Infected 8: Impulse: A Whole New Day (24 page)

Like bombs, or her. That would have to mean Marcia had called it. To try and protect his secret, he'd let her KO him. That was pretty hard core, really.

She wasn't all that happy about the new addition to the fold, but shrugged and turned to Marcia.

"If he doesn't go along, we can call that warrant in. I sort of want to kill him anyway, for trying to kill Brian all those times." She grinned, which was a feral and intimidating thing, or would have been if she were a foot taller and twice as heavy. "Did you know that Brian Yi, Proxy, was my grandfather? You tried to kill him, so guess who's taking that one personally? If you want to keep breathing, I suggest you prove to us that it was all a big mistake. Start by making it so I'm not flashing my wonderful goodies at the whole world, will you?" She wanted to growl it all, but realized that was overkill. If he didn't play along, they really
could
put him to death. It would be legal and everything.

Instead of stalking away, or even frowning at her, he rolled his eyes and took his jacket off, handing it to her. As she shrugged it on, she turned to look at Marcia.

"You got grass stains
all
over my new clothing, Marsh. Help me roll the sleeves up?" She meant for Marcia to do it, but when she held out her arms the helpful new cop and the old and Infected Chief each took a side. In ten seconds they had it done the shiny lining making a pretty strip at the cuff. "Thanks. We need to secure the area, I guess. The military will probably have it, but just in case, it never hurts to have more, right?"

That
nearly started an argument, since Chief Benton was pretty certain that
his
men, the local police force could handle it, and
should
, even after Homeland Security got there, and Marcia was just as sure that the locals were still mainly terrorists.

It was the new cop, Specconi if what the Chief had called him was right, the one that had been willing to
arrest
the Chief, that got her to change her mind.

"We aren't. Most of us aren't even the same people involved in those other things you're thinking of. I hired on nine months ago, along with about half the force. I swear that no one does more than throw off the occasional 'dirty Infected' in the shower room. That happens, sure, but we
aren't
the force that tried to take your base. We can handle this. We
should
. I think the Chief is right about that. We need to get a handle on it, and then let DHS take over, backing
them
up. Besides,
I
don't have much of an issue with you IPB people. In the whole time I've been here there hasn't been even one Infected problem in town. Not even your people getting drunk and tipping cows. We can work with you. You can trust us." He seemed sincere enough about it.

Marcia shook her head.

"No, I really can't. Your call, Chambers, do we trust them, or not?" Marcia knew that her first mode would mislead her at times, and was a pro. In this case she was actually trying not to let it happen, it was clear. To see things clearly, or at least do the right thing for the situation, even if she
couldn'
t see it for herself. That showed a lot of insight and self control, Bridget knew. Unfortunately, instead of Lancaster or Burkes, she got Bridget to stand in for Jiminy Cricket in this case.

She shrugged, making her oversized coat rub against her in several interesting places. It was a bit damp with sweat, and smelled of fear, a little. That was probably his first mode, then. A mild fear of being harmed. It couldn't have been
that
bad, or there was no way he would have lasted in a high stress job. A lot of tough seeming guys were actually afraid most of the time. It was pretty much the tradition, though as long as they didn't let the feeling rule them too much, it worked pretty well.

"We can. These people aren't like the old ones. We have to trust someone, and now that Ryan is on our side, I'm sure there won't be any problems. If there are, we'll kill him, so, we're all good." With that impeccable logic, her stomach practically roared about how it wanted food.

Doug walked over, and handed her a gallon sized jug of vegetable oil. Her favorite.

It did show that he was thinking of her however, so she popped the blue plastic cap, pierced the silver inner foil and drank the whole thing, trying not to puke the whole time. It coated her mouth and left her thirsty, but she'd live, and by the time she was finished, her tummy was barely rumbling at all anymore.

"Gah. That
sucks
. Thanks though, I needed something. Now what do we do next?"

