by Alan Janney
Samantha had given me the intel on Mitch. He was the only known Infected in Australia, and long-time chums with Carter. During the 90’s he’d been a championship rugby player, and now he raced dirt bikes. He never lost, she said, unless he crashed on purpose, which actually he enjoyed. His permanent home was deep in the outback, where he owned a colossal and prosperous cattle ranch.
“So he’s handsome and fascinating and rich,” I said.
“Yeah. So?”
“And he asked you to marry him?”
“Twice. So?” she asked, a dangerous glint in her eye. I dropped the subject quickly.
Next, second period. I walked into my new English classroom…and found Samantha and Mitch. Again. Already there. Waiting on me.
“You two,” I hissed through clenched teeth. They smiled innocently from their desks. “Out. Get out. This is my English class.”
“We’re enrolled in this English class too,” Samantha shrugged, palms up.
“Strange coincidence, mate,” Mitch grinned and all the surrounding girls sighed loudly. I stormed out of the classroom and dialed my least favorite computer hacker.
He answered and I said, “I’m going to kill you, Puck.”
“Don’t be mad at PuckDaddy. Samantha made me. And then Croc made me. They’re worried the Chemist will find you.”
“Are they in all my classes?” I asked.
“……maybe.”
“Find me another senior English class. This very second, Puck.”
He sighed loudly and dramatically. “Fine, fine, hang on. No big deal, I’m just coding some bitching software that’ll access cellphone cameras, but whatever.”
“Get me another class, and transfer them out of my third and fourth periods. I’m not playing with you.”
“You’re worse than Carter,” he grumbled under his breath. I waited impatiently while his keyboard clicked. Traffic flowed around me in a mad dash toward second-period classrooms. “Okay, here we go. Hmmmm, not a lot of options, your majesty. All the other low-level English classes are in the afternoon.”
“Low-level??” I yelped. “I’m not low-level!”
“Well…you’re not smart.”
“Yes I am!”
“Chase, you’re a badass. You kick butt. I’ve never seen someone move like you. But you’re kinda dumb. Your GPA is pathetic.”
I stared wide-eyed at the phone. “No it’s not. It’s like a 3.5!”
“Exactly. I graduated with a 4.5 when I was fifteen, stupid.”
“Yeah, but…I’m very busy, and… Just put me in another English class!!”
“Fine. I’m force-adding you to the honors class down the hall.”
“Thank you. And get those two goons out of my other classes.”
“Hmm. Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll see.”
I hustled to the classroom, furious that everyone thought I needed a bodyguard, and tried to sneak in. I failed. The students buzzed when I entered, and the befuddled teacher asked if I’d completed the summer reading list.
Whoops. Hadn’t expected this.
“The summer reading list,” I repeated, thinking fast.
“Right,” the teacher smiled, her hands tightly clasped together. “The list of novels?”
“The list of novels,” I repeated again, turning red. Maybe I should just start running.
“Yes, he read them,” someone chirped from the back. “We read the novels together.”
Katie. She sat smoldering in the middle of her giggling friends, queen of the nerds, watching me with predatory eyes. With the teacher’s permission, I took the seat behind her.
“What are you doing here??” she whispered. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Just a strange coincidence, mate,” I grinned.
“This class is hard. You will fail.”
“Worth it.”
All her friends listened and smiled. I wanted to shoo them away.
“You might need a tutor…” she mused.
“I’m not that dumb.”
“I wasn’t insinuating you were dumb. I was hinting that I could help you study.”
“Every night,” I agreed. “For hours and hours. I’m deeply stupid.”
“Obviously.”
“I like to hold hands while I study with a tutor.”
“I’m afraid my boyfriend is the jealous type,” she winked.
The cute girl next to Katie said, “I’m available for tutoring!”
“You’re hired.” I stuck my tongue out at Katie.
“She can have you when I’m through with you,” Katie whispered. Her eyes sparkled, and she turned back around.
