The Infected [Books 1-6]

by P. S. Power

  He moved slowly, barely getting out in time for the doctor, Sara again, to give him the shot. It hit hard and Penny, still there, offered to rub his back. He didn't think about it, just letting her, since it felt nice, at least in the places it didn't hurt. He fell asleep with her helping him arrange the covers not too long after that. The light turned off, but he didn't see the door open and close, drifting off before she could even leave.

  When he woke up the next day, he couldn't move. Agony ripped through him as he fought to stand, everything had tightened up incredibly and each step made it feel like something in his middle would break loose, probably killing him. Brian made himself get ready for the day anyway, dreading it incredibly.

  “This is your life now. Get moving you wimp.” He hobbled to the door slowly, and went to his workout.

  Karen didn't seem inclined to cut him a lot of slack, instead of watching him run this morning, while limbering up herself, she walked next to him the whole time, not letting him stop except every few laps for a few sips of water.

  “Keep it up. Don't stop now. I know it hurts, you know it hurts, but you also know it won't kill you. You've felt worse, which means that nothing less than that level of pain can never stop you again If you don't let it, and you won't. Come on!” He kept going, kind of wishing the woman would shut up for a while, but not wanting to hurt her feelings by asking her to. Brian knew he had to do this and keep doing it, no matter how much it sucked, at least for now. He kept going and tried not to notice the woman chanting at him.

  After two hours of the least pleasant walk of his entire life, they switched to other exercises, which hurt too, but not nearly as much as the walking had. His feet screamed at him, raw and bleeding already. They couldn't do as much, his body just stopping a lot sooner this time than before, but the woman winked at him and just had him walk until noon, as if it were a big favor, just letting him stumble around on the aching stalks that used to be his legs for that long. Brian chuckled softly. After all, it probably was her idea of a special treat given the situation.

  He took the chance to shower again. Penny hadn't come to get him, which made sense. He knew where the dining room was now, so why should she? No one else was there, except Mark who had a salad ready for him, one with pan fried chicken strips and ranch dressing.

  “Not exactly diet food, but Jason pointed out that you may need a few more calories right now than he'd thought at first. I don't think he expected you to actually keep going with all this stuff like you have. He seems pretty happy about your drive so far.”

  Jason ran him through the hitting drills and weapons instead of Marcia. The only big difference was that Jason didn't have Brian try to hit him directly as much. He still had to hit the man, but with gloves on and mainly to the body. Jason joked that he wanted to save his face for the ladies.

  Or maybe it wasn't a joke.

  If things had been different in his life, Brian would have loved to be as good looking as the trainer, fit and hard, with a nice face that, while not television pretty, beat the crap out of what Brian had. Later they covered shotguns as well as handguns, until Brian could repeat the lesson to him nearly perfectly several times for each.

  Only Mark was there that night again. Brian wondered out loud where everyone else was, but the man just shrugged and smiled. If he knew he wasn't telling. The next day even he was gone, leaving Brian alone to train. For lunch he had to make his own sandwich, and discovered it was better when Mark made them. He did things like toast the bread and make complicated sauces for them. Brian had a single peanut butter on white with strawberry preserves. With a banana.

  So it would be healthy, and all that.

  Bridget ran with him on the fourth day. He'd finally regained enough to start jogging for real again. It made his feet burn with each step, but Brian could do it. She didn't so much run with him as dash around the track, smacking him on the butt every time she lapped him, which meant she hit him about fifteen times per lap he made. Finally she drew up alongside and paced him.

  “So all your peeps are off on assignment? Left the newb behind? Makes sense. Right now you'd be useless to them. You can barely make it around the track here... Oh well, that just means that you can come join Lauren and me for movie night! Jason said you're free after dinner? So, we'll come meet you for that and take you back with us, unless you want to do it in your room?”

