Sanctuary (7 page)

>>but didnt she try 2 stab u in compton?

Yeah. She has issues. But there might be hope for her.

>>if u say so

I put the phone down.

My ruined vest lay at the foot of my bed. The ballistic plates were crunched, the zipper was jammed, and the fabric was torn beyond repair. I needed to contact Lee for a new vest.

I needed to stop getting shot.

I might be safer in jail. Maybe I’d get lucky and Dad would arrest me.

The hospital shootout was big news, primarily because of the Outlaw. Puck deleted all the security video, but two Hollywood traffic cameras took pictures of the Outlaw on his motorcycle; Puck didn’t notice them until it was too late. The Return of the Outlaw led nightly newscasts for several days, and the Outlaw fan club (the Outlawyers) were whipped into a social media frenzy. Further fanning the flames was the second appearance of the mysterious girl. Helicopters had taken grainy video of Samantha Gear back in March, and now witnesses were describing her again. Was the Outlaw building a
team
of Hyper Sapiens??

“Ridiculous,” Samantha sneered, scrolling through news on her tablet. “I’m referred to as the Outlaw’s
Sidekick!
”

“Well, if the shoe fits…”

“The shoe doesn’t fit, Chase,” she growled. “I will stuff the shoe down your throat.” Carter was back in town and he chewed Samantha out for letting the kid die. She’d been furious and devastated for two days afterwards.

But who had the Outlaw and his sidekick been fighting?? That was the question. Hospital workers and police sketch artists produced renderings of Blue Eyes, Walter, and Carla, none of which were very accurate. Nobody in the building remembered the babyfaced Infected kid. Nobody except me. An internet news article referred to the hostile Infected group as the ‘Trio of Terrorists’ and everyone copied it.

Marshaling all available facts, the media constructed a possible narrative for the shootout; the Trio of Terrorists went to the hospital to bust out their comrade (the patient, who had been seen flipping vehicles earlier that night) but they were foiled by the Outlaw and his sidekick, and during the melee the patient had been shot and fallen off the roof. This narrative wasn’t far from the truth, actually.

PuckDaddy entered the nation’s collective conversation again. Police cyber-op teams blamed the lack of security footage on a powerful hacker, probably PuckDaddy. He’d been accused of helping the Outlaw previously.

All in all, we made a thorough mess. The only positive outcome of the hospital fiasco was that Dad seemed renewed and reengaged with the world. He spent hours questioning witnesses, examining photos from various cameras, talking with ballistic experts, and inspecting the scene of the gun battle. (Fortunately I’d changed the color of my bike and altered the license plate. Otherwise he would have already busted me.) He worked closely with the FBI, and once at the dinner table he even mentioned my old pal Special Agent Isaac Anderson.

School started in less than two weeks. Samantha and I had football practice each morning, during which we wrestled against the disease’s urges to run faster, throw farther, kick higher, and hit harder than humanly possible. Football practices no longer presented any physical challenges, but they exhausted us mentally. After lunch I attended sessions at a quarterback camp. The camp was invitation only, and all the players were cocky alpha males, suspicious and judgmental, not wholly unlike Infected.

At night, Cory and I helped Lee experiment with parachute designs by jumping off his roof. The chutes were small and we landed hard in his pool. Sometimes they didn’t even open at all. Lee was an inventor, so we were accustomed to his goofy trials. He never mentioned the fact he was designing the parachutes for the Outlaw’s new vest. Samantha visited one night to jump in the pool but she refused the parachute.

Thursday was a gorgeous, clear blue Los Angeles day. Making it even better, Katie attended morning practice. She reclined in the stands, tanning, and alternated between reading
Pride and Prejudice
and watching boring football drills. More than one of my teammates openly stared at her.

Last year at this time, I was memorizing plays as fast as I could, trying to hit receivers in stride, and hoping none of the big guys stepped on me. This year, the football field belonged to me. My teammates hustled faster when I glared at them, and disappointing me was far worse than disappointing the coach. This hierarchal change had developed organically; I was the strongest and fastest guy on the team (even when the disease was dormant), and I was the quarterback, and I was the one being discussed in the sports articles and blogs. I didn’t really like the changes and the responsibility, but I was growing numb to it.

After practice, we all huddled around Coach Garrett, a mustached Roman Praetorian Guard of a man. He chomped on his gum and smiled behind sunglasses.