* * *
Our lunch table experienced a population explosion. I walked into the cafeteria and found all the seats taken. A couple of young football players were sitting with Cory; Lee was presiding over a physics discussion with some fellow inventors; Katie had become a minor celebrity after both ESPN and Time magazine featured stories on her and Tank, and so she had a new retinue; finally, Samantha and Croc were new and they had groupies. In a school full of beautiful people who valued physical perfection, those two were royalty. They were athletic and lean and attractive (not to mention they looked like college students, at the very least) and currently a gaggle of girls were laughing at something Mitch said. Samantha had been noticed and admired last semester, but now she was being worshipped.
In the past, my friends and I had taken up four or five seats at a table for meant for twelve, near the door. Now, extra chairs were brought and there still wasn’t a single vacant spot.
I was on the verge of demanding a share of someone’s seat when a school administrators hustled in and handed Katie a vase of a dozen short-stemmed red roses. All of the girls ooh’ed and aah’ed and took pictures of Katie blushing.
“Tank,” I grumbled, and I trudged outside to eat alone at one of the picnic tables in the courtyard.
* * *
Much to Samantha Gear’s chagrin, Croc used his disease-enhanced body to walk onto the football team and earn a starting spot on defense. He was playing linebacker, and playing it so well Samantha and I kept reminding him to take it easy. He was everywhere on the field, as if he always knew where I was going to throw. On the bright side, he’d be able to hit Tank hard when we played the Dragons. Croc wasn’t as big or as strong as Tank, but he was Infected, a Hyper Sapien, and he leveled the playing field.
During practice, while the special teams unit was kicking, Mitch came over and stood beside me. He made our uniform look super cool.
I asked, “Have you heard from Carter recently?”
“Best not to worry about that one, mate, always off on a dodgy walkabout. Could be on the North Pole,” he grinned. “Haven’t seen him in weeks.”
“I’m surprised he doesn’t stay in Los Angeles, considering what’s going on in Compton,” I said.
“Carter stirs a lot of pots. He’s a deadly information broker, one of the most powerful men in the world. Hard to pin him down. That’s why he asked me to come. Lend a hand.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I don’t sleep much, mate. But I rented a few rooms. One here, one in Compton, and another in Santa Monica.”
“Compton?!” I yelped.
“Well, truth be told, I didn’t exactly rent that one. Just broke into an empty room. Thought it might be suspicious, otherwise.”
“You’re staying inside the Chemist’s territory?”
“I’ll show ya, no worries. Keep yer voice down. We’ll go soon. Maybe even Samantha-girl will tag along. It’ll be bonza.”
“What do you do in Compton?”
“I’m poaching,” he winked. “Or at least, I will be soon. Still getting the lay of the land. But I’mma try to reduce Martin’s special army.”
“How?”
“Kidnap’em if I can. Else…” He drew a line across his neck. “That’s usually Samy’s job. But she’s a bit busy these days.”
Samy. He called her Samy. Hilarious. Her
head would explode if she heard.
“Where else did you say you’re staying? Santa Monica? That’s over an hour away. Why’d you rent a room there?”
“Heard it’s a great watering hole!”
I looked at him blankly.
He clapped me on the back. “You’re a right grommet, you are. Surfing, mate!” he clarified. “I love to surf. Especially at night. Let’s go this weekend, it’ll be aces!”
Croc might be the coolest person in the world.
I stayed after practice to work on the game plan with Coach Garrett and Coach Keith, our offensive coordinator. Our veteran running back had graduated, and our hopes weren’t very high for his replacement, a bruiser named Gavin.
When I arrived home, Samantha Gear and Dad were sitting across the kitchen table from each other, intently focused on bits of metal in their hands. Gleaming hardware littered the tabletop surface. They were using plastic oil bottles, cotton swabs, and copper wire brushes to clean and polish the already perfect metal. Neither looked up. Neither spoke.
