Sanctuary (11 page)

My eyes widened. He called Carter a jerk. I knew for a fact Carter would kill most people for that. I’d seen it happen. There were many things Chase didn’t know, and one of them was Carter’s occupation. Yes, Carter was Infected but he was also one of the most powerful men in the shadowy underworlds of intelligence and the black market.

Infected are naturally drawn to chaos and action and danger. Carter provides this for us, along with a salary. We Infected have been his most important weapon for decades, securing his place in powerful circles, making him (and us, to a lesser extent) rich. That’s why he always meets the new Infected - to evaluate and recruit. Now the Chemist was threatening to expose us, even more than Chase already had, which could destabilize his whole empire.

“Only one Infected in the last two hundred years was able to draw others to himself, like you can,” he said, talking around the cigarette pinched between his lips. “Take a guess.”

“The Chemist.”

He nodded. “Martin. Martin always induced followers. He sees this trait in you, and that’s why he searches for you. To live on through you, for you to be his heir.”

“His heir? Pretty strange.”

“Not all that strange, hero. He has no children, or at least none that I ever knew of. His wife died centuries ago. Don’t we all want to live on, in some way?” He pointed at the city, cigarette in his fingers, towards the towers at which he’d been staring. “I think that’s why he’s here. To find a successor.”

“Is he dying?” Chase asked.

Carter nodded and said, “He is.”

Whoa!
Didn’t see that coming.

The two of them pondered this silently from within the thin blue clouds of cigarette smoke. Several minutes passed before Carter said, “My sources indicate he’s on dialysis. His internal organs are finally surrendering.” Carter was a tall, imposing figure of a man, usually full of fire and energy. Tonight, however, he seemed introspective and overly calm. “Must be terrifying to have lived for so long, through so many decades, watched so many generations come and go, and to finally face the end. I wonder if the length of his life has heightened his fear of its termination.”

“You promised you’d tell me about how the virus is spread. When the time is right. Tell me now.”

Carter took a deep drag, flicked the cigarette away, and said, “Nineteen years ago, a powerful man named Alfio Alessandro died in an extravagant house near Milan. Alfio was Infected. And he was almost two hundred and fifty years old. I was there. So was Martin. He was a recluse, but he asked us to witness his final moments. Alfio never tolerated the company of other Infected, and so the request was a surprise. He was very weak, very emaciated. At this point in time, Martin and I weren’t enemies but neither were we allies. We avoided entanglements, like two old professional poker players. Do you follow?”

“So far.”

“We kept to our respective hemispheres, until Alfio called. We came out of respect and curiosity. He gave us each a large vial, full of blood, and told us the secret which had been passed down to him.”

“Which is?”

He lit a fresh a cigarette and said, “The virus becomes communicable as the host body dies. It has to be a natural death. Dying of old age, in other words. Very few Infected live until their body gives out. We all die young because we’re stupid.”

“Like supernovas. Burn up fast and bright.”

“Like supernovas. But not Alfio. As the human body begins to die, it releases a variety of opioids and cortisols in such specific combination that the virus begins germination, for lack of a better word. It wants to survive and it becomes contagious.”

“So Alfio handed you and Martin vials of his own contaminated and contagious blood.”

“Bingo.”

“Why?”

“Why indeed,” he said. “He didn’t tell us. I have guesses. But one thing was certain; for the next few days Martin and I each had a bottle of magic elixir. Perhaps the most powerful force on the planet was in our hands.”

“Why just a few days?”

“It’s impossible to isolate and stabilize the virus. Or so Alfio told us. Like dynorphins and alkaloids, it has a very short half-life. We didn’t want to risk freezing the blood, so we were rushed and, in retrospect, acted foolishly.”

“So you came to Los Angeles and began infecting infants,” Chase finished the story. The story of his origin. His history. Our future. My mind was reeling. “But you didn’t track where the infants went, because you assumed it’d be obvious later on. Did you ever try infecting a teenager? Or an adult?”

“Yes. We tested on prisoners in Mordovia, Russia. It was a disaster. Their brains were already too developed and they went insane and died soon after injection.”

With a shock of comprehension, I realized what Carter was saying. Like someone had thrown cold water on me. I understood with complete certainty the nightmare we were walking into. It was going to change the world…

“…on my god…” I breathed.

