“Stay!” Curtik ordered as he backed toward the door. He closed it behind him and locked the family inside. As he held the girl in his arms, the rage inside him subsided. Inexplicably, he found himself heading for the exit. As he walked, the girl continued to watch his eyes. He found her gaze unsettling. Before he reached the lobby, Wee Willie informed him via implant that the attacks were starting.
“I’ll kill you later,” Curtik said to the girl. He handed her off to Shiloh and Phan, and told them to take her to the hospital.
“Wait for me,” Curtik told Wee Willie as he slid-hopped over to his station.
“I got the Chinese missiles,” Aspen said from her station.
“I got the Russian ones,” Wee Willie added.
“No fair,” Curtik said as the other two began firing. “Save some for me.”
He settled into his station. “I call these eighteen.” He highlighted the missiles he’d chosen for himself and began to laugh as he shot rockets out of the sky. This was more like it! He took his time, savoring each shot, tightening the beam with each strike, putting progressively smaller holes in each missile, while still blowing them apart. Before he completed all eighteen, Aspen destroyed the three nearest her Las-cannon.
“Hey!” Curtik yelled. “Those were mine. Get your own.”
“I called them first,” Aspen replied.
“But I highlighted them. Now look what you’ve done. There’s nothing else to shoot at. What am I supposed to do?”
“Why don’t you try to figure out what their next strategy is going to be?”
“Duh. The next thing on the agenda is multiple countries coordinating attacks and launching a massive attack.”
Aspen said, “Is that what you’d do?”
Curtik shrugged. “Of course. But I’d also reprogram the rockets so they all looked identical to our sensors, so we wouldn’t be able to distinguish between the more sophisticated ones and the older ones that wouldn’t have a chance of reaching the Las-cannons anyway. So we wouldn’t be able to target the greatest threats.”
“You think they’ll do that?” Aspen said.
“Those morons?”
Wee Willie said, “Here come some more.”
“Fancy ones,” Aspen said. “Radar avoidance, multi-shielding, fast.”
“And what is that way down there?” Wee Willie asked. “It looks like a balloon. Awfully high in the atmosphere for a balloon.”
“Where?” Curtik asked. “Oh, now I see it. That is odd.” He destroyed an oncoming missile. “Hey, there’s a balloon below my Las-cannon too.”
“And mine,” Aspen said.
“Damn!” Curtik said. “Take ’em out. Now.”
He fired his Las-cannon. Wee Willie and Aspen did likewise. But even as he fired he knew his Las-cannon had been hit. The display went dark. He began sifting through available cameras until he found one on an adjacent satellite. All he could see was the Las-cannon hurtling out of orbit, its power circuitry gone black.
“Son of a bitch!” Curtik yelled. “What the hell was that?”
“Particle beam cannons,” Aspen said. “They got yours. Damaged Wee Willie’s. Mine’s still okay.”
“Give me yours,” Curtik said.
“No.”
“Dammit, Aspen, give me control.”
“Go to Earth!”
“You can have mine,” Wee Willie said as he punched in the codes to transfer control of his Las-cannon.
Curtik took the controls, checked the power reserve—nine percent—and saw that the Las-cannon, heavily damaged by the particle beam cannon, had begun to fall out of orbit. He tried to line up targets as the Las-cannon spiraled downward. “Son of a bitch! You cheating rat bastards!”
“Curtik,” Aspen said. “Calm down.”
“Shut up!”
“Wee Willie, what did you do?” Aspen asked. “You locked me out of the controls. Get me back in.”
Every time Curtik acquired a target he lost it again as he fired. The damn thing would be useless in a few seconds, accelerating out of control. Crap, it was over Thailand. What the hell was there to hit in Thailand? He found Bangkok, deactivated the targeting mechanism and powered the levels to maximum. Moving his head in a small circle, becoming simpatico with the downward spiral of the Las-cannon, he judged its spinning orbital decay until he was certain he could aim it properly. He fired, individual pulses every four and a-half seconds while the Las-cannon was pointed at Bangkok. He kept firing until the Las-cannon had been emptied of every last ounce of energy. Hopefully, the city was a barren crater.
