Boston Under Siege (Book 1): Virus: Page 10

  A Technicolor film surged to life on the screen behind the colonel. This would qualify as propaganda, Trips thought, watching the antiquated film of troop training. At the end the colonel addressed the group again. “Believe me, people, the testing is rigorous, both mentally and physically. But I believe you're up to the challenge.” The Colonel nodded as he scanned the crowd. “Busses will take you to the appointed facility.” He zeroed back in on Trips again. “Good luck. I have every faith in you. Dismissed.”

  * * *

  Homeland Security busses idled on the brickwork in stark straight lined shadows of the 1970s prison-like Brutalist architecture on city hall plaza. Trips said goodbye to Snake and headed to his appointed bus. The tinted windows reflected the opalescent pink of the evening sky as he stood in queue. Not only do the busses look like prison transportation, but many of the passengers could pass for ex-cons. Wonder if I could break the glass if I need to.

  The bargain he'd made earlier that day in Colonel Campbell’s office ran through his head. His father nodded from the video chat window on the computer screen, “Go ahead, son, ask him.”

  Trips cleared his throat and addressed the colonel. “I just want to be very clear, sir, they were only trying to help me, so if I do this, they're not culpable. Right? No charges will be brought against my friends?”

  The colonel nodded glancing from Trips to his father on screen. “I have the authority to offer that.”

  “And this won't go on his permanent record?” Ed Kentigern asked, his electric gaze palpable through the screen.

  The colonel leaned back in his office chair, his forefingers forming a tepee in front of his mouth as he nodded. “That's right.”

  Trips nodded at his father on screen. “Okay, then, I’ll do it, Dad.”

  “And you're sure he's okay, Danny?” His father sounded worried, examining papers on his desk. He shot a glance directed at the colonel.

  Dan shrugged, lifting his hands. “Well, Doc says he's okay.” He pointed at the papers the senator was holding. “You have the workup right there, Ed. Best doctors in the world, and you know we’ll have his back in the field. You can count on that.”

  Trips nodded and tried to sound reassuring. “I'm alright Dad. I would have symptoms by now if anything were going to happen. Got soaked by a fire-hydrant before they turned the water off in Cambridge, and that did something, but I’m fine, now. I’m better than fine,” he shrugged, “the vampire blood in my face didn't do jack all.”

  The colonel let his chair snap forward and put his hands on the desk lifting himself up. “Lord, Ed, you should have seen what this boy can do,” he laughed, slapping Trips on the back. “Woo-wee, the dent he put in that gorilla cage at the lab?” He demonstrated how wide the gap was between the bars. “Very impressive. Those were quarter inch steel bars! I assure you, he’ll be okay out there.”

  Trips flushed and crumbled under his father's stern gaze on the monitor.

  “Might does not equal right,” his father said.

  Trips' reverie was broken as a recruit leapt into the next seat on the bus. They locked eyes. Trips cleared his throat and proffered his hand. “Kentigern, Trips Kentigern.”

  “Bolt,” said the recruit, extending a meaty paw. “Hey, what'd he mean, The Academy?” Bolt asked, propping himself against his satchel, getting comfortable on the four-foot vinyl seat.

  The right half of Trips mouth twitched up in a half smile. “He means West Point.” He matched Bolt’s position, slouching against the window. “You've done training?”

  “Yeah. All over.” Bolt smiled, revealing a gold mouth grill map of the world with gems set in different points on the map. “Each place I been gets a rock.” He touched his tongue to the gems in his mouth. “South America, South Africa, Middle East. DEA, private military, you name it. Next, I got to add Boston. You?”

  “Not much, trained summers,” Trips put two fingers up in the air for quotes, “at the Academy,” then he shrugged and added, “I'm also a bike messenger.”

  “Well don't worry little bro, I got your back. You be okay.”

  Twilight had given way to deep blue darkness. Trips stretched, “Thanks,” he said, yawning. “Think I’ll grab some z’s.” He pulled a knit cap over his eyes and slumped down in his seat as the bus rumbled and rocked into the street. “No turning back now.”