“Good practice today, troops?” he asked and we groaned our answer. “The games are starting soon. We’ve got a good squad here, and we’ll be competitive.”

“No,” Samantha glared. “We won’t be competitive. We’ll be
winning
.”

“Gear, you’ve quickly become my favorite football player,” he barked. “And a giant pain in my ass.”

“Happy to help, Coach.”

“Thought you’d all like to know,” he continued, “that the Patrick Henry Dragons are favored to win the Division again this year, and also the state championship.”

Groans. Jeers. I smiled grimly and spun the football in my hands. I was going to wreck the Dragons’ plans.

“Another juicy tidbit,” he grinned, “is that our old pal Tank Ware is playing offense now too.”

“What?!” I shouted. Loudly. Everyone jumped.

Garrett nodded. “He told his coach he wants the ball. He’s going to be the Dragons’ starting running back.”

“This is a joke.”

“No joke, Jackson,” he said.

“I hate that guy!” I threw the football in disgust. Judging by the faces of my teammates, I threw it
really
far. I didn’t watch. “Freaking…ugh…stupid… stupid stupid Tank! What a self-absorbed glory hog. Jeez, I hate hate
hate
that big ugly cow.”

“I like your fire, Jackson,” Coach Garrett said. The team was staring at me with wide eyes.

“Coach,” I said suddenly. “I want to play linebacker.”

“Oh come on Jackson,” he chuckled.

“I’m serious. Dead serious. I want to hit Tank when he has the ball. Knock him out of his cleats.” I was grinding my teeth so hard the others might be able to hear it.

“Chase,” Samantha warned, “Don’t make this personal.”

“Besides. You’re the quarterback,” Coach said. “Too valuable to play two positions. You could get hurt.”

“I’m playing linebacker,” I snarled. Garrett was no longer smiling. “Or I’m quitting as quarterback.” The whole team stirred uneasily, except for Daniel Babington. He perked up. Daniel was the second-string quarterback.

“We’ll talk about it later, Jackson.” His voice had gained a stern edge. “But you don’t set the roster. I do. And you don’t threaten to quit on your teammates. Ever.”

He was right. I was steaming and I couldn’t think logically, but deep down I knew he was right. I just really really really hated Tank. I saw red when his name came up.

“Yes sir,” I mumbled and I stalked off. Selfish arrogant thick-headed freakish ill-mannered ugly Tank. He was a troll. A goblin. Simpleminded selfish conceited weak dumb duplicitous conniving…

Katie Lopez descended the bleachers and joined me as I stormed off the field. She was wearing blue shorts, a white shirt, and sandals with raised heels. “My favorite quarterback appears…agitated?”

“Your imbecile of a boyfriend is agitating,” I glowered.

“Oh?”

“He’s going to play running back this year,” I said. “Which means he’ll play offense
and
defense, and bully kids smaller and weaker than he is.”

“Isn’t that what good football players are supposed to do?” Her voice held notes of sadness and frustration and defiance, all at once. We stopped walking. For a moment, I truly felt sorry for her. She had chosen the wrong guy, and she knew it, and her inborn loyalty was torturing her. I reached for her hand, and she didn’t resist. She felt trapped, I could see it in her face, because she truly had feelings for Tank. Tank…

“He’s a villain. Evil. And ugly. And thanks for holding my hand. And I love you.” Her fingers sent tingles from my hand to my heart, which was pounding. Some of the football players were walking past us and openly admiring Katie.

She took a deep breath and beamed at me. “Say it again. I like it.”

“Break up with him. And I will say it forever.”

“How about,” she said, squeezing my hand, “I come over tonight?”

“…Go on.”

“And cook for you. And we can talk after.”

“I accept.”

“Count me in,” Gear announced, strolling past us, cleats crunching on the gravel. She looked especially militant in her uniform. “I’d kill for Mexican food.”

Katie blinked a few times. “Samantha, will you be joining us?”

“I live there now. Chase makes me. Did you notice how good his butt looks in his football uniform?”

“Kicker,” I said. “Shut up. Or you’ll be homeless again.”

We were interrupted by a stranger. Some guy was coming our way, and laughing. Even I could tell he might be the most handsome man alive. He had longish blond hair combed back, a strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, piercing blue eyes, curvy lips, the whole thing. “There she is! There’s my girl.” He had an accent; he pronounced it
me gull
.

