Revolution: A Red Dog Thriller (The Altered Book 3)

by Blou Bryant

  “Seymour told him to? It was packed in advance?”

  “Yup.”

  “And you’d already made arrangements for this.” Wyatt guessed their destination had been pre-planned. “Because I asked you to find someone to help me out… with my issues?”

  “Your health, you mean?”

  “Issues.”

  “And the virus.”

  “Issues,” persisted Wyatt, but gently. He didn’t want to talk to Rocky about it, not in detail. The big man held his own secrets tight and rarely pried. “So, you used Seymour’s name and money to get us rooms at the end of the world inn?”

  Rocky laughed. “No, that crazy fool already owned these suites. He bought them a few months ago after first meeting you. Something about how you made him think of the apocalypse. You or Jessica, I forget.”

  Probably a combination of the two of us. Wyatt made himself comfortable on a plush ottoman. After years hiding out, this at least was comfortable and a lot more secure than an abandoned school or a church basement. “You mentioned that my problem could be fixed here.”

  “I’d heard rumors before that this place houses the best black hat DNA artist out there.”

  “It’s late… or early. I’ll look for him tomorrow,” said Wyatt, not sure how that would work out. It’s not like he could tell them everything—he couldn’t trust just anyone.

  “That’s not necessarily going to be easy. I don’t know names or who they work for. It’s all rumors, nothing more.”

  And the people here aren’t the types who want to share or publicize their presence, or their skills, not if they’re illegally manipulating DNA. “Meh, we’ll look around, tomorrow,” said Wyatt, sure that they’d find a way.

  The two sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, remembering the day in their own way.

  “Teri may know something,” Wyatt said eventually.

  “How’s that?” asked Rocky, pulling an ottoman closer so he could put his feet up. His shoes were covered in mud and grime, and neither of them cared.

  “She tried to get me to go off to the side, down some hall, when we were coming in.”

  “She’s special, that one.”

  Wyatt agreed but wasn’t sure what Rocky meant exactly. They’d not talked much about the special stuff. Strange, when you think about it, but it never came up, not over three years. Rocky’s the one I can hang around and not have to feel weird with. “She is,” he replied, not needing to say more.

  Rocky blinked tiredly, his eyes half closed. “Still, I’d trust her. I’ve known her since she was five pounds, if that.”

  When they’d first met, Rocky had made it clear that he’d die for the young girl, and Wyatt had no reason to believe that had changed… or that the same thing didn’t apply to him. He briefly looked at the big man with affection.

  Rocky hadn’t fully closed his eyes and raised an eyebrow. He scowled. “What you lookin’ at?”

  “Meh, lookin’ at ugly, thinkin’ I’m lucky I was born handsome.”

  Growling a low laugh, Rocky gave him the finger. “Women like their men manlier than they are. And you’re handsome? I don’t think so. Now, pretty, you got that goin’. I’ll give you that. Hell, if I was lookin’, I might consider you.”

  With a long comfortable sigh, Wyatt let himself slide further down the chair and realized he was ready for bed. They were behind locked doors—did the doors lock?—Rocky was here, and while all might not be right with the world, it was as good as it got. “I’m ready for bed, but not with someone as ugly as you… not with anyone.”

  “Uh-huh. What’s the arrangements? Three rooms, six of us.”

  True that. Four girls, two guys. “Ugh, well, I guess we’re sharing.”

  “Ain’t the first time,” said Rocky. “Remember that abandoned Lebanese restaurant we camped in for a week?”

  Wyatt’s eyes were closed, and he easily pictured the rundown building, paint peeling, all the equipment still in place, and a freezer full of rotten food. There had been three double mattresses in the old office, likely dragged there from a dump by junkies. He’d shared one with Carl and Rocky and had slept like a log despite the smell that rose when they lay down. “All I remember is how bad you smelled,” he joked.

  Rocky chuckled at that. “I thought it was you.”

  ***

  At the sound of the door opening and closing, Wyatt opened his eyes and wiped drool off his chin. He’d fallen asleep.

