Those They Betrayed

by Q J Martin

  He sprawled out on the ground. He yanked the knife out of his hand. Blood gushed from the wound, spraying him in the face. It momentarily blinded him, but it didn’t leave him any worse off than he already was. He was doubled over in pain, clutching the wrist of his injured hand and groaning loudly.

  He tried to swallow the intense sensation that was throbbing through his body and return his focus to the situation at hand.

  He saw the dog inching up on Jane again. It was kneeling its head down. It was about to pounce.

  Logan stumbled to his feet and jumped on the dog’s back. He wrapped a hand around each of its ears, ignoring the screaming pain that shot through his right palm. He yanked them back as hard as he could.

  He caught the animal by surprise. He had a moment’s reprieve, a chance to look around, to try to see where the knife had gone. He couldn’t see it. He looked back in the corner and Jane was gone. The dog reared its head and bucked. It snapped again and again, trying its best to twist around and get its jaws on any part of Logan that it could find.

  All the while, blood kept trickling down his fingers, puddling up on the back of the dog’s head. Logan began to lose his grip. He was seconds away from being thrown off, at best. He tried to figure out if, once he lost his grip, he would have time to reorient himself before the dog’s inevitable attack.

  The dog reared its head one more time, and in that exact moment, a bloody knife popped through the back of its neck, just inches away from Logan’s own face. Logan gasped and let the dog go, and it crumpled to the ground. In front of it, he saw Jane on her knees. Blood from the dog’s mouth stained her shirt.

  Logan gasped and flopped down alongside the deceased animal. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you.” He took a few good, deep breaths, and finally rose to his feet. He examined his hand, finally able to look at it clearly. It was still bleeding. His entire sleeve was drenched in red.

  He was about to check on Jane, but he felt a poke in the back of his neck. He turned around and saw an old grey-haired junkie standing behind him. In his hand, there was an empty syringe. He had injected Logan with something.

  Logan was terrified. What had been in that syringe? Before long, however, he just couldn’t bring himself to care that he had even been injected at all, let alone with what. All of his concerns seemed to be washed away. He couldn’t stand to just remain there, looking at this stranger. He hated the man. He hated everything he was and everything he stood for. He wanted nothing more than to rip the man apart, limb by limb, piece by piece. He wanted to rip his hair out. He wanted to skin him. He hated him with such great fury that he couldn’t even stand it anymore.

  He took a step forward. The man looked shocked. He dropped the needle and tried to back away, but Logan clutched his shoulder and threw him into the wall. The pain that he felt in his hand was nothing but a distant memory now, a minor inconvenience, long-forgotten. He turned around and slammed him into the door, ripping it off its hinges.

  The man was bloody and bruised. He tried to limp away as the door flopped over on the ground behind him, but Logan walked up to him and wrapped his fingers around the man’s neck. Pure hatred crossed his face, and he bared his teeth as he lifted the man up in the air.

  All Logan wanted to do was squeeze. Just squeeze and squeeze and squeeze. He wasn’t squeezing hard enough. He hated him too much. He loathed this man. The man’s eyes bugged out and his face changed colors. Logan squeezed again, and he heard a crack.

  The man’s eyes rolled back into his head. Logan released him and let him crumple to the floor. He turned around and saw Jane standing behind him, horrified. There were tears running down her cheek. He walked right up to her, but she didn’t raise a hand in defense.

  He looked her right in the eyes, and she didn’t flinch. Logan knew what he had to do. He had to kill her. She was like Randell. She was Infected. They all needed to be killed. Break her neck. Smash in his head. Finish it, then tear apart every building in every city brick by brick until he found his children.

  He couldn’t believe they didn’t stay in their home, where they were supposed to be, so he could save them. The nerve of them. He wanted to punish them, to make them suffer. He looked back at Jane, and her cool blue eyes cooled his aching heart. Why did he want to hurt everyone so badly? Why did he want everyone to suffer?

  His heart skipped a beat. He felt a wave of nausea. He turned and threw up all over the floor. He stumbled backwards a couple steps. His sight began to go blurry. Stars skirted around the peripherals of his vision.

  “What’s wrong with me?” he cried out, sweat streaming down his forehead. His heart skipped again, and again. Each time, it felt like he was being punched in the chest, and each time it got progressively worse. “What’s happening?” he huffed as he fell to his knees.

  Then he blacked out.

  Section VI

  Logan clutched the handle of the tall mug. A drop of condensation rolled over his white-knuckled grip and onto his sleeve. There was a talk-show playing on the holo above the bar. Logan held his head in his hands in such a way that he didn’t have to see the projection.

  Unfortunately, he was unable to fully block out the audio. He took another sip of his beer and tried his best. It’s not like the bits and pieces he did make out meant anything to him at all, especially not in his current state. It was like a faraway argument reverberating through a pool of water. When it finally reached Logan’s ears, it sounded like nothing more than a bunch of chirping.

  “What is so bad about them, though?” Randell said, gesturing emphatically. “I mean, there are some really useful ones with almost no side-effects.”

  “I know how you feel about them,” Logan sighed. “You don’t have to remind me.” He lifted the mug up to his mouth and allowed the ice-cold liquid to run down his throat. Everything became just a little bit blurrier.

