by P. S. Power
"Hold your fire! IPB, he's a federal agent, hold your fire!"
Brian felt a shock of surprise that someone had recognized him like that. His black fatigues didn't have any markings on them at all.
The tingling didn't come yet, so he started jogging away, trying to get distance from the threat, thinking it was likely to be the bodyguards this time. Some of them might just be insane. Or stupid enough to kill whoever they were protecting trying to shoot him. Instead a second Infected person, a man this time, rushed him faster than he'd seen anyone move before outside of the gym on fourteen and tried to slash him with a knife. The response from the suited bodyguards was more efficient this time and took the man down with only two shots. Then Brian felt the signal, the tingling. He didn't relax until he was back at the stream, panting slightly from the exertion.
Thankfully his fish were still there.
Two moves to help people and twice he was insulted for having a disease. That seemed a bad trend to him, but maybe he'd just caught a pocket of bigotry? A statistical run? Brian wondered how bad things were getting in the real world if saving a person's life didn't count as much as being Infected did.
He didn't know what the plan was for the next day, but found Conroy sitting in front of his fire heating something that smelled pretty good in a real, if small, metal pot when he got back to the camp. Looking up, the older man smiled when he saw the fish, easily enough for two. They didn't talk for a while, Conroy just handed him a small tin cup and a spoon and they ate beef stew while waiting for the fish to cook.
"Most people don't keep themselves fed half as well as you did, you know. Basic, but not bad. You should try more advanced hunting and trapping too, especially trapping, if you ever get the chance. It has a higher success to energy expended ratio. I saw that you reinforced your shelter before the rain got in and kept your fire the whole time, even in the wet. Not bad. Now, this is only one environment, and not the harshest in the world by far, but if you can get the basics here, you can survive most places that you can without equipment. Harsh desert, tundra, ice fields, you don't last there without something more, proper clothes, water, that kind of thing. There are tricks to it, but you can get those later. The important thing is learning that you can do it."
Then after they ate, as late in the day as it was, a few hours before dark, they walked out, reaching a single vehicle that sat at the trail head, next to a small forest station marker, just as darkness fell. Conroy drove the tiny red car, a little economy type that looked old, but ran quietly, like the repair was good, ending at the airport, where the plane waited, confusing Brian a little. He'd thought they would be out for four days.
Lancaster raised an eyebrow and told him it had been four days, that they were a little late getting to him actually.
"Senator Hooper was attacked at a rally, which you already know about, but that means the IPB had to go on alert, slowing down my getting here. Sorry about the delay." He walked toward the plane, Brian and Conroy following along.
The older man rubbed at his beard. "How would he know? He's been out here the whole time. Not even a radio."
Lancaster grinned, a dark thing that didn't look very happy at all.
"Brian switched - took the senator's place - when he was attacked and saved him, then nearly got shot by his private security. Luckily one of them was ex-secret service and knew enough not to assassinate the guy that came to save their client's ass. Brian had to take one of them down too. Put the moron in the hospital with two broken legs."
Conroy blanched a bit when he realized that Brian had fought not only once, but twice, including to the death, while surviving on his own in the woods.
"Cutthroat... Damn it man! What the fuck?" The older guy looked angry and perplexed, causing the agent to nod in agreement.
"I know. But if he hadn't saved Hooper things would be a lot worse right now. As it is people are going on TV and radio, calling for all Infected to be put to death. No one important yet, but enough voices screaming loud enough, long enough and the noise might drown out common sense." The large man, still clad in a black suit with muscles rippling underneath, kept them all walking as they spoke.
Turning as they stopped, Conroy shook Brian's hand at the step of the plane and told him that he'd done about as well as anyone ever had. Not just the new guys either, he told Lancaster, even the professionals.
