Infected: Die Like Supernovas (The Outlaw Book 2) (12 page)

“The second way. Like I said, we’re a private group. We do not tolerate publicity. When one of the Infected threatens our anonymity…”

“You put a bullet in their temple?” I guessed, remembering his prior words.

“Exactly. We stay secret. And we enforce the secrecy. Remember that, mate.” He stood up, took a final drag from his cigarette, and flicked the butt onto the ground at my feet.

“Wait,” I said around a bite of eggs.

“What?” he demanded. He looked obscene and sacrilegious standing in the multi-hued stained glass light of the church, smoke still leaking from his nostrils. His gloved hands were clenched into fists.

“Tell me more about the Infected.”

“There’s nothing else,” he snapped.

“Do you guys hang out? Like on a heli-carrier or something?”

“What is a heli-carrier?” he asked.

“The big flying ship the Avengers have.”

“Get it through your head,” he growled. “There are no such things as heroes.”

“So you don’t have a secret headquarters at the top of a tower? The Infected don’t all live together? Christmas parties? That kind of thing?”

He glared at me a long time and then strode out without another word. I finished breakfast and texted Puckdaddy.

Thanks for the help. Again.

>>yeah yeah sure whatev

Why will you wipe all the data off my phone when I die?

>>ill erase the data so no1 asks questions about the virus. All virus evidence will vanish from phone after u die.

Can you really do that?

>>childs play

Where are you? Are you in the Infected’s secret headquarters?

>>hah. i wish only infected Ive ever met is carter

Why don’t you hang out with the others?

>>carter

What about him?

>>he doesn’t let us

>> and that’s all ill say if ur smart u wont piss him off

I thought Carter said he wasn’t the boss

>>suuuuuuure lol

I’ll try to be more careful. But if I survive the disease, I’m taking you out for a pizza. My treat.

>>hah sounds good

Hey. Do you ever talk with the Shooter?

>>duh. texting with Shooter right now

Good. Tell him thanks for helping me last night

>>tell him thanks???

>>hahahahaha lol

What’s so funny?

>>u stupid but i like u

But tell him to quit shooting innocent people. It’s freaking everyone out.

>>hah. u so stupid. u don’t know the Shooter. Would never listen 2 me. Shooter’s crazy.

Your grammar is terrible. Shouldn’t the world’s foremost computer hacker use better syntax?

>>u make fun of puckdaddy's texting and puckdaddy will empty ur bank account

>>anyway i need 2 use my wpm on other programs

>>right now im texting u, texting Shooter, counter attacking some cracker in moscow, helping an infected in austrailia, and writing code 4 new software. and watching sportscenter. go yankees. busy day, dummy. i rock. don’t mess with puckdaddy!

I smiled and put the phone away. I liked that guy.

Good thing I woke up early. The world hadn’t risen yet to see my Outlaw bike. I peeled the red decals off the motorcycle and then drove it home. Or at least I tried. The machine ran out of battery power two blocks away, so I pushed it the remainder. I bet Batman never has to do this.

My girlfriend Hannah Walker was complicated. Her GPA was currently a sparkling 4.2. She’s captain of the Varsity cheerleaders. She’d never done drugs and refused to drink; she seldom attended parties at all. Despite her popularity, she was kind to everyone and never used her influence to rampage over any other girl’s life. She took excellent care of me when I’d been hospitalized in November.

Despite all that, she had serious quirks. Our relationship was primarily a logical and convenient arrangement based on mutual respect. In other words, we used each other; I got to date a pretty cheerleader and she benefited by being attached to the Varsity quarterback. Unfortunately there were very few other benefits, especially now that football season was over and I reverted to social unimportance. She was mildly affectionate but usually distant, because affection wasn’t really necessary in her life. Her parents never showed her any and she didn’t see the need to express it herself. But, on the occasion when she decided to turn it on, it was an invigorating romp of the senses.

Today was one of those days. She informed me before classes that we needed to make a splash on social media. This was a periodic task on her agenda. These days were the closest we came to being a normal couple. She took selfies of us kissing for Instagram. She greeted me with hugs in the halls after each class. We sat at a table alone during lunch and Snapchatted pics to everyone. She racked up the Likes and Favorites and declared the day a success.

