Infected 8: Impulse: A Whole New Day (27 page)

"Go ahead, you can say it... Hate groups."

"Hate groups, yeah. I suppose. But there's a reason for what we believe. You admitted that."

"But not for hate over it. There
aren't
that many Infected people in the world. Think about it, you didn't even know that you'd met any until today. You probably
have
, but they weren't scary, and you didn't know about it, did you? Some Infected are dangerous, and can't help it, but a lot of us can, and do, all the time. That isn't made easier by people trying to persecute us. You should support the ones you can, and be as gentle as possible with the ones that can't control themselves. And yeah, keep in mind that if they can't, people like me will come and have your back, to take them down and keep everyone else safe."

For the first time since she'd met the man, he suddenly changed. His face, which had been a bit blank, and tense around the edges of his mouth and eyes, tightened a lot. Then he cleared his throat, if softly, and kept walking without looking at her. Even when he spoke, softly enough that she nearly had to strain to hear him, he didn't stop moving forward.

"The only way to stop them is death. We all know that. Yeah, maybe not all of them, not all the time, but you can't just pat an insane Infected on the back and ask them to change, can you?" There was no doubt in the words. The man spoke as if he were as certain of what he said as anyone could ever be.

"After all," Bridget whispered back, her voice a lot more friendly than she'd figured it would be, "No Infected has ever learned to control their first mode, have they? Except that, oopse, here I am. In control of myself and not just flying off and doing whatever I please. In fact, almost half the people I know are Infected that
have
learned a good measure of control over their powers and modes. It can be done, but the fact is, with everyone trying to hide their status, we can't help anyone. We should have clinics and special schools for them, but instead we just cleanup the ones that can't manage on their own. I agree, some people probably have to be killed, but all of us? Nah.
That's
just being a bigot. Do you kill everyone that's a little delusional? Or who talks to themselves in public? Or do you try to get them help?" It was a pretty good argument, she thought.

The other man stopped for a second and then made a face at her, continuing quickly enough that she didn't have to stop walking. For a long time they just walked, not seeing or hearing another person. That got them almost to the edge of town, where, to no particular surprise, they finally found some soldiers trying to form something like a watch line.

"It's about time. Come with me. I can get us through this." She took his hand, but didn't, as he clearly expected her to do, just walk up to the line. After all the men and women there didn't take orders from her. They wouldn't have, even if she'd had I.D. on her and could prove she was Impulse. They weren't that silly, she didn't think.

Walking up to their line and claiming that she left her credentials in her other pants wouldn't work either, she bet. Smiling she just threaded their line, towing the slightly heavy man along with her easily. He didn't resist her and stopped when she did, letting her position him behind trees, and then keep a large green vehicle with government plates between them and the watchers. They were trying hard enough, but not changing where their focus went. You had to keep looking around, she knew. Otherwise your brain got bored and would stop seeing things clearly.

Then people like her and Gene would just traipse casually through your line. Smiling, they did just that, until they were a good half mile away. She'd wondered if there was a second line, but there was no sign of one. She would have complained, but there wasn't a real threat coming anyway. Not that a line of regular people could stop.

No, it would take special people. Like her. Gene too. If he was good enough to get the job done.

"So now, Gene. This is where I leave you. If you decide to do what we talked about, and try to get the word out about Braid, who is Devorah Timberland, then feel free to call us at the IPB. We should have a phone up and working soon. If you decide to run, then..." She shrugged and leaned in, to give him a hug. The man took it, but was still afraid, for some reason. "In that case, do it and don't look back. Break all your old ties and become someone new. Make everything different, including how you think. Whichever you choose, I hope for the best. Remember, this is a war and so far you've been working against your own best interests."

He snorted and seemed a bit pissed off, now that he wasn't in as much danger of being caught. That was what she would have expected, if she'd bothered to think about it first. There was no particular reason for him to be happy with her, or the situation.

"
If
you can be trusted. I don't know you. You said that James and Martha are alive, but I don't even know
that
. Martha is some kind of Infected spy? That doesn't seem like it fits, does it? She's been helping us for months. We probably wouldn't have done anything if she hadn't been sent by the higher ups..." Almost like a switch being thrown in his head, he seemed to get it. It was like light, descending from heaven filled his tired and careworn little brain and reminded him that there was a capacity for thought inside there. If only he'd bother to use it.

Bridget nodded, her face solemn and while the move was a bit too big and a little fast, the man seemed to think it was genuine enough, from the way he reacted, which was making another face. He was expressive, if nothing else.

Then she spoke, trying to sound old and wise, or not like herself, at any rate.

"Exactly. Trivia is one of the most powerful people on the planet too. Don't forget that, if you meet again. You might not. If
you
know something, she does too. That goes for everyone on the planet, so you have to figure she's more than one or two steps ahead of us. I only survived her because I'm so hard to kill. If she comes for you..." That was a thing that Gene had best avoid. She nearly told him that, but realized she didn't have to.

Trivia was on their side.

Gene Satai swallowed and took a few steps away from her, then, unexpectedly, looked back. His large brown eyes looked weak, and a little stupid, but his words were clear enough. Firm, and almost confident.

"I should go now." He took another step, this time backwards, but it wasn't like he was running from her. There was something in it that had changed, for some reason. "I'll be in touch. I can't promise that I'll be able to do anything useful, but I know some people, and have friends, online. You promise you didn't lie to me?"

"Yeah. Or at least not about Braid and that stuff. I never really intended to sleep with you. This would be just about the worst time for that. I always
hate
that in movies when the people are being hunted and take time out to bone. No one smart would do that." It was just what she was thinking about, so she said it.

