Outcasts

by Alan Janney

  Outcasts

  Alan Janney

  Outcasts

  Copyright © 2016 by Alan Janney

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  @alanjanney

  alan@ChaseTheOutlaw.com

  First Edition

  Printed in USA

  Cover by Damonza

  Artwork by Anne Pierson

  Formatting by Polgarus

  ISBN: 978-0-9962293-8-8

  Sparkle Press

  A note from the author:

  I recommend reading ‘Kid’ before you dive into Outcasts. In this short story, readers get a glimpse behind enemy lines into the daily life of a Chosen known to the Outlaw as Baby Face. It’s not required reading, but it’s fun, and it might shed light on a few mysteries.

  Enter your email here and I’ll instantly send you the short story for free. http://eepurl.com/b1fquj

  I’ll never spam you. That’s the worst.

  Happy reading.

  The book is dedicated

  to Larry and Debbie

  Table of Contents

  A note from the author:

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Epilogue One (of Three)

  Epilogue Two (of Three)

  Epilogue Three (of Three)

  Prologue

  Special Agent Isaac Anderson

  December 2018

  We meet in secret because the President no longer trusts us. He cannot openly call for our arrest, so he monitors our group and phones our supervisors.

  Because we support the Outlaw. Because we seek cooperation with his team.

  And because the President is firmly ensnared by the Blue-Eyed Witch.

  We’re forced to operate in shadow, and now we meet in a vacant middle school just outside Los Angeles in one of the dark regions. No electricity. The power grid has been finicky since the hostile takeover of downtown LA.

  The task force I’ve gathered is young. The Federal Bureau of Investigations, the Central Intelligence Agency, the National Security Agency, Navy, Army, Air Force, the Marshals, Los Angels Police Department, the Drug Enforcement Administration, and USSOCOM have all sent representatives that I trust. All military or law enforcement. No elected officials. No politicians. Quick thinkers, decisive, adaptable, and resourceful. No one in the room is afraid for his or her pension. Nobody is stodgy or inflexible. We all support the Outlaw.

  And we’re all in way over our heads.

  I say, “Let’s get started,” and push a button on my iPhone. The battery-powered LCD projector flares to life, displaying my powerpoint on the wall. The rest of the room is dark. “I want to discuss four things in the next twenty minutes. The disease. The Infected. The Chosen. And the super drug.”

  A commander in the Navy speaks up. “Chosen and Infected are different things? I had no clue.”

  “I’ll get to that. But first, I need to disclose that we have a visitor. I invited him.” The members of the task-force glance at each other in confusion. “Say Hello, PuckDaddy.”

  The bluetooth Bose speaker on the table bursts to life. “Hello Captain FBI and his team of awesomeness! Thanks for inviting me, but I’d have listened in anyway. PuckDaddy rules.”

  The commander says, “PuckDaddy?? Isn’t he the hacker I’ve read about?”

  “Yes. But he’s our friend and ally. I’ll explain in a minute. I want to start our short meeting by discussing the disease. This won’t take long, because we know almost nothing about it.”

  “Man-made?”

  “Negative. It occurs naturally. We’re almost certain of that. The Outlaw and his team agree on this. The disease has been around for centuries.”

  The bodies in the room shift and murmur in surprise. “Impossible. Hell, how are we just now hearing of it, then?”

  “I’ll get to that. Hold your questions.”

  PuckDaddy says, “Yeah shut up.”

  “We don’t have much time. Here’s what you need to know. It’s incredibly rare, and usually fatal. US Bioservices believe it attacks the lymph nodes and various glands, overproducing hormones to a lethal extent. Any body that survives is…enhanced. Sped up. Stronger. Harder. Contrary to rumors, we’re not dealing with supernatural beings. This isn’t paranormal stuff. They aren’t ghosts or angels or vampires. They’re sick. And the result is that they…do stuff better than we do. Like think. And run. And jump. And shoot. No flying. No laser beams eyesight. No retractable claws.”

  “I wish. That’s be SO cool!”

  An Army colonel asks, “What do we call the disease?”

  Bob, the FBI biochemist I brought with me, spoke up. “We don’t have a sample. We know nothing about its chemistry. So we’ve dubbed it the Hyper Virus. Unofficially.”

  “It’s contagious?”

  “I’ll cover that. More on the virus later. If it even is a virus. Moving on. Next, the Infected. This is the term the Outlaw uses for individuals sick since birth. Infected. Very few individuals are born with the Hyper Virus, and most die during infancy or adolescence. The survivors are-”

  “Gods. The survivors are gods,” the Navy commander grunts.

  “Powerful,” I correct him. “The survivors are powerful, and very secretive. That’s how they’ve remained hidden for so long. Fortunately there aren’t very many. We estimate fifteen.”

  “That’s not an exact number?”

