The Infected [Books 1-6]

by P. S. Power

  He ran backwards as fast as possible, Beatdown following more rapidly than he could move, closing distance without even trying, she swung the knife at him again, missing somehow. As she closed the distance he tried to punch her, the blows bouncing off harmlessly. Of course. The gloves softened the blows, which wouldn't have made a difference anyway. The knife came back and cut his other shoulder, biting deep enough to leave a searing pain on his skin.

  He backed into a rack of free weights, so he grabbed one and threw it at her as hard as he could. She didn't try to duck the ten pound disk as it hit her in the head, so it pushed her back a little. He got several more off before she started closing with him again. He tried to run, moving a lot faster than he would have been able to the day before, thanks to Karen and Doctor Kern and the magic second skin they'd gotten for his feet.

  Brian didn't look back, but he heard the woman closing on him and kind of wondered why she hadn't killed him yet. He'd seen her run a couple of times, racing Bridget around the track, holding her own, or at least nearly, against the girl. Both of them could probably outrace a car in the right conditions. As she almost reached him he remembered something from the second time he went away to help someone, the attacker had run away, afraid of the sudden appearance of a man when he thought a little boy should be there. As he'd run, the man tripped over a low wooden fence.

  Could he cause something like that now? He didn't have time to think, the blade swiping at him from the back. Brian didn't look, he just dropped, curling into a ball as hard as he could. Marcia's leg hit him hard in the ribs and she fell, ending up on the floor about six feet away from him. He turned as fast as he could and ran the other way, hearing her recover nearly as fast as he turned, feet pounding after him again. He knew he couldn't outrun her, or hurt her, no matter what he did. Even if he had a gun he couldn't have.

  The room had emptied, so no one there could help him, even if there had been someone, they probably would have thought it was part of his training, messed up as it seemed.

  Brian couldn't die yet.

  When he came they told him that he could save twelve people, maybe more, if he survived long enough. If he died here, then those people died too.

  He still had eleven more coming.

  Taking a deep breath, feeling the woman had almost reached him again, he spun in place, left arm striking out as hard as he could to the side, hoping he'd hit something. His body kept moving the direction he'd been going in, but his hand hit her in the head, the side of the glove making solid contact, knocking her to the side. He went down, but so did she.

  He didn't bother trying to stand, crawling over to her and getting on top of her, hitting as hard as he could. He couldn't let himself die. Not yet. Blow after blow rained down on her head, after about three seconds she started blocking, and pulled him close, hitting him in the side of the head with little baby punches that shouldn't have had any force due to her bad position, but coming from her, with her more than human strength and fist like concrete, they felt like they might take his head off. He couldn't hit her from so close, so he buried his head into the side of hers, tucking in so she couldn't hurt him as much, all the while knowing he couldn't get away now. His mouth touched the side of her cheek. Biting there wouldn't do anything he knew, but what if he got to her ear? He scooted forward, straining with his whole body, trying to move up enough to try it.

  She moved her blows down, hitting him in the side, thankfully not the same side as he'd broken the ribs on earlier in the month, or they probably would have buckled. Her fist knocked the air from him over and over again, but he'd gotten used to pain and not being able to breathe, so he just kept working forward.

  Finally his mouth on ear, he bit down hard. Jaw aching from the attempt.

  Nothing happened, she didn't even react in mild discomfort.

  Crap.

  He noticed that she'd dropped the knife at least, so some small favor there. If she'd been stabbing him instead of hitting, he'd already be dead. Biting her on the ear had been his last chance. The only other thing he could do from this position, him on top of her, body to body like this, required them removing their clothes. After a second he laughed. Then stuck his tongue in her ear gently. She squirmed under him.

  “Wanna fuck?” He asked her, lips nearly to her skin, gasping, the air just having been driven out of his lungs again by her fist.

  Brian found himself propelled off of her, rolling to the side as she started laughing herself.

