by Blou Bryant
“No, you,” she said, emphasizing the second word. “You’re changing.”
There wasn’t time for this. “I’m fine. The virus doesn’t affect me.”
“No. Yes, it does. You’ve ignored it.”
With more bitterness than intended, Wyatt said, “You’re kidding, right? I wish I could ignore it.”
“That’s not true. You’ve done nothing with it and if you keep doing nothing, it’s going to make you sick. Sicker. Dead.”
She was raving, there was no way she could know that. “I had a bad day, but that doesn’t mean I’ll get sick.”
“You’re clueless…” Teri replied.
Wyatt had enough of this and interrupted her. Reaching out, he pulled her in for a hug. “When it’s over, we’ll talk.”
Over her shoulder, he saw there was a line of cars parked out front of the HUC. Trix was back… with the bodies.
“But for now, I need you away from this, and safe.” Letting her go, he gave her a gentle push towards Marylyn, and motioned for Hannah to follow him.
Together, they walked out of the house. There’d be enough time for reunions once this was over. Until then, he had a war to lead.
Chapter 6
With the sound of their objections ringing in his ears, Wyatt sprinted across the yards to the HUC, two houses away. People packed the street, but there was almost complete silence as he crossed driveways. He heard Hannah’s feet pounding the ground behind him. Dozens of eyes watched him as he climbed the steps and entered the HUC.
“Where is Trix?” he shouted as he crossed into the main room. Several people were hanging off each other, crying. One pointed up the stairs. “Her room,” she said.
Wyatt took the stairs two at a time, but despite—or because of—his stress, he still remembered to skip the first one. Patterns, habits, these things made life livable, they made it easier to get through every day.
Trix had a large room on the second floor. Wyatt had been there many times.
Without knocking, he threw open the door and was confronted with four bodies in the middle of the room. Someone had moved the meeting table and couch out of the way, and laid the four down in a row. Not even covered, their wounds were terrible and visible, their faces frozen and gray.
Wyatt took two long steps in and fell to the floor next to Ezzy. Tears welled up. He tried to hold them back but they wouldn’t be denied and soon they streamed down his face.
Gently, he picked up one of her hands and held it tight, willing warmth from him to move into her, but it didn’t happen. She was cold and gray and nothing he did would or could change that.
Wyatt closed his eyes and lowered his head, content to hold her and comfort her dead body. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. Be good to her, God, he prayed. Take her and comfort her. She led a hard life, but she was a good woman. Even in this moment, he argued with himself.
Was she a good woman? He didn’t know. Despite having been around her for years, they’d not spent much time together. Who was he to pray for her, and who was he to expect God to listen?
Sometimes, thinking of the virus that streamed through his blood, he wondered if God had made a mistake; chosen the wrong man for the wrong reason at the wrong time. He wasn’t a hero. The sound of others arriving in the room broke him out of his spell.
Trix ran through the room and pulled him into a tight embrace. She said nothing and held him, whether for him or for her, or both, he didn’t know. He returned it, but without feeling. There was too much to do, too little time for feeling, for emotion. After a few seconds, he pushed her away and said, “Tell me. What’s happened?”
“How are you?” she asked, her normally boisterous voice quiet and low.
Wyatt grunted and pointed to the bodies. “I don’t recognize him,” he said, gesturing to the second one.
Tears glimmered in Trix’s eyes as she searched his and considered his non-reply. Wyatt knew she wanted him to talk, wanted him to share. That wouldn’t happen.
Eventually, she broke the connection and stepped back, disappointment on her face. “He’s a Watcher. Got hit when you blew up the bulldozer.”
Wyatt went cold at the news. This was the man who killed Ezzy. “Get him out of here,” he said to the two men who accompanied Trix. Neither moved.
“Out? Where out?” she asked, initially confused.
“I don’t give a damn. Dump him on the street for all I care. Why’d you bring him here?”
“It just happened when we bundled everyone up fast. I didn’t realize that we had him.”
“Fine, whatever… dump him in the ravine behind the park.”
