The Infected 1: Proxy (5 page)

"If you choose the training... The lab boys have run some projections on it and give you an expected life span of eighteen months to two years at the outside, sooner or later you'll run into some Infected that you can't escape from in time, or you'll keep fighting, trying to protect people when you should be running. To make it worse, in order to give you a chance to learn first, in the first few months or so, we have to work you nearly to death. You can be drugged at night, sometimes, so that you can sleep, but during the day you have to feel the pain, at least be really uncomfortable, all the time."

Both the people next to him looked down then, which Brian got. No matter what he did, he'd have a death sentence hanging over him. One a virtual death that could take decades, but wasn't living at all. The other, well, it sounded sucky to him.

His body had been carefully honed over the years to excel at eating Twinkies and sitting on a sofa playing video games, maybe stand and pack toilet paper into boxes, the job he'd kept for the last three years. He couldn't even imagine what kind of training they meant and felt a little afraid to ask. How hard did you have to work to stay in constant discomfort, much less pain?

Brian shrugged, thinking as carefully about all this as he could. He had two paths, either one led to death of a sort, one had a lot of pain, the other might as well just be putting a bullet in his brain for all he'd be able to know about the world around him. Really, neither one was all that attractive, even considering that he personally valued being able to think over not hurting. For now at least.

Pain... bit monkey balls. Brian knew that one first hand, and didn't really want any more if he could help it.

It really only left one thing for him to ask. Pretty much the only thing that mattered in the end.

"So, if I do it, this training thing, do you think I can help anyone? Can I learn enough to even save one person?" He didn't say this to the doctor, but to the agent, an obviously tough guy that didn't soft peddle his answers. Brian held his breath, because if he couldn't help anyone, there wouldn't be any point to taking either option. Then a bullet to the brain would help everyone more than anything else would.

The tall man shrugged.

"Yeah. I mean, look kid, there's no guarantee here. You could go out the first time and have to fight the toughest Infected on the planet. If that happens you're just dead. Anyone would be. Then again, you might go years without facing another infected at all. You could be knifed, shot, who knows what the fuck all, but against people like that, low level Infected or regular people, you could do a lot. You're young, and balls-out tough. I know you don't think that's true, but I've seen the tape of you fighting in the bar. You suck, sure, but you didn't stop trying, even when most people would have quit fighting and just curled up crying. I think that if it had just been the gunman you might have even won, Brian. Untrained against an armed man, he was reeling a few times there and if his buddy hadn't bailed him out... With training? Yeah, hell yeah in fact. I think you can do it. The guys from the lab, the number crunchers... They think, given everything so far that you can save between twelve and eighteen people before you buy it." He spread his large hands, his face looked sad, like he was telling Brian that he had to take the suicide mission... or else everyone else paid for it.

That sounded about right.

Well, twelve to eighteen people anyway. Still...

Looking down at his hands on the covers Brian asked for some time to think about it, knowing that there wasn't a real choice. He suffered and tried or other people died because he didn't. What else could he do really? He just wanted to take a little time to mourn for his life, as stupid as that sounded. No matter what, he was functionally dead.

Brian had to accept that.

They left, saying they'd be back in a few hours. He nodded and tried to give them a smile, which made the doctor wince. She obviously got some of what would be going on in his head. Of course, she also knew that he didn't have a choice in this, Lancaster had to know too, working with people like him all the time. He'd try to save people if he could. It was his thing, his "first mode" the agent had called it.

Brian didn't cry, having lost all his tears days ago. In its own way, the beatings and pain the police had put him through were kind of a blessing, weren't they? He'd already known and accepted he'd die. Going back to the idea felt a lot easier now than it had the first time.

Brian just sat with the idea. He was dead. Nothing would change that. He couldn't run from it and no one in the world could bail him out. But he had a chance to make his death mean something, which was a lot more than most people got. Wasn't it?

Yeah, it really was. What was he doing with his life anyway? Eating himself to death?

Brian tried to let everything go then. The old life, his hopes of finding love, or at least a woman that would sleep with him before he died, the dreams of making something of himself, which probably wouldn't have happened anyway.

Let it all go, he told himself.

Dreams like that were for the living. A strange feeling came over him, a feeling of peace, like nothing could touch him now. Not really. He could be hurt, or humiliated or even fail, but it didn't matter. Not now.

Lancaster came back into the room first, carrying some clothes for Brian, which he got into without needing any real help, his ribs ached, but it was a dull pain, nothing had shattered there, just cracked, so they were mainly healed he'd been told. Or at least would be in about six weeks. The bruising had faded a lot too. It still hurt when he tried to put on the light blue t-shirt that said IPB on the front, but he did it without complaining. The sweat pants, a dark blue, fit easily. He didn't have underwear, but decided not to worry about it. That kind of thing didn't matter now, right?

A pair of white socks finished the look, with some running shoes, probably Lancaster's own, they looked and felt well worn and were at least five sizes too big for his feet, looking a little like clown shoes. Brian smiled down at them.

He waited for Tull to come in before he said anything about what he wanted to do, no need to repeat it twice.

He spread his arms, his hands just hanging, half closed still, "Right. Obviously I'm going to try and help people. You both know that already... I don't know what I'm supposed to do next. Are you two going to train me? Do I stay in the hospital or something? I... don't think Doug, my roommate, is going to want me to come back now and his girlfriend Carla would probably shoot me if I tried. If she can get a gun, which, if we have any say in, we should prevent. She really hates Infected people..."