  “Oh, my!” she chortled, sitting up. “That took me off guard!” After a few seconds she wiped at her eyes with her fingers, smiling at him.

  “Not a bad job, given your skill level so far. Next time I'm not going to give you that little incentive with the knife, so be ready. I wouldn't have used it today, but Karen told me what she did, and while I don't blame her, she almost had to do something like that, no one knows if just working out hard is enough to keep you safe. So there you go, some wounds for you. We should probably treat those, before you bleed to death... As it is this uniform is probably ruined. I'm so putting it on my expense account.” She stood and held out her hand, which he looked at suspiciously, then took, figuring that if she wanted him dead she wouldn't try to trick him, just kick him in the head.

  On his feet he shook and felt woozy, Marcia noticed and put a hand out to steady him.

  “Strong reaction for a training exercise, did you really think I wanted to kill you?”

  “Uh, yeah. I mean, I knew that if you wanted me dead I would be, but after you cut me... I don't know, I guess I thought you were just playing with me first?”

  Her eyebrows went up. “So why make a quip? That was funny by the way, given the situation, but... a bit odd when you think you're in real danger. Now after...”

  Brian shrugged. “It sounded more fun than having my ribs caved in?”

  They both laughed, even if it hadn't been that funny. Brian figured it was nerves, at least on his part.

  After a while everyone came back into the gym, including a few medical personnel, who used glue to close the wounds, telling him it would be stronger than stitches. Once his hands were free of the gloves and tape, which had to be cut off, Jason showed him how to field strip an M-16 and had him do that over and over again until dinner. It was almost impossible, given his clumsy hands and the fact that he was still shaking like a tiny dog.

  He ached, not as badly as he had in the past, lying in the little cell, but enough. His head hurt and he knew he had massive bruises on his side without even looking. The feeling had become familiar to him. He'd just managed to climb into the shower when the door to his room opened. For some reason he expected it to be Penny, or even Bridget, at the outside it might have been Beatdown, coming to make sure he didn't feel good enough to shift out. He just finished up slowly, wondering if maybe Mark had come to check on him. Or even Jason, wanting to talk about new training or something?

  It wasn't.

  When he came out of the bathroom, fully dressed in yet another identical pair of sweats and running shoes, Denis stood there, a gun in his right hand and an evil, almost manic, grin on his face. With his free hand he pointed at Brian casually.

  Fear – terror really – ripped through him, nearly making Brian wet himself. Luckily he didn't need to go, or he'd have had to shower again.

  A part of his mind stood away from the fear and analyzed the situation. The gun gave it away. This wasn't a training exercise or something, the man just wanted to kill him. If he'd been trying to just scare him, given his powers... well, that had already worked. For the second time that day, Brian knew he had to fight for his life. Making him that afraid was a mistake. If he'd made him feel relaxed Denis could have spent his time shooting. Really, kind of a bonehead move.

  As work places went, this one wasn't shaping up to be a very good one yet at all.

  “Surprise, bitch. Thought you could have your little buddies lock me up and hold me? Me? Not a chance, fucker. You should have never come here.
Everything was just fine before... Now they want to kick me off the team, all of them. I don't have anything else, ass-wipe. If I'm going to lose everything, so are you!” He got louder as he went.

  Brian, shaking and sore, rushed the little man as fast as he could – a slow shamble that somehow took Denis by surprise anyway – ducking so that any bullets might miss him. He hoped. He hit the man at about waist level, his own greater weight and momentum taking them both to the floor. The handgun went off next to his ear, deafening him on the left side, pain shooting through his ear, and making him jump. He grabbed the arm, trying to remember what to do when the terror changed to intense burning. He almost let go then, his grasp weakened by the sudden searing but held on.

  Pain... he knew it now. It hurt, but like fear, it didn't have to stop him, not if Brian was willing to fight.

  And he was. He didn't even have to go over why he couldn't die, having recently done it. That “review when you can” tip from Lancaster really seemed to work.

