Disease X

by Garrett Williams

  The quiet flapping of cards emitted throughout the small room as the woman shuffled for the Dealer and his guest. The Dealer had his hands folded as he waited patiently for the woman to finish and Logan had his arms crossed, staring into the Dealer’s eyes. Logan could see what could only be described as the love of captivity and currency, as though combining would fulfill his life’s purpose. The attractive woman handed the Dealer five cards, as with Logan. The Dealer held the cards close to his face to hide his miens. Logan looked down at his cards and scooped them up to look. “Well, fifths time the charm,” Logan said sounding sly.

  The Dealer smiled and said, “And I thought you looked like you knew the game well.”

  “It’s been a while,” He retorted. The woman then laid down two cards between them facing up, showing a two of hearts and a five of hearts.

  “Who would you like to wager this time?” The Dealer asked. Logan looked at the binder he had left open and found a name that’s been poking at him the whole night. Something about it seemed to speak out to him, and for him to win.

  “Cross Deity,” Logan said blankly.

  “Good choice,” The Dealer complimented. The woman laid down another card and this time it was a three of diamonds.

  “Why did you choose this line of work? I mean there are several other ways to make a profit in this country, why this profession?” Logan asked curiously. The Dealer looked pleased by his question and responded.

  “What is your dream Mr. Stevens?”

  “What?”

  “This is the American dream, no? But what if that dream is more fantasy than reality?”

  “I don’t follow,” Logan said peering into his eyes with his own, stern ones.

  “What if you wanted to dance with an angel or cause mischief with a demon?” The more Logan listened, the tighter he clenched his handheld blunder bust under the table.

  “My passion is to have these people with these extraordinary powers be celebrated and be embraced into our society.”

  “So you have them demonstrate their ‘gifts’ to the public.”

  “Precisely.”

  “What if they refuse to cooperate with you? What if they don’t want to show themselves?” Logan asked growing more and more irritable. The more he looked at the Frenchman the more constrained he was to lash out, but the more he looked at the woman with him he felt much more ashamed.

  “Then we give them some, eh, encouragement to do so.”

  “What if they still don’t?”

  “Then we show them what it’s all about. We pay them a visit and take them to my place and then the next thing they know, they don’t want to leave.” Logan kept clenching at his shorty and was beginning to grind his teeth. The Dealer looked at him and then said.

  “Did I perturb you Mr. Stevens?” After that smart comment, Logan stood up and lost it. He was listening to the Frenchman for minutes and his kind of business truly did perturb him. The Dealer was not wrong.

  “You son of a bitch!” Logan shouted holding his weapon at point blank range...The Dealer remained calm whereas the woman had yelped and backed into the corner.

  “Are you saying you would prefer the main stream over mine? I figured you would be like that,” The Dealer said collectively. Logan’s eyes then lit up like a fire suddenly ablaze with an epiphany and lowered his weapon. The Dealer looked up from his cards, smiled and gestured him to sit and continue their game. Logan sat and picked up his cards once more, feeling chagrined. “Pick up that mess and get over here!” the Dealer said austerely to the woman. The woman meekly picked up the cards and slowly walked over to the table. She laid down the final card, a jester of spades and sat down, looking at the ground. “By the way, what purpose would you have to keep a gun under the table?” The Dealer asked. Logan searched the depths of his mind for an excuse and spoke.

  “It’s a dangerous time were living in. Wouldn’t you have a gun?”

  The Dealer smiled one last time and stated, “I like your style. You and I will be great friends,” The Dealer laid down his cards as did Logan. The Dealer laid down a pair of twos and Logan a flush. There was an expectant pause and the Frenchman said, “Looks like you play the game well.”

