The Infected 2: Gabriel

by P. S. Power

  “Fine, but if Prime starts ripping my arm off I'm putting him back under and then cutting his hand off to get free. The bastard's fucking strong.” Denis let them go slowly and pulled uncomfortably from the larger man's grasp, it having weakened as they emerged from the effect, and scrambled up to his feet, then back away from the threat, ready to set them back on the ground if he had to.

  When Charlot's right hand started glowing again, Brian calmly stepped in front of Denis and winked at the good looking, if angry, brunette.

  “Pull back a bit Char... and Scott, please don't grab people like that in the future. Regular people break too easily for you to forget how strong you are.” The younger man spoke as if they'd listen. Oddly enough they seemed to.

  “You kind of did ambush him Char, and face it, Denis is working pretty hard to keep things together as it is. We have too much to do for our own PR person to be causing problems, don't you think?”

  The woman growled at Brian, which got ignored. Her hands both had a nimbus of white around them, and her glare looked as if she might just be ready to kill them all. Denis got ready to hit her again when she suddenly relaxed and started taking deep, almost gasping, breaths. Her burgundy dress heaved at the front a bit. Denis couldn't find it charming at the moment himself.

  “Fine.” She intoned stiffly, not looking at Denis at all.

  Like this was his fault?

  Then she spun and walked into the room behind her as if she'd been the one wronged. Holy fuck was that woman insane or what? Infected and probably with mega-bitch as her first mode at the very least, he tried to remind himself. Denis kind of wanted to torture her and her asshole husband for breaking his arm, which still ached horribly. Prime at least wasn't readying his own force blasts. Small favors and all that.

  Director Moore waved down the hallway, “perhaps a quick trip to medical is in order? Brian, could you help there? I know you have some connections in that department. Do you think you could help expedite things for us?”

  All that seemed like news to Denis. Why would Yi have connections in medical? Was he a doctor or something? Or an EMT? The one file he'd read had said something about being a factory worker. Probably just being sent to keep him from running away, Denis guessed. Not that he could. Even walking jostled his arm enough to make it twinge with each step. Running wouldn't have worked well at all. Holding it to his body he cradled the right in the left and tried to walk smoothly. It barely worked. Pain jolted through him nearly constantly.

  Brian didn't say anything until after the elevator started down.

  “Sorry about that. Some people are still having a bit of trouble realizing that you really are trying to change. It's going to take a bit of time. Plus, Charlot really is always like that. Try not to take it personally next time... which will probably be in about fifteen minutes. The press event starts in half an hour, so this will have to be a rush job.”

  The hot Japanese doctor saw them coming and had tried to get Brian up on a table without waiting, then laughed to find he wasn't hurt at all.

  “Well, that's a first, so what's the damage?” She busily felt the elbow and then helped Denis get his jacket and shirt off while Brian explained quickly.

  “A slightly-over-reactive Prime incident. Probably a dislocated elbow with a popped tendon from the sound of it. We have to be back to the event directly. On the good side Denis shouldn't have to actually fight anyone for a while.”

  Long black hair tied back and white lab coat over blue scrubs, the small woman worked quickly, first numbing the area then adding in some steroids to prevent inflammation of the tendons. Or something like that. Denis had gotten sidetracked by her eyes, which were really pretty and lost a few sentences in there, he knew.

  “Totally preventative, but the protocol seems effective so far. Here, this splint will immobilize your arm in a partially bent position. That way you can forget the sling for a few hours. As soon as the thing is over, get back here for x-rays and real treatment.” She sighed and stared at Yi for a second then shook her head slowly. Almost sadly.

  “I'll tell you what I keep telling Brian here. If you do have to fight, just kill them quickly and try not to get hurt.”

  That got his attention, “I... don't really kill people.”

  The medical advice being given to Brian was to kill people? How messed up was that?

  She nodded, “then be really careful. I also wouldn't take up arm wrestling for a few weeks.”

