The Infected 1: Proxy (16 page)

At the end of the hall the door wasn't locked. It had a key pad, but someone had been lazy and simply propped it open instead of using their code each time, a small black wedge-shaped rubber stopper had been shoved under. He kicked it loose on his way past, hoping he'd actually gotten somewhere and hadn't just trapped himself. The elevator claimed Brian was on floor eight, according to the number above it, a nice gold, shiny and official looking. One of the hospital levels, so they hadn't removed him from the building. Unless they had of course. Probably not, but he might be in Russia or something for all he knew. Someplace where keeping him for experiments or torture just because he wouldn't do what they wanted would be legal.

The elevator came normally, and he felt tempted to go to the first floor, up on the ground, but he needed real clothing, or at least more reasonable wear, and shoes. If he went out in the little paper cloth gown he wore, Brian wouldn't get far at all. On nine, if no one looked for him yet, if they weren't just following him, playing games, he had clothing. Not his, but exercise clothes that would fit. Would it be stealing to take it? More to the point, did he care?

Thinking hard, Brian went to floor nine and left the elevator quickly, trying not to run. He forced his mind as blank as possible and thought about the carpet, noticing the blue tightness of it, a great color really... He kept his focus on the environment, not letting himself think about the team leader he'd hardly ever seen, but who could read his mind. She probably already had been, but maybe not. If proximity mattered, he needed to be careful

Brian entered his room and dressed as fast as possible. He didn't have a coat, but the bed had a sturdy, blue-gray blanket under the comforter, he pulled that off and rolled it up as tightly as he could. Then he wrapped it in a towel from the bathroom, hiding it from casual observation. He didn't have anything that would work as a weapon directly, but there would be knives in the kitchen if he could get there unseen. Worth a shot, Brian figured. Unarmed he didn't stand much of a chance against anyone, especially armed police and super-humans that wanted him in custody. Or just possibly, now that he was escaping, dead.

Brian wished he had a gun, but those wouldn't work for him very well anyway. For that matter, a knife was hit or miss, but better than nothing, if he could get his hand to close on the handle hard enough. He'd managed the night before. Poorly.

Brian took his time, listening passively, not thinking of anything in particular, contemplating getting a sandwich and walking calmly to the kitchen. He didn't have time to make real food, but hadn't eaten in a while, so grabbed some cheese and broke half of it off the twelve ounce block and ate it while looking for the knives. They were in a wooden rack on the counter, nice silver handled things that looked sharp, not that he knew how to test that without cutting something. No time for it anyway. He got two pieces of bread and ate them as well, and found six candy bars, all of which he wrapped in the center of the blanket with three of the knives, two big and one small one that should be useful for something.

Carefully, still controlling his thoughts, thinking about air. Wonderful thing air...

Brian walked to the elevator, which opened in front of him almost instantly after pressing the up button, revealing Lauren and Bridget.

Bridget looked at him her eyes going to the bundle he held, nose twitching, as if she could smell the candy and maybe even the metal from the knives. The girl looked into his eyes and held his gaze for a second.

Then longer. Finally she sighed.

"Well," she said very quietly. "Fuck."

Lauren stood at the back of the elevator, her black and brown armored shell immobile, large black eyes that never blinked directed at Brian. Bridget bounced anxiously, not saying anything for once, looking back and forth between the other two. Not knowing what they would do, Brian decided to bluff his way through, if he could. He couldn't run from them after all, even if he had suddenly been healthy and in the best shape ever, either one of them could catch him without even trying. Right now they wouldn't even have to walk quickly to do it.

It would be embarrassing to be caught by someone meandering. Brian wanted to avoid that.

Fighting them would just be stupid. Wrong too. They hadn't hurt him or anyone else that wasn't trying to kill innocent people, not that he knew of.

Without speaking he stepped onto the elevator and saw that it had been set to go to the fifth floor. Not looking back, he canceled that and reprogrammed it for the lobby. Brian blocked the panel with his body until the door closed and they started moving. When he turned around Bridget looked afraid, but didn't try to step back. He tilted his head a little, wanting to ask her why, but not knowing how. Why would she be afraid of him? Maybe he'd read her expression wrong.

Was she afraid for him? That seemed more likely.

Lauren spoke first, her voice hesitant and eerily soft. "Brian... they told us you were on eight until you felt better..." Her voice came out without her moving at all, giving her an odd sense, like a robot had spoken instead of a person.

Brian shrugged, pain ripping through him, but not caring any more, he turned to face the giant woman that looked so intimidating, but had always been nice enough when they'd talked before.

"They had me locked up in a cell, my arms and legs tied to a bed, the door locked. I escaped. I don't know what they had planned for me, but people don't tie you up for good things. Not in my life anyway. I have to get out of here. I think... I don't know, but I think they're planning to have the police come and get me or something, to kill me. Why else tie me up? I haven't hurt anyone that hasn't attacked me directly, or tried to kill people at least. But it's me that gets beaten and locked up. Again." He shifted, his legs aching. He couldn't even tell why they hurt now, they just did. Everything hurt, except the left side of his face and a spot on the right side of his upper back about the size of his palm.