  “I’m just saying.” Randell shrugged. He nearly fell backwards off the barstool in the process. Instead, he threw himself forward, toppling onto the bar. He couldn’t help but laugh hysterically at what had just happened.

  “It’s cheating, Randy,” Logan said, not the least bit amused. “If—if—if you grew up rich, you wouldn’t respect money. You wouldn’t care about it, or understand what it takes to make it. If you earn your riches, though, if you work hard and put in the effort to get it a little at a time, then you understand exactly what the significance of that money is, and what it takes to get it.”

  “But if you spend your whole life as a poor schmuck and somebody gives you a billion dollars out of the blue, you’ll still appreciate the crap out of that money—”

  “—and you won’t know how to be responsible with it,” Logan said, cutting his friend off mid-sentence.

  Randell contemplated his empty mug. “God, I need something stronger.” He called the bartender over. “Rum and coke, please.”

  “And a triple for me,” Logan waved, a smirk crossing his face. “I like the way you’re thinking,” he said as the bartender walked away.

  “Do you ever not like the way I think?” Randell huffed. He contemplated his glass, then returned his attention to Logan. “I guess the question is, is Elizabeth someone who’s worth compromising your ideals for?”

  “Compromise. That’s a big word for you, Randell,” Logan sighed.

  “Still,” Randell insisted.

  “Well, I mean, you can’t just ask a question like that.”

  “Why can’t I? I thought I just did, man.”

  “I know you did, smart-ass. You know what I mean. How do you make a choice like that?” The bartender returned with their drinks, and Logan took a long, deep swig of his, then continued, “My whole life, there’ve been certain things that I just know. I know that I’ll always help the weak and downtrodden at every chance I get. I know, or knew, rather, that I would never allow my own DNA to be altered. No matter what, I knew that I would always be myself. I’d never risk changing myself just to get ahead in life.”

  “It’
s not just about your life anymore, though, is it? Getting ahead isn’t the only reason to get a mod, now, is it?”

  Logan nodded. “Children. I know that Elizabeth is pregnant again, but...” He took a deep breath, choosing his next words carefully, “would it really be the best decision for my children if I were to get a gene mod?”

  “Elizabeth seems to think so.”

  “Elizabeth’s father didn’t get a strength mod when she was a teenager.”

  Randell looked Logan in the eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked genuinely. “Besides, this is a perception mod we’re talking about here, man. Not a strength mod.”

  Logan tapped his fingers on the bar. The lights of the holo flashed in the corner of his vision. He repositioned his hand once again so that he wouldn’t have to see it. “I know one thing for sure. No one ever gets just one mod. Not even you,” he said, tapping Randell on the shoulder. “Once they know what’s possible, they always want more.”

  “That doesn’t have to be a rule,” Randell frowned. “As adamant as you are about the whole gene mod debate, I can’t imagine you ever getting a second mod.”

  “How would I ever know until I’m actually in that situation?” Logan downed the last of his drink and scanned his payment chip across the counter. He shoved himself up onto his feet and grabbed his jacket from the stool next to him.

  “You headin’ home?” Randell asked.

  Logan took a deep breath as he looked at the exit. “No. Not yet.”

  “So where are you going, then?” Randell asked, concern tinging his voice.

  “I don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll just set the car on auto and let it go all night long. See where it takes me. I just know I can’t go home. Not yet.”

  Chapter XV

  Logan jolted awake. He found himself in the middle of a corn field. The field was oddly bare, even though it was nearly June. He was in a valley. There were hills all around him. When he looked up, he came to the startling realization that there were Infected encircling him all around on the horizon. They all had their eyes fixed on him, but none of them moved. They were just standing there, motionless, seemingly waiting for... something.

  Logan didn’t know what they could possibly have wanted. Perhaps they were like sharks that had to smell blood to go into a frenzy. That didn’t exactly fit with what he had seen of the Infected up to this point, but what other explanation was there?

  Logan got to his feet and took a deep breath. He looked around at a few of the Infected, then chose a target. He began walking towards it. He hoped that it wouldn’t attack him, but even if it did, what other choice was there? Wait for them to choose to attack him? He was surrounded. His choices were limited.

  So he kept walking. As he got closer, he could make out the Infected’s specific attributes. It was a woman. She was gaunt, like they all were, but some of her facial features were still recognizable. He found himself standing directly in front of her. He stared into her eyes. She stared back into his. Her eyes were empty, yet they still managed to pierce into his soul the way only one person’s eyes ever had before.

  This was Elizabeth. He knew that fact immediately. She had been Infected. He could feel the great conflict within himself. Part of him wanted to fall to the ground and scream in agony at the loss. But another part of him was cold, distant, completely uncaring about what condition she was in.

  “Elizabeth,” he heard himself say. The word didn’t feel like his. He could feel his mouth move, but the sound of her name was hollow. It echoed, as if it came from far, far away. “Elizabeth.”

  He reached up and touched her cheek. For a moment, it seemed as if a tear was forming in her eye. Another moment passed and she sunk her teeth into his hand and ripped away a chunk of flesh.