  Denis managed a polite chuckle and promised that he'd get medical supervision if he decided to take that up as a hobby. His arm didn't hurt as much now, until it got down to the bone, then it ached, an annoying thing that made it hard to focus on anything except the discomfort.

  That done, Brian led him back to the second floor. Back to the people that hated him.

  Fucking wonderful.

  7

  No one gave him any instructions, since that would have been Charlot's job and she spent her time working with her daughter. It kind of made sense, the girl had a combination of youth and a first mode that made it impossible, or nearly so, for her to control her impulses. At least Rachel would be sitting to one side of her. The older woman looked good. Mouthwatering in her version of a business suit which involved silk of bright blue, contrasting with the green Bridget wore. They looked like little dolls sitting side by side.

  The long table was covered with a white cloth and ran nearly the width of the room, close to the back. A lot of chairs were set up in front of it. In the center the Director sat already, making small talk with the reporters. When Charlot started pushing them out she made a point of grabbing Denis' arm hard, the injured one, and making him wait until after Mark went out. It hurt, which had obviously been the point. Fucking bitch. She didn't let go, so he retaliated by passing his own pain along to her directly. She gasped, eyes going wide.

  “Yeah, when you hurt people they actually feel pain. Amazing how that works isn't it?” He muttered to her softly.

  It got her to let go at least, after the third tug proved to her what was going on. Nothing like direct feedback for learning, Denis thought, uncomfortable still, pain killers or not.

  He sat, fifth from the door they came in by, much closer to the center than could possibly be wise really. On the good side it was clear that, for the most part, he wouldn't have to talk. Not unless someone asked him a question directly. Den sipped at the glass of water in front of him instead and let the drone of the news conference move past him almost hypnotically. No one really said anything of note for a good fifteen minutes. Basically just a boring recap. He let it pass by without much concern, trying to keep his face interested and calm.

  Then the room seemed to lay into little Bridget without mercy. That got his attention, because people attacking young girls pissed him off. A lot. He had to bite his tongue almost instantly.

  “Miss Chambers,” a sour looking man with blond hair and ass-face so bad that he should have been a cop said, hitting the “miss” as if he held a grudge against anyone in a skirt. He looked a bit too smart for that though, being a cop, since a lot of police departments had an upper cap on intelligence now. That had sounded like a joke when Denis had first heard it, but apparently it was true. If you were too smart, police work just wasn't for you. They figured you'd get bored with it. And they wondered why they kept messing up so bad?

  “How do you respond to charges that you violated the civil rights of the law enforcement on site when you subdued them, even beating already downed men?”

  The girl smiled and drew the microphone that sat in front of her closer to her lips.

  “You mean those awful terrorists that attacked us?” Innocence poured forth and she sounded really young just then. Sweet even. Denis had to go all Zen to prevent laughter. It was darling.

  “Well sir, I had to make sure they didn't overwhelm me. I'm just a kid and there were sixty-seven grown men there, all of whom had come to try and kill me, and they were armed with lethal weapons. I guess it m
ight look a little mean, but I couldn't afford to take chances could I? How would you have subdued that many grown men?”

  The reporters all laughed at the answer, except the lemon sucker that asked the original question. It had been too smooth and left him too little to go on. The man tried again, his voice sharper, almost abrasive.

  “But the police are immune to prosecution in most cases, didn't you think that arrest might be interfering with their lawful duty?”

  If smug had a name it would have been the reporter who spoke. Bridget shook her head sadly and started to speak, answering the man calmly, when the half dozen unarmed police officers in the room tried to rush the table. About a half dozen in plain clothes came up too. They may not have been real cops of course. How would Denis know? He didn't read minds. They didn't head for Yi this time, or the Director, they ran toward Bridget instead. Half the table started to react and a few reporters stood up looking anxious. Toward the back an older black reporter, a well-dressed woman from one of the religious channels screamed loudly.