"So, anyway, I need to get out of here. I know you can't help me, but it would be good if you didn't tell anyone for as long as you can, all right? Also, I need to know, are there any woods - or better a forest - I can go live in around here? I doubt I'll survive long, but that isn't really the question anymore, is it? If I can last a few more weeks, maybe heal up a little, I can help more people before I go..."

The small girl fidgeted and shook her head violently, an exaggerated movement that looked almost like she was a child playing instead of a near-adult trying to deny something she didn't like.

"No, no, no." Her high pitched voice came fast and breathy. "You can't leave. You're hurt and there's a press thing up in the lobby right now. We aren't supposed to go there until they all leave." She kept shaking her head while she talked, then after about ten seconds more of it, she sped up the movement, her head blurring in the air for a bit. When she stopped she reeled, hands out playfully, and said, "Whoa, head rush!" Laughing as she stumbled into Lauren.

He shrugged. It seemed like the best possible time to sneak off to him. If the press were there, that would mean cameras, if they tackled him or something, it might be reported, which wouldn't help him, but might mean bad coverage for these people, the IPB, and he doubted they'd want that. Would it be enough to keep them off of him? Probably not, long term they'd come for him, working with the police like they did, protecting them over their own people... It could be enough in the short run, if he got lucky. Maybe.

The door opened into a large crowd, people milled and groups talked to various individuals around the room. Prime, tall, blond, perfectly tan skin and purple colored eyes, stood in one cluster. The reporters, mainly women, struggling to get closer to him, subconsciously trying to win him over. Brian laughed, a low, strained chuckle.

It seemed pretty obvious to him, but the women all did it anyway. Funny, but the women here, the ones that knew Prime best, all thought he was a tool. Even his perfect looks and charming smile weren't enough to stop that apparently. He handled the cameras and lights well, perfectly, which made him the single most popular Infected in the world. That was enough apparently. Be a good looking, self-serving jerk and people loved you. Be a fat, ugly guy, with a beaten up face that tried to help people and get taken prisoner for your trouble by the very people that were supposed to be on your side.

That seemed... pretty much like the way of the world, didn't it? Brian nodded to himself as he walked slowly.

To the left of him, a man in a green outfit that Brian didn't recognize right off, stood in a much smaller group, and looked to be explaining something much more serious and complex than what Prime handled. On the far right a large group, mixed in gender, stood around Lady Glory as she glowed away in all blue. Brian wasn't a huge fan right now, since she'd attacked him the day before, or earlier that day... he didn't know.

True an attack from her felt more like someone running up and trying to calm you down with a hug rather than a real attack, so he could probably forgive her for it, but he couldn't help but notice that she'd gone after him, the victim, rather than the aggressors at the time. Brian thought about it, would he have backed off the police if she'd subdued them with her power? He'd been angry, but he just didn't want to be hurt again. Brian shrugged and turned toward the door, which was blocked by a fourth group, with the director - whose name he didn't know at all - standing to one side.

The reporters turned around suddenly and some of them started walking toward him, looking back he saw that Bridget and Lauren had followed him off the elevator.

A reporter, a man with a familiar face, gray hair and a thin, youthful look and build, walked over to her, a microphone held out.

"Bug! You helped save Senator Hooper's daughter last night. How do you feel about that? He's one of the most outspoken anti-Infected legislators and no friend to this program..."

Lauren froze in place after a few seconds her voice came out, a girlish squeak.

"Um..." she said cleverly.

The man didn't wait long, he saw Brian a few feet away and swung the microphone toward him.

"You, I'm sorry, we don't have your name yet. You were there, you tackled the Infected that was about to kill Nadia Fields, how did you do it? Were you scared? Some have credited you with having saved the senator's daughter directly, any comment on that?"

Brian kept walking, without saying anything.

The gray haired guy kept following him, asking him questions, which Bridget, not able to help herself, started answering.

Impulsive indeed.

She bounced as she walked.

"He's Brian. His ability just let's him take the place of people about to be killed, other than that he doesn't have any powers or anything. He saved a lot of people last night. He's only been here for about a week. Senator Hooper's a bigot and a moron. I'm not sure why. He sounds smart enough, until he starts talking about anything. Then he just screws it up, doesn't he?" She walked along with them all, Lauren slowly following behind them as cameras and reporters left the groups they were in to follow them.

That made good sense though, didn't it?

Bridget kept talking.

"Her name's not Bug. That's not even her code name, which is Level. Her name's Lauren and it bothers her when people call her Bug. It would tick me off too. Would you like it if everyone called you "Old Fart" just because your hair looks a little funny?"

