up in ten minutes, so let's get at this." It didn't take that long, since it was just a matter of disconnecting some screws, which held a bunch of wires in place. One for each phone line. Joe had probably gotten them completely monitored in about four minutes while old Frank let his prunes work.

  After that they went over every part of the system, which took longer, since there were lines on poles, and Marcia insisted they follow them at least three blocks away. Even that, she allowed, wasn't really going to be enough.

  "This is just the tip of the iceberg, and it always is. Just having phones means that people will be able to remotely listen to us. Cell phones are just as bad. The NSA owns that technology. Anything you say can, and probably will, be listened to." She was looking at everyone, but Doug and Bridget were the ones there that had secret info they could let slip. For now at least. The rest of them, if they didn't have to be killed, would eventually end up knowing things that other agencies didn't really need to worry about.

  To Bridget, that was just part of life. Everything was watched, all the time. Always. If you touched yourself in the shower, there was a record of it. There had been for her, at any rate. Her entire life. If she kissed a boy, or copped a feel, there was a nice video held in the files. Nothing got past the system. Even the contents of what she ate and then pulled a Frank with, was analyzed for chemical content. They'd monitored the health, as well as the illicit drug use, of everyone at the old IPB.

  It was, after all, part of the law. They were required to give over all the information that they collected to congress too. That meant whoever was sneaking around trying to get this system into place either didn't know that, wasn't in the system, or had been trying too hard, thinking they were going to pull a fast one. Since the real answer was that last one, Bridget smiled.

  "Now, what do we do with Joe here? He did his part, as far as we know so far, but his bosses need to know that trying this kind of thing costs. The best plan would be to sue them, and have their top people arrested for treason, but since we're the IPB that isn't going to happen. So, Camp Jones for all of them?" She yawned right at the end, really needing to get to bed soon. Apparently killing hundreds of people just wiped her out.

  The teleporting girl, whose voice was sounding a lot better already, after being healed from a crushed larynx, cleared her throat again and spoke to Bridget directly. They were about the same age and anyone not getting that she was in charge hadn't been with them that night.

  "I can take them. I mean, teleport with them, if we can get close enough. My top range is about five miles, if I have to carry other people. If we sneak up on them and I... get them while they sleep?"

  Bridget looked at Marcia, who went wide eyed, and threw off a vulpine grin.

  "Damn, I like this one already. What's your name again?"

  "Sinclair. Just the one name." She blushed a bit when she said it, but no one there cared if she wanted to be called that, did they? Bridget didn't.

  She nodded.

  "Right. I have to nap first. We'll get to that in the morning. Right now, Frank and Joe..." If they let them go, they'd tell those people about the plans to kidnap them. If they didn't then they'd need to have a reason why. That was doable, but Frank seemed pretty innocent. They could hold him for questioning however, given the nature of things. "Why don't you two go home? Don't talk to anyone about this until the morning. Got that Joe? Mess this up and you, personally, are in for a hard time."

  The men both looked nervous then, like they suspected a trick, and the big bald man with the funny accent grabbed Joe by the arm firmly, so he couldn't escape. Thankfully he didn't say anything. Marcia gave her a look, but no one else got what she was planning.

  It went slowly, since they had to ask Joe to write down all his information and everything he knew about his bosses first. It wasn't that much but it was pretty clear he was holding a lot back from them. For instance, he refused to actually admit that he was working for the government, or which agency was part of the action. They'd been saying NSA, but that was probably wrong.

  That crowd didn't need Joe to put in hardware like that, did they? As Marcia had pointed out, they owned big parts of the system, and could infiltrate the rest. They didn't even have to leave their desks at work to do it and had people that could probably do that with one hand while they surfed porn with the other.

  Her bet was the ATF. For some reason that branch hated the IPB with a passion. Probably because the Infected people of the world didn't need them at all. Except the alcohol part. A lot of them drank, but that was almost always legal. It didn't do a thing to Bridget however. Being drunk was the kind of luxury that her system just didn't allow her.

  When they let the two men go, she stretched, and spoke loudly.

  "Okay, we need them followed. Who can do that? We need someone that's fast, or can ride with them and not be seen, any ideas?" She could do it, but the fact was her head felt about ready to shut down. She needed at least seven hours of sleep a night and liked nine, if it was possible. She really doubted she'd make it to a tent.

  The older black woman who had been dressed in shadows earlier, raised her hand. She wasn't that old, being about Franks age, at a guess. So fifty give or take a bit. She'd looked older with the deep shadowed lines on her face. At a guess that happened when she used her power harder.