  “Walmart for the apocalypse,” said Emm, leading the others into the living room, four large bags in hand. She glanced into them and threw one each to Wyatt and Rocky. “I got you some clothes, toothpaste and stuff. Oh, yes, and deodorant.”

  While Wyatt wanted to talk, it would have to wait. He could hardly keep his eyes open, so he followed Rocky to their room. He was asleep in a moment, the thick duvet pulled around him, a mound of pillows at his head.

  Chapter 20

  The smell of flowers woke him the next morning. He pulled the blankets up over his head for another few minutes of sleep.

  Rocky yanked everything off. Singing an old metal classic from the days before big hair ruined things, he was in fine spirits. “Been a while since I’ve slept that good. The HUC is nice enough, but the beds are old and used. Man, I miss living around the rich. They’re bastards, but they live well.”

  Wyatt crawled out of bed, blinking to force his eyes to stay open. The ‘windows’ had changed to show a beach and ocean view. The sun was well over the horizon. This got him out of bed. “What time is it?”

  “Late.”

  “Where are the girls?”

  “Living room,” replied Rocky as Wyatt pulled on pants. “Take five minutes to clean up, how about? You stink.”

  “Ya, you too…” said Wyatt, but realized his roommate had already showered, and that was where the smell of flowers came from. Taking the bag that the twins had brought back, he snuck to the shared shower.

  Locked away, with the water running hot, he checked the bag. No sandals. After considering his options for a moment, he washed off the bottom of the tub. With clean towels from under the sink sitting ready, he ignored the feel of the tub—which others had used—under his feet and luxuriated under water that was just almost too hot. It was glorious to wash off the dirt of the last days.

  There was a bar of purple soap that smelled of lavender or some plant, in the shower, but he opened a new one. Scrubbing himself hard, he planned out the day, as best he could. They were here to avoid Joe and Jessica, but hiding wasn’t his primary goal and he needed to find someone to help him with the virus.

  Wyatt rubbed hard at his arm, the gunshot wound still raw, and the water turned red as it washed it clean. Before moving on to the rest of his body, he held his left hand up. The wound was red, bright red and inflamed, even more than it usually was. As he’d done many times before, he held it up to the shower head, and cleaned it out with the hot spray.

  With a deep breath to focus himself, he exited the shower with some regret. He wished he could have stayed there, locked away from the world, for days.

  ***

  His friends were gathered in the living room when he finally exited the bathroom, clean and in new clothing. Blue jeans, and a black shirt that was tighter than he liked. He shot Emm a dirty look—she’d made the choice—he sat down. “No food?” he asked, his belly rumbling.

  “We waited for you,” Ari said.

  “And are starving…” said Ira.

  “How late is it?”

  Rocky checked a phone that had no service. “After ten.”

  Wyatt brushed off a stool and took a seat. “We can go eat, but first, I want to be clear about what we’re doing today.” The group was silent, waiting on him to give their marching orders.

  How to start this. I’ve avoided talking about it for so long. He sat quietly, head down, and counted to five. In the end, he went with the simple unvarnished truth. “Teri thinks the virus in me is mutating. Or something, I don’t know. The
re is a guy here who is an expert in DNA, and we need to find him.”

  “How are we doin’ that?” asked Rocky.

  He’d thought about that while in the shower, and the night before. “Nothing special. We talk to people, figure out who is who. We gotta go for breakfast, and don’t exactly have full social calendars, so there’s lots of time to look around.”

  Emm didn’t disagree. “It’s as good a plan as any.”

  Thanks for the ringing endorsement.

  Ari stood up. “I’m hungry.”

  Ira joined her. “Let’s do it.”

  “We’ll split up. People are more likely to talk to us, or approach us, if we’re not in one big group. Emm and Rocky, and Ira and Ari, you’re groups one and two.”

  “Lovely names, prosaic,” said Emm.

  Wyatt ignored the comment. He wanted everyone out of the room so he could have a small private discussion. “And Teri and I will be the third group.”

