The Infected [Books 1-6]

by P. S. Power

  That sucked in a way, since it helped him relax. Then, did he really want to go and hit on Karen or Marcia right now? They were actually getting along all right for the time being, after a fashion. All of them were, except Marsh and Clark. Nothing to be done there though. If Clark stepped out of line it seemed pretty clear to Den that the man just wouldn't survive. Quartz would kill him.

  Literally.

  And then Denis would help her hide the body. That's what teammates did after all.

  After the first half an hour of the whole trip a bit of loathing had started to build for everyone with him. Even the nice people. The trip out not just the plane trip back. Each day it had gotten worse too. Karen kept trying to touch him, knowing that putting out wouldn't be happening. She didn't mean it any particular way, but for him it seemed just like teasing. Yeah, the fucked up reading of signals was all him, and nothing she could even really help probably given her first mode. It still sucked. He didn't mention it, but tried to limit contact without letting her know it was on purpose.

  Marcia had gotten bossy.

  More bossy.

  That most of this got taken out on Clark and oddly enough Jay, didn't make it that much better. The one time she'd gotten verbally rough with Tobin, Denis nearly got into a fight with her. The guy might have been in her way at the moment, but yelling at him to move as harshly as she'd done seemed a bit much in the small room they'd been in at the time. Denis told her to calm the fuck down, earning about half an hour of glaring and hard looks from the dark haired woman. It felt easier to take than normal, since she'd been wearing her Disney shirt and skin tight stretch shorts. Denis just pretended his girlfriend felt a bit bitchy and eventually started smiling at her, which got her to relent for some reason. She didn't snap at him or Tobin again at least. Just everyone else.

  Tobin had been cool. Silent nearly, trying to hide and speaking only when spoken to and then not doing that unless the question couldn't be answered with a gesture or nod.

  Lancaster held his shit together well enough too, this kind of thing being a lot closer to normal for him than the rest of them, Denis figured. The deal there came down to the fact that they were all supposed to be pros and after the first bit where they all nearly died, everyone had started to snipe at each other. Lancaster clearly expected better from them for some reason, but everyone else had issues.

  Especially Clark.

  It became clear that the guy didn't feel he'd been treated very well at all and that meant whining in his book. Denis remembered that. He'd whined in lock-up too. It never did him any good, yet for some reason that never stopped him from trying. Some deep and probably old pattern. Those could be hard to break, so Denis tried to let it all roll off of him and be Zen. Lancaster kept nodding at the stork sympathetically, though a bit of effort seemed to be needed to make that happen once or twice for him too. Clark was freaking annoying.

  The trip back took a fraction of the time, being a direct flight, free of unplanned sky-diving and not needing to wait with a crowd of angry mental midgets in an airport. They rode comfortably in large, giant really, seats that were so soft Denis felt like it had partly melted under him. The cushions were a cream or tan color, the floor a golden tan. The walls more truly gold. It looked rich. Smiling, he realized his mistake instantly. A personal mental error.

  It was rich.

  Vastly so. Even the first floor of the base, made to be really nice for public appearances and to keep the pretty and popular Team One happy, didn't look like this. He wanted his own jet pretty badly for a bit. It took a lot to distract himself from it too. Even the cons, the fact that he didn't have money right now at all, or a place to keep it, those things didn't matter. Denis had to have one. Six. No seven, one for each day of the week. Laughing at himself he struggled to let that go. Stupid first mode.

  It took a while but he finally won, shutting out the greed. It was... simply amazing really. It took work, but even a few minutes without it was heaven.

  When they set down everyone felt exhausted, that kind of tired you got from too much travel and a lack of comfortable sleep, wondering if the rats in the walls would come out and try to eat your fingers while you couldn't see them.

  That happened in leper colonies, the dead digits disappearing in the night. When Denis had been told that by his slightly older sister Mindy, at Faithhome, she'd left off the part about the leprosy. Of course the fact that they were locked in small spaces with mice and rats didn't help a lot with how that memory turned out. Even now, years later he half expected to wake up without fingers or toes on occasion. Mindy had been cool that way. Denis grinned thinking about her. But only for a second. He didn't even know if she was still alive, or what had become of her at all. He couldn't exactly just call and check, could he?

  Dragging into the lobby they got hit with the Director instantly, the man looked uneasy, not nervous, just unhappy and a bit stern maybe. Denis didn't know the man well for all that he'd been around for years at the base. They'd never actually hung out for some reason. Probably because the Director was old and so busy that doing things like that weren't possible most days. Plus, really, no one had actually hung out with Denis much before at all.

  Standing with him were three military men, all looking angry, or trying too. Denis felt like glaring back, almost at least, saving that for later. It wouldn't do to waste his best moves all up front. There were tricks to being a good asshole and these guys were whipping them out early, as if demanding they measure their penises right up front. A good opening move that kept a lot of people off kilter. It didn't work as well when you got the trick though. Denis could just stay chill and let them burn themselves out.

  “Turner, Lancaster, with me. The rest of you please stand by in meeting room two.” Thankfully the heavy older man, in a gray suit and black tie today, pointed the way for them. Denis didn't know meeting room two from the gym on fifteen to tell the truth. Team Three members just got sent places or met in the main room outside of Christian's office.