Curtik slammed his fist into the control board. It wasn’t enough. He needed to kill more and more of them to feed the emptiness. “We gotta kill ’em all. Rotten cheats. Gimme control of the last Las-cannon.”
“Curtik!” Zora’s voice stopped him.
Curtik turned to face her. Shiloh and Phan stood behind her, their Las-rifles aimed at him. “You know what those bastards did?” Curtik said. “They took out two of our Las-cannons. How the hell are we supposed to kill them without the Las-cannons?”
“We don’t,” Zora said.
“What? Come on, Zora.” Curtik heard the whine in his voice but couldn’t stop himself. His body shook with frustration. “We’ve got to kill ’em.”
“That’s over,” Zora said. “We move on to Plan B now.”
“Plan B? What the hell is Plan B?”
“Survival.”
“No.” Curtik launched himself at Zora. He never reached her. Las-rifle pulses struck him in the chest and back, knocking him to the ground. The burning agony took his breath away. A stinging numbness followed. He began to laugh as tears filled his eyes. Fighting the pain, he turned onto his side and looked back at Aspen, who kept her Las-rifle pointed at him.
She shook her head. “I knew I’d have to stun you today.”
Curtik rolled onto his back. Slowly he forced the laughter down, glanced at Zora and tried to speak. Instead, he vomited ice cream.
“You just won’t play nice, will you?” Zora said.
“Shoot, me, again,” Curtik finally managed to say.
“Look,” Zora said as she bent over him, “you’re the best fighter we’ve got. The best at reacting and improvising. The way you handled that Las-cannon as it died. That was great. I don’t think anyone else could have pulled that off. And realizing the hot air balloons carried weapons. Impressive. Why can’t you just follow orders?”
The stinging numbness spread throughout Curtik’s body, amplifying the desperate need to kill. He giggled and started to get to his feet. Aspen fired again, knocking him back to the ground. This time the pain hurt so badly it almost felt pleasurable. Once more Curtik lost the ability to speak. He worked his jaw for a few seconds and said, “I’m afraid, I have to, kill you, now.” He marveled at the words coming out of his mouth—not that he didn’t mean them, but why was he saying them out loud? “Nothing personal. But you all, have to die.”
“Off to the hospital with you,” Zora said. She beckoned Shiloh and Phan over. “Put him with that sick girl,” she said as they picked him up.
“You’re dead, Zora,” Curtik yelled as Phan and Shiloh dragged him away. “We have to keep killing or we’ll die.” He tried to struggle against Phan and Shiloh but his body refused to obey his commands. The residual bioelectric echo kept his muscles from working properly. “You’re gonna have to kill me to stop me,” Curtik yelled.
Shiloh dug her Las-rifle into Curtik’s side. “I never liked you, Curtik. Just give me an excuse to zap you.”
* **
Dr. Poole and Rendela stood beside a pair of hospital beds, one of which held the girl Curtik had brought in earlier. “Kill you too,” Curtik shouted, wondering why he was shouting and who he planned to kill. Rendela shook her head and aimed her Las-rifle at Curtik as Phan and Shiloh dumped him on the
bed next to the girl, where Dr. Hack’emup stood. Off to the side, Dr. Wellon conferred with Devereaux, God Himself. Hack’emup met Curtik’s eye for only a moment before looking away while the other two spared Curtik only a glance. Phan and Shiloh fastened the restraints around Curtik’s wrists, ankles and chest, then moved to either side of the door.
“Well, Curtik,” Poole said as she waved a scanner from side to side. “You seem to be having trouble playing with others. Tell me, are you furious right now?”
Curtik forced a grin. “As a matter of fact, Piscine, I’m planning a party.”
“Your nerves stretched thin?”
“A Las-rifle can do that.”
Poole shook her head. “I think you’re out of balance, possibly devolving.”
“Not a chance, Piscine. I’m not like the spookster.”
Poole studied her scanner. “Do you have an uncontrollable urge to kill?”
Curtik clenched his hands into fists, imagined them around her neck, squeezing until her head popped off. “I can control it. Come here and I’ll show you.”