“Wait a sec,” Chase was saying. He was making the connection seconds after me. “The virus is communicable as an Infected body begins to die of old age?”

“Yes,” Carter said.

“The Chemist is dying.”

“Yes.”

“So his blood is about to be…”

“Very soon, Martin will be able to spread the virus. He’s extremely old. He’s dying. And he’s about to start manufacturing blood worth millions. Maybe billions.”

“Oh no,” Chase groaned. “I’m really going to miss civilization.”

“Exactly, kid.” He pointed his cigarette at Chase to emphasize the words. “
Oh no
indeed. Given his penchant for chaos, I predict he’ll use his blood to…further upset the balance of our planet.”

“Infect infants all over the world?”

“Perhaps. He’s an extremely intelligent man. Probably one of the more creative scientists alive, hence his nickname. I’m expending an enormous amount of money towards discovering his intentions. All my energy is focused on it. Thus far, I’m coming up empty.”

“Why isn’t he just dying peacefully? Like the other old guy. Alfio.”

“Alfio lived a quieter life than most of us do. He was as peaceful as his condition would allow. Martin has never been that way. He’s a showboat. A celebrity, in his own mind. And now he’s in pain. He’s grieving. Facing his own mortality.”

“He wants to go out with a bang,” Chase said.

“Basically. And he wants you, hero, to continue his work.”

“Why me?”

“You and Martin have much in common. You’re a bit of a showboat yourself, Outlaw. A rule breaker. A headline grabber. More advanced than your counterparts, like he was. Plus…and I think this is the clincher…he helped create you. Perhaps for the first time in his long life, he has developed paternal instincts? Maybe. Hell, I don’t know. I’m still trying to figure all this out.”

Another long silence. My pulse was throbbing all over my body. The Chemist was dying. The virus was going to be contagious soon. The maniac was after Chase.

My concentration was broken when I realized a man was sitting beside me. He was very close. I hadn’t heard him arrive, and I only saw him now peripherally because I shook my head. It’s impossible to sneak up on an Infected.

I was about to go for my knife when he smiled, revealing beautiful white teeth. “Freng.”

He was black, thin, and his face was criss-crossed with old puffy scars. His outfit was similar to Carter’s. He had to be the Shadow, Carter’s mysterious bodyguard. I’d never met him, but it could be no one else. “Fhreng,” he said again.

“Friend?”

“Freng,” he nodded. We were speaking in whispers.

“You’re the Shadow.”

He smiled wider and said, “Yahh.”

“You startled me, Shadow. I about cut your throat.”

He laughed, a husky, raspy sound. “Car’ah wahngs you fohhow him Compong tanigh.”

His words were heavy and thick, and decoding them took me a moment. “Carter wants me to follow him to Compton tonight.”

The Shadow nodded.

“Carter knows I’m here? Watching?”

He nodded again.

Uh oh.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

The Shadow grinned and pulled out a Kindle and began reading. I risked a glance at the screen. Poetry. He was reading a poem. About love. There was no end to tonight’s surprises.

“Shadow, why do you follow Carter around?” I asked.

He shrugged without looking up and said, “He hhav’g me wheng I wa’h young. From bag famayee.”

“He saved you when you were young from a bad family.”

“Hepp me. Give me goog ‘ife.”

“Carter gives you a good life. Why do you pronounce words differently from me?”

“I’m from Africa,” he said and then he nearly fell over with silent laughter. His whole body shook. I didn’t understand, but his joy was infectious and I couldn’t resist the urge to join him. He laughed until tears rolled down his cheeks. “A jhoke, a jhoke.” He opened his mouth wide. Behind his perfect white teeth, most of his tongue was missing. He was forming words without a tongue.

“Your evil family cut it out?”

He nodded and said, “‘hink I wah a wich!” More laughter, more tears. His eyes screwed shut and he smothered his mouth with his palms, like a child. Was he mildly insane? I couldn’t tell. He looked old, perhaps half as old as Carter, but gauging the age of Infected was tricky at best. Maybe seventy-five? Most civilians would guess he was forty.

I wanted to comment further but he became reabsorbed in his poetry. So instead I returned to the ongoing conversation between the grouchy old man and his young upstart protege, sitting on a pile of treated lumber beneath an outdoor security light.