  “No. An approximation. I’ll show you their pictures in a moment. But the important thing to know is this: our real enemy is a small subset of the Infected. Not all the Infected. Our real enemy is not the Hyper Virus. And not the Chosen. We can handle them at a later date. Right now we need to focus on-.”

  “The Chemist.”

  “Right. Their leader is the Chemist.” I push a button and a picture of a handsome, gaunt, gray-haired man comes on screen. “I hope you’ve all been following the online updates provided by Teresa Triplett, his captive. Fascinating stuff.”

  “Not the word I’d choose.”

  “You all know about him, but here’s some new intel. His first name is Martin, and we think he’s over two hundred years old.” I progress quickly through a series of nine photos, starting at present day and going backwards. “NSA used what we know about him to comb through photographs, and they discovered these pictures. Th
e earliest is from the 1930s.” On screen is a black and white image, clearly of the Chemist, standing with a group of European military officials. “Another symptom of the disease. Longevity. And the older the Infected, the stronger he becomes.”

  “What…how?”

  Bob the FBI biochemist answers, “Most likely advanced cellular regeneration. The sun’s harmful effects don’t stick.”

  “And because we’re totally sweet,” PuckDaddy interjects.

  “That’s why the Chemist is their leader. He’s the oldest, he’s the strongest. I can provide more information about him in a minute. But first, we have reason to believe his terrorist group isn’t as monolithic as we once assumed.”

  “Which means?”

  “It’s fractured. Dissension among his crew, in other words.” Another slide, this one of a beautiful blonde girl. Grumbles from the room. “This is Mary. Code named the Blue-Eyed Witch.”

  “She’s the reason we’re meeting in secret,” NSA spoke up. “Intel reports that she’s in the oval office at least once a week.”

  “Precisely. She knows we’re aiding the Outlaw, and her control is growing. I suspect she’ll have warrants out for our arrest soon. She’s tearing our government in half. She’s the reason I no longer trust Washington. The only person I trust in that city is the Secretary of Defense. He’s reliable, thank God. Everything we know about Blue-Eyes is on the papers I gave you. No digital files.” I push a button on my phone screen, which controls the projector. Another picture, this of an angry black man with cornrows. “This is Walter. He’s much less well-known than Blue-Eyes but equally dangerous. According to a deceased informant, he and the Chemist are butting heads. The Chemist wants to control the world. Walter wants to burn it down.”

  “Yeah Walter sucks. Trust Puck.”

  Army asks, “Walter is the one leading raids on Houston and Seattle?”

  “Yes. Extremely dangerous.”

  CIA says, “We got photos of him in New York City last week.”

  “What about the Chemist? Where’s he?”

  I say, “All over the globe. Not even PuckDaddy can track him.”

  “Isn’t he barricaded downtown? How does he get out?”

  “Bribes, most likely. He has multiple insurgents inside our forces, throwing around large sums of money. FBI is handling this investigation. One of our top priorities, but there are moles in the FBI too.”

  “Good grief.”

  “Additional Infected are working with the Chemist but we have no intel on them. We know they exist. But that’s it. Just shadows. So for the sake of time let’s move on to our allied Infected.” Another slide. “This is the Outlaw. Most everything the FBI knows, the media knows too.”

  “Anderson, does the FBI know the Outlaw’s identity? I mean, who he really is?”

  “No. The FBI does not.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Feel like sharing?”

  “Not a chance.”

  PuckDaddy says, “You sneaky devil you. Puck had no idea. Good for you, Captain FBI. Keep it hush-hush.”

  “Next.” I push a button. Another slide, this one of an athletic looking girl in a helicopter, holding a rifle. “This is Shooter. She and I worked together in Camino. Trustworthy. Very capable. All known intel about Shooter is printed on your papers. She’d follow the Outlaw into hell.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure. The same reason I would, I guess. But what you need to know is that she’s on our side.”

  “She’s the one who shot down the attack helicopters?”

  “Yeah! That was crazy cool!”

  I say, “She shot and killed the pilots of airborne helicopters while she herself was in an airborne helicopter, yes.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “That’s the power of Infected.”

  “Damn freaks.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Puck says. Perhaps his involvement was a bad idea. Too late now.

  I say, “At least she’s on our side. Next.” Another picture. Laughter. On screen is an illustration of a smiling computer. “PuckDaddy. We have no photograph of him.”

  “Trust me. I’m hot.”

  DEA blurts, “You have proof the cyber terrorist PuckDaddy is working with the Outlaw?”

  “I do. He’s Infected, which explains the enormous gap he has on all other hackers. Plus he assisted on the cargo plane capture over the Pacific.”

  “Wow.”

  The speaker rattles, “And don’t call me a cyber terrorist. More like a cyber Robin Hood. Puck is running security for this little meeting of yours. Plus I have nude photos of all of you.”