Hannah had been quiet but stepped up at this. “We can’t do that, it’s not right. He needs a proper burial.”
“Needs? He needs nothing. He’s dead.”
“Fine, he deserves one.”
“He’s lucky I don’t cut him up with a dull knife and drop his pieces on Jessica’s doorstop. That’s what he deserves.”
“No, we’re not doing anything like that,” cried Hannah. “How could you?”
“He killed her, he killed Ezzy,” he yelled, pointing at the dead body. “Are you freaking kidding me?” There wasn’t time for this, and there wasn’t a point to it. How was this not clear to her? he thought.
Hannah moved closer and took him by the arm. “Yes, he was bad, he was evil. But he’s someone’s son. He’s got people who love him. We’ll return his body to them. We’re doing it for them, not him.”
“I don’t care…” protested Wyatt.
“And we’re doing it for you, for us. We’re doing it because we’re not them.”
“Take him, leave him outside the Zone. When you’re clear, call the cops and report it… anonymously,” said Trix, deciding it. Her two men immediately moved and picked up the body with grunts. “Do it respectfully, though.”
Wyatt turned to her with anger. “Are you kidding…”
“Hush, don’t you hear that?” she said, putting up a hand.
Wyatt paused and listened past the blood beating in his ears. Police sirens. The police arriving wasn’t a surprise, but their speed was. He hurried from the room.
Hannah was right behind him. “What did she mean about blowing up a bulldozer?”
“Nothing.”
“BS, nothin’,” said Trix. “I don’t know what it was or how he did it, but he made some blast, exploded a ‘dozer, and knocked us down.”
They were halfway down the stairs. Hannah grabbed him from behind and pulled him to stop. “You didn’t think to mention that?”
With a shrug, Wyatt pulled away. “Nothing to say.” He didn’t understand what had happened, didn’t want to think about it, and didn’t need her harping on him. He made it to the bottom and out the front door before she caught back up.
“Teri said something’s wrong… and now this?” she hissed softly enough that the people gathered on the lawn couldn’t hear.
He ignored her and looked up and down the street. No police cars, but, a block up there was a beat up brown Intrepid weaving its way through the crowd on the street. When it reached the corner, four people refused to move, waving their guns at the occupant. A lazy hand waved out of the window, smoke trailing from a cigarillo held between the fingers.
A banger pointed a gun into the car, and the driver said something in return. Wyatt knew who was driving and wasn’t surprised when the four moved out of the way and allowed him through.
“Stay here,” Wyatt said to Trix and Hannah, and walked to the curb to meet Vincent.
The big, rotund man grunted as he eased out of the car, a cigarillo between his lips. He regarded Wyatt with amusement. “So, what, you managed to go a whole six months without causing shit?”
“What do you mean?” asked Wyatt, feigning ignorance. He offered his hand.
With another grunt, Vincent hefted himself up on the hood of the old Chrysler, ignoring the offer. “I saved your ass, and you bullshit me? I got places to be, but got called out here
‘cause they figure I can talk you down.”
Wyatt looked at Vincent with interest and a bit of confusion. He wasn’t one of Jessica’s police toddies, that was for sure. Without him, the HUC wouldn’t be theirs, the Dogs wouldn’t be free and Wyatt might well be dead.
Only months before, he’d played a key part in taking down a drug gang and dirty cops.
“I hear you got promoted?”
“Nice try at changing the topic. Ya, to shut me up, they made me detective. Thanks, asshole, it’s more work, and taxes for the ex-wives.”
“You’re welcome,” said Wyatt and forced a smile. “What brings you out?”
“Uh-huh. I spend all day listening to people lie. Is it too much to ask you to be the one who doesn’t, healer boy?”
That was a surprise. How’d he find out about the mutation that allowed Wyatt to heal? What else did he know?
Vincent took a drag and coughed hard, his face red at the exertion. Eventually, the spell ended and he spat twice on the sidewalk. He regarded Wyatt for a moment. “Ya, I know stuff and I don’t give a crap, hell, I don’t know if I believe it.”