  For that matter he hadn't even known that the first floor had a meeting place. All he'd ever used were the elevators. Not the first floor technically, he realized, but the lobby level. This had probably been added on when they expanded. It used to be tiny compared to now, looking like a slightly run down ranger station. The interior, temperature controlled and getting full southern sun most days, had trees and a wide variety of plants growing in it, including a nice fountain with fish. Something silver and tasty looking rather than brightly colored and useless.

  They'd probably frown on fishing in the little pond though. Kind of a waste. He used to like fishing as a kid. It was one of the few normal parts of his childhood. Or maybe not that normal, because almost no one fished anymore.

  Apparently the meeting room hadn't been finished yet, at least not in decorations, since the whole thing had been done in plain white, a stark color that didn't fit the warm and friendly image the IPB tried to project normally. The chairs weren't even padded, just metal and plastic green chairs that looked cheap and scarred and a bit like they'd been gotten used. The table had to have been gotten that way, unless they'd had the white Formica thing hidden in the basement since the mid-eighties. It even had punch or Kool-Aid stains in the middle. It gave the space a very “inner city school” vibe.

  Nothing happened for a while and Denis half wanted to just leave. Whatever the military dicks wanted, it wouldn't be good. No one tackled you as you walked in the door for something pleasant. Not like this at least. If it was good they'd at least have been wearing lingerie.

  On top of that he needed food, a shower and bed. The order would be negotiable. There didn't seem to even be a phone in the place, so they couldn't call to have food brought in. No water either. Just as he got up to go see about arranging something, the Director and one of the military men came back. This guy was younger than the others, early twenties and seemed like a Lieutenant. He had that smart-but-brainwashed look about him still that junior officers all seemed t
o have at first until they finally realized that the people above them were just that, other folks no better than they were and sometimes dumber.

  “I know that everyone is tired, but these gentlemen came from Washington D.C. to ask some questions. We don't know how long it will take at all. For now, Mr. Clarkson, would you come with us?”

  The tall stork looking man got up and moved cautiously, a bit of stiffness to his movements that normally wasn't there. Denis couldn't tell what that would be about. Looking around he realized that Clark had been cruelly named “Clark Clarkson” probably by a parent with a sub-normal IQ that still held the belief they were clever and funny. Denis could use that later to needle the man.

  If, of course, that had been something he did anymore, teasing and humiliating others.

  Such a good bit of fodder too. Oh well.

  Half an hour later they came for Karen, then Tobin. Looking at Jay he tapped on the table top firmly. The other man jumped slightly, then sighed.

  “One by one they left the room, but none returned...” Denis tried for an ominous tone, which got a smile from the hero.

  “No doubt. I'd really like something to eat. I'd also like to know what the deal is here. I... It's probably a bit wimpy... I just expected to be treated a little better on this new squad than we have been. It's not Team One, sure, but I thought we'd get food and water and possibly at least an Econo-Lodge room. Maybe a car for every four people, that kind of thing? So far this whole thing has been like one punishment after another. It kind of bites. Then when we get back we can't even have anything to eat or drink? I don't get it, do you?”

  Denis didn't. Not really.

  Oh, he had suspicions and ideas, possibly even a few educated guesses. No proof yet at all.

  Jay got called next, the young military man with a clipboard stalked in to order him out, the tone a little gruff for a simple debriefing. What the hell? Jay wasn't him or even Tobin. The guy was a nationally known superhero. A popular one. You didn't treat Team One like that. You treated them... Kind of like movie stars. Especially someone as nice as Jay. You begged an autograph or tried to get him to come to your parties or something. You didn't bark at the man. In general it was a bad idea to growl at anyone that could put a hand through your chest. Especially if that was literal.

  After nearly three hours of waiting they came for him, this time Director Moore as well. The man tried to convey something with his eyes, some warning, maybe a message. Nothing got through. Denis shrugged and kept his mouth shut tight. All of this had been too much for him. If the man wanted Denis to play nice, well, it probably wouldn't be happening now, would it? What he could do, or try to do, would be to moderate his anger and take the men down a peg without causing a massive incident. Maybe. So starting out with the sensation of a burning poker going up their butts would be out.

  When they got into the other meeting room it looked like a bad spy movie had been being filmed in there. The whole thing was dark, except for lights pointed at a single chair, bright things meant to blind and disorient. Torture. A soft torture, but one nonetheless. Intimidation tactics at the very least. He was a free man now, not a prisoner anymore, so they could take that and shove it...

  “Mr. Tompkins.” The voice came from behind the lights and sounded familiar. Not that the person was themselves, it was the tone of what the man said. It had that cadence that abusive fucks everywhere used to try and cow the weak. Only Denis wasn't their victim. In the arena they'd put him, Denis ruled. They just didn't realize it yet. A bit of an error on their part.

  Let the jerkwad competition begin.

  “Take a seat.”

  Denis did, grabbing the chair quickly and walking behind the lights without pause, even as the man ordered him to stop.

