Outcasts (2 page)

“More information about him on your papers.” New slide. A large man with a hard face and cold eyes. “Code name Russia. We know nothing, except he works with Carter and killed dozens of Chosen in the Camino College shootout.”

Puck adds, “He lives outside of Moscow usually. Likes to ice fish. Sometimes dives in himself!”

New slide. I say, “You know this one. Tank Ware. We have him in custody.”

The Army colonel says, “I thought you said we have no blood samples? Of the disease? You have an incarcerated Infected, for Christ sake.”

“Getting a blood sample from this behemoth is not easy. We’ve tried. He’s already killed one guard. It’ll happen. Soon. Next.” New slide. “The girl who set herself on fire.”

“Anderson, a question. In the email you said she was the Chemist’s most recent creation. Wouldn’t that mean she’s Chosen? Not Infected? I’m still confused on the difference.”

“Good point. We know a little more about Hannah than the other’s. PuckDaddy doesn’t like revealing much information on the Infected, but he explained Hannah Walker in detail. She was hurt during the Compton explosions, but the Chemist salvaged her body. She underwent a full blood exchange, which sped up her transformation. She’s as strong as an Infected, which is why I’ve chosen to categorize her with them. But, whatever, we can categorize her however we like.”

“How does she set herself on fire and survive?”

“We don’t know.”

“Scary as hell.”

“Agreed. Those are all the photos PuckDaddy will share. There are other Infected. We know they exist, but that’s all we know. That’s why we estimate fifteen. Fortunately that is a fixed number. It’s not growing.”

“More than enough, you ask me.”

“Next category. The Chosen. The Chemist’s army.” On screen were gangs of raving lunatics. “You asked if the disease is communicable. The short answer is No, except for the Chemist. Apparently his body produces contagious blood. The other Infected do not. Yet. They aren’t old enough. And the Chemist is infecting people around their eighteenth birthday, creating his army of Chosen.”

“Army of wild animals.”

“Savages. Some of my officers have been
chewed
on.”

“Move like cheetahs. Climb like monkeys.”

I say forcefully, “The disease produces mild insanity. They are
people
with broken minds.”

“When’s the last time you slept, Anderson?”

“Been a while. Army R&D is working on non-lethal solutions to Chosen. They are vulnerable to electricity.”

“Do we have more specifics about how the Chosen are being…produced?”

Puck answers the question. “The Chemist puts them into a medically induced coma and infects them using his own blood. Keeps them under for several months because the disease causes aneurysms otherwise. Headaches from hell! He calls them Twice Chosen, which is super confusing. We call them Chosen.”

I say, “Keep this in mind; the Chosen were infected
recently
. They haven’t had the disease long. So they aren’t as strong as Infected. Nor as smart. Their strength is in their numbers.”

Navy grumbles, “The Infected are gods, and Chosen are their wild animals.”

Army asks, “Anderson, we’ve heard reports that Chosen are subservient to the Infected. True?”

“Meh,” PuckDaddy says. “Kinda. The Chosen obey the Chemist, at least.”

I continue, “There is a pecking order. We don’t know how it’s established. Remember, the Chosen are dangerous but they aren’t the real problem. The real problem is the Chemist’s terror group and his ability to
produce
Chosen.”

“How many Chosen are there?”

A Captain of the LAPD says, “We estimated five hundred during the Los Angeles takeover.”

“But that’s just in Los Angeles. Doesn’t account for Seattle and Houston and God-knows-where-else. Best guess is in the thousands. Okay, we’re running out of time. Bob, tell us about the super drug.”

“Sure. Okay. So, we got our hands on several pounds. Of the Chemist’s super drug, I mean. We did a thorough workup. And it’s astonishing. Very elegant, much more so than cocaine, although that’s a primary ingredient.”

“More elegant?”

Bob adjusts his glasses and says, “To be blunt, the powder is a viral vector.”

USSOCOM asks, “The hell is a viral vector?”

“Well. For lack of better phrasing. A delivery system to the human body. Think of the cocaine as the delivery system. And there’s a nasty surprise being delivered through said system.”

The police captain chuckles. “Cocaine ain’t nasty enough?”

Army asks, “What’s the payload? What’s the nasty surprise?”

“Genetic material.” Bob the FBI biochemist enjoys dropping this particular bit of information. He always does it with the same dramatic flair.

“Holy…”

“What? What’s that mean? I’m just Navy, someone explain.”

I grin. “It means the powder alters their genome, Navy.”

“Genome? Somebody use some damn English.”

Bob says, “DNA. The powder is snorted and it temporarily changes the person’s DNA.”

“That’s
possible
?”

“Not until recently.”

PuckDaddy mumbles, “I’m not sure I knew that.”

“Why? What’s the point? If it’s just a temporary behavior modifier, wouldn’t other drugs do the trick?”

Bob continues, “There’s more. We think we’ve located Chemist DNA inside the material.”

“He put his own
genes
inside the stuff?”

I ask a clarification question for the benefit of the group, “So, say Jimbo snorts the powder. Some of Jimbo’s DNA gets replaced with Chemist DNA?”

“Potentially. Temporarily. The delivery system is very crude. Because it’s being mass produced. Well. Crude is a relative term. It’s a massive leap forward in the biogenetic world, actually.”

“What happens to users with their DNA replaced?”

“Still working on that. We think heightened aggression and faster mental processes. They become…more like him. Temporarily.”

I move into the projector’s cone of light. “We’re out of time. I don’t want our teams suspicious. Here’s the point. The Chemist terror group has spies within our ranks and he’s tearing our country in half while building these Hyper Humans. We have allies. Like PuckDaddy. We have enemies with powerful tools. And we have each other.”

“Until Blue-Eyes has us arrested.”