  In that instant, both Logan and the Dealer stood at point blank range, the woman nearly fell over in surprise. Logan held the shorty in the Frenchman’s face. Before he could do anything to him, a pasteboard materialized from the side and sliced his hand, causing him to drop his defense. Son of a – what was that? Logan thought to himself as he hunched over and tended to the bleeding laceration upon his hand. Logan gazed up at the Dealer in his triumphant and confident pose as he towered over Logan. Logan looked around him to see all of the playing cards that been gravitating around him. He looked over at the cards on the table and noticed they had not moved an inch; he was not a specter. Logan stood tall, looking the Frenchman in the eye with his own disparaging ones.

  “What are you going to do? Paper cut me to death?” Logan mocked.

  The Dealer said with a sneer, “Why do you think that the cards we played with were so sturdy?” After that, Logan realized what he meant; the cards themselves were actually razors that had been coated in pasteboard and plastic.

  Logan thought and stated, “You’re a Forerunner aren’t you?”

  “I can see that you know you’re infected…Droid.” The Dealer sneered. Forerunners were a nickname given to the infected that could destruct the atoms in their own bodies and reconstruct them at will. When they are reconstructed, they can then take the form of whatever object or element that the user wishes. The term “Forerunner” is derived from the fact that all things have a beginning and a creator. In which case, Forerunner is another way of saying creator or “Those who came before.”

  “How did you know I was a droid?” Logan asked.

  “They are very ‘to the point’, much like you,” The Dealer said with that same roguish smile. Logan looked down at the woman who was hiding underneath the table, and at the fear in her eyes. Logan blinked and saw ions run along the wall and into the single light bulb illuminating the whole room. “Do you know how I got all of these nice cloths and beautiful women, Mr. Stevens?”

  “Your business?” Logan asked.

  “I got these because I know how to play the game. The cards are life, anything could happen. You could make it big, or you could lose your life.”

  “I’m warning you, if you kill me, my people will just come after you.”

  “Ah, yes, the military,” Logan nearly gasped at the Dealer’s response. “How did you know?” Logan asked horrified.

  “I have contacts with them as well. They give me Intel, and I give them ‘special discounts’ on several products.” Logan slowly backed up to the wall so that he could see all of the cards in front of him, and to where he could touch the ions. The Dealer pursued him, liked a hound on the hunt.

  “That’s how the world works, no? We have our roles to play, and all we can do is play them to the best of our ability,” The Dealer walked up to Logan and was silent. Logan had his back finally up to the wall and was cornered, without a weapon. The Dealer slowly closed in and into his ear and whispered.

  “You should know this better than anyone…Logan.” With that, Logan panicked and slammed his hand into the ions. The bulb was a crackling blaze of light and fireflies. The Dealer groaned and backed up and the cards that had been surrounding Logan rushed to their master and formed a wall of fortification as he raised his arm at the explosion. Logan quickly fell to the ground and grasped his pistol blunder bust. The Dealer saw and sent a legion of kings and queens at him. Logan sat up and pulled both triggers. The blast made contact with the razor cards in an explosion of pasteboard and grapeshot. The force of the scatter gun sent Logan’s arms over his head with a groan. In the madness, a small bead struck the Dealer, and injured his leg. The Dealer fell to the ground in agony. Logan crawled over to him, flipped him on his back and struck him repeatedly. Logan unleashed his fury upon the rich man
and left contusions on his knuckles as he continued to vent. The more Logan heard the Dealer’s agony, the more provoked he was to make him suffer. The Dealer was a terrible man in his eyes, the kind that didn’t deserve to have even been born. Logan finally stopped at the point at which his knuckles began to bleed and picked up the Dealer by his now uneven and slipshod hair. Logan struck him one last time with the butt of his weapon and the Frenchman was now unconscious. Logan looked over at the woman and was completely distraught. She lay there. She had already bled out from grapeshot entering her stomach. She lay still and stiff.

  Logan dropped the Frenchman, put on his mask and rushed to the woman. He gave her CPR, mouth to mouth, and he tried to stop the bleeding. There was still nothing, the beautiful product had expired. Logan slammed the ground in frustration and shut her eyes. He rubbed his eyes and whispered, “I’m sorry,” to her. He grabbed the Dealer and kicked the door. The vampires saw the masked fugitive and began to back up as they saw the fugitive dragging a figure and holding a weapon at them, point blank. Logan made threats to get through and bashed through the back door.

