Infected: Die Like Supernovas (The Outlaw Book 2) (18 page)

“NOOOOO!” I screamed.

“Sorry man,” he said, and he sounded sincere.

“No no no no!!” I screamed again and put my fist straight into the outer layer of bricks, splintering them in all directions.

“Carter would kill you if he knew, Chase. And he’d find out. Shooter’s doing you a favor.”

“I’m just trying to survive!” I bellowed, my voice almost cracking the helmet. “I just want some help!”

“Chase, Outlaw, chill out-”

“No!” I cried. “I can’t chill. I’m losing everything! I’m so tired, my head hurts so bad, Katie is in bed with a monster, I’ll be dead soon, and my family, and everything…”

I curled up next to the wall and cried openly and fiercely. Deep sobs, building for weeks, forced their way out. I ripped off the helmet and buried trembling fists into my eyes and wailed in anger and despair and loss. Visions of my future kept slipping away. I couldn’t hold on to them, to hope. Everything slipping away, slipping…

I must have cried myself to sleep because when I woke up my head was in Natalie North’s lap. My motorcycle helmet was off and she was stroking my hair. My mind was foggy and it took me a second to remember where I was.

“Hello, sleeping beauty,” she smiled at me, upside down.

“This is a little embarrassing,” I sniffed. I had a moment of panic when I realized my mask was off, but she’d already seen me without the mask. She still didn’t know my identity.

“Are you hurt? I don’t see any wounds. Against my better judgement I decided not to give your body a thorough examination.”

“No,” I smiled. “I’m not hurt.”

“Then why, superhero of mine, are you up here crying in your sleep?”

“Oh, you know,” I sighed. “I thought I’d give it a try. Sounded like fun.”

“Are you upset because of your malady?”

“If malady means disease, then yes.”

“Have your symptoms gotten worse?” she asked.

“Not much. Not since I saw you last.”

“Since that day you died?”

“Right,” I chuckled. “Things have not gotten worse since I died.”

“Did you come up here to see me?” She lowered her face until her lips were touching my nose and she quietly said, “I hope so.”

I was about to push her away. But then again, I didn’t have a girlfriend. And Katie was with someone else. So I let her kiss me.

“I’m very glad to see you. Honestly,” I said. “But I came up here to provide a blood sample for the FBI.”

“Oh! A fantastic idea!”

“I think so too. But I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Several reasons,” I sighed. “Some of which I can’t explain. But, part of the problem is my skin. It’s become very difficult to get a needle through it.”

“That’s part of the disease?” she asked, picking up my hand and examining it.

“Apparently.”

“What a fascinating illness you have. I bet scientists all over the world would love to examine you,” she said. “Maybe you should let them?”

“I can’t. Hopefully one day I’ll be able to explain why not.”

“There’s other stuff going on,” she said, watching my face. “Other stuff than just the virus, right? Conspiracies and secret clandestine groups and things like that?”

“Natalie North,” I smiled. “You are one of the most perceptive people I know.”

“No,” she said, lowering in for another kiss. “I just obsess over you.”

I spent Saturday with Cory. We played video games and ate dinner and did things that teenagers do when they’re not wearing a mask. On Sunday Dad surprised me taking us to church. I love that place! It’s quiet, it’s peaceful, it smells good, it’s beautiful, the people are polite, and the Bible really makes God sound like He knows what He’s talking about. Love each other. Live peacefully. Take care of the poor. I dig it.

On Monday my peace ended.

Hannah Walker met me as I walked into the school. There is NO way her outfit met the dress code. We hadn’t spoken since the breakup. I’d texted her about returning the motorcycle, but she hadn’t replied.

“Hi handsome!” she chirped. Before I knew it she was in my arms, hugging me.

“Hi…Hannah,” I said. I was confused. “You look nice.”

“I haven’t told anyone yet,” she whispered in my ear. “About the break-up.”

“Oh.”

“Besides.” Her lips were brushing my earlobe. “I miss you. And I’m going to get you back.”

Uh oh.

My head pounded with this new bit of stress, until Katie held my hand in Spanish. Her hand is so great. It’s small and smooth and fits easily into mine and she rubs my thumb with hers. I would rather hold hands with Katie than make-out with Natalie North. And just like that, my headache was gone.