  He shook his head. “No television in my room. I haven't even seen one since I got here. But they're going to knock me out at nine, so any movie will have to be short, unless you don't mind eating in front of the TV? That should work, as long as I'm in my room on time.”

  She cheered, a genuinely happy thing, and ran off to tell Lauren.

  Karen ran out to meet him as he came near her.

  “Movie night huh? We'd better tire you out then so you don't do anything naughty with Lauren and Bridget then... Move... Faster!” She laughed as she yelled, pretending to hit at him, he sped up for as long as he could.

  After limping around the track for an hour, Karen grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the elevator, not dragging him like Bridget might, or even Penny, just a hand on his arm guiding him. It made him feel uncomfortable, because of the sweat that covered him, leaving him feeling cold and damp. The woman didn't seem to mind overly, flipping her rust-colored hair, past shoulder length by several inches, over the back of her white t-shirt. She smiled at him, hardly even looking up, being almost the same height – about five-nine for Brian, maybe an inch or two shorter for her.

  “Brian... Strictly speaking I'm not supposed to do this, but I have a friend in medical that I've talked into looking at your feet and... some other things. We... we can't do anything about the pain, you understand that? But I think we can make it easier for you to walk and run, and maybe protect your joints while we're doing all this. The thing is, we can't let you get too comfortable or you might shift out early, before you have enough training.” She looked nervous and didn't make eye contact with him for a second.

  When she looked back he saw a film of tears in her eyes. “I've been where you are, a little bit at least, when I was training for the Olympics and everyone pushed me as hard as I could go. For a while it was like this, just grinding away for hours every day without a rest, until it nearly broke me. Luckily my coach caught on and made everyone leave me alone for a while so I could rest, but we can't do that with you. And I was in better shape when that started, so it didn't rip me apart as much. What we're doing here is... well, it has to be done...”

  Brian grinned at her, “well... Thanks! I'll take anything I can get right now, really. If I could walk a little better I think I could do a lot more, running wise. I'm not trying to be a pussy, but my feet are killing me, and have been for days. I think it's kind of keeping me from doing better on some of the rest of it.”

  The look Karen gave him was surprised, rather than sympathetic. Probably because he'd said pussy in front of her. Ah well. Brian grinned and hoped it wouldn't be too offensive. After all, this didn't sound like something that she was supposed to do. Maybe even something that could get her into trouble? She led him to floor seven, where she took him into a supply closet, and firmly shut the door behind them.

  “OK,” Karen whispered, winking at him with her right eye. “If anyone catches on that we left the gym, we tell them we went to make out.” Her smile caught him a little off guard. “That could be dangerous if your girlfriend finds out about it, but everyone else will buy it.”

  Brian laughed, but kept it almost silent.

  “I don't have a girlfriend, so not a problem. Why would everyone else buy it though? The good-looking, sporty woman making out with the overweight new guy that still looks like he met a very mean wall in an alley doesn't make a lot of sense...” His voice went wry on the words, but not bitter.

  That shocked him. With everything that had happened in the last three weeks or so, he felt... Well, happy would be overstating it, but comfortable in the situation he'd found him
self. He'd already gotten to save a life and knew more about fighting now than ever before, even if he did look like a plucked chicken slapping the mitts with his wings most of the time, his hands still not closing all the way to make fists easily. If he had to fight right now, as sore and tired as his body felt, he could do a lot more than he could have a month ago. For that matter, his slow hobble around the track was way farther than he could have done then too.

  Before Karen could say anything, the door handle turned slowly and a man's head popped through, seeing they were there, the body followed quickly. In his hand he held a red box with a red cross on the top in a white square. He wore blue scrubs and comfortable sneakers that looked clean, but well-worn, a sheen on the outside of them, like they were coated in plastic. Some kind of protection to keep blood off? That... made sense. Maybe he should look into that for his own gear?

  Then when he bled on them they wouldn't be ruined.

