Infected 8: Impulse: A Whole New Day

by P. S. Power

  That meant Mary was running the front till when the afternoon rush started. Luckily that was mainly people looking for soda and candy. A few people bought sandwiches, but the Army was actually feeding their people, finally.

  Charity shook her head at Bridget, and sighed.

  "At least I can go home tomorrow, maybe. I need to let my dad know that I'm all right. Do you think they'll let the phones call out then?"

  She didn't know they'd been blocked, honestly. The only person that she'd tried to call was Kenny, and he'd answered on the third ring.

  "Yeah. If not, we'll get you to something that will work. He has to be worried out of his mind. I... didn't think of that. Sorry. I should have gotten you someplace for that already."

  "No big thing. I'm sorry that I've been a drag on you all. I just didn't know what to do."

  Those words had Bridget running toward Charity, who flinched, since fast moving objects could make some people do that. The rush ended with them hugging, and she managed not to sound like a tiny child when she spoke, which was half miracle, at least.

  "That's what we're here for. To help people. You'd think that people would have gotten that by now. That the IPB was there to protect them. It's in the name. No one really seems to think that's right, though." She didn't go into why, standing back about then. "I need to get Marcia moving. We have that press thing in a few hours. Can you hang here? I don't think you should really be seen with us." Not if she didn't want the stink of being Infected to rub off on her.

  Perception counted for a lot, in the world they lived in.

  That, it turned out, was the plan, and she was actually able to get the Secretary of State and those Generals to agree that Quartz needed to get ready. Mainly by threatening to send her out naked in front of the cameras. She was serious, as far as that went, but the only person there that took it that way was Turner herself. The others all figured that she was kidding. Because they honestly just didn't know her.

  Rather than explain herself, she smiled and patted the older man on the back. He held a good bit more muscle there than she would have thought, actually. Enough so that she had to stand back and look at him again. Examining his body closely enough that Marcia tried to grab her hand when she started stroking his stomach.

  She got it, since her old partner knew that the next target would probably be his junk, and then she'd... Do whatever came to mind. That wasn't actually wrong, either, so she let herself be pulled away, grinning.

  "Not bad, for an old man. Sorry about that. Impulse. It's more than a name." And less than anyone there thought. Still, it made a good deflection.

  The man was solid, under his clothing. She'd thought he was carrying a spare tire under the jacket he wore, because his face just looked normal, but that wasn't the case. He was built, and if he didn't have some kind of armor under his skin she'd have to stop being Infected for a living. Given that he hadn't acted too badly at any point, he was either Infected himself, with a mild first mode, or one of those enhanced war fighters she'd heard about. It was interesting.

  Enough so that, even after apologizing, Marcia had to hold her back, twice, to prevent further groping.

  "I think that's my cue to go and get ready. I have your numbers. If all goes well we'll have a base of operations up and running inside twenty-four hours. Generals. Madame Secretary." There was a nod for each of them, and they found their own way through the shop into the front parking lot. It was a humble place to hold high powered meetings, but the important part of that was getting done anyway, even if they didn't have leather chairs and brandy to snift.

  Bridget wondered if that was what it was really called. She knew that a Brandy snifter was a thing, but was it ever said that way? To snift? It was a funny word, and the idea distracted her while Quartz gave her a long suffering look.

  "I half thought you were going to blow him in front of us all. What the hell? I know that the stress has to be high for you, but get it together. Control is important now. You're the number three Operative in the IPB at the moment. We can't afford to look bad."

  She had to bite her tongue, since calling her boss a cunt was a little less than polite. Besides, from her perspective, she was actually correct. It had looked like that. It might have even become that, if she hadn't been thinking about something totally different. She waited, controlling herself, until she heard the car drive away. Marcia wouldn't get that, since her senses were all average or below. She didn't have a sense of smell, for instance. Taste either. That meant eating wasn't any fun for her. She basically maintained her weight by drinking oil a few times per day. That reminded Bridget that they should both do that before they left. They could have the used donut oil. That was going to waste anyway, so it wouldn't cost Mary too much to provide.

  Holding up a single finger, she turned to Quartz and gave her a look. One that seemed condescending to her, but got a skeptical smile in return.

  "Are you going to tell me you weren't about to jump him?"

  "Pat down. He has armor under his skin. I couldn't tell what kind, but given the resistance I'm guessing something only semi-flexible. Also, he's either a secret steroid user, or a super soldier himself. I was moving back in for another set of tests when you grabbed me. So thanks for the vote of confidence there." She was playing, but it came out so deadpanned and angry that Marsh winced.

  "Oops? In my defense, it seemed a little out of the blue. Did you check Bentley too? I didn't see you do it, but..."

  She shrugged. "Nope. If so then he has something different going on. His movements weren't stiff enough. At first I'd just figured that the old guy, was, you get the idea, old. Your friend there seemed spry enough."

  There was a bit of pacing in the tiny living room, but not a lot. A single line out to the wall, a quick turn that a regular person couldn't have made without ankle damage and a return.

