Infected: Die Like Supernovas (The Outlaw Book 2) (3 page)

“The pain?”

“Growing pains from hell,” he nodded.

“Tell me how you did it.”

“Like I said, there’s a trick. At lease we’re pretty sure. It’s hard to do, and even if you can manage it you still might die,” he shook his head as if re-experiencing the ordeal.

“Tell me.”

“Here it is, kid. Number three. The good news. The hope. During this whole thing, your brain will be vulnerable. Your brain is crucial. The only shot you got is relaxing. Calm down. Sleep. Find peace and rest and avoid all stress. Your brain and your psyche are very fragile and tender, and any stressors you put on either will snap them. Imagine your brain as a partially torn tendon. If you try to exert the tendon it’ll simply snap. The tendon must be fully healed before you put any significant weight on it,” he said, pointing at the patella tendon in my knee. “Just like your brain. You will snap it in half by exerting it before it’s healed.”

“That sounds easy,” I chuckled in relief. “I just won’t put any weight on it. On my brain and psyche, I mean.”

“Ain’t so simple, kid. Two problems. One, the pain you’ll be in will not allow you to relax. Two, your body will be pumping so much adrenaline through your veins that you won’t be able to sit still. Your systems will be super charged. You’ll explode if you try to sit still. In other words, to survive you must be relaxed and at peace, but the virus won’t allow that. It hurts and irresistibly demands action. You crave action. Thus, your Outlaw gig.”

“My Outlaw gig?”

“You think it’s mere coincidence that you started this nationally celebrated charade at the precise time the symptoms started? No way, kid. It’s no accident. The virus was driving you into the night, to the top of towers. We Infected die young like supernovas. We burn up fast and bright.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” I admitted. It all fit. And at the same time, this was madness.

“Also, stay away from alcohol or anything else that messes with your brain.”

“So…this trick is good news. Which means there is more bad news,” I remembered.

“Right. The fourth thing you need to know.”

“Great,” I said dryly. “Can’t wait to hear how this gets worse.”

He lazily but efficiently withdrew a revolver from the holster strapped to his thigh. He pointed it at my forehead and thumbed back the hammer, and the weapon made a heavy clicking sound. My breath caught.

“I’m not going to kill you,” he said evenly. “But I came here tonight prepared to. My mission was to determine if you were insane yet. If you were…bang. I’d put one in your temple and be on my way.”

“What makes you think I’d let you shoot me?” I asked with much more stability and bravado in my voice than I felt. I wanted to squirm away from the GIGANTIC barrel of his gun.

“Kid,” he laughed around the extinguished stub in his mouth. “I know you’re fast. But you’re still getting used to your own body. Me? I’ve had mine a long time. But I can tell you’re not crazy. You are lucid and logical and rational. So I’m here to educate you. Take a good look at this gun. I want you to realize how serious I am. How serious the Infected are.”

“Okay.”

“The fourth thing is this. If you start to go insane, you will be executed.”

“Executing the new recruits doesn’t seem very collegial,” I growled.

He lowered the hammer and holstered his revolver. I enjoyed a deep sigh of relief. “My job isn’t to be friendly. My job is to evaluate the newbies and then either educate or execute them.”

“Why would I go insane?”

“The virus is causing powerful changes in your body. Usually you’ll simply fall dead, likely from an aneurysm. OBE. Overcome by events. That’s where your headaches are coming from,” he said, pointing at me with his dead cigarette. “The virus is too strong. Bam, dead. Easy. No messy cleanup. However sometimes the result is that the brain breaks but doesn’t stop. Thus, insanity. If that occurs, we can’t wait for the aneurysm. We finish them off before the virus gets around to it.”

“Why do you finish them off?”

“Imagine the nightmare scenario if we didn’t. If you’re sick and some of your symptoms are insanity and freakish strength, then you’re going to hurt a lot of people. And draw attention.”

“So you enforce the secrecy,” I nodded. That made sense. Morbid sense.

“Right.”

“How do you find the new recruits?”

He chuckled without humor and said, “A person developing superhuman abilities while simultaneously losing their mind isn’t hard to find. If you know what to look for,” he said pointedly.

“Like the Outlaw,” I realized.