  Everyone stood except for Teri. That wasn’t a surprise; she knew what he was thinking, or something like that. “You guys get moving. We’ll follow in a few minutes.”

  The others gone, he took one chair, leaned back and crossed his arms. How to ask… what to ask. He needed information. “You know what I want to ask,” he said to Teri.

  Teri didn’t sign or say anything.

  With a long sigh, Wyatt gave up. “How does it work?”

  “What?” signed Teri.

  “You know.”

  “No, I don’t…” she said and then clicked twice.

  “When you… sense something. When you… influence someone.”

  “How does it work?”

  “Yes. I need to better understand this thing.”

  “Jedi mind trick?”

  Frustrated, and not really wanting to have the conversation, he snapped, “Don’t be a teenager, not now. We’re locked in a getaway resort for apocalyptic crazies, our friends are under siege…” and I’m sick, and I know it.

  “But I am a teenager…” she said. Teri stood and walked to him, pushed his feet off the stool and sat down. “And I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know?”

  “Can you describe how you see something?”

  “Of course, I can,” he said, but of course he couldn’t. Leaning back, he thought of that. Just because I have senses doesn’t mean I know how they work. I don’t feel sound hitting my ears, I just hear. “What about…” he paused, not sure how to phrase it. “Hell, you saw the future!”

  “When?” she asked, confused.

  “You showed up when I blew up that bulldozer. Before I did it. How’d you know something was going wrong?”

  “Tip of tongue.”

  With a raised eyebrow, he showed he didn’t understand.

  “When something’s on the tip of your tongue, or in the back of your mind… it’s like that. I get a feeling. It’s not clear, it’s not magic, it just is.”

  “So, you can see the future?”

  She shrugged. “Something was wrong. I came.”

  “That’s not good enough. I need to know how it works.”

  “But I don’t. Is it happening to you?” asked Teri.

  I don’t know, but I’m having strange feelings, as if something is going on inside, but don’t know how to use it. He grunted and shrugged at the same time. “Something’s going on, I don’t know. I did that thing with the bulldozer… and my ability to heal hasn’t worked twice in the last months.”

  He sat quietly for a moment and Teri watched him, waiting. She didn’t respond.

  “It was bad enough when I could put my hand on people and heal them… and yeah, I understand what you’re saying, I never knew how it worked. But I got sorta used to that, and it was clear. Touch them, close my eyes and imagine them healing. Now… I don’t know what’s going on.”

  Teri leaned forward, her spotted cloud eyes boring into him, the dots appearing to him as a cluster of stars in a faraway galaxy. She waited for him to say more.

  He needed something… anything that could help him understand. How else was he to explain it to whatever doctor they found? “The electricity thing, where you’ve shocked people? Can you control it?”

  “A little.”

  That provided a ray of hope… something that could be managed… used… directed. He waited for more.

  “I can’t make it happen, it’s not always there,” she said.

  The two again lapsed into silence. He appreciated the quiet, but was not sure the discussion had helped. The question is, what do I want? To remove the virus? Do I want a cure, or do I want to control it, to use it?

  He wondered if it was possible to control, and what it’d do to him if he took that route. Over the years, he’d spent many hours trying to sense it within him, attempting to force it to submit to his will, but it’d always been out of reach, like a word on the tip of his tongue.

  Closing his eyes, he reached deep into himself, using the same meditation techniques that he’d relied upon when he’d been younger to visualize success in track, school or chess.

  He sensed his skin, millions of nerve receptors sending electrical impulses to his spine and then his brain. Starting at his feet, he forced himself to focus on the feel of his socks, soft and comfortable against his skin. The shoes were tight. Under the skin, he tensed his muscles and felt their responses. He flexed and felt his way up his body. Reaching his hand, he concentrated, searching for feeling from the wound that never healed. Nothing. The nerves had gone dark years before, the constant pain of the wound having dulled them.