  "I really wouldn't say we were friends. We worked together, back in the day. When I was assigned to the unit. He was admin side, so I could see him not being more than he seems. Bright enough, but he can be pushy. Is this the uniform of the day?" There was pointing with a delicate looking finger. Her skin was pale and unlined, and her nails were perfect, even after being burnt. Seeing her looking there, Marcia nodded.

  "An oversight. I should have let them be melted off. It just didn't occur to me. Hopefully no one else will notice."

  "This is the outfit. Before you complain about the awful colors, I'd like to point out that I didn't have a lot to choose from for this. If you're going to be doing a lot more of this kind of thing we'll need better outfits for you. Something that says responsible and intelligent, rather than cheery bald librarian. I can do your makeup, but we should wait on all of this until after we get there. It isn't far, if we can run on the streets. Seven miles, I think?"

  There was a face at the burnt yellow top, which had a big bow on the front that was built into the neckline. Not that Marcia went around flaunting her body, but even for her it was a bit overdone. Almost prudish, really. Also, the best they could do at the moment. There was nicer clothing in Liz's closet, just nothing that would work better for what they were doing. Not that she was totally certain of that.

  It took a few minutes to pack up, since Marsh took the chance to go and scrub up. Then, when she came out, Bridget handed her a pitcher and pointed at it with her chin. It was almost a nervous tick, but not quite. She really needed to calm her body language down, at least when other people were nearby. As it stood she probably always seemed like a tweeker. Pacing, patting and thumping so casually she barely noticed it herself most of the time. Other people would though.

  "What's this?"

  "Liquid lunch. Used fry oil. It won't hurt you. I already had mine, before you whine about it. I have to taste it and everything, so count your blessings on this one. It's not pleasant." It was a bit of a hard thing for the other lady, Bridget knew. She didn't feel pain, which included hunger. Thirst too. That meant having to remember to eat and drink on her own, consc
iously, and then not actually liking it when she made herself perform.

  It made it a lot easier to eat when you wanted to, like Bridget did.

  Quartz drank it all, then cast her a dirty look, as if her need to consume food was a dark plot, that everyone in the whole world was in on. Just to get her.

  The funny thing there was that to Marcia, that idea would sometimes just make sense. Like it was a real thing. An actual, honest to goodness plot, made up just to make her life harder and less fun. Even while knowing that she'd die eventually if she didn't eat enough, and everyone was really just trying to help keep that from happening.

  Doug wasn't back yet, but if they were running at slow Marcia speeds, then they needed to go and get ready, Bridget thought. It ended up being worse than that even, because she wanted to get some exercise and stretch out a little. She'd been kind of cooped up for two whole days now, not really going full out, and her body was starting to ache from the lack. She didn't get out of shape, so it wasn't that kind of thing. She just really missed cutting loose, and doing a bit of work. At least that was what the lab boys at the base had told her.

  Marcia Turner however, the new boss of the IPB, wanted to chat, and not be listened to, by anyone except Bridget. That was clear, because instead of doing a respectable sixty miles per hour or so, she jogged along at barely twenty, holding her clothing for the event carefully over her left arm. She was barefoot, and in slightly oversized fatigues, which made her look a bit funny. Bridget didn't laugh however, worried suddenly.

  Because they could have chatted going a lot faster. That meant the lady next to her thought something was wrong.

  "What is it? Do we need to be on alert? I mean more than we already are?" Bridget searched the world around them, carefully, setting her pace to match the taller woman, her little running shoes barely making a tapping sound on the paved street. It was pretty empty, though they did pass a few Army patrols.

  To be more accurate, they were standing, and not doing rounds, but there wasn't a lot of threat in the area, and it seemed like they'd worked that one out for themselves. Unless they were all just horribly lazy. They just stood there, in clumps, the ones smoking standing in their own groups, away from the ones not rotting their lungs. People stared at them when they passed, but didn't make the mistake of trying to shoot at them, which would not have gone well.

  "This situation is fubar, Bridgie. When we get there, I want you to get to a secure location, behind the cameras, if possible. I can't guarantee that anything will happen, but if it does, I want it ended. Without killing anyone, if you can manage it. Protect the press though, even if they start acting like assclowns."

  It could be hard to remember that one, since a lot of the media tended to treat her, personally, as if she were about to go insane and start kicking their behinds. That was just because she'd had to subdue some police once and had kicked a few, to make sure they weren't just playing possum and had been under Denis's control the whole time. The Director had seemed to get it, and so had Proxy, but everyone else had acted like she was abusing them, instead of making certain they were properly treated.

  Even though they'd just been caught trying to commit a terrorist act. The press loved to forget that part though, didn't they? The idea was starting to make her mad, but not so livid she couldn't do her job. For the day that would mean making sure they didn't trip, or choke on their sodas, most likely. No one ever attacked the press directly. Not outside of the Middle East. Even there, most of the time the people that did that kind of thing were just morons, not following orders.

  It made the media feel kind of invulnerable, which showed up in their reporting. They'd walk right up to people and start asking stupid things, or make false claims to make you look bad, and then act shocked when you grabbed a handful of their junk and started to twist a bit.

