The Infected 1: Proxy (36 page)

"Rebecca. Everyone called me Becky though, before I changed. And no, I was never an Olympic hopeful. I could do a handstand and some basic tumbling, but I actually liked music better, back in the time before things like that started to feel totally useless. Violin and guitar."

When Brian crawled into his bed to go to sleep, the emo-goth got in beside him and cuddled next to him. He couldn't feel her at all, but she could for some reason. At least that's what she said. If it made her feel better about being stuck in his head, Brian could adjust, he figured. She murmured to him sleepily as he drifted off himself.

"You can live, you know, if you want to. It's in here, how to do it." It was a soft and meaningful thing.

He could live? The imaginary girl that lived inside his subconscious mind said so. Well, with an endorsement like that, of course he could. Who'd be in a better position to know what he was capable of really.

When morning came he built up the fire for a while to warm up and then went to get more food. On the way to the stream he ate a few bugs that he knew were OK, even though he couldn't collect enough of them to really make it worthwhile. The calories expended hunting for them would probably be more than what he could gain from the eating. Getting them in passing should be just over break even, so he did it without hesitation. It was all math in the end, measuring the output compared to the intake of energy.

By noon or so, the sun straight overhead, he had more fish and looked for more berries and some other things, roots and plants, that Conroy had shown him. That occupied his time for about two hours or so. It was relaxing.

When Brian got back, his camp had been dismantled and the fire put out, the ashes turned to mud by the water that had been added. A bit of a challenge from Conroy to see how he'd adapt? Not a big thing. Really it was surprising that it hadn't happened a few times already. Conroy was being pretty nice about the whole thing, it seemed. From what Lancaster had said, he'd figured that the man would be dumping water on him as he slept and making him relocate every day or so.

Brian moved his camp, quickly rebuilt a shelter, got a fire started and food cooked before dark. Dharma came earlier today, not waiting for nightfall and held both hands up in front of her speaking quickly.

"Right, so, this is the Dharma early warning system: Conroy is listening right now, so if you answer you'll look fruitloops. You're going to shift on a mission in about three minutes, there are a lot of people involved, no Infected, but the bad guys have guns. Robbery I think. Three of them. I can't get a lot more specific than that, I don't know what everything coming in means yet... But I thought I'd give you a chance to get ready and make sure the fire's safe and all. Plus this way I can show off a bit. You have to admit, this is kind of cool, yeah?" She gave him a look that would have been a little flirtatious if it wasn't coming from a Goth hallucination. Even then it was nicer than the nothing he was used to.

Brian nodded.

He banked the fire, moving fast, and set the fish aside with the roots and blackberries. He'd just finished when Dharma came over to him, made him face away from the fire, mimicked putting his hands up to fight, and told to jump forward hard in three... two... one.

He hit a man with a shotgun in the face with his left hand and swept the weapon away easily due to the shocked reaction. Then followed with a kick to the groin, looking around the store, a supermarket he thought. Another person, a woman, stared at him and after a few moments of shock, tried to bring her own weapon - a Kalashnikov rifle - up at him from about fifteen feet away. Brian shot her center mass with the shotgun he'd taken like he'd been practicing without even hesitating.

At least the weapon worked. It was a problem of counting on things taken in combat, some of them could stick, have safeties on or just be unloaded. Psycho killers weren't always the best at caring for their gear.

Lazy fucks.

Leaning down he hit the man whimpering at his feet until he didn't move any more, probably leaving him alive. Maybe not. He moved forward carefully, and traded to the rifle, which would have greater range, not knowing where the third man was. He could hit a target at a distance more easily with the rifle, if that became important.

The seedy looking man in dirty jeans and a band t-shirt for some old group he'd never heard of, announced his presence by screaming for his friends, calling a man and woman's name at any rate. It was really helpful of him, because it gave his exact location perfectly. Brian snuck up, using a checkout stand as cover.

They'd made all the patrons move to one area, sat them on the floor, and then sent two of the people away, probably to get the money from the office. The employees were sitting there too, he saw, wearing their green polo shirts and black pants. Brian was so glad he didn't have to work retail. That color kind of sucked.

The scummy guy stood and grabbed an older woman, a shopper, who still clutched her brown leather handbag in a death grip. It didn't really go with her outfit Brian noticed, a long baggy blue dress. When he saw the shoes he got the tie in, they were the same color as the bag. Did that count fashion wise? Ah well, it worked enough for this place. It wasn't exactly high end. Like the places he and Doug used to shop at.

Grabbing the white-haired lady had been a mistake, a big one. Brian nearly smiled. She must have been under five feet tall, even with two-inch-thick heels. The guy had to be six foot at least. Plus, she was old. Brian didn't want her to be hurt, but it still made taking the shot he had to a lot easier than if the guy had grabbed a kid the same size. Brian didn't know why that was. If he'd taken her place, he'd have fought to protect her no matter what. He'd have to examine all this emotional stuff sometime if he got a chance.

The man pulled the old woman along with him, finally passing the spot where Brian hid. Aiming up at the guy from about five feet away, he pulled the trigger. The top part of the man's greasy head blew off and slapped the side of his face on the other side as he fell, the upper portion of the skull still attached by flesh on the far side. Dead, the man still held on, taking the woman along with him to the floor. Brian leaped in and took the weapon from his hand and helped the woman stand up carefully. Her eyes went wide when she saw him, almost as if more fearful of him than the gunman. Brian was armed, sure, but that... didn't make sense. Then again, the other guy hadn't just blown anyone's head off. It could be that.