  It had been raining and was 11:40 p.m. Logan slung open the trunk to his vehicle and threw the Frenchman in. He slammed the trunk closed and he heard a noise. He turned and aimed his weapon, only to find that it was no one. He then checked his phone and he saw that he had one new message. Hey, r u coming home yet? The message read. Logan stopped and thought about what the dealer had said about his business. He also saw the woman that had died an undignified death in front of him. He remembered that what the Dealer said about other competitors it made him cringe. The truth was that he had made deals with the others before in his life. And looking at the message made him ashamed.

  I am on my way. Logan responded.

  Yay. The phone read. Logan lamented about the woman and wrote down.

  I love you.

  <3 u 2 =). Was the response, Logan smiled, got in his car and drove into the darkness.

  VI

  Revelation

  The darkness swirling within Alex’s vision began to dispel from his subconscious, only to be greeted by more darkness. The darkness within the darkness made him look around in confusion of his whereabouts. Alex’s tried to move his hands, only to find that he was slumped over, being held up by a metal pole. His hands had been tied with rope around his wrists, which were around the pole. Alex did not put up a struggle, as he knew that he wasn’t strong enough to break free. His head was still fuzzy from the blow from Lucifer and began to wonder where he had been, and for how long. Lucifer was the last thing that he had remembered; Alex did not put up much of a struggle after that, as he was in Hell. The floor below him was concrete and hard, he heard a muffled cacophony that seemed to echo around him in Hell. Alex sat there on his knees, thinking, or rather knowing, that the voices were of those that he had left behind in the healthy zone. He had wished he said something different to Julie. He may not have been there. His vision began to further develop as he gazed around the room once more. He could see what appeared to be a silhouette that had taken the form of a small line running down with a doughnut at the end, if only if it were closer. He could end it in there, he had spent far too much time in the zone and he wanted out. He couldn’t escape, nor could he negotiate. I was stupid. I should never have told her to go away. Alex thought to himself, as he ventured back to the memories of Julie leading up the fateful moment of his execution that was this lifestyle. Alex then knew that this world was not fit for weaklings like him.

  Alex heard a loud boom as a sudden light filled the room and stung his eyes. He looked down, trying not to let his eyes burn out of their sockets. He looked back at the light and saw a silhouette appear in front of the light. Could it be the one who would deliver him from his suffering? The silhouette approached Alex with an air of intimidation. He then knew that his suffering was not over. The figure closed in on him and a face could be seen, it was the stern face of Lucifer. Alex tried to look at him as he crouched down to face him. Before the prisoner could say anything, he was struck with the force of Lucifer’s powerful hand across his cheek. Alex looked back up painfully and was grabbed by the hair. “Where is he?” Lucifer asked.

  Alex was confused and stuttered. “I-I-I – “before Lucifer grabbed his face and rammed his head into the pole behind him. Alex heard a sharp ring in his mind after the blow. Lucifer grasped his throat as though to strangle him.

  “Answer me! Where is our food? Who was that kid?” Alex knew full well who he was talking about. He had nothing keeping him from exposing Levi now, except that he didn’t truly know if he had a permanent whereabouts. Levi said that the skies where his home, that they were the safest place and that no one could lie to you. Alex didn’t know what to say. He was in the presence of a terrorist, the one that killed the most people in the Times Square incident. Lucifer then stood and gave Alex a swift kick across the face, Alex’s body slung like a rag doll as he had been tied to the pole. Alex could feel a pounding in his face as he slumped over abnormally. He could feel a warm substance running from his nostrils into his mouth, and the same substance falling from it. Lucifer grabbed him by the hair once more and spoke harshly.

  “Do you know what you did today? Well I’ll tell you. Today you endangered the lives of my people and you just orphaned a child. Now why don’t you come clean and tell. Where is our food?! Who was that kid?!” Warm blood tricked from Alex’s face to the floor as he kneeled there half-conscious, his eyes getting heavier. He had not eaten in three days total, his strength had left him and he was ready to pass out. Lucifer stood up and stomped on his stomach twice before the door slung open.