Lancaster shook his head and smiled, clapping Brian on the shoulder, "No, there's a whole facility for this kind of thing. You'll see the Doc here sometimes, once a week probably, because you're going to need to have your head shrunk. Don't take it personally, everyone has to see someone in this branch, at least part of the time. The team you're on has a trainer and a couple of assistants that will be in charge of making sure you learn what you need. Hard core athletes and hard cases that won't put up with any pansy crap and special forces guys for weapons and combat training. Don't worry, we'll get you ready." The man squared his shoulders and grinned.

"Some of the chicks are hot too. You probably won't have a lot of time for them, but the eye candy isn't too bad in the gym. Don't tell any of them I said that though, they'll kick my ass." He laughed at the look Doctor Tull gave him, making Brian smile too.

The facilities were nice, they told him, like a good hotel as far as the rooms and food went, a better hospital than the one he was standing in, fully staffed at all times, the whole thing remote enough that the press wouldn't be bothering him. Not that they would be anyway, Brian knew. After all, he wasn't interesting or dangerous. The amazing power of going into a dangerous situation and having your ass kicked didn't make the news. Lancaster chuckled when he said this out loud.

"Don't worry, it won't be your ass getting kicked soon. All you have to do is what we tell you and the rest will take care of itself."

They checked him out immediately, since the drugs were wearing off and he could potentially switch into a dangerous situation for all they knew. They didn't think he would, probably being too sore still, but no one knew what the tolerances were. On the way out they passed Ken the nurse, and Brian stopped him with a half wave.

"Hey, man... thanks for reading to me and all that. It really helped. I just wanted to let you know that, you know, I appreciate it." The man smiled and shook his hand, it felt awkward to Brian, because his hand wouldn't close right, but Ken didn't seem to have a problem with it. He told Brian to take care of himself.

Brian just nodded, knowing that probably wouldn't be a real option.

The ride to the airport didn't take that long, Lancaster driving them right to the foot of the small jet they were going to be riding on. The inside of it surprised Brian, it was different than the other planes he'd been on before.

Instead of rows of seats, the plane had seating for about ten people, with huge, compared to the economy class he'd been in before, seats done in a soft tan leather. Some were grouped so that they faced each other, with the isle running down the side. Two people already sat, a man and a woman or girl. Brian couldn't tell how old she was, or even that she was a girl really, she could have been a really feminine boy. The clothes, jeans and a t-shirt, didn't give him a clue and the way she sat he couldn't see breasts if they were there.

Not that it mattered really. He wasn't here to get a date, he reminded himself, before his mind could start going on about how lonely he felt and that no one loved him.

Brian had accepted his death, at least in theory. No room left for whining in the time he had left. Life was probably too short for that even if you had forever. He made himself smile at the girl and wink. She waved back happily, as if they already knew each other.

They sat away from this other group, Doc Tull moving to sit with the others for a while. Lancaster asked if he wanted anything to eat. Brian thought about it, he felt... starved really, but he knew he needed to lose weight too. Other people needed him to be fit, as fast as he could manage it. He begged off, even as his stomach growled.

The plane had cabin crew, which ran them all through the plane's safety procedures like on a regular plane. Lancaster followed along with the instructions and looked at Brian hard, until he did too.

"Always review when you can, Brian. No matter what you're doing, or how often you've done it before, something fresh in your mind will save your ass about twenty percent more often than if you just go on old knowledge. It works... so do it." The man didn't sound upset when he said it, just matter of fact.

Brian couldn't sleep on the plane, the seats were comfortable and big enough, but the drugs wearing off revealed how much pain he still had left. His wrists burned still, constantly, causing him to rub at the mainly healed red lines all the way around them. He'd have the scars for the rest of his life he thought. Lancaster ate a sandwich the cabin crew brought around, a woman wearing military fatigues, who smiled at them and asked if they wanted anything to eat or drink after they took off. Brian asked for some water. The flight would only take about three hours, they were told, which Lancaster apparently planned to fill with information about fighting. Brian made himself pay attention and ask questions, so focused on the man in front of him that he didn't notice that the red-haired girl had come over until she slid into the agent's lap and started bouncing.

It wasn't just a "happy kid" bounce either, but something a lot more suggestive.

"Lancaster! Did ya miss me?" She spoke rapidly, voice high-pitched, almost a squeak, her face, not that Brian could see her clearly, being half turned away from him, had a bit of a point to it. Not outside of what you might see walking down the street, but enough that he noticed it. Her front teeth were bucked, sticking out all the time, making her look a little stupid, body rail thin and hard looking under her clothes. Brian started to feel self-conscious about the roll of fat around his own middle, but made himself smile instead. It wasn't important, except for the fact he needed to be in better shape as soon as possible.

Lancaster smiled and pushed her off his lap and into the seat next to him, "Hello, Bridget. Out on an assignment alone? That's unusual..." His tone had gone very wry and his eyebrows up when he looked at the girl. Brian figured her to be a girl now for sure, with a name like that. Or a guy with a really unfortunate name.

The girl pouted, "Nah. I went to a concert, but agent no-fun back there got all up in a twist and came to make me go home, which isn't fair, because I had the whole weekend off and wasn't late getting back yet or anything!"

She looked over at Brian, staring at him without blinking while talking.

"He got all mad because I hitchhiked there, like it's dangerous or something... It's not a big deal, I rode with a very nice truck driver most of the way that let me pay for it by jerking him off." She moved her hand back and forth by way of example.

Just in case they missed the reference Brian guessed.

Lancaster sputtered, hands going up in front of him in exasperation, "Bridget! You're fourteen years old, you shouldn't be getting rides by jerking off truckers!"

Looking downcast she nodded. "I know... I offered to blow him, but he didn't want me too. Plus, I think he thought I was a boy, so he didn't want to have sex." Her tiny shoulders shrugged as if saying it was beyond her control.