“Are you two…cleaning pistols?” I asked, bewildered.
“And your father’s shotgun,” Samantha said. “An Ithaca 37. Unfortunately.”
“Standard issue weapon,” Dad noted, still bent over his brush. “It gets the job done.”
“Not against the Chemist’s super goons, it won’t,” Samantha shook her head. “You need more firepower.”
I asked, “Sooooo…did anybody make dinner?”
Dad was amused and he asked, “What shotgun do you recommend?”
“You don’t want a shotgun at all,” Samantha said, and she blew the hair out of her eyes without breaking focus. “If you’re close enough to use a shotgun, you’re dead.”
“Your friend Samantha is an impressive gun expert.”
I nodded. I knew this. Dad, however, probably shouldn’t.
Samantha shot me a discreet look and said, “My father taught me about guns.”
“Yes,” Dad mused, rubbing his chin and peering at her thoughtfully. “I spoke to him. Nice guy.”
My head was spinning. “You…you spoke to Samantha’s…dad?”
“Something wrong with that?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Nothing. I guess…not. Did you guys already have dinner?”
Samantha ignored me and said, “I’ll tell you what you need, Richard.”
“Don’t call him Richard.”
“You need an assault rifle. And you need grenades.” She started jamming metal parts together and the mess in front of her coalesced into a pistol. “A handgun is useless, unless you’re a Hyper Sapien like them; his goons are too quick. A shotgun is better, but still not ideal because you’d be too close. Your best chance is to stun or injure them with grenades, and then fire long-range with the assault rifle.”
Dad, to his credit, was not dismissing her opinions. “That’s the theory we’re operating under too. It sounds like you’ve seen the classified videos of our failed Compton operations.”
“Everyone has, Richard.”
“Stop calling him Richard.”
Samantha continued, “There’s no such thing as classified once it hits the internet. At least that’s what a hacker told me. Your troops lost because they tried traditional tactics. But those tactics are based on being able to hit slow targets with short bursts. That’ll never work.”
Dad finished reassembling his gun, and rammed the clip home. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“No. Listen.” Her jaw was set. “Don’t bother with crowd dispersal techniques. Don’t bother with non-lethal munitions. They’re worthless against the monsters. Trust me. Throw grenades in large numbers, Richard. Better yet, park attack helicopters a half-mile off your strike zone and unleash hell. Then send in the infantry with grenades.”
Dad shook his head. “Too many civilian casualties.”
“You can’t outfight them,” Samantha said, serious and grim. “You’ll lose. But you can outgun them. That’s your advantage. Better firepower.”
“Your ideas are surprisingly sound, coming from a high school senior. But we do not risk civilian lives. Not even as a last resort.”
“Then you only have one option left,” Samantha shrugged.
“Which is?”
“Send in your own monsters.”
* * *
I texted Katie that night.
Having a hard time with your letter. I have, “I love you because I want to love you.”
She replied quickly, >> =) =) =) I like that one a lot. It’s probably deeper than you realize.
I smiled. I’m deep.
>> Where did you eat lunch today?
Outside. Our table was full.
>> Silly. You’re the reason we all sit there. You can always sit with me!
For reasons I couldn’t explain, my heart filled to bursting and tears seeped out of my eyes.
Thanks. But it looked like you had your hands full with flowers.
>> Yeah
A long pause.
>> Chase, you’re perfect. And you deserve someone who treats you that way. My situation is so complicated. I don’t deserve your affection.
Katie, keep in mind, I don’t love you because you deserve it (even though you do). I love you because I want to. It brings me joy and peace.
>> That cannot possibly be true. Just the thought of it makes me want to cry.
>> And make out. =P
That can be arranged.
>> But I feel like I’m hurting you. Daily.
Then break up with the bozo.
>> It’s not that simple. I wish it was.
What did the card say? With the flowers he sent you?
>> You don’t want to know stuff like that, Chase.