"No bull, Cutthroat, I handed the kid the first bug and he just ate it. Didn't squirm and make a face or have to starve for a week first. Just did it. No bitching or grumbling. You and Cast Iron both squirmed like school girls the first time and Felix puked. Everything was like that. Put his fire out, took his shelter apart, made strange noises off in the woods and he just dealt with it. Instantly, not even bothering to get frustrated. Even lost me in the woods for a day, which is good, considering I taught him how to do it. If you can't keep this kid alive... don't send me any more Daryl. I mean it." He turned and walked away, disappearing into the dark silently.
Lancaster grinned and told him that he needed to take all that to heart, because Conroy was the top survival expert in the country and only took people out when asked by old students and close friends.
"He really will cut me off if I don't keep you alive too... so, give me a hand there?"
Brian felt a little shocked himself. Somewhere in there he'd not only lost a day, but couldn't recall any strange noises at all. It worried him a little, but he let it go. He was probably just insane after all. Wasn't hearing things a sign of losing it too? He just didn't know.
The flight back took longer than the flight there did, because they had to fly halfway back to the base and land, submitting to an inspection. Supposedly this had to do with the attack on Hooper, but Lancaster snorted at the idea. He told Brian that it was about looking busy to set people's minds at ease, not do anything real. On the good side they didn't act as if they cared that Brian was Infected, which they knew, since several of the TSA agents recognized him from the news. Apparently cameras had caught the whole Hooper incident. When that was done they flew back to the base directly, Lancaster covering what he could of the blow-back from the attack.
"The IPB looks pretty good right now, but Hooper's people are trying to keep us and you, out of the press about it. Hard to do, being as how you also saved his daughter and both things are playing on the news right now back to back, but they're working on it. We'll probably have to trot you out soon and remind everyone who you are. Don't worry, I won't let your training suffer because of it, Marcia already told everyone you were in for something special and has been asking for volunteers to help you train. Interesting crew lined up I hear..."
As if to prove a point about the training, Marcia met them at the plane and gave him a big hug when he got on the ground. He felt self-conscious about the way he smelled, but then remembered she pretty much didn't have a sense of smell. So he hugged her back closely, enjoying how her hard body felt against him. Even her breasts felt firmer than a normal woman's, poking into him and slowly deforming under the pressure, rather than just moving. Well, at least if he could remember what was normal that way anymore. It was nice of her to come greet them, almost like having friends or something.
The Director walked up at almost the same time, with Charlot Chambers right behind. She gave him a hug, though much briefer, and managed not to wrinkle her nose, for which he felt grateful. Director Moore just put out a hand and shook with both men, and quickly recapped most of what Lancaster had told him already.
"So we need to have a press conference ASAP. Just go out and answer what they ask again, we'll help you rehearse some answers this time, if that's all right? People need to see a friendly face standing up for the Infected and with Prime's recent trouble and what happened with Lady Glory..."
Covering his mouth with his left hand, Brian yawned, then stretched backwards. Both he and Lancaster had slept on the flight, since it had taken most of the night. The seats on the plane were nice, compared to the ground, a treat aft
er the last week.
"Sorry... Not really all that tired, just waking up. It's what, ten in the morning now?" He looked at Marcia, who told him eight-thirty, not even looking at a watch. As always, she wore her white colored outfit, one of several he suspected. More durable than regular fabric or something, since he'd never accidentally ripped it when they practiced. She'd almost ripped the sweats off of him more than once, and destroyed t-shirts regularly. He couldn't cast stones on her fashion choices, all he had was an array of exercise clothes, all identical, and some black fatigues, like what he wore right now. Those, he suspected, had come directly from her. It seemed her style really.
"Right, so I need a shower and something to help me wake up... Then I need to get with some people about things if they'll see me. When is this press conference thing supposed to happen?" He dreaded the idea of going up on stage again, but fear wouldn't stop him, even if he did have problems each time. He'd be going armed, in case the police jumped him again. It had kind of worked for them once, so no doubt some Einstein would want to try it.
"It may be paranoid, but..." He shrugged and gave them all a small smile, trying to look sane. Brian really doubted he made it. No one swore at him at least.