“Are you okay?” she asked me.

“Getting better.” I squeezed her hand. The teacher, Señora Richardson, always shot me dirty looks when we held hands. “How was your date with Tank? Did you have a nice time in bed?”

“We weren’t in a bed, stinker,” she snickered. “Why would you think that?”

“He told me you were.”

“You two,” she shook her head. “Silly boys. And he didn’t stay long. He got a migraine and had to leave. I almost called an ambulance. And you don’t have to look so happy about it!”

Lee appeared exhausted. At lunch he could barely keep his head up.

“What’s wrong, good-looking?” Samantha Gear asked him.

“I’m tired, dude.”

“Lee,” Samantha growled softly, “You better find something else to call me. Soon.”

“Samantha, I mean. Sorry. I’m tired, Samantha,” Lee yawned.

“Me too,” she said. “Cory kept me up too late.”

“What??” Lee, Katie and I all blurted in unison.

Cory, the humble giant, looked mortified. He put his container of pot roast down, wiped his hands, picked his food up again, set it down again, and took a long drink of water. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I just cooked her dinner.”

“And…?” Samantha prodded wickedly. Katie was beaming.

“And we watched some basketball,” Cory said.

“And…?” Samantha prodded again.

“And I rubbed her feet.” He shrugged and went back to eating.

“He’s got strong hands too,” Samantha shivered.

Katie and I didn’t know what to say.

Lee said, “This sucks so bad. I’m a great foot massager.”

“Why were
you
up so late?” Katie asked Lee.

“Working on a project,” he answered. “Top secret. And watching the Compton lockdown.”

“The what?” I asked.

“I swear!” he shouted. “You people! Watch the news! Or check your twitter feed!”

“Okay okay,” Katie shushed him. “What happened in Compton?”

“Total lockdown, bro. Martial Law declared.”

“Why?”

“Civil unrest. Fighting. That kind of stuff. Plus,” he yawned again, “the FBI is trying to track down some kind of criminal mastermind.”

“They think he’s in Compton?” I asked. The FBI was looking for the Chemist!

“Dunno. Maybe.”

Cory, Samantha and I walked onto our practice field, along with half the varsity team, to find Coach Garrett with his hands on hips.

“Well, team,” he grinned behind his glasses, chomping on his gum. “Today we’re going to practice in our stadium, instead of the practice field.”

Great! We all loved the stadium and it’s FieldTurf. Someone asked him, “Why?”

“Because,” he said, his grin growing wider. “I invited the Patrick Henry Dragons to use our practice field.”

Silence. Disbelief. Someone snorted in the back.

“For real?” Jesse Salt asked. He was our running back, and he was heading to San Diego on a scholarship to play football.

“Yes, Mr. Salt, for real.”

“Why?”

“The Dragon’s field was recently commandeered by a government task force for a weekend exercise and subsequently ruined. It won’t be ready for several weeks, despite Uncle Sam footing the repair bill. The Dragons have nowhere to practice. So they’ll be circulating between a few fields, including ours. I extended the invitation myself.”

“Coach, for real, though. For real, I hate you,” Jesse said.

“Come on, Salt,” Samantha Gear said and smacked Jesse on the butt so hard his eyes teared up. “Not scared, are you? I say we scrimmage them.”

We didn’t scrimmage them, but we did stare at them a lot through one of the stadium’s entrances. About twenty Dragons, including Tank, came on a school bus to work on football drills. Tank was going to be ranked as the best high school football player in the nation next year, and our guys kept sneaking peaks at him. He was a man among boys and we all knew it. The Dragon’s coach brought in former college players to help him practice and he was already better than them. After twenty minutes of practice he laid down, put a towel over his head, and started massaging his temples.

I knew
that
feeling.

Samantha walked up and said, “I could punt a ball over the bleachers and land it right on his face.” She indicated Tank with her chin. I was spinning a football in my hands and didn’t realize I’d been staring at him through a gap in the seats.

“Probably not a great idea,” I said.

“Plus she couldn’t get close, anyway,” Andy Babington said. He was nearby, working on timing routes with senior receivers. “No way.”

“I can kick farther than you can throw, second-string,” she said casually.