“So…,” said Wyatt, cautious.
“So, you got people up and down the street from the edge of the Zone in. And half of them are carrying.”
“It’s legal. They’re legal, got permits. Second amendment and all that,” said Wyatt, although he had no clue if any of it was true.
“Ya, half of the bangers got records, doubt they’re legal, but I’m not here to take away their guns.”
“Why, then?”
“‘Cause some kids got shot up, and the police were called. When they got here, they were stonewalled at the edge of the Zone. Seems my captain isn’t as much of an idiot as he seems, and rather than shoot it out, he called me in.”
“Because they know you were involved last time around….”
“Bingo, genius. So, you will tell everyone to stand down and I will punch out for the day. How’s that sound to you?”
“I think you should turn around and leave this to us to deal with.”
“Uh-huh. So, I’ll tell ‘em you refused?”
“Sounds right.”
“And they’ll shoot their way in?”
Trix joined them. She pushed Wyatt aside and hissed, “Nobody’s shooting anyone.”
That didn’t sound right, not like her at all. Wyatt turned to face her, shocked at her calm tone. “I think Vincent should leave and let us deal with it.”
“No, we will let the police in,” she said, not even bothering to look at him, her face a cold mask. “What’s going on, Officer?”
With a long puff on his cigarillo, Vincent considered Trix. “I remember you, you’re the director here, right?”
She nodded.
“You’re easy nuff to remember,” he said, looking her up and down.
She shrugged.
“There was a shooting, police were called. Some of the Zone… residents… they’re stopping us from checking it out.”
“I think I know what you’re talking about. There was an incident at the edge of the Zone. I was there and can tell you nobody was shot.”
“Oh yeah?”
Wyatt kept his mouth shut. What the heck was she doing and why hadn’t she consulted him? She was brash, aggressive, and protective of her people. And suddenly, she was giving in? He turned to watch Vincent. The man wasn’t arguing.
“There was gunfire, but not from my people. Ask the construction workers, they ran when some hoodlums pulled weapons. We hightailed it out of there. We’re not violent.”
With a loud laugh, Vincent pointed up and down the street. “And all these people with guns… they’re Buddhists, I’m sure.”
“Some are… Buddhists, that is,” she said with a dark grin. “And the rest? Just people protecting what’s theirs from a violent gang… probably the same sort who tried to take advantage of the poor a few months ago.”
“And they’re blocking the police because….”
“Well, they read papers, know the police ain’t always on the side of the people.”
Vincent had a bemused expression on his face. “So, you’ll let us in now that we’ve talked? And we’ll find everything’s kosher?”
“Of course.”
“And we can look around?”
“Outside, of course,” she said with a tight smile.
“Only outside?”
“Got a warrant?”
“It’s all reclaimed land and buildings… government owns it, can go where it wants.”
“Doesn’t look reclaimed to me, looks quite occupied. We’ll get an injunction. How about you go talk to your lawyers, we talk to ours?”
“Hell no, ain’t my job. I’m just here to make sure nobody shoots no cops and no cops shoot nobody. Are you going to let us in, or no?” Vincent paused and his face relaxed. “Look, tell your stories, whatever you want, but you gotta let us in, we’re coming either way. Save lives, say yes.”
Wyatt felt his face flush. “What the hell, we’ll fight, there are more of us than there are of you.”
Trix continued to stare straight at Vincent. “I’ll allow it,” she said, ignoring Wyatt. “If you keep your guys in line, don’t be planting things or making fake arrests. Can you promise that?”
With a long sigh, Vincent shook his head. “Can’t promise, ain’t my people. Some are dirty, some are stupid, most fear comin’ here. It’s a powder keg.”
“So, what to do?”
It was a dumb move but Wyatt grabbed Trix by the arm. He’d already figured out what they were going to do—he’d set his plan in motion. Rocky would already have the Dogs out, he’d already be organizing the Zone. The cops in the middle of it… would be a disaster.