  “Dan, can you put him on hold for a little? We need to talk,” Merrick said. Danny turned to Merrick and then turned to Alex with seething hate. He left through the door and darkness filled the room again. Alex slumped over, barely conscious.

  Danny still felt pure detest toward the adolescent in the basement. How could such a child do so much damage to one person? He thought back to Lisa and the last expression he saw on her decrepit face: a look of fear, of pain, of agony. “What is it?” he asked directly.

  “Jenkins and Bradly were taking the body to be prepared. When they laid her down they saw third degree burns around her wrists.”

  “So, what does it mean?”

  “It means that were dealing with a demigod.”

  “A what?”

  “That’s right.” Danny knew exactly what a demigod was. Demigods were the ones who were considered the cannibals of the infected world. They sucked out life, as well as the parasite that resided within the sick victim. The parasite within the demigod quite literally feasted upon the weaker specimen and gained their traits. Of course, the transfer is too dangerous for the victim and the blood within the victim is absorbed as well. As a result, the carrier of the inferior parasite dies; it is what happened to his female victim. Demigods often went by much less flattering names such as leech, cannibal, or monster.

  “What do you think we should do?” asked Danny. Merrick walked by him and peeked into the door containing the leech. He saw him slumped over and bleeding. He was a cringing animal in the eyes of the healthy. He had not eaten, nor had he ever fought in his life. He was the face of death. His sad eyes peered up to the light and looked at Merrick like a wounded animal. Merrick then shut the door and left him in darkness once more. Merrick felt pity for the boy, he truly didn’t know if he was going to make it. He couldn’t leave him, nor could he trust him. “First we should feed him. Then, maybe we could recruit him,” Merrick suggested.

  “What?! The kid can’t even control himself let alone shoot a gun,” Danny protested.

  “I don’t like it either, but the military doesn’t negotiate with terrorists and we could use that kind of power.”

  “What if he drains another one of us? He can’t control it.”

  “That’s your job isn’t it? Dan…you can train him.”

  Danny looked down and cringed at the though
t. He hated that boy and what he was and what he did. He thought for, what to him, was ages and he finally calmed himself and spoke. “Did we get his name yet?” Danny asked Merrick.

  “No,” was the response. Danny sighed irritably and entered the basement again.

  Alex coughed up crimson as he lied slumped over on his knees. He fell into a swirling hole of despair as he sat there defenseless in the hands of those more powerful. Could this be his punishment for always running away? Light filled the room again and he saw Danny again. He walked behind him and undid his bindings. “Give me your name,” He demanded. Alex gave a curious groan in response. “You heard me. Your name, what is your name,” Alex grew fearful of this question until he finally spoke.

  “A-A-Alex,” He said weakly.

  “Well Alex, today is your lucky day. You been saved by the Boy Scout,” He said to him as he unbound him and picked him up by the arm. He tugged him into the light until Alex had finally been blinded. Alex had finally left Hell.

  The soft sound of music filled the large doctor’s office as Logan sat at the table gorging down his prescription. It wasn’t just him in that office either; he was surrounded by other sufferers as well, others who were filled with compunction as they eased the pain of their innards with the blend of distilled barley. Logan pondered the night before, the night he met the Frenchman and his female escort. He remembered the face of his innocent victim, the look of sheer terror and agony as she bled out on the floor in the mist of battle. He sat in the room of the disgraced and shameless. These were the humans that the world was better off never being brought into existence. The consumers were no different; they feasted upon the helpless products of their baleful mind's eye. A sharp bell rang into Logan’s thoughts. He turned and found his friend Gavin walking toward him. Gavin was clothed in his casual black t-shirt and torn and singed jeans. He sat beside Logan with an air of concern as he asked the doctor politely for an elixir. Logan looked at him and then quickly back down at his swill.