Sure I do.
>> It said, ‘In a world of fool’s gold, you’re the only treasure that’s genuine.’
Wow. That’s not bad, actually.
>> I was surprised too.
Was Tank developing real feelings for Katie? How could he not be? She’s perfect. For a long time he’d just faked it to hurt me, but now?
I sighed and I pulled out the Outlaw’s phone on a whim. I texted Natalie North.
Hello Natalie. Are you back in Los Angeles?
She texted back after a minute. >> Yes, last week. Filming was behind schedule.
Still dating Captain FBI, Isaac Anderson?
>> He’s here right now!!
Tell him the Outlaw says Hi.
>> I will NOT. He’s trying to relax. He cannot know that we text like this.
I told her. The girl that I love, I told her.
>> Good! How’d it go?? (I’m a little jealous)
>> (Okay, a lot jealous. But I have a boyfriend, so it’s okay.)
She's very conflicted. But I knew she would be.
>> She
>> Is
>> INSANE
Just then, Croc knocked on my window. I nearly had a heart attack, and my phone went clattering into the far corner. My bedroom was on third floor! I opened the window and he gracefully climbed in, like a gymnast.
“Sorry to scare you, mate,” he laughed, looking at my stuff with interest. “I can’t reach Samantha’s room. She wouldn’t let me in, anyhow.”
“What are you doing here??” My heart was about to pound out of my chest.
“I brought her flowers and lollies.” He held up a bouquet. “To surprise her.”
“Okay,” I said, although this made no sense. At all. “I’ll take them to her.”
“Ah, good on’ya, Chase, but I’ll take them. It’s a special day.”
“A special day. Why?”
Samantha Gear burst into the room, wearing athletic shorts and a t-shirt, and nearly breathing fire. “Because it’s my birthday,” she growled.
“Too right!” Croc laughed. “There’s my girl.”
I cried, “It’s your birthday?? How could you not tell us?”
“Croc,” Samantha said, covering her eyes in obvious vexation. “You are e
xhausting me.”
I asked, “How old are you?”
“Chase, I’m a senior in high school. That’s what matters.”
“It’s the big one,” Croc said, presenting the flowers, which she ignored. “She the dirty thirty. And isn’t she a beauty in those shorts!”
Samantha glared at him. “You’re like a gnat that I can’t get rid of.”
“Hey. Be nice. What’s the matter with you?”
“Thanks mate,” Croc said, although the harsh treatment didn’t appear to affect his spirits.
“We should have a party!”
“Chase.” She held up a finger in my face. “If you throw me a party, I swear I will move out.”
“Aces! And move in with me!”
“Croc,” she said, and she took a firm grip on his chin. “Mitch. Sweetie, listen to me. It’s not going to happen. Ever. Please believe that.”
I asked, confused, “Why not? Croc is great!”
“The lad’s got a point, you ask me.”
She said, “Because. Because of everything. Infected just don’t work like that. At least not with each other.”
“I brought you all your favorite chocolates,” he smiled. The man had relentless optimism. “Happy birthday, love.”
“Thank you, Croc. Now go. You’re driving me insane.”
Dad appeared at the doorway. We all froze, like guilty little kids. His piercing scowl had been strengthened by years on the job. It didn’t help our resolve that he was wearing a badge on his belt. He stared hard at all of us, but mostly Mitch.
“G’day, sir,” Mitch said. “Sorry ‘bout barging in. I’m mates with Chase.”
“Son,” Dad said.
I responded, “Yes sir?”
“This is unusual.”
“I know. Sorry.”
“Can you understand why this late-night visit makes me…apprehensive?” he asked.
“Yes, but it’s no big deal-”
“You don’t owe me an explanation. Even though it’s after eleven. But I expect your conduct to be worthy of my trust. We clear?” His words might as well have been chiseled in stone. All of us nodded.
“Yes sir. Absolutely.”
Samantha said, “Definitely.”