“An inability to concentrate on anything other than killing for more than a few seconds?”
“I could just maim a few people.”
“This feeling that if you don’t kill someone soon you might explode?”
Oh, yes! “Seems to me you’re the one obsessed with killing.”
Poole turned away, said to Rendela, “I’ll need some time to study these results. Something’s definitely changed in his neural pathways.”
Curtik shouted, “I got shot, you stupid bitch!”
Rendela turned to Shiloh and Phan. “For now he’s not one of us. Remember Damon and how squirrelly he got? Show no mercy. If he somehow finds a way out of those restraints, shoot first, call for help later.”
“Love to,” Shiloh said with a smile. She aimed her Las-rifle squarely at Curtik’s chest. “Give me a reason,” she purred.
“Now who’s the psycho?” Curtik said. He shivered, his body feeling cheated, pushed to the edge of ecstasy, then pulled back. He wasn’t devolving. He couldn’t be devolving. He just needed to kill. He giggled again. “I’m going to murder you, murder you, murder you,” he chanted, unable to control himself, surprised at the words coming out of his mouth. “Kill you all as hard as I can.”
Poole pressed a relaxant pad to his neck. He fought it, clenching his fists, pounding them on the bed as Poole shook her head. The wrongness of the relaxant ate at him, making him nauseated and even more on edge. It tried to steal the tension from his muscles. Curtik refused to let it. He drummed his heels on the bed. “Kill, all. Gotta do it.”
“That’s not good,” Poole said as she checked her scanner again. “The relaxant isn’t taking hold. Just like with Damon.” She prepared another relaxant and gave it to Curtik. A temporary blackness enfolded him. When he opened his eyes, Poole stood beside his bed. God Himself was gone. Dr. Wellon sat at the room’s only desk, looking through a powerscope. Hack’emup stood on the other side of the girl’s bed, adjusting the settings on a pharmodispenser. Phan and Shiloh stayed by the door, accessing their implants. Curtik’s implant indicated that several hours had passed.
“Do you feel better?” Poole asked.
“A bit,” Curtik replied.
“You’re devolving,” Poole said. She gently touched his arm. “However, the nanobots are reacting differently with your neural pathways than they did with Damon.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll have periods of lucidity and periods when all you want to do is kill everyone around you. I think the stress of this situation brought it on. The sedatives I gave you helped, but I can’t give you too much without risking major organ failure or extremely rapid aging.”
“Why are you being so nice, Piscine?” Curtik asked. “You should hate me for killing Mouthy Man.”
“I helped make you what you are.” Poole squeezed his arm. “I share the blame. Don’t worry. We’ve learned a lot about devolution from studying Damon’s condition. We’ll do everything we can to save you.” She touched her interface. “I have to go.”
As she left the room, Curtik turned toward the girl in the next bed. She lay on her side, staring at him.
She said, “Are you going to kill me?”
“Not yet.”
“Do you like being mean?”
“Sure.”
“Sometimes I’m mean to Kaylee. My parents like her more than me.”
“My Dad hates me.”
“Oh.” The girl seemed to think about that for a moment. She said, “You can yell at me if you want.”
Curtik snorted. “Maybe later.”
“Okay,” the girl said. “Do you feel bad? After I yell at Kaylee I sometimes feel bad.”
“No,” Curtik said. “Actually, I feel better.”
“I’m glad. My name’s Kyler.”
“I’m Curtik.”
“Do you have the Susquehanna Virus too? I have it. I’m going to die.”
“Who told you that?” Curtik said. He glared at Hack’emup, who refused to meet his eyes, then stared at Dr. Wellon’s back. “Hey, Beef Wellington, tell her she’s not going to die.”
Dr. Wellon looked up from her work and shook her head. “Sorry. I don’t know.”
“Well, what are you doing about it?”
“Dr. Hackett is adjusting her medication as we speak and I’m preparing a series of treatments that might enable her body to recognize the virus as harmful, so it will fight the virus on its own.”
“Hack’emup’ll kill her if you don’t keep a close eye on him. He’s an idiot.”