  "Got it. I'm not camera ready anyway. When we get there we need to find Kenny. The intern. I told him that he might have a job, if he didn't completely screw this up. He probably will, because people can be stupid, but we're going to need someone to handle that kind of thing. Is there anything else?"

  They were padding along so slowly that she nearly whined about it, but held that in. It took about ten seconds, and she had to focus on her breathing to make it happen. It wasn't a big fight, however, and she suspected that it didn't tie in to her first mode anyway. That probably meant she was just kind of being entitled and bratty. It was a less than fun idea, but she knew that it might be pretty close to the truth.

  After all, she really did get nearly everything she wanted in life, didn't she? People acted like they were trying to be stern with her, but most of the time they caved and let her have her way. She got part of it now. No one had wanted to make her so angry she really lost it and started killing everyone that pissed her off a little. She was better than that, but who could blame the others for thinking that way?

  Marcia snorted, her delicate mouth working a bit, with no sound coming out for five or six seconds.

  "We need to go over the plan, set up signals in case things go wrong, and a fallback position, in case we need to withdraw, plus a way to communicate that. If we go in without doing even that much work, we deserve to have things blow up on us." She said it as if it were only the most obvious thing in the world.

  Given her personality, that made sense. It was also futile to argue against it.

  "Right. Well, I think yelling and arm waving is the order of the day, for communications. We can meet at the police station, if anything too major happens. Since it will probably involve them anyway, that just makes sense. They won't expect us to head to their base, right? If either of us screams fubar, then we pull back and meet there an hour later? I'll head out of town to the north, and you head west? Then circle around when it's safe for the civies and press." She thought that she knew which direction north was.

  Marcia looked at her strangely, then shrugged, still jogging along with one arm full.

  "Good enough. I'll head straight in, as the distraction. Can you do a perimeter sweep and then set up to watch the situation while I get ready? It's going to take a bit to get dressed and made up. Call it forty-five minutes?"

  It was a plan, and while she had intended to do the makeup part herself, showing off her skills, it wasn't like Quartz hadn't had training and a lot of practice in that kind of thing. All of Team One had. It was a rule. Even Argos and Prime had learned how, so they could help their less attractive friends get ready, in case they were on the road and didn't have Clari with them. It came up. At the moment she was supposed to be dead, so it would look funny if she came with them. Unless she was in disguise. No one would ever even notice her, then. Really, she could probably dress up as Prime, and have people believing it. That was her power after all. Makeup. Taken to an extreme that most people couldn't even imagine.

  What they had that day however was a two person team to do everything. If they had half a brain between them, Bridget realized, they would have called the whole thing off and relocated to someplace else. That sounded like work though, and that, as strange as it seemed, would piss off the press royally. Once they were in place they hated moving, even if you mentioned that people might not be all that happy with whoever was speaking.

  On the good side, it was her and freaking Quartz. The indestructible woman. If anyone tried for them... Well, that would be insane. Which was her partner for the day's point. The world was full of crazy and stupid people. Ones that might not think before acting.

  It really wasn't likely however.

  She had her job, however, and that meant they got to break apart about a mile from the high school. Bridget nodded at that idea, when she heard it.

  "I'll go in first, and scout things out. Give me five minutes for that. If nothing happens, like an explosion or gunfire, then you come in. We don't want your outfit to get ruined. It belongs to Liz, and I didn't actually get to ask her if it would be all right. Mary said it would, but people can be picky about their things." Sh
e was, or had been. Blowing up the base meant that a lot of them had left everything they owned inside, since taking it out could be noticed. It had been a chore just to get the people into place in time. Days of covertly hauling out of junk would have been too much.

  So, other than the clothes on her back, she had nothing. Marcia was in about the same straights, except that she'd clearly mugged one of the army guys. Bridget didn't ask about that, so she'd have plausible deniability later. Hopefully the man wasn't hurt too badly.

  "Go. You've got five, starting... Now!" It wasn't screamed, but there was a slap to the back to send her on the way. It rocked her into motion, her legs scrambling for a few steps to find purchase and speed up under her own power. She just ran then, not breaking the sound barrier, since she wasn't half that fast, but going easily over two hundred. She had to slow down almost immediately, seeing the set up in the parking lot. There were news cameras, army personnel, and unexpectedly, a group of TCC protestors.

  They were behind the cameras, though a few stations had clearly turned around and sent people into the mob, in order to get more out of the story. That was good television there. Bridget always liked watching the bigots screaming about how she needed to be sent to a camp. To protect the gun toting and unwashed masses. Because that made sense, didn't it? A trained man with a gun was the definition of a class three. Or at least being able to beat them. So if you were good with your weapons, you really didn't have a lot to fear in the world. They still went on about it, bitching and moaning all the time about being scared. Like they weren't the ones that killed the most people?

  The rest of the site was cleared easily enough. No one had worked around behind the podium, except for one boy that looked to be about twenty. He was far from cute, having a large honker in the middle of his ratlike face, and heavy glasses on. He'd also failed to dress up for the day. About half the people were camera ready, but the tech guys and gals wore a similar work uniform for news services. Jeans, and for some reason, t-shirts, with button up shirts over them. The favorite colors were blue and plaid.