But it wasn’t a success to me. The romance was clinical, not organic. Forced, not genuine. After school I sat on our school bleachers, watching Cory and Samantha practice football, and I took my ‘relational temperature,’ as my therapist once told me to do. Introspection. Self-evaluation. If I spent any time at all being real with myself, the truth was obvious: our arrangement was no longer meeting my emotional needs, even though I had very few. In fact, I was really only a prop to my girlfriend. To be fair, she generously offered to be my prop, and she was a shockingly attractive prop. However, I no longer cared about possessing a prop.

I just wanted Katie Lopez, but I couldn’t have her. She had never returned my affection and she was dating someone else. But even so, my relationship with Hannah wasn’t working and it was because I wanted Katie to such a degree that I’d rather be with her or else be with nobody.

I drove to her apartment but didn’t go in. I sat astride my bike outside, wanting her, aching to be with her. Correction: I sat astride Hannah Walker’s father’s bike. Ugh. So confusing.

Katie’s mom, a pretty middle school teacher, opened the front door and waved me in. She kissed my cheek and hugged me a long time. Her hair smelled like delicious, like seasoned peppers and chicken.

“Buenas noches, guapísimo,” she smiled. “Thank you for visiting. We do not see you much.”

“I know,” I nodded, feigning shame. “I apologize. I’ve missed being here.”

“Katie, she still talks about you. Always she talks about you. She still loves you,” she poked me in the chest. “But…”

“But it’s complicated now.”

“But it’s complicated,” she agreed. “You want dinner?”

“Yes!”

Katie came in and we all ate. I had four helpings of fajitas because I was still hungry from last night’s Outlaw episode. For thirty minutes the world was simple and happy and we were kids again. I kept hoping Katie would eventually break her promise to the Outlaw and tell me about his visit, but she hadn’t yet. I was both pleased and disappointed.

We went back to her bedroom and I asked, “What do you think of Samantha Gear?”

“I like her. She’s good for Lee and Cory. Keeps them on their toes.”

“She’s pretty intense. Coach Garrett could tell immediately that she’d be trouble.”

“Will she make the team?” Katie asked, sitting down on the bed in the midst of her homework. I assumed my usual position in her desk chair. My neck ached. In the past, Katie would have massaged it. But no longer.

“Of course. She has a bionic leg, basically. What’s all this? Are you preparing for your model U.N. event?”

“Yes,” she sighed, surveying the extensive pile of papers. “I had to miss Young Life tonight. Too much to do.”

“Good. That leaves no time for Tank,” I grinned.

“Chase,” she warned. “There will be no Tank bashing tonight.”

“Do you have another date scheduled?”

“No,” she admitted. “He’s not the best communicator. We just live in totally different worlds, you know? That’s what makes it exciting, but that’s also what makes it frustrating.”

“Frustrating,” I said. “That’s exactly it.”

“What do you mean?”

“My love life,” I said, tossing her stuffed bear into the air. “Frustrating. Complicated.”

“Oh? Things not going well with Hannah?”

“You don’t have to look so smug about it,” I smiled.

“Smug? This is not my smug face,” she smiled back. “This is my ‘I told you so’ face.”

“When did things get so…weird? Remember when we spent every night in here, just being friends? Talking and laughing and being normal.”

“We’re getting older,” she agreed.

“Let’s make a deal.”

“I’m listening,” she said.

“I’ll break up with Hannah. You call it off with Tank,” I said with a sudden surge of courage. Let’s live dangerously.

“Why would we?” she smiled, leaning forward towards me. Her sudden sensual interest in my deal seemed to actually draw the light towards her, like she had a gravitational pull.

“Because,” I said, my brief burst of courage faltering as she grew more beautiful. I didn’t deserve her. I never have. She deserved…everything.

“Tell me why,” she repeated.

“Things could go back to the way they were.”

“The way they were?” she asked. Neither of us could look directly at the other very long. The eye contact was brilliant and unbearable. This was scary uncharted territory. “Exactly the way they were?”

There was a loud, rapid knock at her back door. We both jumped as the room’s enchantment shattered.

“Who is that?” I asked.

“Yo no sé,” she said in Spanish. “Answer it.”