Dr. Wellon bit her lip. “Dr. Hackett is a competent surgeon.”
“He damn near killed Wee Willie a few months ago. If they hadn’t called you, he would have died.”
Hack’emup finally met Curtik’s eyes. “You’ve done nothing but ridicule me since the first day we met.”
“That’s because you’ve been nothing but a moron since the first day we met.”
“And you’ve been a little bastard. You know nothing about nano-medicine. Wee Willie’s nanobots created a feedback loop that—”
“Blah, blah, blah. What about a transfusion for Kyler? You can use my blood.”
Dr. Wellon seemed to contemplate his offer before shaking her head. “I doubt it will be effective but I’ll take a sample to study.”
“Why won’t it work?”
“The nanobots inside you were designed specifically for your body. Any attempt to transplant them to Kyler might result in a battle between them and Kyler’s immune system. Much like the problem Dr. Hackett encountered with your friend. I’m sorry.”
“What about regular medical nanobots?” Curtik said. “They’re not targeted for a specific metabolism or biochemical output.”
“True,” Dr. Wellon conceded. “Dr. Hackett’s already given her an injection of those. But they’re having trouble recognizing the virus. Perhaps Devereaux will find a solution.”
“Devereaux!” Curtik spat out the word. “God Himself doesn’t care about Kyler. He’s worried about humanity. Like that diseased species can be saved.”
“Aren’t you trying to save one of them?”
I am! Why? For some reason he’d connected with her emotionally. She wasn’t like that bitch Zora. She was just a brave little kid. Had she been whining or crying like her parents and sister he’d have killed her. But she possessed a strength Curtik admired. If only all humans were like her. She watched him, a sickly child about his own natural age, even though she was infinitely younger, drawn up in a fetal position, beads of sweat on her forehead, damp curls trailing across the pillow, her brightly feverish eyes tracking his.
Curtik suddenly flashed back to one of the few memories he retained from his old life—sitting at a water park with his parents, eating i
ce cream on a hot summer day. Why did that memory pop up now?
He glanced at Hack’emup, who sucked in his breath with a hiss as he continued making adjustments to the pharmodispenser. If anything was certain, it was that Hack’emup couldn’t save Kyler. When the computer on the desk beeped, Dr. Wellon bent to the screen and adjusted the audio receiver so no one else could hear what was being said. After a few seconds, she said, “I’m on my way.” She got to her feet, huge and scary and yet somehow comforting, and said to Hack’emup, “I’ll be back soon.”
Another beep sounded, this time from Hack’emup’s machine. Dr. Wellon stopped and looked at Hack’emup, who nodded and said, “Her lungs are shutting down. Activating auto-respirator. Heart function at thirty percent.”
“You can’t leave her to that idiot,” Curtik said.
“There’s only so much we can do.” Dr. Wellon grabbed a small vial off the desk where she’d been working and handed it to Hack’emup. “This isn’t quite ready, but I don’t think we can wait any longer. Administer this immediately.”
Hack’emup took the vial from her and began preparing a hypo pad.
Dr. Wellon looked at Curtik and said, “I’m sorry, but I have other patients.”
As she passed between Phan and Shiloh, another beep sounded from Hack’emup’s machine. Kyler closed her eyes. Curtik struggled against his bonds, flailing away helplessly. “Let me out of here,” he shouted to Phan. “I promise I’ll kill you quick. Please.”
Phan frowned. “What kind of promise is that?”
“Come on!” Curtik roared. He caught Hack’emup’s eye. “If she dies,” Curtik yelled, “you’re next.”
Hack’emup moved up close, bent over Curtik and whispered, “You’re devolving, you murderous bastard. You’re going to die, screaming in agony, until you’re nothing.”
Curtik tried to lunge at Hack’emup, but his restraints held.
“You’re a dead man,” Curtik yelled.
“Wake up, Kyler,” Curtik shouted. “Wake up! You’ve got to fight it.”
Kyler opened her eyes. She stared at Curtik, peaceful and calm, as if she’d accepted her impending death. “Tell my . . . love them.”
The Susquehanna Virus Box Set Page 65