Charlot took over then, talking while they all walked into the complex. She could have things set up for mid-afternoon. The reporters would be there anyway, for the briefing, and would be pleased to see someone other than the Director.
"They always like it when you're up, Brian. Something interesting always happens." When Charlot said it, the whole idea sounded fun and exciting, not like something that would require him to be locked up for weeks at a time or nearly dying. Different perspectives he guessed, looking at her sidelong. The angry seeming woman actually grinned at him.
"Bitch." He muttered, but his voice held enough laughter that she actually took his hand and giggled.
"I know. But why change what works?"
He agreed to show up, and answer questions and even get there a little early and practice some politically correct answers for some of them. It made everyone happy except Marcia, who took him by the arm and walked him to the elevator, glaring at everyone else. She waved them away from the elevator door and told them to go see to things, sounding a little bit put off by the idea, pushed the buttons for floor nine, and made the door close with only her and Brian inside.
"I don't know what you've been doing, but everyone deserves a little down time. We can't afford it for you, but a few minutes now and then..." Her hand went to his shoulder for a bit, the contact warm and friendly. He nodded, it had been one of the suggestions in the file, increased contact, especially from women. Mainly because he was too lame to get them on his own. It didn't say that part, but Brian knew that's what they meant.
It really did help, so he didn't say anything about it, even if she had to force herself to do it. Marcia wasn't a big touchy-feely type of person, keeping to herself most of the time that way.
He told her about the training, and the fights, fishing, and camping out.
"It was fun. Peaceful... well, not the fights, but even those worked out better than a lot of things do, so I can't complain."
She laughed and slapped him on the back as the elevator opened, this time the move seeming more genuine and spontaneous than before. "Only you'd go into the forest for some of the hardest survival training available and come out calling it a camping trip! I haven't seen Conroy in years. Did he say anything about..." She tapered off, her voice going suspicious and low.
Smiling Brian shook his head.
"He mentioned you, called you Cast Iron... other than that he didn't say anything much about you, said he couldn't, so whatever secrets you have with him are safe. Now I'm curious, but I won't ask... Not right now anyway. I have to get a shower. I smell like a locker room." One someone had dumped a bottle of pine freshener in without cleaning it first.
They parted at the door so he could get ready. After he'd cleaned up, he dressed in his best outfit and newest shoes, then walked to the elevator and got in alone. Marcia followed quickly to go with him, so he held the door for her. Standing close, bumping him with her shoulder as they stood. He smiled at her, realizing that if he hadn't read the file it would have seemed like she wanted him, rather than just trying to make more contact. Over selling things a bit, he thought. He nudged her back with his own shoulder, smiling. Why not? It was probably as close to sex as he was ever going to get, so make the most of it.
On seven he walked over to Doctor Burrows and asked if she could give him some of that brain chemical, the wake-up one. If it wasn't addictive or anything. He could go with caffeine if he had to but wanted to avoid the jitters on stage. She smiled, said the name - Allistatine-A - and went to get a syringe of the stuff. When she came back she rested her hand on his shoulder for a bit after the shot, a lot more contact than she'd ever bothered with before, and then helped him with his sleeve, winking at him when he stood to leave.
He noticed that she had new shoes, cute white and black checked tennis shoes, they looked unprofessional, but made him smile. He complimented her on them, which got a smirk from Marcia, who probably thought he was flirting with the woman, he realized as they walked away.
Like he flirted? That would be a huge waste of time, wouldn't it?
At the elevator he took a deep breath and asked the time, which was almost ten now, she told him. He swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to get ready for what came next.
Then trying to act casual, suspecting that no one would want him to do it, he asked where Karen had been staying for the last month, so that he could go see her. He tried to fight the grimace from his face when he realized that no one closed their eyes like a moron before trying to be all suave and relaxed.
Yep, he was smooth.