“Like the Outlaw,” he agreed. “At least you’ve been smart enough to cover up your insanity with a mask.”

“How many times a year do you do this?”

“Christ, you ask a lot of questions. A couple times a year, on average” he said.

“How many Infected are there total?”

“If you survive, you’ll bring the total number up to ten.”

“That’s it?” I cried.

“That I know of. Might be others in hiding.”

“And you’re the boss?”

He frowned and shook his head. “We don’t have a boss. I just meet the new recruits. That’s my job. Now you’re someone else’s problem.”

“Unless I go insane,” I reminded him. “Then you’ll come kill me.”

“No. Not me. I just handle the initial encounter. But I will tell you this, kid. We are a secretive group. We don’t like attention. And you dressing up like a superhero and jumping around on roof tops? That draws attention.”

“So?”

“Like you said, we enforce the secrecy.” He made a gun with his thumb and finger. “Pow.” He dropped his thumb and shot me.

“You’re threatening to kill me if I keep acting like the Outlaw,” I realized with a snarl.

“Not me kid,” he spread his arms out wide, palms up, grinning. “Not my job.”

“Whose job is it?”

“It’s the Shooter’s job,” he said.

“The Shooter?!”

“Yeah, I know. Not a great name. But, it fits this particular individual.”

“Ridiculous,” I snapped. “You’re here to tell me that I’m going to die in a few months. And if I keep attracting attention, someone named the Shooter will come shoot me even sooner than that?”

“Not
will
come.
Has
come. The Shooter’s plane landed last week.”

“This is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard,” I almost yelled. “So what’s your name? The Revolver? The Killer of Crazy Infected Newbies?”

“My name’s Carter.”

“Your name sucks,” I grumbled.

“Sorry, mate.”

“So I’ve only got a few months left,” I sighed, trying to keep my anger in check and keep the facts straight. “Unless I find a way to relax. And quit gallivanting around as the Outlaw.”

“Bingo. No more televised roof jumping.”

“What about you? Can you jump over buildings from the street?” I asked. “I jumped up two stories a few months ago.”

“I got you up here, didn’t I? But I’m getting old now. My knees aren’t the same as they were. I could probably
throw
you over a building.”

“How old are you? Now that you’ve survived, how long will you live?” I asked.

“I plan on being here a while. And let’s just say I’m older than your great grandparents. I’m aging slowly.”

“How can I climb walls?”

“Simple. You’re stronger, including your fingers. Inhumanly nimble with unreal dexterity. Your finger tips and feet can take advantage of ledges you can barely see. It’s not magic.”

His phone rang. I could see it light up in one of his pants pockets. He unzipped the pocket and retrieved the vibrating device.

“Yes? …things are fine. …I think the costume is stupid too. …Right.” He hung up.

“The Shooter?”

“Yep,” he said and he flicked the dead butt over the edge of the helipad into the Los Angeles night.

“Is the Shooter watching us?”

“Nah. You’re nothing I can’t handle. Aren’t you hot in that thing?” he asked, indicating my mask.

“It’s permeable,” I replied in a fog. “So what happens now?”

“You die.”

“Listen to me,” I snapped, pointing my finger at him. “I’m not going anywhere. Understand? I’m not afraid. Not of you, not of your Shooter, and not of your virus. I’ll do what I need to do to beat it, if it’s even legit. I’ve overcome bigger obstacles than this. I’m going to live a long time. Get used to it,” I said from some unknown reservoir of confidence and surety.

“I like your arrogance, kid. Survive and we’ll talk further. I’ll stick around, and check on you now and then. Sometimes I just go home but…you’re an interesting case. I’m curious to see how this plays out. I want to see if the virus or the Shooter kills you first.” He stood up and shrugged into his backpack. “Before I go…” he said and he pulled out a newspaper. It was a copy of a football profile written back in the fall. A portion of the article was written about me. The rest was written about Tank. “This is you, isn’t it?” he asked, pointing at the picture of me. “I thought you might be Tank, but despite the mask I can tell that you’re not him. You’re Chase Jackson.”

“That’s my mild-mannered alter ego,” I replied.