  The pain was blinding, and for the second time, Logan found himself jolting awake.

  He could feel sweat beading up on his forehead, but he wasn’t hot. He was in a bed. He felt the sheets underneath him, and the blanket on top of him, and found that they were both drenched.

  His hand throbbed where the knife had impaled it. He held it up in front of him and saw that it was wrapped in bandages. There was a needle sticking out of his arm, and an IV bag hanging from a coat rack above him.

  His head pounded with every beat of his heart. Every movement he made, no matter how small, sent shockwaves through his body. His muscles were tight, sore, like they had been clenched for so long that he didn’t know how to relax them anymore.

  He examined the bandages on his hand more closely. There was no sign of blood. Logan couldn’t imagine that it wasn’t bleeding, considering what had happened to it. He unwrapped the bandage and found that the wound had been sown together with stitches. It was dry. It appeared to be scabbed, but it was well-taken care of.

  He examined his surroundings. He was in an apartment. He was laid out on the living room floor. It was nearly identical to the apartment that he had been in before he lost consciousness, but it couldn’t be the same one. There had been blood splattered all over the floor, from the dog, from his hand, from... something else. Logan grasped at the memory, but everything was so foggy. He couldn’t form a coherent recollection of what had happened before he blacked out.

  Either way, the apartment he was looking at was pristine. Well, nearly pristine. There were medical supplies scattered all around him. There was a garbage bag in the corner that was leaning over. Logan could make out all manners of food wrappers, water bottles, soiled towels, and old bandages in there.

  He rose to his feet. He took one tentative step, then another. His legs were weak and wobbly, but with a little effort and concentration, he managed to stabilize himself. Aside from his earlier observances, he found this apartment to be nearly empty. There was hardly any furniture to speak of. The kitchen was bare save a few supplies that were arranged neatly in the cupboard.

  He walked down the hallway. He remembered enough about his previous experience to know where the bedroom was located, but he hesitated once he found himself in front of the door. His hand hovered over the doorknob, but he didn’t turn it. He just imagined opening the door and coming face-to-face with another dog, or an Infected, or… something else… and that he wouldn’t be able to defend himself again.

  He took a deep breath. He turned the handle. The door swung open, and in front of him, under a thin sheet on a small bed, was the naked form of Jane’s body. She was laying on her side, facing Logan. He gasped as he saw her, but then realized that she was asleep.

  He tried to reach for the door, to pull it shut before she noticed him, but the floor creaked, and she jolted upright. The sheet fell to her waist.

  “L—Logan,” she stuttered, looking him over. “You’re awake. That’s, that’s good. I mean, that’s great! That’s really great.” She reached down and pulled the sheets up to cover her immodesty.

  Logan tried to respond, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a whimper.

  “Um,” she said, “could you just let me get dressed really quick? I’ll be right out.”

  “O—ok,” Logan said, nodding. He didn’t move.

  Jane raised her eyebrows. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said, smirking.

  Logan’s face turned red. “Right, right,” he said, backing out of the room, and turning around.

  He heard Jane get to her feet and click the door shut. “Just a minute,” he heard her say.

  Logan counted silently to himself, willing his heart to stop racing. The door clicked again.

  “I’m so glad you’re up,” she said.

  Logan turned around and found her standing right behind him. “What the hell happened to me?” he asked. His head throbbed with each word he uttered, and he found himself drastically lowering his voice by the end of the sentence.

  “That man,” Jane said, sighing, “Do you remember him?”

  A man. Logan vaguely recalled a man, an old man. He strained, trying to recollect anything aside from that brief impression, but nothing came to hi
m. “I don’t, sorry,” he said.

  “Well, I’d expect you wouldn’t. I think he was a drug addict of some kind. He didn’t have money to feed himself or his dog properly, but he had money to shoot up.”

  Logan walked to the living room. “So, did he do something to me?” he asked.

  “He injected you with Frenzy-17.”

  “Frenzy? You mean the drug from the ScatterShot incident almost 30 years ago? Seriously?” Logan couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  Jane nodded somberly and crossed her arms.

  “What the hell was he even doing with Frenzy?” Logan asked, slamming his fist against the wall out of frustration.

  “I don’t know,” Jane said, “but I think that his hope was to cause you to overdose and die. I still don’t know how much he injected you with. All I know is that you were stronger than he ever could have imagined.”

  “Really?” Logan furrowed his brow. “What did I do?”

  Jane hesitated.

  “What did I do?” He dreaded what she had to say. He knew what Frenzy did to people, and an overdose... he could only imagine.

  “You-you killed him,” she said finally.

  Logan wrapped his hand around the back of his neck and bent over. “Please tell me it was at least quick and painless.”

  Jane didn’t respond. Logan took her silence as more of an answer than anything she actually said had been, and he sighed. He walked over and sat on the couch, taking it all in.

  “You know,” she said, sitting next to him, “you didn’t choose to take Frenzy. Whatever you did under the influence is not what you would have done on your own. You know that, right?”

  “Well,” Logan sighed, “I guess that explains why we’re in a different apartment. Easier to get me out than to get the mess I left behind out, huh?”