Sanctuary (4 page)

Katie Lopez walked into my living room and said, “Hi boys!”

I dropped my controller and stood up. Cory and Lee said, “Hey” over their shoulders but otherwise didn’t budge.

“Hi Katie,” I said.

“You guys having fun?”

“I’m winning.”

“Wow,” she said sarcastically. “That’s
so
great you’re winning at video games.”

“I think so.”

She beckoned with her finger and said, “Can we talk? In the hall?”

“Absolutely,” I said, my heart suddenly pounding like a drum. I had to be careful, because sometimes my body swelled when I was nervous and I wasn’t wearing my loose shirt or shoes. “It’s nice to see you. Finally. Are you on your way to the press conference?”

“Yes. How do I look?”

“Desirable.”

“Chase,” she said quietly and stepped closer. “You should know. I think about our conversation. Every minute.”

I didn’t know what to say so I nodded.

“Life has been crazy since he woke up, but…I’ve thought about you. A lot. You’re everything to me.”

“Thanks. I know.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” she said. “And I won’t forget. And we’ll talk soon. About all this.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I really want you to write me that letter,” she smiled. “I check for it every day.”

“I will,” I grinned. “I’m just not sure how to phrase ‘I love you for every reason.’”

She smiled wider. “Do Cory and Lee know that…that you love me?”

“They know. I think everyone knew but you.”

The front door opened, spilling in sunlight, and Samantha walked in.

“Hi Katie,” she said. “You look hot! Oh…you’re going to Tank’s press conference… Well, have fun with that.” She slammed the door and stomped upstairs.

“Thanks,” Katie called after her. “Nice to see you too, Samantha.” She paused and then whispered, “Why is she going upstairs?”

I said, “Oh right, I didn’t tell you. Samantha lives here now.”

“
What
?”

“Yeah! Cool, huh?” I grinned.

“Why is…what’s….why?”

“She’s homeless! I had no idea. She’s been living in her truck this whole time.”

“
So
?” Katie said, peering up the staircase. “What’s wrong with that?”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s staying in the guest room,” she said slowly.

“Right.”

“The room beside your bedroom.”

“Right,” I said again. “Perfect, huh?”

“Yes,” Katie said. “Perfect. For her. I’m so glad to hear she has a place to sleep now. Here, with you.”

“Dad thinks it’s weird,” I admitted.

“How…closed-minded of him. Chase, I have a great idea,” she said. “Samantha should come stay with me!”

“But you don’t have a guest room,” I frowned.

“Right, but I don’t mind. It’d be fun! I like Samantha.”

“Where would she sleep?”

“On the floor. I mean, I would sleep on the floor and she can have my bed,” she said.

“Well…I can ask her…”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s…I can…I mean, I think I’m just…wow, I can’t believe she’s sleeping here.”

“Are you okay?”

“I…I have to go, or…it’s time for me to go,” she laughed nervously. “Yeah. I’ll call you later. Or text you. I’ll text you.”

She left in a rush, and I strolled back into the living room.

“Yo, she going to the interview now?” Lee asked. Lee is one of my closest friends. He’s a stereotypical Asian math genius, and he also obsesses over the mysterious Outlaw, to the extent that he designed the Outlaw’s vest.

“Yes,” I said and I sat down with a big exhalation.

“She cold,” Cory rumbled. Cory is my other best friend. He’s a mountain of a man that will play offensive line in college football one day.

“No,” I said. “She’s conflicted.”

“Dude, I wish Tank had just
died
, yo,” Lee proclaimed, eyes glued to the screen. “Everything would be better.”

“We can’t start wishing death on people,” I said. “We have to be bigger than that. Even if we don’t want to be.”

“
Start
wishing death? Tank plays for the Patrick Henry Dragons, dude. I’ve been wishing he was dead for months.”

Cory grunted, “What’s Tank gonna say, anyway? In the press conference.”

“Someone once told me,” I remembered, “that Tank is haunted with being the best. That’s why he hates the Outlaw, because suddenly his sack total was no longer big news. The hero in the pajamas was getting the front page. Tank wasn’t the best anymore, in the eyes of the public. And in March he got beat up on national television by the Chemist, so…maybe he’s just trying to reassert his dominance. It’s a vanity thing.”

“Yeah,” Cory nodded. “He a pretty boy. Prima donna.”