  Chapter 14: Ami’s Clinic

  The girls dropped Ichiro at Herald's Quick Couriers in the Portuguese section of Cambridge with a keg of Dewey’s ale and six carboys of water then waited in a snarl of traffic to cross Central Square into Ami’s neighborhood. It was an unpleasant scene, watching new recruits hoist caged electroshocked zombies onto flatbed trucks, while protestors behind police barricades yelled epithets.

  “We’ll be there soon,” Alexx said, as she jerked the car forward a few feet. “Hopefully, before curfew.”

  Ami nodded absently, thinking of Trips. That’s what he’ll be doing. It’s awful.

  “Finally,” Alexx said, as the cargo was carried off, and traffic began to move. “I wonder if the government has a new solution or if they’re still dumping zombies at the airport, or for that matter into the harbor.“

  Ami shivered at the thought of what Alexx said, and watched a small band of protestors beyond the blue barricades as they chanted about the inhumane treatment they’d just witnessed. An officer in pristine white gloves waved Alexx on. “What a contrast,” Ami mumbled.

  Alexx chattered on, oblivious, explaining the Nightingale Clinic setup again, but Ami wasn't at all prepared for what she saw when they got to her apartment building.

  People lined the halls. Climbing the stairs to her floor, Alexx spoke to three women administering aid and introduced Ami. They were very pleased to meet her, but she couldn’t retain their names or what they said. It was all too overwhelming. She clutched her carboy of water for protection and mumbled something about what a good job they were doing. She wanted the refuge of her bedroom, but feared she’d find no respite as she followed Alexx into the apartment.

  Ami held her breath stepping around the rows of injured people laid out on boogie boards in her living room. The stench almost made her gag. Alexx said these were the critical cases; she pointed out the rice-paper screens setting off the music corner as an examination room and nodded at the bedroom door. Padlocked.

  The two of them dropped their five-gallon carboys on the floor next to the empties in the kitchen. A giant aluminum pot of brown liquid roiled on the stove. I’ve never seen that pot before. It isn’t mine. It smells like tin and seaweed. Ami gagged, turning away from the smell.

  Vanessa Johnson, a tall black Assistant Professor of Sociology from their monthly women's supper group, stepped out of the bathroom. “Alexx! Ami!” Vanessa cried, her long arms pulling them into a group hug. She grinned. “Amber is on her way.”

  Alexx nodded. “Good. We saw Tasha, Lara, and Sally, walking the line on the way up.”

  “Sally prefers the kitchen, but she's a good sport. I’m dashing back and forth between the kitchen, the exam room and the line. We can use the help. It’s been a hell of a day,” Vanessa said.

  “I’ll take over up here and show Ami around.” Alexx poured water from an open pitcher into the pot of soup. The seaweed stew calmed to a simmer.

  Vanessa turned to Ami and smiled. “You're generous to offer your place up like this, Ami. I don't know if I'd have the guts,” She uncovered a different pot on the back of the stove.

  Ami offered a hesitant laugh, noticing the rudimentary autoclave. Not my idea, she thought. “So, what am I supposed to do?”

  “Tori will show you,” Vanessa said, pulling steaming instruments and towels from the autoclave pot on the stove and dropping them into a worn ceramic bowl. She called across the room to Tori behind the screen announcing that they’d arrived; then she smiled at Ami. “See you later.”

  Tori poked her head out from behind the rice-paper screen to receive the towels. Her pale eyes and hair set in Asiatic fea
tures always startled Ami. “Need you, pronto, Ami. Glad, you’re here.”

  Ami grasped Alexx’s wrist. “Ally,” she whispered, “I can’t do this.”

  “Be right there,” Alexx called, nodding as Tori disappeared behind the screen.

  “You're staying,” Ami said. “It’s different when it’s someone I know. I can’t do this alone.”