“That’s why we need to keep you safe, kid,” Carter was saying. “He’s not trying to kill you. He’s trying to capture you, so he can brainwash you. Turn you. Try his drugs on you. Stay out of Compton unless absolutely necessary.”

“What a mess,” the Outlaw said. I silently agreed with him.

“Oh, it gets better. Look at these photographs our hacker collected.” He passed Chase a tablet loaded with photos. I ground my teeth, unable to see.

“That’s the Chemist,” Chase said. “Who’s he eating dinner with?”

“A California senator, named Joe Younger. The other guy is military, a three-star general at Fort Hunter. And you should know the last man.”

“I do. That’s…that’s Mr. Walker. Hannah Walker’s father. I met him once. Gave me my motorcycle.”

“Mr. Walker was the driving force behind the new law that sparked the riots. And it appears Martin was the driving force behind Mr. Walker.”

“So you’re saying,” Chase said slowly, his wheels turning, “the Chemist influenced politicians as a means to pass that law?”

“I believe so.”

“The Chemist started the riots purposefully?”

“That’s my guess.”

“Why?”

“Possibly because he wanted a smokescreen to cover up his more sinister activities. And he thrives on chaos.”

Chase asked, “When was this taken?”

“Two days ago.”

“
What
?” he blurted. “How is that…what? I thought the Chemist was holed up in Compton’s sewer system.”

“Martin has many identities,” Carter said, lighting his third cigarette. “The Chemist is just the most infamous one. He’s also an advisor to Californian politicians. The evidence suggests he’s only spending half his time in Compton.”

“How’s he getting in and out?”

“He’s Infected,” Carter shrugged. “He’s brilliant and powerful. He can do almost anything he wants and not get caught.”

“Where does he go?”

“Christ, I forgot how many questions you ask. If I knew where he went, I’d meet him there and shove him through a wood-chipper. I’d pay half a billion dollars to know where he’s going. Go to the next picture. Recognize her?”

“Yes. I know her. Samantha calls her Blue Eyes. She was in the hospital the night of the shootout.”

“She’s a handful, isn’t she?” Carter chuckled.

“She messed with my head! Like she had an Outlaw voodoo doll. Samantha said the virus causes her to secrete pheromones.”

“A nasty trait. Everyone around her falls helplessly in love with her. Or wants to mate, which is the same thing.”

“No it’s not. This picture was taken in Washington D.C. What’s she doing there?”

“Controlling powerful men. Making them do things we’re not going to be happy about.”

“To summarize,” Chase said, ticking things off on his fingers. “The Chemist captured Compton. He will soon release contagious blood into the world for some nefarious purpose. His army is growing larger. And he and his minions are controlling powerful political and military leaders. This sounds like a disaster.”

“There’s always a disaster, champ. I specialize in disasters. You just never knew they existed until now. The public doesn’t know the full extent, and I like to keep it that way.”

The Outlaw grinned. “I really rocked the foundations of your world when I warned the Times about the Chemist, huh?”

“In more ways than you know.”

“I’m awesome.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” Carter said. “But this disaster will be a lot worse if Martin gets his hands on you.”

“I’m tired,” Chase yawned. “I’ve been tired for hours.”

“I had your motorcycle brought. It’s just beyond the fence. I’ll leave you now. My night is just beginning.”

We crossed the Glenn Anderson Freeway into Compton later that night. Technically the Chemist had captured a fiefdom slightly larger than just Compton, but we called it that because using the term ‘Sanctuary’ was unacceptable. That’s how the
Chemist
referred to it.

Sneaking in was simple. The boundary was too long for every inch to be monitored at all times by the military. I’m sure the motion sensors detected us, but we were deep inside enemy territory before the captain of the night shift even set his coffee down.

Like all cities, Compton never truly sleeps, even now in the middle of the night. Televisions winked behind curtains, dogs barked, couples fought, babies cried, and occasional cars thumped past. The only obvious oddity about Compton was the patrol of heavily armed gunmen stalking the perimeter of wrecked cars. My hands shook with the urge to pick them off. One shot from my pistol, no noise, simple, easy, clean, their brains would just turn off, pop, one less goon in the world. But Chase would disapprove. Damn it, why did I care what he thought?