  “Jesus, take the sinful Infected and protect your faithful children!” She proclaimed to the room loudly.

  Denis recognized her from decades before as some hag that had helped her gay husband in fleecing the masses via religion. That kind of show hadn't strictly been allowed at Faithhome, but he'd gotten to see it because Prophet Darren had wanted everyone to see the devil firsthand. In that case it had been anyone that disagreed with what the cult leader taught. That and a single sneaked episode of Gumby had been the only shows he'd ever seen until he left. He'd been locked in a closet for nearly two weeks over the Gumby incident. After the beating.

  So he recognized the woman now.

  Denis made the police drop and sleep. He had a good view of them and none made it to the front table at all. The reporters looked on silently.

  Proxy stood and gestured to the men on the floor.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, this is what we have to put up with almost constantly. The bigotry and hatred of Infected has gone too far. I'm sure these men aren't terrorists at heart, but they're seeking to aid terrorists and that can't be allowed.” He gestured to the Director who took the hand-off smoothly.

  “So, if there are no further questions, I believe we need to handle this current situation as well as our regular duties now. Anyone?”

  From the front a man that Den had never seen before stood up and gestured at the fallen.

  “Are they dead?” He sounded concerned, a genuine thing maybe. Moore shook his head.

  “No. They're merely sleeping, please note that we are treating them far more kindly than the police normally treat Infected in their custody. Now, we really should attend to this.”

  The reporters didn't want to leave until grim faced agents in black came and told them to with a good bit of force behind their voices. The last ones out, the most driven to get the story probably, had to be escorted personally to the front gate, Denis heard. He didn't see that part of it, just sitting and staring as he was. He could blink, but if he looked away the contact would be broken. Instead he sipped at the glass of water in his hand until it ran out. The cool water had caused a few small beads of condensation on the outside, making his hand damp and cool. It was the kind of thing you only noticed when you really didn't have anything better to do. Finally, some fifteen minutes later the Director tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Very good Mr. Tompkins. I think the agents can take it from here.” The voice held dry professionalism that sounded a little forced, which didn't make a whole lot of sense until the man gestured with his head toward the door, where the very last hold-out reporter stood with a cameraman and sound guy holding a funny looking parabolic microphone. It had a red handle and was clear plastic or glass otherwise, so it really stood out. Denis fought a smile and slowly let the people on the floor go.

  Everything really was on video these days.

  Well, at least he hadn't gotten into a fist fight. A good thing since his arm hurt again already. A dull ache, enough to remind him that going back to medical would be a very good idea. The vague outline of the splint on his right arm showed under the light blue of the jacket, ruining the line a bit. Truthfully he'd been surprised that Charlot hadn't complained about it to the Director yet.

  Then, maybe she had?

  The whole thing had been so messed up that it drained him of energy. Walking carefully Denis got himself back to medical alone, to find that Dr. Burrows had gotten off shift already and her replacement was some older guy with salt and pepper hair and a stern look on his face.

  One that turned to mild panic when Denis gave his name.

  His reputation obviously preceded him. The man didn't hesitate to treat him though, working quickly and not stinting on the drugs at least. The man kept looking uncomfortable, too much so just based on fear that someone might make fun of you or call you names.

  Then it hit him.

  “Wait, are you the Doc that hit me with that drug? The one that made me forget? Supposedly at least...” Denis felt himself tighten and the man stood back looking afraid.

  “I... yes. You were hurting a lot of people and Proxy was about to shoot you, so I had to do something. I...”

  Right, someone had mentioned that, Jay, if he remembered correctly.

  “Oh. Well, thanks I guess. I don't want to be dead after all. A bit cheesed at the months of torture that followed, but that wasn't your fault. Still, better than being dead, right?”

  The man didn't say anything for a long time. When he did speak, his voice had gone low.

  “Did the others, Proxy, did they... hurt you?” The man asked quietly.