  Once his body was done, he tried to push his gaze inwards. Could he sense the virus? Sometimes he thought he could, an alien that moved through him, a mind of its own. Was this real, or just a fevered daydream? Wyatt didn’t know. His mind was beyond its own ability to sense. He couldn’t feel the neurons working inside him, just the outcomes.

  As always, he counted back from five to complete the ritual, slowly, taking a deep breath with each number. He held each breath in his lungs until they hurt and then releasing it, forcing out all the air that he could, before taking the next one.

  “One last question,” he said, standing up. It was time to start the search. And for breakfast.

  Teri raised an eyebrow, getting up.

  “You sensed something when we arrived this morning. You pulled at my hand. Do you know what that tickle was?”

  “No,” she signed, “just something… someone familiar.”

  Okay, that’s gonna be good enough. “Breakfast?”

  “Lunch,” signed Teri.

  “Brunch?” asked Wyatt.

  “All three. I’m hungry. Less talk, more eating,” signed Teri, and they stepped out to search Palna for food and more.

  Chapter 21

  They followed the long hall from the living area to the large common area. Paintings—modern art mostly—graced the walls and a plush carpet guided them. Money hadn’t been a problem in the construction of the large hideaway, that much was clear. Standing on the second-floor lookout, they scanned for food, but nothing was in sight.

  Wyatt stopped a couple walking by and asked for directions.

  “Who are you with?” was the hesitant reply.

  “With?”

  “I don’t know where you people eat,” the man said. The woman with him didn’t even look at them, having instead walked a few steps ahead, standing with her back to the group.

  “Um?” replied Wyatt.

  “Good luck,” the man said amicably, joined his friend, and walked off.

  “Weird,” said Wyatt and led Teri down the escalator to the main floor. Four older women sat across from each other on two couches. They stopped talking when he approached.

  “Do you know where we can get some food? We’re new.”

  “Welcome,” said one. “Who are you with?”

  Honesty seemed the best policy. “I don’t quite know what that means.”

  “Not quite?” said another. She was elegantly dr
essed, white pearls accentuating an equally pale pant suit. Like the pair before, she looked him up and down.

  “Well, not at all.”

  “That’s fine, dear. Welcome to Palna. You and your friends have a lunchroom dedicated just to you. When there, you should have someone give you a tour and instructions.”

  “Thanks… um, can you point us towards it?”

  She pointed towards a pair of nondescript doors. “Down there.”

  These led to yet another long hallway—nothing in this place appeared to be easy to reach. There were rooms off to the side, numbered doors with peepholes in the middle. The floor wasn’t carpeted however, and the walls were bare white.

  After a turn and another long stretch of residences—and not a single person—Wyatt could hear voices and, eventually, the clacking of plates and cutlery. The smell of food arrived soon after and his stomach growled in response. They hastened their pace and arrived at double doors that opened into a large open cafeteria.

  “How’s this work?” wondered Wyatt, gazing longingly at the buffet. “Is it free? Do we need money?” Teri didn’t reply.

  A young man at a nearby table got up when he saw them and walked over. “Hi, I don’t recognize you. Who are you with?”

  Happy to have someone helpful, Wyatt asked what they were all wondering. “Do we serve ourselves?”

  “Didn’t you get cards when you were hired? Who do you work for?” the youth asked. He was tall and lanky, with an open face.

  Wyatt was no longer happy, now frustrated. “Why is everyone giving us the runaround and asking who we work for? We don’t work for anyone. We paid to be here. I paid.” Well, Seymour paid, but I’m supposed to be him, so that should be good enough to get eggs and toast.

  “Oh, darned, forgive me, sir. Guests have their own lunchrooms, with full service. This is the employee cafeteria. I’ll have someone escort you to whichever one you prefer.” With this he turned back to a table and beckoned one of three women sitting there. “Olivia, these are guests. Can you take them to their assigned room?”

  A stunningly pretty woman dropped her knife and fork, jumped to her feet, her blonde hair bobbing as she ran over. She appeared distressed. “I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t realize you were guests.”