“Dude. That ugly monster is no media darling,” Lee scoffed. “Not to me.”

Samantha came down and smeared us in Call-of-Duty, even when we played three versus one. The game seemed to provide some relief from the perpetual siren call of her disease, so we played for two more hours until the interview started.

Tank had lost weight during his three-month long coma, but none of it was muscle weight, apparently. His skin looked shrink-wrapped over his bulk. Katie, resplendent and beautiful, was sitting beside him with his parents. Katie and Tank both had Latin American ancestry, and I had to admit they made an attractive couple. Several local television crews set up microphones.

“I’d like to begin,” he said, his voice a deep earthquake, “by thanking everyone for their concern. I appreciate all the cards and prayers. I’m going home tomorrow and I will be fully recovered soon. I know this has been a scary time for Los Angeles, but I’m okay now.”

“Nobody cares!” Lee shouted at the television.

“I also want to thank my girlfriend, Katie,” he continued, “for standing by my side through this. I just hope she stops getting kidnapped.” Everyone laughed at the bad joke. “Saving her is hard work.”

“Like you would know,” I muttered. Samantha shot me a look.

“Thank you to the doctors and to my parents. And to my fans, I want you to know that I’ll be ready for football season. And I’m going to lead our team to another championship. And I’m going to break every quarterback stupid enough to get on the field with me. Every. Quarterback.”

Samantha chuckled, “Charming guy. I like his rage. Good looking, too.”

“And lastly, to the stupid old man with the staff,” he said, and Samantha and I leaned forward. He was referencing the big fight in Compton. Tank had been there, and the Chemist had badly beaten him. “The Chemist. If I ever see you again, I’m going to impale you with that staff.” His parents fidgeted uncomfortably on their chairs. Katie managed to keep a straight face.

One of the reporters raised a hand and said, “Tank, glad to see you up and around. What were you doing in Compton that evening?”

“That’s personal,” he said.

“No one seems to know how you got from that intersection to the hospital. Do you know?”

“I don’t care,” he said.

“On the videos, it appears you spoke to the Outlaw. Do you remember what you said?”

“No. But if I see him again, I’mma beat his ass too.”

Confusion among the reporters. “The Outlaw? Why? Weren’t you two working together?”

“Just a joke,” he grinned.

“The Outlaw died in the Compton explosion, unfortunately,” one of the reporters told him.

Tank laughed darkly and quietly. “Oh no. The punk in pajamas fooled you suckers. He’s still around.”

Samantha sucked air in between her teeth. “That
moron
.”

A pause in the interview and then several reporters started talking at once. Katie’s eyes were wide with surprise.

“How do you know the Outlaw’s not dead? Do you know the Outlaw’s identity? Who is he? What about the explosion?”

“He’s not dead,” Tank repeated. “But he’s a fool. He’s a liar and a coward. And the world wouldn’t like him if they knew who he really was. Maybe I’ll tell you, one of these days. One day soon.”

Samantha shook me awake at three in the morning.

“Get up. We gotta go.”

“Mmmmmmmrrgppffffooooawaaay,” I said, helpfully.

“Chase. Now,” she hissed.

“‘Manthalemmelone,” I groaned. If I had a taser, I would’ve zapped her right in the neck.

“Carter needs us.”

“This is your job,” I moaned and I pulled a pillow over my head. “Not mine. I’m a kid. A child. An innocent youth that needs sleep.”

“I’m going to screw on my silencer and shoot you with wax bullets until you get up.

“Oh my goooooooosh,” I sat up with a huff in the dark room. The only light came from my red alarm clock. My eyes wouldn’t fully open. “What could Carter possibly want?”

“Doctors at Hollywood Presbyterian Medical just revived an Infected kid,” she said and she flipped my covers off. “Camera phones caught him throwing motorcycles before he passed out. Carter’s out of town and the kid is unguarded.”

“So?”

“
So?
” she snapped and she started throwing clothes at me. “Start thinking like an Infected. We need you. This is a war. A war of accumulation, and right now the Chemist is winning. He’s going to come snatch that kid. We need to get there first.”

Five minutes later I was howling down the interstate on my bike, peering through sleepy eyes at a blurry world. Samantha was nearby in her truck.

“How do we bust a kid out of a hospital without being seen?” I asked through my helmet mic. I was cold and tired and grouchy.