She stared and started to shake - reaction to the danger probably - he knew the feeling pretty well himself now. As he started to tingle, signaling that he was leaving, he set the weapons down on the floor, the rifle and the handgun he'd taken from the last gunman, so they wouldn't go off accidentally when he left, dropping to the floor like they would. The old woman stepped in just as he felt himself let go of the place.

"Infected scum!" she yelled, shaking her fist angrily.

Then he stood next to the fire again, about where he'd left, almost exactly. He thought so at least, hard to remember precisely having been jumping at the time. That worked, a moving entry like that. Dharma wasn't around, but if she came back, he'd have to remember to ask her how long she'd be staying and if she could do that, or something close, most of the time. Knowing that there were three gunman had made a big difference too. Without that kind of information he would have just ran away, protecting the single person he'd replaced not the others. Of course if he'd done that granny bigot wouldn't have bothered yelling at him.

She might also be dead, which he didn't really want, even if she was a bit less than clear about who'd saved her life and how she should have acted toward him. Probably a Hooper supporter. Brian wondered if they'd try to blame the robbery on him or if they'd manage to find something else to accuse him of instead? Accuse him of scaring the old woman on purpose maybe?

He set the fish back up and buried the roots in the hot ash of the fire. Brian would have to clean them off when they were done, but the ash taste might just help hide the vomit flavor. He ate early, but only half the food, saving the rest for later, knowing that sitting under the stars wasn't the most interesting thing ever. Then again, excitement was overrated.

As he sat, just resting and conserving energy, he noticed that it looked like clouds had closed in overhead. It didn't feel like rain to him, but just in case he added several layers of branches to the shelter, carefully weaving them in from the bottom up, so that the top layer would always be above the one below it, letting water run off. He hoped. Conroy hadn't covered what to do specifically in case of rain.

Probably because anyone camping out like this should be smart enough to figure it out eventually. Just in case it got wet he added a thick layer of branches and pine needles to the floor inside, hoping it would keep him off the ground a bit and maybe help insulate him if it got too cold. Dark was still hours away, so he added wood to his stash and then covered it with more pine boughs building a little shelter for it, with a layer of bark to cover the whole thing, which made his hands all sticky with pitch, of course. But hey, pitch was waterproof, right? So at least parts of his hands should stay dry. He sat by the fire for a bit, eating the remaining food slowly, savoring it, trying to notice the complex scents and flavors the wood smoke added to it, giving it a deeper sensory impact than it would have had if he say, had used a microwave on it.

The night seemed blacker with the clouds, the only light being from the fire, a dim glow, because he'd kept it small and controlled. He noticed that he could see Dharma, Becky he amended, clearly in the dim light, most likely because she wasn't there on the outside, just in his head. He didn't want to be whiny about it, but that part of things bugged him out a little. The girl being in his mind like that. He didn't even know if she'd been based on a real person or anything. His mind could have made up the whole thing. She wouldn't even know if that were the case, would she?

She'd gotten the data about the job right, so no matter what she might be in reality, it was useful, especially if this was something that could be done regularly. Holding out her right hand, palm up she sighed.

"It's about to rain. You may as well move inside. It's going to pour if I have it right. It's amazing the information you have in here that you totally ignore. As to me being real... I think so? That's what I'm going with at least. You don't have to, but, well, ask Karen when you get back. If I'm me, she'll know. If not then... cool? I really could do without having ever been the world's angstiest teen superhero. Not something I'd ever have wanted to go for." The girl smiled at him, her eyes going wide, clearly being playful.

Brian decided to take her word on the rain and packed up everything and banked the fire carefully, building a little tepee of pine boughs over the hot spot in the center, hoping it wouldn't rain too hard. It did of course, coming down so loudly it seemed like he stood under a shower. The lean-to worked and he didn't get soaking wet, just a bit damp in places as water occasionally ran in from under the edge and wicked up through the bows and needles. Sleeping sitting up, something he'd never been able to do well before, helped a lot and the extra insulation kept him toasty.

And freshly pine scented.

It rained through the morning, so he just hung out inside, Becky, as he decided to call her, telling him a lot more about herself and her time at the IPB operatives center.

"I wanted to get along, but, well, some things aren't meant to be. Karen was great, but... I couldn't understand her and she kind of thought I'd lost it totally when I kicked in at fourteen. Massive strength, good speed, hard to hurt, standard stuff really, about forty percent of us Infected have those traits in some combination or another. They kept me buried on team two the whole time, so they could watch me and make sure I didn't off myself. Kare lobbied for me to be allowed on team one, but the psychology people didn't think it would work. I just couldn't stand her by then. She finally brow beat them into letting me go on some missions with her..."

Becky flipped her hair, a move that looked a lot more valley girl than Goth, and leaned in to him, whispering.

"Have you ever seen the kinds of crap they make team one do? Team two, they go out and fight crime, save people in remote disasters, and anything else that needs doing and doesn't put them front and center. Team three... Well you guys pretty much just do whatever you want. I mean, work alone, go after whatever your powers work best for, that kind of thing. Really that's the best gig out of the lot, people think you guys get it easy, but it's more than that, it's that you actually do the right things for you, but it's all stuff that makes a difference. Team one though, it's all photo opts and baby kissing. Course that may be what we really need more of right now. That woman earlier... What a bitch. But if that's how people are really thinking..." Becky shrugged and turned a hand up.

It bugged him, of course, that people could be so bigoted. At the same time, who could blame them? Most Infected were freaking dangerous. He hung out with some of the nicest ones out there, not the very nicest, those people couldn't manage the IPB at all, but pretty good people, and they'd almost killed him more than once.

Still, when someone did you a favor, or even tried to help you, politeness dictated you didn't immediately call them names, even if you didn't like them based on personal bias. No, the proper thing for her to have done would be wait to get home, then complain about him on the internet. Obviously.