  They laugh. Good. We need unity. I say, “My opinion is that these three, the Outlaw and Shooter and PuckDaddy, are our best bet to end this nightmare. But there are other Infected we don’t know much about.” Another slide. A bald man smoking a cigarette. “This is Carter. PuckDaddy says he’s basically a mercenary and does a lot of work in the black market. He is enemies with the Chemist but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s our ally. Is that right?”

  “Yeah, basically. He’s not a bad dude. Just a hard-ass. Don’t tell him I said that.”

  “More information about him on your papers.” New slide. A large man with a hard face and cold eyes. “Code name Russia. We know nothing, except he works with Carter and killed dozens of Chosen in the Camino College shootout.”

  Puck adds, “He lives outside of Moscow usually. Likes to ice fish. Sometimes dives in himself!”

  New slide. I say, “You know this one. Tank Ware. We have him in custody.”

  The Army colonel says, “I thought you said we have no blood samples? Of the disease? You have an incarcerated Infected, for Christ sake.”

  “Getting a blood sample from this behemoth is not easy. We’ve tried. He’s already killed one guard. It’ll happen. Soon. Next.” New slide. “The girl who set herself on fire.”

  “Anderson, a question. In the email you said she was the Chemist’s most recent creation. Wouldn’t that mean she’s Chosen? Not Infected? I’m still confused on the difference.”

  “Good point. We know a little more about Hannah than the other’s. PuckDaddy doesn’t like revealing much information on the Infected, but he explained Hannah Walker in detail. She was hurt during the Compton explosions, but the Chemist salvaged her body. She underwent a full blood exchange, which sped up her transformation. She’s as strong as an Infected, which is why I’ve chosen to categorize her with them. But, whatever, we can categorize her however we like.”

  “How does she set herself on fire and survive?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “Scary as hell.”

  “Agreed. Those are all the photos PuckDaddy will share. There are other Infected. We know they exist, but that’s all we know. That’s why we estimate fifteen. Fortunately that is a fixed number. It’s not growing.”

  “More than enough, you ask me.”

  “Next category. The Chosen. The Chemist’s army.” On screen were gangs of raving lunatics. “You asked if the disease is communicable. The short answer is No, except for the Chemist. Apparently his body produces contagious blood. The other Infected do not. Yet. They aren’t old enough. And the Chemist is infecting people around their eighteenth birthday, creating his army of Chosen.”

  “Army of wild animals.”

  “Savages. Some of my officers have been chewed on.”

  “Move like cheetahs. Climb like monkeys.”

  I say forcefully, “The disease produces mild insanity. They are people with broken minds.”

  “When’s the last time you slept, Anderson?”

  “Been a while. Army R&D is working on non-lethal solutions to Chosen. They are vulnerable to electricity.”

  “Do we have more specifics about how the Chosen are being…produced?”

  Puck answers the question. “The Chemist puts them into a medically induced coma and infects them using his own blood. Keeps them under for sever
al months because the disease causes aneurysms otherwise. Headaches from hell! He calls them Twice Chosen, which is super confusing. We call them Chosen.”

  I say, “Keep this in mind; the Chosen were infected recently. They haven’t had the disease long. So they aren’t as strong as Infected. Nor as smart. Their strength is in their numbers.”

  Navy grumbles, “The Infected are gods, and Chosen are their wild animals.”

  Army asks, “Anderson, we’ve heard reports that Chosen are subservient to the Infected. True?”

  “Meh,” PuckDaddy says. “Kinda. The Chosen obey the Chemist, at least.”

  I continue, “There is a pecking order. We don’t know how it’s established. Remember, the Chosen are dangerous but they aren’t the real problem. The real problem is the Chemist’s terror group and his ability to produce Chosen.”

  “How many Chosen are there?”

  A Captain of the LAPD says, “We estimated five hundred during the Los Angeles takeover.”

  “But that’s just in Los Angeles. Doesn’t account for Seattle and Houston and God-knows-where-else. Best guess is in the thousands. Okay, we’re running out of time. Bob, tell us about the super drug.”

  “Sure. Okay. So, we got our hands on several pounds. Of the Chemist’s super drug, I mean. We did a thorough workup. And it’s astonishing. Very elegant, much more so than cocaine, although that’s a primary ingredient.”

  “More elegant?”

  Bob adjusts his glasses and says, “To be blunt, the powder is a viral vector.”

  USSOCOM asks, “The hell is a viral vector?”

  “Well. For lack of better phrasing. A delivery system to the human body. Think of the cocaine as the delivery system. And there’s a nasty surprise being delivered through said system.”

  The police captain chuckles. “Cocaine ain’t nasty enough?”

  Army asks, “What’s the payload? What’s the nasty surprise?”