That it turned out, was waiting for the newcomers, while keeping an eye on the possibly crazy man she'd just inducted into their organization against his will. Brian was going to be
so
pleased with her over that one. If he hated anyone in the world, on a personal level, then this man was it. Even more than Braid, which... Well, if the guy hadn't had contact with her, then he'd worked with an agent or two, Bridget was willing to bet. Probably unknowingly, because if the Timberland precog had been part of things directly, she would have done a better job.

Except that she couldn't sense Brian in the past,
or
the future. Only the present and even then, only with her own two eyes like anyone else. That
had
to drive the witch crazy. It would be like finding out that you couldn't see the color of electric flesh tone. Bridget grinned at that one, since it was how ultraviolet looked to her, and almost no one else could see it. That was the point however. If she found out that
she
was missing a color, or couldn't hear a certain note, it would bother her, even if she could get all the rest of them. That almost made it worse, really.

If you were blind, or deaf, you had to deal, and it would be hard. If you were lacking only a tiny, single thing, chances were you'd never learn to handle it even a bit. Even trying her hardest, Braid wouldn't be able to understand what it was she was missing, since she got everything else. Only, of course, she didn't. She couldn't see Penny, or Becky.

She wasn't good enough to dodge a kick to the knee at four hundred miles an hour either.

That didn't make sense though. Had she
let
Bridget break her legs like that? Could a person do that without flinching? Maybe, if they weren't sane. She had a long time to think, watching the world around her as things slowly unfolded. DHS drove in with ten vehicles, the men and women that got out of the dark black things looking professional and ready for a Swat team action. It made sense to send people in ready, but it was a bit oppressive. They literally had jackboots on, Bridgie thought. She wasn't certain if that included any kind of combat boot or not, but they certainly had those on. Ten of them, marching in unison, came at her and Marcia.

Doug watched them, standing back and blending a lot better than she was. How they recognized Turner, she didn't know. Not until the man in charge, an older black guy, stuck his hand out at her.

To shake.

"This is a freaking mess, Quartz. You in charge of things now?" He spoke with a slightly clipped tone, his face a bit gray, given his natural color. Ashen, as if his health wasn't all that certain. The funny thing there was that Bridget sort of recognized him.

She stuck out her own hand, which he took, looking at her like she had cooties or possibly sticky little kid fingers.

"Agent Talley. I'm Bridget Chambers, we met about a year ago?" It had been longer than that, but not much. She didn't cover where they met. It had been the base, and she'd been kicking some cop behind that day. It wasn't hard to recall. Not for her.

The man in front of her nodded, getting who she was.

"I recall. Impulse, isn't it?"

"That's the one. Excuse the wardrobe. My other clothes got blown off by a bomb. The first one. We managed to stop the second one and the bomb guys here took care of it. We captured a few suspects. One of our new people was stabbed holding them. Um, he's a local. High school guy, who was smart enough to be of use. Still, he was on the payroll when it happened, so we're taking it personally." She looked up to see a row of black helmets move. Agreeing with her.

One of them, who was a female, with a dark visor down so her eyes were invisible, spoke, her words a bit harsh and grating.

"Fuck. What are they having us walk into? Kids are being shanked in the schoolyard now? Bombs at press conferences? What's next?"

That one was easy, since the shooting started just as she spoke the last word.

Talley bellowed, his voice powerful suddenly. He didn't have a helmet on, so his short and very curly black and gray hair was visible as he spun.

"Down! Take cover! Identify the direction that came from!"

Bridget turned, using her ears to guide her into place, and pointed at a house, a small green one, that seemed to be abandoned, a nice way from where they stood. One of the police, the locals in their blue easily identifiable uniforms, went down, screaming as something hit his leg.

"There. That house. One on the second floor, or, um, attic space, I bet. It isn't tall enough for two floors. One on the left hand window and one under that lattice work by the porch. I can't make out all the faces. One is a man, I think, I don't know about the others." She could see them by the flashes from their guns. Bridget didn't take cover, just calling out to Doug who had, being all soft like he was, and Marcia, who tried to move when she did.