  “Good, you're here. I'm Doctor Kern.” His hand came out toward Brian and they shook, his eyes going to the red scars around the younger man's wrists. “So, a little less than perfect, meeting in a supply closet, but this is all off books, meaning we need to hurry.”

  They took off his shoes and socks quickly and had him wash his feet in the water from the spigot meant to fill up buckets for washing the floor. Then after having him sit on the red brick tile, the man started cutting away the dead skin on his feet, leaving large patches of red skin exposed. It stung when the air hit them, a pain so minor that Brian hardly noticed it.

  “What the hell, Karen? I get the whole idea behind this effort, keeping him uncomfortable to mimic injury, but if these go untreated he's going to end up with an infection. Morons in admin not thinking about people as actual humans again... Just making medical decisions without getting our input...” Then he applied a red compound that burned, telling Brian to stay quiet before he did it.

  After that the man sprayed his feet with something. Looking at Karen, he explained.

  “Fake skin, the good kind, not the stuff they sell in stores. It's what we use on soldiers when we have to get them out into the battle field with wounds or burns. It should keep new blisters from forming for about three days. Then he'll need more. The skin will still thicken, probably better this way, because this will let him heal. He can go in the water, shower, all that.” The man pulled a needle and a vial from his kit.

  “This is an anti-inflammatory, I kind of stole it, so keep this part quiet no matter what, right? It should help you not develop joint problems. It's pretty strong and this is just a preventative, but you might find you can move more easily for a week or two.”

  This required shots into all of his joints, Karen looking at him the whole time as if he'd suddenly get jumpy because of needles. They hurt a little, sure, but not enough to worry over. Doctor Kern finished up by giving him a half dozen shots into each wrist, leaving them circled with tiny dots of blood. Because that wasn't obvious or anything.

  The doctor told them to get him back in three days, and set a time for them to meet, then left, not checking to see if anyone might be watching first. That made good sense, when Brian stopped to consider it. A man walking from a supply closet carrying a box, had probably been getting supplies, where the same guy popping his head out and looking around shiftily called attention to whatever he'd really been doing. Something to remember if he ever had to do his own sneaking around.

  Karen took him by the hand about five minutes later and walked him out, no one stood in the hallway, but she didn't let go until they got in the elevator.

  “Now, it's almost lunch time, so we'll drop you on your floor and let you go from there. Try not to let on that you're moving too much more easily yet. Give it a day or so. Um, tomorrow I can't be there in the morning, but you've got the basic pattern now, right? You'll have to push yourself harder now on the running...” Her breathing had gone shallow, Brian hoped nerves about having helped him did it, and not his B.O.

  At floor nine he got out and she waved at him as the door closed. He went and got a shower like he always did and then got to the dining room, moving a lot more easily than he had before, thanks to his feet not screaming at him with each step. His muscles didn't hurt as much, which he almost hadn't noticed, walking and running having been so hard. It should be all right, he thought, but he really would have to push harder to keep things aching all the time.

  In the dining room, he saw Mark working in the kitchen and waved to him.

  “Brian! Good to see they've left you alive. What would you like? We've got stuff for tuna, roast beef or Pb&J. A salad of course, but I didn't have time to make any chicken or beef to go with it yet.”

  Brian smiled and told him that it all sounded good, so Mark got him a roast beef on light rye, with a salad. It had a little container of ranch dressing on the side, which disappeared the second he sat down. He glanced at the chair next to him and slowly put a hand out at what he hoped would be shoulder level. He made contact with something soft and warm, an arm he thought. There was definitely a bone in there somewhere, thankfully. Otherwise it would have been pretty awkward, feeling her up at lunch.

  “Penny! How are you? I missed you.” He had, he realized, missed her. Brian hadn't thought about it, because he'd kept busy and then been drugged all night, but he'd felt a little lost without his friend. He also got – the second that he said the words out loud – that it probably sounded needy. They'd known each other for what, a week? Less than that even, and here he was telling her about how he missed her? Brian held in a sigh and made himself let it go. It felt true to him and he didn't have time anymore to play games with people. If she took offense he'd deal with it.