“It better not be Tank,” I said. “I’m going to knock his teeth out, if it is.”

“What??” Katie cried, scrambling to her feet and cascading papers to the floor. “You can’t just punch him! He’s twice your size!”

I yanked open the back door, almost hoping the visitor was Tank. Empty. Nothing. Nobody in sight. Katie peered around my shoulder.

“This happen often?” I asked, scanning the lawn.

“Never. Oh, look! A note! I hope it’s from him,” she said and retrieved an envelope from the welcome mat. “That would be so romantic.”

“I’m going to vomit,” I said under my breath as she read it. “Well? Is it from Tank? I bet he wrote it in crayon.”

“It’s not from him. It’s…I don’t understand. This makes no sense,” she said, puzzled. She held the note out to me.

Dear hot latina girl. sorry to bother u. no trouble. U know the Outlaw right? tell him to call me. I gotta talk to him bout T. T gone crazy. this is important. beans.

“Oh man,” I sighed, reading it again. This wasn’t good. Tank had gone crazy enough for Beans to be worried? That’s a new level of insanity. At the bottom was a telephone number.

“Does it make sense to you, Chase? What could ‘beans’ mean?”

“That’s his name,” I told her. “I mean, I guess it is. Right? That’s how he closes the letter.”

“What kind of a stupid name is Beans?”

“Stupid name for a stupid guy,” I shrugged. “His handwriting is awful.”

“And who is T? That sounds familiar,” Katie said, looking off into the distance while she searched her memory. When she wasn’t looked I saved the number into my phone.

“It should sound familiar to you. Unfortunately.”

“Why? Why should…oh,” she gasped. “Oh no. I remember now.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “This is trouble.”

“Oh no. T? The guy harassing me last year kept signing his name T.”

“Right,” I nodded. “And T is probably the guy that kidnapped you and escaped.”

“T is back? Who’s Beans? And why would he think I knew the Outlaw?” Katie asked, hugging a teddy bear to her chest. I won her that teddy bear at a fair. “This makes no sense.”

“I have a theory,” I said carefully. I had to reveal enough of the truth for her to be careful, but I had to postulate the facts like guesses. I could tell her the whole truth but she wouldn’t believe me.

“Tell me.”

“You and Beans are the middle-men between T and the Outlaw. Last year the Outlaw reclaimed your stolen phone from T. We already know that. It infuriated T so he kidnapped you in order to get the Outlaw. My theory is that this guy Beans knows T. They’re buddies or business associates or something. Right? And Beans is worried about T going crazy so he wants to…tattle on T to the Outlaw, and he thinks that you could deliver the message.”

“Oh,” she said, processing. “That’s complicated.”

“Yes. Welcome to my life. Or I could be wrong and it’s a trap.”

“I don’t know what to think,” she cried. “Last time the police were absolutely helpless with this.”

“And it’s not like you
actually
know the Outlaw,” I said, scrutinizing her carefully for a reaction. “Right?”

No response. She kept staring at the back door.

“Maybe I should just call this number now and tell Beans he should rat T out to the police,” I suggested. Not a bad idea, actually. “Or give this telephone number to the police.”

“Lee knows how to contact the Outlaw,” Katie said.

“Maybe. Lee claims he made the Outlaw a vest or something, right? But, does that matter? I mean what can the Outlaw really do? Go beat him up?”

“I don’t know,” she said in a big breath of air as she laid down on the bed. “I thought this was all behind me. There’s no way I can tell Mami. She’d freak out. But Chase, how does Beans know where I live?”

“Because of T. Because of the Outlaw. The stupid stupid Outlaw,” I said, rubbing my temples with both hands. “He should never have returned your phone. He’s caused nothing but problems.”

She disagreed with me, strongly. But I didn’t hear it. Natalie North had just texted me.

>>The FBI wants to help with your disease.

I went to bed early four nights in a row. Two of the nights I didn’t sleep a wink, tossing and fighting the covers until daybreak. But for those ninety-six hours I had no significant headaches or stomach cramps. The word ‘aneurism’ sent shockwaves through me and I swore to do anything to stay alive, to see my grandkids grow old. The grandkids I’d share with Katie, my wife. That was a fun thought until I remembered my girlfriend. I really gotta figure all this out.