  “Not him, the guards in holding. Electrical shock in an all metal room. Cold showers every other day, which weren't that big a deal, just cold and humiliating. Triggered flashbacks. Not fun. Anyway, what's up with the arm? Broken?”

  The older doctor wore simple light blue scrubs, not too different in color than what he wore. Denis' suit had a little more smoke gray to it. More sheen too. The whole floor smelled of disinfectant and room freshener, the last a nod to some of the people with hyper acute senses of smell. That or whoever took charge in that area really liked the scent of baby powder and apples. To him the place smelled like a baby had spilled their bottle of juice, but it could have been worse. At least the kid didn't have a dirty diaper. Denis noticed that the man had relaxed a lot after their little talk. He still seemed a bit like a stick had been rammed up his butt, but a bit less like he expected his patient to jump up and start kung-fu-ing his ass.

  Which really was a little rich, considering the last time they'd met, apparently, the guy had handed him his own so hard he didn't even remember it two months later. Denis pointed this out dryly, which got a chuckle from the guy.

  “I was led to believe that you might... hold a grudge. I... really, I just didn't want anyone to get hurt, including you. Proxy told me that if I hadn't acted... that he was about to shoot you at the time. I think he meant it.”

  That... well, who could blame him?

  More to the point... The fuck?

  He really had been torturing a big group of people for some reason? That didn't sound like him. Not at all. Why? What had happened to make him do that? Make them all fall asleep so he could escape, that sounded like him, or even make them hurt if they accused him of being gay, back when that kind of thing bugged him, so like three days before...

  But just to do it? And at a level that had people coming back at him months later? That didn't make sense. He hadn't even hurt Prophet Darren that much.

  Doctor Clinton patted him on the back awkwardly getting his attention.

  “Rest and no vigorous activity for a while. Again, it's not broken, but you partially tore a tendon, that's going to take a while to heal. You'll need the splint for at least eight weeks then we'll put you in rehabilitation for it, slowly, if you're healing well enough. I don't think you need surgery, but if anything else happens get with us here as soon as you can. I'll se
nd someone around to your room at about nine to give you another shot. It should let you rest.”

  Nodding, still feeling baffled about the information he'd gotten, that he was a bigger dick than he'd thought, not the medical stuff, something hit him.

  “Wait, can I wash dishes, big ones, like pots and pans, do you think?”

  “What? I'm sure someone else can do that for you... Short answer, I wouldn't right now if it were my arm.” The man gave him a wintry look. It kind of said “no shit a-hole” without having to insult the drugged man.

  “Ah. Right. I'll think of something.”

  Well, already dressed for success Denis swallowed hard and took the elevator to the first floor looking for Prime. When he stepped off the elevator he found the man, standing with the Director and Torque, a nice looking guy with a tidy mustache and business suit. Really, it was the look that Denis should have been going for before. He'd hoped the bow ties would look distinctive and manly, but that hadn't worked at all according to... everyone in the free world.

  Torque was the team one leader and dressed the part all the time. Standing off the one side was little Bridget. She stared at him and moved very conspicuously in front of her dad, as if to protect him from the dangerous Denis that had just walked up. Oddly the other two men did too.

  What, did they think he'd come for payback now? If he wanted to hurt the guy he could have done it earlier, when he was already down.

  “Mr. Tompkins... I trust all is well?” Director Moore looked at the bulge on his right arm. No worse than before, the splint fitting well enough under the suit jacket.

  “Partially torn tendon. I'm on light duty for the next eight weeks or longer, so I need to find someone to take my place as junior pot scrubber on Mark's baking show. Prime already volunteered to help, so I thought I'd get with him on it first. I mean Scott. It's an actual position on the show, not just a one up, if you want it, I think we can swing it with Mark and the others. It really does involve actual pot scrubbing though, scutt work and such, even before the show, getting things ready.” Calling the man by name felt weird, but code names weren't used on the set.