  “Fuck that.” Denis made his voice genial. “I don't know the plan, but I'm not here for some dumb fucks to play with. You want me to sit and talk? Fine, but I don't need to be blind or in front of hot lights for that. Got a problem with common sense? I've been sitting in a room with no food or water fresh out of the field for hours.” This came out sounding far cheerier than he felt, the Director, still near the door, had to smother a laugh.

  “I will not be treated like this!” The man in front of him pounded the table with a meaty fist. He wore green, a dress uniform of some military. There were enough fake looking ribbons and badges to sell the whole thing, Denis just didn't care. Someone didn't like the way he was acting? Boo-fucking-hoo. Maybe the man should have tried for polite first?

  “Wait,” Denis said, sitting down suddenly. “Are you kicking me out already? We haven't even talked yet and after keeping me waiting for three hours without food or water, well, don't you think you should at least try? I kind of expected something special in here, clowns at least, maybe balloons... Are you really going to let yourself be thrown off because I don't want to be treated like a prisoner of war? A little pansyish don't you think? I thought from the uniforms you were supposed to be military tough guys, but I guess the clothes really don't make the man. Say, do you have ID actually proving who you are? Hey, Director Moore, did you check their credentials? What do we know about these guys? You know the front gate, they'll let almost anyone just walk in...” Again he managed to sound nearly playful and almost polite. In all Denis felt a bit proud of himself over it.

  The man sputtered again and the fellow next to him put a hand on his side arm, which meant this was different than a mere meeting. You didn't go to a regular... almost anything, armed, and you especially didn't touch your side arm in front of non-hostile people as a rule. Denis stayed ready and smiled at the guy on the other side of the fat military man. He looked military too, but hard, special forces hard. Like Lancaster without the sparkly personality. Or common sense. Lancaster wouldn't try to intimidate a class four. He would have already shot.

  “You might also want to tell your friend over there that going for his gun right now will be considered a threat against my life. I'm unarmed and we've had terrorist attacks in the last few days and you two still haven't produced any real identification. Was it you guys behind that?” He asked suddenly, leaning forward. Asking a question like that wasn't fair or nice, but it did get a reaction. “I think that needs to be answered first, don't you?”

  The Director went wide eyed and slapped a hand over his lower face. In front of Denis the military man flew into a rage, or at least stood and loomed over him, pointing a finger in his face threateningly. As if by some prearranged signal, or just because the guy was “smart”, the harder looking fellow tried to pull his weapon then. That got both him and the fatter military man paralyzed.

  Without turning to look Denis spoke to the Director.

  “Moore... What's the deal here? I'm really working hard to not be a douche, overall I mean, not here in the moment specifically, I'll grant, but pulling in a special squad of professional agitators to get me going seems a bit low, don't you think? That one over there is halfway to shooting me... Why? Moving my chair? Asking a few questions? I thought we were here for questions, why else set up the lights like that? Seems a bit much.” Denis shifted a little, not breaking his visual line and rubbed his short dark brown hair as if to get rid of a headache.

  The Director made a disgruntled noise.

  “I'm afraid they're here to question everyone about the events in Chicago. They seem to feel that somehow we're to blame for the escape of several Infected prisoners from the police. It's been well explained thus far and I believe satisfactorily, but congress, meaning Senator Hooper, is demanding a full investigation.”

  “Ah... with guns? That doesn't seem right to me. Are they going to accuse me of being a communist if I don't rat out my friends, or ruin my movie career? What do I do now? I can't kill them, being such a nice guy and all, and I'm pretty sure that letting chief trigger happy over there go right now would just have me shot. Take the guns?” Denis only saw one, but the older man nodded. A guy like that military one wouldn't be caught dead without a backup or six. Not i
f he were savvy in any way.

  The older man had to do it, patting each down for weapons and then standing back calmly. The man really did have only the one firearm, which made Denis think less of him. If you were going to go around threatening people you needed at least two, especially if the people being threatened had super-powers. Didn't this guy watch television at all? The “Evil Infected” always took the hero's first gun. It was the second or sometimes third that saved the day.

  It was a damned cliché for a reason.

  “General Harvesh, Agent Tompkins here is going to release you and your man. If either of you attack, I fear we may have to take stronger actions. It's illegal to shoot people without just cause, after all, which so far you've not established a need for. This isn't a war zone, it's a Federal institution, where, I might add, we hold precedence not you or the military.”

  The instant the men were released the fat general freaked, his voice going so loud it had to be easily heard two or three levels down. They had sound proofing too. Really fucking over the top. Denis thought so at least. He yawned at the man, actually feeling that tired not just trying to bait him. It didn't matter, the rant had already started.

  “I'll have your organization shut down Moore! This was an attack on a general of the United States Army, that's an act of treason! I'll have this place shut down so fast-”

  Denis put his hand up, the right one, palm out. It was so sudden the man stopped and the other man took a half step back, probably expecting pain or torture next. They did if they'd looked up his file at least. Of course if that was the case then they wouldn't have acted like they had. No, they would have offered him total freedom in exchange for “proof” that the IPB had screwed up. That and maybe some money.