  Otherwise... There just wasn't time to waste on it.

  Instead he felt an arm go around him and a head lean against his right shoulder. He closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the contact. This way, not looking, he could feel where the woman sat from the contact she'd made. He put a hand on her back for a moment.

  Penny laughed. “All that time we were out? It turned out to just be a kid projecting his nightmares into a town. How's that for a movie classic, huh? It took a few days for us to find him, then we had to explain the situation to the parents, which meant staying longer, because we wanted to make sure they didn't freak out on the kid... I missed you too. You're the only one I can really talk to. Christian tried, but still, she can only take so much... I wish we could have taken you too. Marcia worried about you the whole time you know. That Jason wouldn't work you hard enough mainly... She can be a little intense. You might have noticed?”

  Brian looked at the salad and then stared at the table, trying to find his side of ranch dressing. Dry salad sucked. He closed his eyes again and put his hand on the table, working his hand out until he felt a plate with his pinky, and then, working forward, the container. He thought it was at least, but when he looked at it, it contained a vinaigrette that smelled faintly of oranges.

  A tap on his shoulder got his attention, “I wanted ranch... so I took yours.” Brian smiled and asked Mark if there was more ranch dressing back there in the kitchen. When he went forward to exchanged the dressings, Mark gave him a hard look.

  “Does Penny like ranch better? I didn't know... Of course from now on she can just get you to place her order for her and I won't screw up. Sorry, Penny!” He called out to the room, really sounding like he meant it. More, he really sounded bad about having not fixed it before. Honestly sad about it.

  After lunch Marcia grabbed him in the gym and looked at his hands carefully. Then without saying more than hello, taped them up – so that they were almost in real fists – and slipped his hands into a pair of padded, black fighting gloves. Good for hitting and grabbing, or they would have been, if he could make his hands move that much yet.

  They felt tight, due to all the white sports tape, but held a roughly fist-like shape for once. It would have looked bad ass, if they weren't connected to his body. Brian almost said something to that effect w
hen she tapped him on the arm and nodded.

  Then she asked him to follow, taking him to where a half-dozen heavy looking bags – each about the size of a person, with two of them being a lot bigger – and had him start hitting one of the smaller ones using every blow she'd taught him so far. She called out suggestions, alternating having him hit in simple patterns, combinations she called them, with just hitting with one type of blow over and over again.

  They did this for nearly three hours, with her watching him the whole time. Scrutinizing him so closely he felt more than a little self-conscious about it. By the end he couldn't lift his arms, except very slowly. It didn't so much hurt, as burn inside the muscles, the stresses a lot different than anything he'd dealt with before. Marcia moved in next to him slowly as if watching him work from close up, making occasional suggestions. Move his foot back, put his weight behind the arm, calling out sudden changes in movements just as he lost the ability to make the bag move at all. Changing to something that used different muscles so that he could hit harder.

  Then, her arm snaking across his chest faster than he could see, she stepped in behind him and easily threw him to the floor. He kind of rolled with the move, not well, but instinctively, all the recent fights and beatings having sharpened his reflexes a little. They hadn't worked on throws yet... or falling, and the floor was hard here, solid wood, so it hurt where he messed up. Not something they'd done at all. Or, for that matter, was knife work, so he felt a bit surprised when Marcia moved toward his position on the floor with what looked like a real knife.

  “Sorry, Brian, but I have to kill you now.”

  Chapter three

  The knife, a shining piece of silver metal about seven inches long, with a dark green handle that looked like rubber coated metal, turned out to be real. Brian knew this to be the case, because it cut through his t-shirt, scoring his shoulder and forming a line of blood down his chest as he scrambled away. She waited for him to stand up before coming after him, but didn't give him any time to think about things.