"I've got this. Doug, get ready for prisoners. Marcia... For god's sake, don't ruin that outfit! You're doing so well so far!"

She didn't even bother sprinting at the place, just jogging over, while they fired at people that were too well hidden to damage. Then she moved off to the right hand side, her right hand, and looked under the dingy, once white and now bare gray wood with white speckles on it, covering to the porch area. It smelled pretty bad, since someone clearly had used the whole place as a toilet. That and to use drugs in, she bet. If it were
her
illicit hang out she would have cleaned first.

She crawled into the space under the house, not making a lot of noise, or so she thought. The shooter, who was a man, turned around to look in her direction. She could make out his face, which looked a tiny bit familiar, from the protest crowd earlier.

"Martha, is that you?" He hissed as she crawled closer to him. He didn't point the weapon at Martha, whoever she was.

"No." She hissed back, trying not to shock or surprise him,
yet
. "It's Bridget. What's the plan?"

To his credit, the man
didn't
shoot her or just let her know what he was doing, not that it wasn't pretty obvious.

"Sorry, who are you?"

"
Bridget
. I was at the protest. I saw you there. Are you just shooting at things, or do you actually have a plan to get people free? I've been paying attention, and DHS is there now. You had to have gotten past the military to get into place here, so you know about that. Did you get one of our people in their ranks to set up a fallback point? We'll need a breach in the line, or it will be too obvious where everyone is trying to break out from. If you think that you're going to lead a bunch of women and children into a fire fight with the Army and win, you need to think again." It made sense to her. Then,
she'd
had practice and training for that kind of thing. The man in front of her didn't seem that far thinking, since he turned away, to look through his scope at the scene, where everyone, including the haters, were hiding behind things or lying flat to make a smaller target.

"I... We hadn't thought of that. James said we should just come back and do what damage we could. Kill enough of the press to get their attention. They're hiding too well. I can't even see any of them."

"Damn. That isn't a plan, it's a suicide mission. James, uh, he's the one that yelled? When that woman blew up? You
do
get that she was going to kill most of the protestors, don't you? If that was the plan for the day, I do wish someone would have told me about it. I was standing right
there
." She waited, as the man gave a soft sigh and shook his head, probably thinking that she wouldn't be able to see it."

"This is fubar, man. Totally. I wasn't told about any of it. James and Amanda got Fannie to go along with them. Mandy was the first one to go. Fannie, she was stopped somehow. James got away, but came back to try here and kill those freaks. The Infected bitches that won't die. I think you're right. They came up with a suicide mission, and
forgot
to let the rest of us into the plan."

That made sense. The rest of them would have stayed home, if they knew about it and then nothing of note would have happened. She would have done her little guard duty, possibly stopped the obvious bomber sooner and Will wouldn't have been stabbed.

"Oh, hey, do you know the guy with the swastika tattoo on his neck? Thin, with short hair."

"Diggs? Yeah. Good guy. A little hot headed, but he really stands up for us normal people. Why? Did something happen?"

She didn't think long about what to say.

 "He died. He tried to kill some kid. Will? He was helping to get people moved away from the bomb area, to protect them. I don't know what Diggs there was thinking, but he aimed for the kidney and stabbed him in the back a couple of times, so he meant it. I hope he's all right."

"John and Sarah's boy? What the
fuck
is happening here? It was just supposed to be a protest. To show our support for whoever killed those freaks. This is getting way out of hand. People are dead now. Our people. I knew we should have stayed out of it. But no, James had to be the big hero and save us all from the freaks. Now..."

She nodded, knowing that he wouldn't see her. She'd been moving the whole time, slowly, and was almost pressed up against his body, the edge of her jacket touching his bare arm.

"Yeah, this is pretty sideways. Look, you seem like a good person, if a bit stupid, so let me help you out. Give me your weapons, and take off. Head west, out of town. I'll handle this stuff here."