  "I can do that? Only for one of them though. Do you want the boy followed, or the man?" She had a slight accent, but it was just inner city, not full on Ebonics. Marcia stepped in then, and asked about how it would be done and got her name, which was Delaura.

  "I can walk through the shadows and follow them that way. It works a lot better at night. It isn't really that fast, but... There's less time in the dark."

  Bridg
et didn't really get it, but when the woman had her orders, to follow and if possible listen to and write down whatever Joe said, she was simply gone. It was just that she'd walked out, Bridget saw, mainly because she moved from shadow to shadow, all of them getting darker when she passed within. Between them she was visible, but seemed stretched and blurred. It was totally incredible.

  Bridget yawned again, and waved a hand.

  "I'm going down now. I'll... Sleep in the corner?" She was trying to ask, but her feet moved and she ended up doing exactly that, and not waking until light came through the front of the Sho. The big windows let it in directly on her, making it hard to sleep. Her mouth tasted pretty bad, which meant she'd either slept with it open or one of the new guys was a prankster. If so she'd been sucking feet all night, and not anything more interesting. That tasted different.

  She ate before doing anything else, going to the other side of the room where there were plastic bags just sitting on the floor. Being good and thrifty, she drank a bottle of oil first, taking the last one they had, and then started in on a six pack of donuts that had a clear top made of plastic on a cardboard box.

  It was wasteful, packaging them like that. It was the kind of thing that she hadn't given a lot of thought to before, because she rarely ate from boxes like that. Most of her life, food had been prepared for her, by people that actually did a good job with it. She ate a lot too, so it was a big part of her life. Now, being responsible for herself, it seemed like there was a lot that went into things that she'd never considered. Like the cost of keeping herself fed each day. She'd gotten two hundred dollars worth of chow earlier, and it was nearly gone already. Sure, some of the others had eaten a bit too, but over half of it had been split between her and Marcia.

  They couldn't really set up a full time chef yet, either, so they were going to have to make things cheaper somehow. Really, per calorie, the cheapest thing she'd gotten was clearly the oil. It was also her least favorite part of the meal. The donuts were delicious, being sweet and slightly buttermilk flavored. The liquid grease though, was a fight to get down. An honest battle of will that required her to use mind control tricks to prevent gagging.

  Part of her wanted to dump the problem on Marcia, and whine about not having cake for breakfast. It could have been done cutely enough that she wouldn't be kicked out into the street, she guessed, but the fact of the matter was that she, little Impulse the kid, was the third in command of the entire operation. That was a trick, true, but she nodded, knowing that it couldn't seem like it was, if they were going to protect the others.

  "We need another food run. That means getting a vehicle or two." She was speaking to Wendy, the bird girl, who was the one sitting by the phones, at the table. Also the only person that was there at the moment. She answered though, if not helpfully.

  "I can't drive. I was never allowed, because..." She waved at her face, the words perfect, and sweet sounding, like a cute girl. Even if the beak should have been in the way.

  "You'll learn. I can drive though, and have a license, so that part isn't the big issue. I'll have to pick up something cheap though. The IPB better reimburse me for all of this. My savings isn't going to support us all for long."

  The girl looked down, and then back at Bridget, her eyes a bit wide.

  "I... Have twenty bucks I can chip in? I know it isn't a lot, but... Well, I haven't even called my parents to tell them about this yet. They have to be freaking out. A lot of us probably need to do that."

  That got a nod in return, but Bridget winked on top of it, trying to deflect the worst of it.

  "Keep that twenty in reserve, for now. I'll get with Marsh and work out the food and vehicle part of things. As for your peeps, get on that, as soon as they should be awake. You're right, in that everyone needs to be in touch. You'll mainly be home in a few days. The others, I mean. You should stay with us." She didn't think about it, the words just popping out.

  "Why?" The bird girl seemed baffled by that, as if she couldn't possibly be important enough for that kind of treatment.

  The answer was that they needed to protect her, and could do that better if she were close by. That wasn't what Bridget said however.

  "Because the IPB isn't going to cater to the norms anymore. That starts with you, Wendy. Our secretary is going to work right out front, directly with the public. If anyone has a problem with a... distinct person being there, they can shove that idea up their ass and try to dig it out later."

  Wendy didn't say anything for a bit, but finally nodded.

  "You talk about behinds and shoving things in them a lot. You realize that, don't you?" It sounded very innocent, coming from her. Cute and friendly, which was rare in the world.