I press on. “I’m worried our military’s infighting will get worse. Maybe a lot worse. But this group won’t get distracted. Eyes on the prize.”

“What’s our next course of action?”

“Eliminate the Chemist. Or to be more specific, help the Outlaw kill him.”

“Everything is changing,” I said. “And it sucks.”

Cory grunted noncommittally. His mouth was full of brownie.

Lee raised his cup and said, “Cheers to change, bro! I’m a renaissance man. Adapt or die, baby. That’s what I say.”

The three of us stood on Lee’s front porch, looking at faint stars. Inside his luxurious home, a party raged. He'd invited most of our senior class, and over a hundred kids were inside having a good time. Or pretending.

I wasn’t good at pretending.

Besides, it was a sad affair. In addition to being a New Year’s Eve bash, it was also a goodbye party. Approximately ten percent of our school’s student body had already left for greener pastures. Glendale was simply too close to Downtown. Los Angles could no longer be called the City of Angels. It was an insane asylum, a jungle, a haunted house.

Technically, most of the seniors graduated two weeks ago. The fall semester ended in mid-December, finals scores posted, and now we had enough credits to warrant our diplomas. Greater Los Angeles guidance counselors were processing graduation applications as rapidly as possible. With this final hurdle cleared, another twenty-five percent of the students would move next week. Maybe more than twenty-five. Rumors were, all Glendale schools could close soon, or at least make attendance optional until this part of southern California became safer. Cory’s family was already packed.

My eyes stung.

Everything would’ve changed anyway. We were legally adults now. But. Something about this felt too abrupt, too scary, too permanent.

A familiar voice came howling out of Lee’s open front doors, rising above the revelers. I intensely disliked that voice.

I said, “Can’t believe you invited Andy Babington.”

“Whatever dude,” Lee shot back. “He’s legit. His bowl game was televised on ESPN, and he threw two touchdowns. His baller status lends this party credibility.”

“I was pretty good at football too,” I grumbled, scuffing stone steps with my shoe. Cory thumped me on the shoulder, and gave me a nod of encouragement.

Lee continued, “Besides. S’not like I could invite the
Outlaw
, you know, Chase?”

“That guy is over-rated,” I grinned.

“Noooooooo he’s not, you shut up, dude. Never know. Maybe the Outlaw got my invitation.”

“Nope.”

“Maybe he did, bro.”

“Nope.”

“It’d be so cool if he showed up!”

“He won’t. He’s a punk,” I said.

“Maybe. Any minute.”

“No chance.”

“ComeondudetheOutlawrules!!”

“I told you. He’s lame. Never goes to parties.”

Cory ruffled my hair and indicated the sidewalk. “Shorty fly, man. Yo’ girl make it hard for a brother to stay pure.”

Shorty. My girl.

Katie Lopez. Was here.

And my heart began to beat again.

The school where her mother taught had been temporarily commandeered by the government and transformed into a shelter. Katie was working there over Christmas break as an in-take receptionist for the displaced. She came straight from the shelter to Lee’s party, wearing a tight skirt, tank-top, and carrying her flip-flops. Her brown hair was up, and I loved her so much.

“Hi boyfriend,” she beamed.

“Katie, you’re so freaking hot, dude!” Lee burst. He couldn’t help himself. I knew the feeling. “I love your Instagram videos. So fly. And then, when you and Chase started hooking up, you
realized
you
are
hot and it made you even hotter, yo!”

“Thank you, Lee. I’m here to dance! Who’s coming with me?”

She took Cory and Lee by their arms and pulled them after her. I followed my friends inside, down into the spacious main level, now a multi-colored and flashing dance floor where Katie posed for pictures with classmates.

Katie and I hadn’t seen each other much recently. She worked non-stop at the shelter, and I helped Dad and the local law enforcement deliver emergency supplies. They gave me an official yellow vest and everything.

I tried to see Katie at night, but my other occupation kept me busy after dark. She understood. Cause she’s the best. Two days ago she received her acceptance letter to Stanford University, her first choice. She’d probably get part of her tuition paid for, too. I wish she’d chosen a college away from all big cities and all maniacs.

Maniacs like the Infected.

Maniacs like me.

“There he is!” Andy roared.

Andy Babington is Glendale royalty, a high-profile athlete since elementary school. He just finished a very successful season playing college football at Fresno State. He and I had been teammates and enemies during his senior year at Hidden Spring, and we still not-so-secretly hated each other.

He draped an arm around my shoulder and breathed foul beer into my face. “There’s the champ!”

“I watched your bowl game, Babington. You played well.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. So did a few of his buddies. “Yeah. I did. But you.
You!
You had a good year too.” He pointed with a finger that pressed into my cheek. “You’re not bad after all!”

“Uh huh.”

“I think my brother is better than you. Unnerstand? But your season was good too.”

“Uh huh.”

Across the room, Katie caught my eye and grinned. I winked, and then lost her in the pulsating crowd.

He belched and said, “But I heard. I heard. I heard you’re not playing in college.”

I shrugged.

He said, “Good idea, sport. You’d get killed. I mean, totally killed.”

“Yikes.”

“You have the arm strength. Remember that? You’re a nobody but wow! You can throw! Almoss’ far as me! But you need to be a leader in college. Like, you know. You get it. A real leader. But you’re jus’ a kid. Unnerstand? Jus’ a squirt. A nobody.” I disentangled from his arm and pushed into the crowd. He shouted at my back, but I ignored him. “A nobody!”

As always, Katie danced in the middle of the crowd and she became its heart. She moved to the drums, strong, slender legs pumping, hips twisting, smile infectious, capturing the partiers inside her radiating joy, and I marveled again that this goddess had chosen me.