Katie gasped softly. I might have too. He was a beautiful human being.

Samantha groaned. “What are
you
doing here?” she demanded.

“What? You’re not happy to see me?” the man grinned. He had dimples too. I wanted to hate him but he was too attractive. He wore jeans, cowboy boots, and a leather jacket. “I flew all the way from Down Under to find you.”

“Your accent,” Katie said. “It’s Australian.”

“Right you are, miss. Crikey, what a beauty you are.”

“Go back,” Samantha said, shoving her pointer finger into his chest. “Go back immediately.”

He ignored the finger and wrapped her up in a hug. Samantha resisted, to no avail. “No way,” he smiled. “You’re even prettier than I remember.”
Rememba!

“Shut. Up,” she growled.

“Besides,” the guy continued. “Carter’d be cranky if I did.”

“Carter?” I asked. The man noticed me for the first time, and nodded. “You know Carter?
The
Carter? Grumpy old man Carter?”

“I do,” he said, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Mitch. Good onya!”

“I’m Chase,” I said, shoving my hand into his. Another Infected!! “Wow, it’s…wow, this is…It’s great to meet you.”

“Chase?” he laughed. “
The
Chase? Holy doley! This a real honor,” he said, pronouncing it
reel onna
. “Finally get to meet the infamous Ou-”

Samantha threw her elbow hard into his stomach and said in a low voice, “Listen, Croc, go back to Australia. Right now. No one here is infamous.”

“Ow, woman,” he smiled, rubbing his side. “That hurt.”

“Good.”

Katie asked, “How do you two know each other?”

“Samantha here is my fiancé!” Mitch/Croc grinned.

“
What
?”

“
No
I am not,” she bit off the words. “I said
No
, Croc. Twice.” Football players trudging past were giving us curious looks.

“You said
No
??” Katie appeared unable to comprehend this. “Why…how…why?”

“Besides, I’m still in high school.” Samantha spoke through clenched teeth. “Remember?”

Mitch said, “Of course I remember. I am too! I just enrolled here.”

“Oh no,” Samantha said. She looked unsteady on her feet. “Croc. Please no. Tell me you didn’t.”

“Ah yes, love. I’m about to be a senior!”

Katie protested, “No way. There is no way you’re in high school. You’re at least twenty-five.”

I couldn’t believe it. Another Infected! And he was nice!? Weren’t all Infected supposed to be jerks?

“My birth certificate says I’m eighteen,” Mitch said proudly. “I can show it to you; just got it in the mail. The receptionist couldn’t believe it either. Suppose I just have one of those faces. And YOU!” he grinned and grabbed me by both ears. “You beautiful man, I’m glad to meet you.”

“Not as glad as I am,” I said. “We need the help.”

“Help?” Katie asked. “With what? The football team?”

“The football team?” Mitch asked. He stepped back and looked Samantha and I up and down, inspecting our uniforms. “You two play American football.”

“Croc,” Samantha growled, “No.”

“I’ll play too! Sign me up.”

“No no no!”

“Samantha girl,” he smiled, and he brushed some of the hair out of her face. “Cheer up! It’ll be aces. Where are you staying?”

“None of your business.”

I said, “She’s staying with me.”

Samantha sighed and rolled her eyes. She was frustrated to the point of tears.

Croc grinned. “With you? But you’re holding hands with the exotic sheila,” he said and he indicated Katie.

“Croc,” Samantha said, completely exasperated. “They aren’t together. She’s got a boyfriend. Some other guy.”

“I could tell that immediately. But why is she holding his hand?”

“Because he loves her and she’s conflicted. Stop asking questions.”

He examined all of us curiously and said, “Wow. What a confusing scrum.”

“Come with me,” she said, grabbing him by the jacket and hauling him away. “We need to talk.”

I watched them go and said, “This is so cool.”

Katie beamed. “He called me exotic.”

Katie was already in my kitchen when I returned home from quarterback camp. The house smelled like curry chicken and sizzling peppers. She handed me a sweet tea and said, “Change your shirt. You’re disgusting.”

“You look a lot better in that apron than my dad does,” I observed.

“I’m glad you noticed.”

“Are you wearing tighter clothes now? Or do you just fill them out better than you used to?”