Holding up his hands, as if trying to keep the woman across from him from beating him up he explained a bit. "I've had some... insight into the matter... maybe. If I'm right, then I need to get with her and fix things. If I'm wrong... Well, then today is going to suck. For me, I mean. But I think I can do this without violence. So..." He tried to look hopeful about the idea, rather than show how very much he dreaded it.
She told him that Karen had spent most of the last month in her room, refusing to come out, or even talk to anyone about what had happened. Brian closed his eyes again and tried to steel himself. If he was nuts, this might go very wrong, he knew. It almost had to, didn't it? He got off alone on the first floor, the fast elevator leaving his stomach behind as it climbed like always. The repair work had happened quickly, the holes in the walls from Prime and his fight were all gone, everything looked nice and new. Tasteful too, if he was any judge. But then, reporters and cameras might actually try to sneak in here occasionally. Searching for a story or trying to get candid pictures of someone. Or video proving that Prime had lost it one day...
As he walked the empty hallway, done up in burgundy and wood, with what looked like silk wall paper instead of the cream stuff on floor nine, the fine pattern woven into it meshed seamlessly from one piece to the next, which spoke of care and quality. As he walked, Brian realized he had no clue which room Karen lived in. There were no name plates, probably to throw the reporters off a little and deter unwanted guests.
Like him possibly.
Becky appeared and held out a hand to stop him, pointing at a nice door with the number four on it. Trying not to panic and run like the geeky junior high student going over to the cool girl's house, what he felt like doing, Brian made himself knock instead.
No reply came.
"She's in there. I can feel her. Knock again." The emo-goth, not-ghost in his head said. He knocked a little louder and finally heard movement, a soft sound, like someone standing on the other side of the door. Knocking a third time he decided to call out, feeling awkward about the idea, but not wanting to leave anything untried.
"Karen? Um, not to be a pain, but can you tell me about Becky?" He hoped that would be both interesting enough and nonc
ommittal at the same time. He could play off "Becky" as him having misheard something if the girl had never existed. Of course he'd have to report seeing the girl in his head to psych either way, which could have him locked up no matter what, but having some indication that it might not be all him would be good. He'd probably know in a second or two. Really he just hoped that Karen wasn't going for a gun while he waited to chat with her.
That... would be fair, given their last meeting, wouldn't it?
The door opened a crack, a single green eye peering out at him, looking scared. The face around it looked bad, no make-up, and lacking in normal color. What bit of red hair he could see looked like it hadn't been washed or even brushed since the last time they'd met. She didn't seem to be covered in bruises at least, making the whole thing easier for him. Seeing her damaged from what he'd done would be... too much for him to take easily. Brian smiled tentatively, hoping he wasn't about to be blasted by unending streams of blue light and compassion.
Becky looked through the crack of door. "She looks like crap... Ask her if she still has the green and black family album. It should have pictures in it..."
Brian took a deep breath and spoke the words, asking softly, trying not to scare her off. She didn't look too steady, what bit of her he saw. She opened the door more fully.
"Brian? You want to see my family photo's? Um... I guess... I..." She opened the door all the way and started shaking, trembling really, that started in her hands, small and pale, the skin smooth and unwrinkled still, that somehow looked old. Tired. When the door opened all the way, she stood in front of him, hugging herself, arms just under her breasts, body turning away. She wore a light pink bathrobe and some kind of flannel pajama bottoms, her feet bare. She looked bad, like a druggie that hadn't gotten a fix in a long time or a person that needed to book a stay in a mental institution so that they could "rest".
Stepping into the room, he carefully closed the door behind him, not wanting to share his hallucinations with everyone walking down the hall if possible. Not yet. The woman held her ground, but looked down, defeat in her eyes, like she expected him to hurt her, or at least yell at her. Tears started to run down her cheeks leaving damp tracks that glistened in the warm yellow light from the single lamp she had lit. There were no windows of course, so the lamp, a very nice antique looking thing, with a brass base and real wood bulb cover, one that looked hand carved, didn't do a lot to make things seem cheery.