Surprisingly, it seemed to be the
right
thing to say.

"Good. You're too young to be going around doing things like that. You'll get a bad rep and then what will you do?"

"Have lots of fun?
You
say bad reputation,
I
say good advertising for my future adventures. You'll call?"

"I'll try. I might just run away. You had a good idea there, you know that?"

Bridget did. In fact, it was probably what they all should have done. Except for then Braid would kill all those people, or at least have them do it to each other, and the face of the world would change.

The really sad part, the thing that no one had ever told her, but that almost had to be part of the real plan, was that the Timberland woman probably intended for the Infected to
win
that war. They
had
to fight against it, so that a big chunk of regular people wouldn't die, but if they didn't, then things would probably end up being better for them. For her and all her friends.

Really, that was the selling point that she would have used if she were Braid. That by paying a high cost now, the whole world would be better for them. She hadn't, probably due to the fact that what would sway Bridget wasn't nearly good enough for everyone else. She was a bit more morally gray than say, Proxy was. Or Marcia, though the woman was pretty dark at times. In fact, out of all of them, Bridget was probably one of the few that
would
have sacrificed a Billion people just so she could have a better life.

It probably meant she was as bad as the ones trying to actually do it.

Shaking her head to clear it, which was a sudden and dynamic move, which got Gene to stare at her, as if she were on drugs, Bridget patted his arm, lightly.

"Get going. I hope to hear from you. Remember, I'm Bridget Chambers, if you need me. Go now. Take care and drink plenty of soup." It was just a thing to say, but Gene cringed.

"I
hate
soup. It's always so... runny." Then, without explaining that line, he walked away, not looking back again.

There was reason to doubt that she'd ever see him again, much less hear of him, but anything was possible. That part out of the way, she glided through a gap in the military line that was so large she probably could have run it at full speed without being seen or heard. Not really, which is why she went slowly, but it was pretty big and open. Then she picked her way back toward the high school, only to find that almost everyone had left already. There was a forensics team and some cops, but even the protestors had gone.

Hopefully
off to jail, but that wasn't certain by any stretch of the imagination.

"Hey, where did Ms. Turner go?" She just asked that out loud, looking around. Her voice was raised and people heard her, but no one said anything, until one of the CSI guys, who was in a light blue water and goo proof outfit that pulled over his clothing, waved and called out through his face mask. It was just a little, white, surgical kind of thing.

"She told everyone she was going to the new headquarters? She didn't mention where that was."

Bridget waved, since, thankfully, she did. It was the old shoe shop. She'd never been there, or anything, but it wouldn't take her that long to find it. Not if she hurried.

All it really took was sprinting up and down a half dozen streets, her bare feet tapping the pavement with loud thunking sounds. She didn't let her feet slap when she ran, since that was poor form. It was all about putting her max effort into forward momentum. Most of the time at least. The place was just about in the exact center of the old downtown area. She knew it was the right one, since there was a hand lettered sign on the front door, stuck there with clear tape.

It said, "IPB, National Headquarters."

That was correct, but it seemed a bit sad, seeing it in writing. The big sign in front of the building said Sho. The last two letters of the word Shoes, being missing. The first part was made of plastic and looked like the kind of thing that had space for light bulbs inside. That way it would glow and attract late night shoe fetishists, she supposed. If it had ever had another name, the yellow and red sign for the store refused to divulge it.

The glass door was unlocked, and while it was a bit of a mess inside, with some old boxes stacked in the corner, the floor had been swept, and several people were sitting in folding chairs. They were black and at least the one Marcia was in had cracked vinyl on the seat. It made the whole thing seem both temporary
and
like they were playing make believe at the same time. If so, it was a cosmic and
unrelenting
game of make believe.

Her entire life was though and always had been.

That fact hammered home, cresting on a wave of hunger and strangely, apathy. Bridget smiled, but didn't mean it, noting the others in the room. Doug was still cleaning up, using an old rag to dust for cobwebs, floating in the corner so that he could reach the twelve feet, up to the ceiling. That was made of plain white tiles made of something like sheetrock. That was what she'd always supposed things like that were, anyway.

Kenny the Intern was there too, talking on his cell phone. His voice was a bit higher pitched than it had been, and squeaked a bit when he spoke, exasperation ripping from him like a person about to throw down. In this case, the victim seemed to be the telephone company rep.

"No, wait, just effing
wait
! We need the numbers transferred, and it does
not
need to be disconnected physically first.
Why
? Great question! Because the building got nuked! Yeah, from the news, that's right. So what I need you to do today, Sandra, is to get on your computer and transfer all the numbers to this location. No... I don't know. Hold on for a second? I'll find out." There was a sneer on his face, and he looked over at Marcia, who was busily talking to someone herself on a cell. How she'd gotten it, Bridget didn't know.

Theft came to mind, to be perfectly honest. It's what she would have done. Borrowing would work too though, and probably be easier to show in the budget, when the person was paid back later for its use.

Getting that Marcia was busy, half yelling herself, and Doug was floating, the young man looked at her.

"Ms. Chambers... How many phone lines do we need? We don't have a trunk line, or whatever, at the store, but we can have up to six lines."

Bridget nodded, not having a clue what to tell him at all.

"Four. One for each of us. We can add as we go along. No, wait, make it five. We'll need to have a special line for the President." Because the man always called her when he was feeling upset or cranky, didn't he? She smiled at that one, but Kenny didn't know that she was kidding, and reported that to the operator, who actually gasped a little.

Bridget however, didn't care. It was either the right answer or not and really, she didn't have the energy to think about it at the moment. They'd all get cheap and unsecured cell phones and use those anyway. No one used land lines anymore, except the government... and old people.