Trix grabbed his hand and twisted his thumb back and he winced in pain.
“I’ve got a plan…” he said.
“Remember the rules? When you asked me to be director, I said I’d do it my way. Our way,” she said, pointing up and down the street at the residents. “The Dogs are welcome here, but you don’t run the Zone.” She released his hand and yelled back to the house. “Get Sandra out here. Chavez as well.”
Not even a minute later, the two joined them. “Chavez, go with Officer Vincent and let everybody know the cops are to be allowed in, and not interfered with. Tell ‘em that anyone who doesn’t, deals with me. Sandra, same to you. Keep your Dogs on a leash, understood?”
Wyatt considered arguing, but gave in and nodded when Sandra looked to him for approval. They needed Trix.
As the car pulled away, Wyatt muttered to himself, loud enough that Trix could hear. When she didn’t respond, he turned to berate her further, only to see her disappear into the HUC.
Chapter 7
Four hours later, Wyatt sat alone staring out the window of Sandra’s room, watching the street. He’d returned to the house and Trix told him—in no uncertain terms—that he wasn’t in charge and that until he stopped pretending he was, that he could get out of the way.
Who was Trix to talk to him like that? He was the one who’d healed the unhealable. He’d saved the Zone when the dealers tried to take it over. Now he was ‘in the way’?
Holding his left hand up, he considered the wound that had ruled—and ruined—his life. A bright red trickle of blood wove its way down his pale palm, usually bandaged these past four years. Had he really caused an explosion? Was the virus affecting him, was he no longer immune?
If only he could evolve so that he didn’t have to infect others. Would he become Explosive Man? If that was his power, he’d bury Jessica in the bones of the tower she lived in.
Eventually he returned to watching the window, waiting for his friends. Rocky was the first to join him. The gang always hung out in Sandra’s renovated third floor attic.
The big man cursed as he came through, his face a threatening thunderstorm. “Sandra told me to stand down, yelled at me when I disagreed. What the hell is going on?”
The police were out fron
t. Trix must have hidden the bodies, and was cooperating fully, as far as he could see. Crooked cops in the Zone. It was disgusting. “Trix is in charge,” Wyatt said.
“And you’re letting her?”
“Should I fight her? What choice do I have?”
With a guffaw, Rocky said, “She’d beat your weak ass anyhow. Still… this morning, Sandra agreed with your plan and now we’re doing nothing. No fights. No protecting what’s ours. Just this BS.” Falling into the couch, he lapsed into silence and helped stare at the street.
There was a small tablet computer on the table, Wyatt picked it up and started up a video game. He tapped the screen furiously, killing waves of orcs and trolls sent to attack him. The screen lit with star after star as he gained points. When there were too many, he restarted. He’d asked for money to buy additional skills for his character, but Sandra had refused. Waste of money, she’d said.
Rocky pointed out the window and muttered—Sandra had arrived. Wyatt put the tablet down and the two of them kept an eye on the door, waiting for her to come through, but ten minutes later she still hadn’t joined them.
“Where is she?” asked Rocky.
“Probably with Trix,” guessed Wyatt.
“Ugh.”
Wyatt kept watching the door, willing her to arrive. He planned to talk to her about her loyalty and had some choice words ready, but she stayed somewhere downstairs, and he wasn’t going to go looking.
Another ten minutes passed before the door opened. It was Seymour, accompanied by Emmelyn. He was typing away on his custom-built tablet, its reflective red racing stripes flashing as he walked in and sat in a stuffed chair with a huff. He didn’t look up, or greet them.
Emmelyn stood in front of the two men on the couch, staring at Rocky and then at Wyatt. “What are you doing?”
“We’re waiting for Sandra.”
“The question was rhetorical. I thought you had a plan, Seymour told me everyone had a job to do, that we would get revenge for Ezzy.”
“Yeah… well…” stuttered Wyatt, which was better than Rocky, who simply glowered.
“Well, what? You two are sitting here looking pissy, but not doing anything. Seymour told me you had a plan…”