“Leave that to PuckDaddy,” he said in my ear. “Breaking into their systems now.”

“I’m getting sick of you two.”

“Thanks!”

“What do we do with him? Isn’t the kid insane? And freakishly strong?”

Samantha crackled, “I’m going to steal some tranquilizers. Keep him under until Carter gets back. We can stash the kid at your downtown hideout. Our main objective is to keep him away from the Chemist.”

“Do either of you know how many Infected soldiers the Chemist has? I have no idea.”

“PuckDaddy has a guess,” he responded. “I’ve been scanning Compton with facial tracking software. Puck estimates six.”

“Six dastardly Infected,” I mused.

“Dastardly?”

“Yup.”

“Only nerds say dastardly.”

“Six plus the Chemist,” Samantha said. “Plus the others he hasn’t
hatched
yet. Remember, Carter said the Chemist has found a way to keep new Infected comatose for months while their brains heal.”

“And we have…”

“You two,” Puck said. “Plus me, kinda. And Carter.”

“Seven verse four. Seems fair,” I grunted.

“Carter called in reinforcements,” Puck said. “Arriving soon.”

“Good! I like reinforcements.”

Samantha growled, “Not me.”

“Puck, how many other Infected are there? Outside of Los Angles, I mean. What’s our total number?”

“Outside of Los Angeles, there are five others. Used to be six, but she died on a mountain recently.”

“Who are they?”

“Code names are Australia, Russia, Zealot, China and Pacific. That’s all I can tell you.”

“I hate them all,” Samantha said. “I bet Carter called in Australia…didn’t he.”

“You know it, homie. Australia’ll be here in a few days.”

Samantha said a very bad word.

PuckDaddy directed us to a sprawling pink hospital on Vermont Avenue. We braked in the rear parking lot, near a loading bay. The silence of the place was deafening. I hated this; neither of us had ever been here and we had no plan, like walking into a skirmish blindfolded.

My body was thickening due to the stress. My cells carried a disease that interacted strongly with adrenaline, doing bizarre stuff like strengthening my heart, broadening shoulders, and hardening skin. Muscles bulged and the fibers began fast-twitch firing like pistons. The synapses in my brain revved up, like I could control time.

The overall effect was intoxicating, as if I’d never been alive until now. My senses were heightened and all the incoming stimuli was rich and potent. I could punch through walls, flip cars, leap houses, and I ached to do it all.

“Talk to me, Puck.” Samantha looked awesome when she dressed for combat: thin neoprene gloves, tight black leggings, steel-toed boots, and her snug black shooting jacket. Night-vision goggles were perched on her head, and pistols were slung in two brown leather shoulder holsters.

“This place is disgusting. The building is so old,” Puck whined. “I can’t be very elegant in my assistance.”

“Get us a room number.” She double checked magazines and chambers on all weapons, including the pistol at the small of her back.

My weapon was my arm. I had purchased heavy, metal ballbearings a few months ago; I could throw steel faster and more accurately than a major league pitcher. Her weapons were cooler than mine, but mine wouldn’t kill people. I hoped.

“The kid’s in Neurology. Take the stairs located just inside the loading dock. Head to the third floor. Room 312.”

“What about meds? I want him sedated.”

“He’s hooked up to a bag of ketamine, according to records. There might be another bag in his room or the nurses’ station. I don’t know how this works. I’m not a doctor, I’m a hacker.”

“Outlaw, you’re still wearing your motorcycle helmet,” Samantha observed.

“You think I should ditch the helmet? Go with the mask?”

“No,” she frowned. “Neither. Both are too recognizable.”

“Gear, you don’t care if people see your face. I do. I still have a life. I covet my anonymity.”

“Then wear the Outlaw mask,” she sighed.

“Puck agrees!” he shouted

“Yeah, it’s sexier,” she shrugged. “Plus everyone knows you’re alive now. No sense hiding. And Puck can delete video if we need.”

I left the helmet with my bike and we trotted up the concrete stairwell to the third floor. The hospital’s administration wing was asleep and we slipped through like ghosts. I was twirling steel in my hand like Baoding relaxation balls, but it wasn’t helping.

We pushed through double-doors to the Patient Care area. This part of the hospital was alive. Sleepy, but alive. The lights were on, machines beeped, and distant voices murmured down the pink and blue hallway. An elderly man in a hospital gown saw us and gasped. He stumbled back into his room.