  It took almost a half minute for him to recover enough to start hitting Itch, feeling like he'd been dipped in molten metal the whole time. After five or six punches to the other man's face the fire stopped. Then everything stopped. He didn't feel any pain at all.

  Brian laughed, it was an incredible relief really.

  The moron had taken away all the pain and discomfort, thinking he'd go off to some dangerous situation and possibly even die. Ridiculous! He was already in a fight for his life, and Brian knew that his system wouldn't trigger right now, even without pain, if his life were actively in danger. Even he had that much self-preservation. He punched the man over and over again until his normal pain came back.

  On the ground, Itch lay bleeding under him. He didn't know what to do then, except to take the weapon and unload it, automatically. Brian had never fired a nine millimeter, but he could field strip it without hardly thinking now. Unloading it was a snap. At least in theory. He had to fight with the clip release, his fingers not wanting to uncurl now, but he got it to work by holding the weapon against the floor and leaning to his right side, pinching his hand around the button.

  The shots earlier, the ones Kern had given him, had really helped return mobility to his hands he saw. He could open and close them about half way now. More than that even. Cool, he thought. Not knowing what else to do, he walked out into the hall, leaving his door open.

  “Help? Uh, somebody? Help!” His voice sounded so uncertain he didn't expect anyone to come, but they all did, running in fact. Jason and Christian first, or so he thought, not seeing anyone else. When he turned around he saw Denis had been tied up with electrical cords and blindfolded. Mark stood next to the man, regarding the scene peacefully.

  “Sorry I didn't get here sooner, I heard the gun shot, but didn't think anything of it until you called for help. Things explode around here a few times a month...”

  Brian nodded, then stood waiting, not knowing what would be expected of him. He felt someone close with him and wrap their arms around him tightly, Penny, since he couldn't see anyone there.

  “What happened?” She asked, her voice sounding nearly as scared as he still felt.

  “Denis tried to kill me. He threw fear at me first and held a handgun on me, a nine millimeter I think, semi-automatic.” He almost rolled his eyes when he heard himself describe the weapon, as if anyone would care. “Anyway, I closed with him and grabbed his gun arm. Then he hit me with burning. I didn't know what to do, so when I could, through the pain, I started hitting him.” He finished knowing it all sounded lame, then stood in shock.

  Didn't the guy realize that he, Brian, hadn't ever actually done anything to him? He wanted someone to blame for the trouble he'd gotten himself in to, and couldn't understand that he'd done it to himself. Brian stood shaking.

  “You know, I don't think I like it here very much. Everybody keeps trying to kill me.”

  He walked out, wondering if they'd actually let him leave. They claimed he wasn't a prisoner, but he hadn't even gone outside yet since he'd been here. Not alone. Making up his mind, he walked to the elevator, still shaking with reaction and anger, now that the blind terror had begun to wear off.

  He'd come to try and save lives, but all he'd done so far was train and have people make his life harder. Yeah, he got that it had to be done for now, that pain now could help people later, but if he ended up dead here, he wouldn't even get to help the one or two people he might be able to, before he died. What was the fucking point then?

  It was all math. Even one was, and always would be, greater than zero. Brian pushed the button for the first floor, the real first floor that was designated with an “L” for lobby. Everyone just stood, watching him leave.

  That part he could see, the week he'd been there hadn't been long enough to even get to know most of the people around him. He'd only seen Christian three times and each one of those when something bad had happened. Mark seemed cool, but what Brian knew about him all had to do with stopping time and excellent sandwich making. He didn't even know their last names, now that he thought about it. Marcia didn't really want to kill him or probably even hurt him, but she'd still taken a knife to him without even hesitating and she could have killed him if he'd made the wrong choice about what to do at any point. His head still rang from her little love taps and his neck felt sore already.