Some of the reporters laughed. To his credit the otherwise serious looking man that had asked the questions originally did too. He even smiled and it looked pretty real.

"Sorry... Lauren, do you agree with your friend's take on the Senator?"

She didn't say anything for a bit, finally a sound came out of her face plate something like a shuddering inhalation then she spoke clearly, "Um, no comment? I don't know him. He could be cool in person..."

Brian worked his way through the group of reporters in front of the door slowly, clutching the rolled blanket and towel to his chest, the knives inside making slight, muffled clanking sounds as he moved. No one particularly seemed to notice him, now that Lauren and Bridget were there to pester. Handy in a way.

No one except the Director, who stared at him, looking worried. The older man excused himself from where he stood and tried to come toward Brian. Knowing the man probably wanted to catch him and lock him back up, the younger man limped faster, trying to get away.

At the door a bunch of black clad agents stood, two facing him, six facing out, as if standing guard. Fuck, Brian swore to himself for a moment, a long and heartfelt string of greatly unlikely curse words. They didn't seem to be letting anyone in or out. He couldn't take them. He probably couldn't have taken even one of them on the best day of his life with a baseball bat and them wearing a blindfold. They may be regular uninfected humans, but they were all really tough and well trained. Sometimes they had to fight Infected themselves. Lancaster had mentioned that to him a few days before, the man just checking in with him to make sure everything was going all right.

Force wouldn't work at all, but would the press be able to help him, if he worked this right? He thought for a second, still limping toward the door, his mind scrambling, fuzzy and fatigued. Brian hadn't had enough sleep for a while and the pain didn't help. Nothing came to him as the Director closed in to capture him. Panicking he looked around, hoping someone would give him a clue or something, even if no one here really wanted to help.

Lady Glory moved toward him too now. Prime looked up, baffled as people had started to move away from him, his face didn't look displeased, but rather shocked, as if wondering why anyone would ever want to do anything but look at him. The man in green hadn't moved, but stood looking toward the front, where all the reporters were watching suddenly. They all looked at Bridget and Lauren...

The tiny girl, lacking inhibitions so totally, just kept answering all questions asked of her... honestly. Sometimes with colorful wording, sometimes very professional sounding. A large crowd, realizing that something special might be happening, gathered around her and the black and brown, massive form of Lauren.

People still closed in on him, working through the mass of bodies carefully, trying not to call attention to themselves. Brian had an idea, not knowing if it would do anything at all, but hoping it might give him a small chance.

He called out loudly, trying to make his voice sound official, rather than a cracked and broken ruin, which seemed its current style of choice.

"Excuse me, everyone! This is getting too clustered for the cameras, so we're all going to head out front for a second so that all the needed shots can be established. We have a very special message ready for you, but we have to move quickly, so everyone out in an orderly fashion please! Prime, Level and Rat-girl to the front please. If we work together this won't take but a moment..."

He had to say it twice, but the reporters responded before the director's voice could be heard protesting. The agents at the door, not there to keep reporters in, but mainly as window dressing, Brian guessed, or possibly to watch for him, gave way to the mass of people. Brian just floated along with them out the door and headed for the front gate, which stood open. The trudge was slow and painful, but he pushed himself as hard as he could, limping, clutching the towel wrapped blanket to his chest, his right arm and left side making it too agonizing to carry it under one of his arms.

"Mr. Yi! Brian! Wait, please!" A man's voice called out behind him, sounding a little out of breath. "Please!"

He almost made it to the gate when the director jogged up, Lady Glory beside him, two reporters - apparently thinking that this might be a more interesting story than what the others were getting - came over too, but stood back, cameramen recording them all.

Good.

The director put a single hand out, as if telling Brian to wait, the guards at the gate didn't close it, but stood in the gap, hands on the side arms in their holsters anxiously, as if they wanted to shoot Brian then and there. He tucked his left hand into the center of the blanket and limped toward them, clutching the handle of one of the big knives, ready to use it if they drew their weapons or tried to take him prisoner again.

"Please, Mr. Yi... we should talk about this. In private perhaps?" The director sounded sincere, but Brian figured that would be part of why he had the job in the first place.

"So... is "in private" the new code for locked up in four point restraints in a secure facility after you let thugs in to attack me? Cause, honestly, if it is, I don't want to talk to you at all, much less "in private. You get that right? I'm a little sensitive about being beaten and locked up. It's a thing with me, which you should know." Brian kept walking. He had to close with the gate guards to do anything to them, but they could open fire on him at any time. Not fair, but then, what was? If they even looked like they were going to pull a weapon he had to be on them. A gun was too powerful to play around with, Brian recalled Beatdown telling him that a few days before. Several times. Just because she'd tried to kill him, that didn't mean the woman didn't know about fighting. It sounded like good advice at least. Brian let his grip on the knife tighten a little. It wouldn't do him any good if he dropped it.