“Oh. One final piece of advice. Don’t go to a doctor for help. They draw blood. And your blood is a very important and very valuable secret. Shooter will kill you instantly if you try. Hopefully we’ll meet again,” he smiled grimly. Then he scooped out another handful of quarters and bounced them in his hand, measuring them, organizing them. “Good luck to you,” he said and he hurled the quarters at my feet. I flinched away, expecting the coins to ricochet and scatter in every direction. But they didn’t. To my astonishment, all the coins were neatly imbedded halfway through the rock hard surface. Unreal. He’d buried the quarters into the asphalt.

I glanced up…but he was gone. I spun around, searching the roof. Nothing. He’d vanished.

“Show off,” I scowled.

The date was over. I perched like a guardian angel on top of Tank’s roof, exhausted from the long trip back from the tower. Tank and his parents waved goodbye to Katie and her mother. I needed to send Tank a message. A strong one. He was tormenting me by going on this date, and I wanted to hit him back, to let him know I wasn’t going anywhere. I didn’t want to hurt him or his family. I only wanted to convince him to leave me and Katie alone.

So I threw the metal ball of quarters through his window, like a pitcher throwing a fastball. The glass pane shattered and things smashed inside. When Tank returned upstairs he’d find a nasty surprise waiting. As the crash was still echoing off the surrounding cathedral of windows I fled the scene and decided Carter might be right. About everything.

Which meant I was in trouble.

Wednesday. The first day of the rest of my life. I had two goals.

Stay alive.

Stop Tank from hurting Katie.

Simple. I could do that.

Second semester began today at Hidden Spring High. Our school is in an affluent section of Glendale, a wealthy suburb of the Greater Los Angeles Area. Our school is new and polished, with state-of-the-art equipment ready in every room. Despite the amenities, we still have the same problems other schools have; loneliness, depression, anger, peer pressure, all that fun stuff.

I had Pre-Calc first period, Spanish Three second, Advanced Strength and Conditioning third, and Chemistry fourth. My girlfriend Hannah and I shared no classes this semester, but Katie and I had Spanish Three together. This would be interesting.

My relationship with Hannah Walker was complicated. We hardly ever saw each other. She was a cheerleader and fully immersed in the basketball season. In fact, the pace of her life had recently increased because she had to prepare for the upcoming spring cheerleading dance competition. Plus, she was an extremely driven student. She stayed at the library long into the evenings, re-writing notes, reading through her text books, and practicing for tests. Her desire to get into the top Universities absolutely and entirely trumped her romantic life.

Despite being almost a nerd about her grades, she completely ruled the school, though that hobby didn’t interest her much. Due to her good-looks, her family’s prosperity, and her position as the cheerleading captain, she was already at the top of the social food-chain without much effort. But winning high school popularity contests didn’t figure into preparations for her future. She exercised her fame just enough to maintain her reign over the social scene, and that did not include unnecessary dates with her boyfriend.

It was a strange arrangement between Hannah and I, but it worked. I guess. The pros outweighed the cons, as she liked to point out. The primary benefit was that it left me ample time for Katie, for whom I’d leave Hannah in a second.

My life is weird.

Hannah met me in the school’s parking lot on Tuesday, our first day back after New Year’s break. She kissed me and ran her hands through my hair and warmly asked about my weekend. This was a weekly performance she believed necessary to secure my loyalty.

“Have a good day, quarterback,” she cooed and she strutted off to her first class. I didn’t move. People began flowing around me in the hallway.
Quarterback
. That’s right! She was primarily interested in me because I was the quarterback of our football team, but I was never going to play football again. I was either going to die any day, like Carter predicted, or I’d survive and have to give up the sport. I couldn’t play against other kids when I had a tremendous advantage. Right?

In fact! The disease explained my success last season. I played FAR too well and nobody could postulate how a rookie like me had achieved so much. I could throw a football forever and outrun the whole team. Holy moly, this explained so much. I’d been cheating!
Was
it cheating? Did a disease that made you faster and stronger before killing you count as cheating?

The bell rang. I was late to class.

“How was your date with Tank?” I asked as Katie and I dropped our backpacks and sat next to each other in Spanish class. I tried and failed not to stare. Her cheekbones and her dark eyes and her perfect skin and her brown hair and her quick infectious smile were becoming harder to ignore.