He shot at her, “No. You can’t.”

“Jon!” Samantha Geared called. One of the receivers looked over at her. “Jon, Andy and I just made a bet. Help us out, handsome. Run up to the top of the bleachers and tell us who gets the ball closer to the the big ugly guy laying down over there.”

“Maybe you should just try hitting the far goal post,” I suggested. “Instead of the angry freak of nature?”

“Too late. This is happening,” Samantha said.

Andy looked like he’d been caught in a bluff. He couldn’t throw the ball all the way to Tank, and he knew it. Unfortunately for him, the challenge attracted interest and a small crowd gathered to watch.

Samantha went first. She lined up and glared at her target for a few heartbeats, running calculations in her mind. She took a step, dropped the ball and punted with that beautiful strong motion of hers. It was a powerful blast and the ball sailed smoothly up and over the high stadium wall into the blue sky.

The football thumped down on the practice field behind the stadium, about ten harmless yards from Tank’s prone body. We couldn’t see it land, but Jon delivered the news. Her kick probably traveled fifty-five yards, an absurd length for that height.

Andy’s turn. He shook his arm loose, took two steps and threw the ball on a line to the top of the seats where it bounced against the back retaining wall. He didn’t even clear the stadium. Jon threw it back while everyone chuckled uncomfortably. Andy fumed.

“Nice try, kiddo,” Samantha laughed. “You lose. Thanks for playing. Okay Chase. Your turn.”

Andy said, “Hah. Yeah right. My little buddy has a good arm, but he can’t throw farther than me.”

I hated when he called me that. Plus, secretly I was itching to try the throw. I could clear the stadium easily, but I wasn’t sure how close I could land it. This wasn’t a good idea. But…

“Toss me the ball,” I said. Samantha grinned.

Like always, I spun the football in my hand, and I rolled my shoulder twice while everyone watched. I stared down my target, gathered, and shot a high tight spiral up and over the wall. I watched it disappeared beyond the seats and then I dropped my eyes to Tank. This was going to be close. The trajectory looked perfect… I was going to hit him!

Through the stadium seating, we could all clearly see Tank’s hand punch up and snatch the football out of the air before it connected with his face. His fingers pierced the football’s hide, deflating it within his fist.

He crushed it like a grape and we all scrambled back to our drills before he could look up and identify the culprit.

After practice Lee and I studied math at his house. I finally drove home at 9:30pm, exhausted, head pounding. I kept thinking about that throw, the one that almost hit Tank. Just how far
can
I throw it? And how hard? Carter had thrown quarters straight into the cement.

Just outside my neighborhood, I braked next to a new home construction site. I’d wanted to try something for weeks, and tonight would finally be the night.

I stepped over the orange tape and approached the house. The night was quiet and still and my footsteps sounded alien. I rooted in the dirt until I uncovered a handful of heavy nuts and bolts. About ten total. I juggled them in my hand, intentionally dropping a couple, until they felt comfortable. Three sheets of plywood were leaning against a tree near the back of the site. The plywood sheets had been spray-painted and cut up and were clearly waiting to be tossed into the trash dumpster.

I set my feet ten paces from the upright sheets of plywood and shifted the metal in my hand. The evening was silent and the house loomed over me. Taking a deep breath, I went into a pitcher’s throwing motion and hurled the scrap metal into the wood.

CRASH!

All three sheets of wood splintered, buckled, and collapsed as the metal ripped holes through them. The sound of destruction was preposterously loud. The echoes bounced around the stark walls of the vacant house. The plywood had disintegrated.

“Wow,” I breathed. That would’ve killed a person. My arm was lethal. If Carter tried to kill me again, I would have a weapon of my own.

I scanned Craigslist that night, looking for any posts from Beans. The Outlaw had received a lot of messages but none that interested me. None from Beans.

Before going to sleep I powered on the disposable phone. Two voice mails from Isaac Anderson, the FBI guy. No way. I turned it off. Then I checked the Outlaw’s phone. I had a text message. From Lee.

>> Outlaw!! I made you something! TWO things!!! Come try them out! -Lee

The Dragons returned on Thursday. The previous three days had been pleasant and stress free, other than Hannah Walker’s advances, and now the Dragons were back to ruin everything.