  Thinking about it, Bridget titled her head, and winked.

  "I'll work on that. I don't want to be one of those boring and predictable people. You know, that always say the same three things no matter what's going on?" She put her hands on her hips, and moved to stand next to the table, then put her hand out toward the other girl, to shake. "So, what do you say? Do you want to be the first poster child of the new IPB?"

  A soft and pale hand, which was perfectly normal as far as she could tell, touched her own, grasping gently.

  "All right. I'll do it, if you think it will help?"

  She didn't know if it would. It was all she had for the moment however, so smiled and nodded, lying her...

  Bridget nearly thought ass off, but stopped that and decided to get to work. It was daylight and they had a whole lot to get done, and not much time to get started in.

  Chapter nine

  "I hadn't realized how much being in charge of the IPB was like babysitting. Tell me Marcia, did you ever consider stuffing me in a tiny room and only bringing me out for special occasions? Because I can see that as a viable option, suddenly. We just don't have any closets here." It had occurred to Bridget that morning, several times already.

  That was just for herself, too. Worse, she wasn't even counting the people that she'd basically kidnapped the day before and forced into their new unit, as government slaves. Given what they had to be going through, most of them were being complete dolls, really. Even Phoebe.

  The one that couldn't help swearing all the time. True, she apparently thought that Bridget's real name should be Bitch Cunt, but other than that, she was keeping her mouth closed. It was taking work to do it too, but the girl was trying and that really counted, as far as the IPB went. First modes were hard to get a handle on. So much so that most people just wrote off anyone Infected, the instant they found out about it. That part was playing out over the phones, too, since about half of their new people had kind of been asked to not go back home. To stay away and not make the family look bad.

  The morning had been stressful for Impulse, since for the first time in her life she had to go and buy a car, which took a lot more work than she would have thought. She didn't know the first thing about doing that, and was buying a used van from a man that had finally learned that having a bed in the back of his "Love Machine" for sex wasn't going to work once he was out of his twenties. From the scent coming off of the old and worn pad in there, it hadn't worked even then, not very often. The thing was cleaner than most hotel rooms she'd ever been in, for instance. No bed bugs either.

  There was paperwork though, which was one of her least favorite things. She was willing to do it, in order to get at the van, which sounded like it would hold up for a few months, or even more. The price was about half of her money, but it was in her own name. Bridget Chambers, car owner.

  Then she had to get food for everyone, and it took a lot longer than the day before, since she knew that she needed to be more cautious about what she was spending, suddenly. She hadn't even gotten gas yet, or auto insurance, which was going to add up. In the end she had to get a hot plate and a rice cooker, as well as a lot of things that she wasn't certain they could do much with, lacking a good cook. Ingredients however, were a lot more cost effective than things that wer
e already prepared. It took her math to double check that, but Warren and Mark had said as much, many times to her. More to the point, to other people, while she was in earshot. It had soaked in somehow. Now if only their secrets about what to do with the stuff had made an impact on her. She could cook a little bit, and follow the directions on packages, but that was about it. She'd kept meaning to get them to teach her, but hadn't gotten around to it yet. Now she was regretting it.

  She bought vegetable oil in bulk, too, at a place called Cash and Carry. She started to feel slightly ill, thinking about it, seeing where it was all stacked, in the back room of the Sho. That was the space that Marcia had designated the office. The place of important business, and all that good and wholesome stuff.

  The woman actually shook her head, but didn't smile about what Bridget had said.

  "Not even once, Bridgie. You can be a pain in the rump, but there's normally a reason why. Half the time it turns out to even be a good one, from a certain perspective. We haven't even gotten to the hard stuff yet, with this new group. Politicians are the worst, if you can believe it. There was a reason why we always dumped that chore on Karen. Her compassion let her pretend they were human beings, and not psychopaths. They'll be coming in a few days too, in order to either try and have us shut down, or to take credit for the whole thing coming together. Both kinds are insufferable. Try not to hit any of them, if you can. That's hard to get away with. They all have those connections." She didn't seem tired, but there was a slightly subdued quality to the woman. It played out in her voice and the abstract look past Bridget's shoulder.

  She could run for hours and not even feel tired, so that part wasn't some huge mystery. Marcia was simply sick of the grind. It had been her life for nearly twenty years, and even before that her job hadn't been all that different, Bridget didn't think. When the phone rang, the new Director picked it up, and seemed to be listening carefully for about ten seconds, then grimaced and spoke her reply a bit louder than was really needed.