  The only person he'd spent any real time with was Karen and most of that was her telling him to “keep going”. Good advice, but not exactly a close relationship. It had to be done, but when everything sucked that hard it was easy to associate the pain with the person telling you to make it hurt worse.

  Penny... he'd miss her. They probably could have been friends eventually, being that he was the only one that could be bothered to listen to her. He didn't know it for a fact, but it felt like that, his willingness to pay attention, was the real explanation as to why he could hear her. It made him feel a little sad, but what could be done about that anyway? Even if everything went well, he had what, a year or two before he'd be gone? Then she'd be left alone again. Would it really be kinder to be there for her now, becoming her friend, only to leave her alone again that soon?

  At the current rate of things it probably wouldn't matter. How many more attempts on his life would he last through, beaten up and tired like he was all the time? Two? Maybe, if only lame-asses like Denis tried. Anyone else he'd met here would have killed him faster than he could blink. Hell, Denis would have if he'd just shot instead of stopping to talk like that. That was one thing he'd learned already. Once a fight started, you fought.

  You didn't stand around waiting to figure out what to do, or hesitate. That got you killed. Just like staying here could get him killed. So no wimping out because of fear or not knowing what to do.

  The elevator got to the top floor and opened into the empty lobby, so he walked to the door, not really having a plan. Brian had nowhere left to go. His home, that had gone away, stolen by Carla and the police, with some help from his stupid Infection. Being a guy, no one would help, he knew, the state or social programs, even if they'd have helped an Infected woman, which they wouldn't. Also lacking were the skills to live in the woods alone while he healed enough to go and die. He didn't even own real clothes. What he wore probably belonged to the government.

  Fuck.

  Making his way outside, Brian looked around. He didn't even know which direction to walk in. That... probably didn't matter. One direction would work as well as another, most likely. Does it really matter when you don't have anything? He headed toward the front gate.

  The guards stiffened when he got there, eying him suspiciously. They had rifles and side arms, and probably enough training to kick his ass without those too, gotten in a reasonable way, over years, training like a human, not some kind of machine intended to be used to destruction anyway.

  “Uh, hi. I'd like to go out please.” Shoulders shrugged as he spoke. He didn't have a clue what else to do. Were they here to keep him prisoner or n
ot? He'd find out in a second.

  Brian half expected them to start yelling and beating him. They wore uniforms after all. If they tried, they'd be in for a fight. He wasn't going to just go along with people trying to hurt him anymore, police, guards, or the frigging army. They could kill him and probably would, but they wouldn't do it without some struggle from him. Not this time. He readied himself, trying to stay relaxed until he knew for sure that the fight was coming.

  The man looked at him, shone a light in his face, blinding him in the twilight, which almost made him fight right there, but he held back as the man almost immediately checked a computer screen instead of acting aggressively.

  “Sure, Mr. Yi. Sorry... I didn't recognize you, being new and all. If you'd just sign out here?” The man at the window of the small, white gate booth pushed a clipboard out the window at him, and handed him a pen. He could barely hold it, but scratched something close to his signature anyway. Well, his signature if he were half-crippled and shaking after almost being killed. Twice. Good enough. The guard made a note of his name, printing next to where he wrote, but didn't say anything. Then they opened the gate – a single metal bar he could have just ducked under anyway – and let him outside.

  Brian walked, the road, a simple two lane blacktop, went on for miles, with almost nothing on either side. Dark fell, but he kept walking, it being too cold to stop, he realized, knowing it would only get colder as night fell. The spring air smelled nice at least, a cool breeze ran through his hair, past his face.

  He felt like crying, but couldn't tell why at first.

  Sure, life wasn't fair and things sucked for him, but, news flash, he told himself, it hadn't ever been all that great. It couldn't be just that. He felt hungry and tired, but he'd felt that way for the last several weeks and he'd felt it a lot more strongly before than he did now. Missing dinner wouldn't make him weepy like this. Itch had used his ability on him, maybe this could be a backlash from that?