  “Ami, I have a meeting with the Women’s Healthy Image Program. Let go. I need my wrist.” Alexx checked her watch.

  Ami whispered harshly, “You have to stay.”

  “Okay, okay. Let me think. We usually call for an ambulance.”

  “Ambulance? What ambulance?”

  “Don’t worry; I’ll stay. Just need to make a couple of calls.”

  “Ami, now!” Tori said, stepping out from behind the screen.

  Alexx hustled Ami toward the music corner. “You’ll be fine. I’m right here.”

  Behind the screen, a child lay on a cot. Tori tapped the blood pressure gauge and shook her head. An earthy, squat woman, Ami knew vaguely, was speaking softly to a grandmother in a head-kerchief.

  “Ally, I can't do this!” Ami choked, fingers clutching at her throat.

  Alexx steered Ami’s hands onto the child's chest and Ami felt a rush of warmth pass through her. Alexx nodded and blocked her ear, speaking into her phone, but all Ami could hear was the sound of her own breath.

  She felt disconnected from her hands as she watched them work. After a while, Alexx joined her, mirroring what she did on the opposite side of the girl. As they worked, Ami noticed a golden haze settling like a mantel over all of them. It pulsed with her heartbeat. She tried to blink it away, but it persisted. She wondered if Alexx could see it too.

  When Tori handed Ami a cup, she drank, and fell into a chair. Her ears popped, and she could hear again. Everything was noisy and vibrant. She wasn't sure how long the session had lasted, but she was both exhausted and exhilarated.

  “Obrigada, perca! Obrigada,” the grandmother said thanking Ami in Portuguese and placing a sandalwood rosary around her neck.

  Ami nodded fondling the rosary. Once she’d left, Ami looked up at Tori, holding out her cup. “What happened?”

  “You and Alexx got that little girl out of danger, that's what,” Tori said, considering Ami as she poured more into her cup. “She's going to be okay, Ami.”

  Alexx sat down next to her on one of her mismatched kitchen chairs. “That was intense, huh?”

  Ami took a deep breath and let it out slowly, still marveling at the noise and light in the room. “Surreal,” Ami said. “How long were we ——”

  “Little over two hours.” Tori interrupted, filling Ami and Alexx’s glasses with watered down juice.

  Ami gulped the wretched stuff. Seemed like forever, and just a second at the same time.

  Alexx nodded. “Glad I stayed, but I know that girl’s guardian is really glad you’re here. I think it’s going a lot smoother since you’re here. I trained the girls, but you’ve got the power. I think you energize the whole place.”

  “Did you see that, I don’t know, gold light?” Ami asked, then felt foolish once she realized Alexx was on the phone and hadn’t heard her. She was relieved. She would think I’m crazy.

  Alexx looked up from her phone. “You up for more, Ami?”

  Ami hesitated. “Yeah, I guess. I think I need a minute. And what is this stuff?” Ami asked, sniffing her cup. It looked different than before. The liquid had changed from orange to clear, and now it was viscous white.

  “Yum, electrolytes.” Alexx took a sip. “Don’t you remember?” Alexx asked, downing more liquid. “Salt, sugar water, and a little color. That rehydration formula from the World Health Organization, your idea, and a good one.”

  Ami, Alexx, and Tori, worked together attending the injured in the living room until Alexx pleaded to leave. Ami acquiesced, deciding they could handle the smaller cases without her.

  As Ami walked the hallways of the apartment complex, she wondered what happened to Trips. When her phone buzzed, she would stop immediately and pick up the message, but none of them were from him.

  Ichiro texted that he was sending people to fix the plumbing, Ami wondered how since the city had no water, but she didn’t ask. It worried her that no one had heard from Trips. Ichiro said he’d check into it.

  “It's good I'm occupied beyond normal,” Ami said, putting the phone away as she caught up with Lara along the line. “Hey, should I tell the guards that somebody is coming to help with the plumbing?”

  “Yeah, that way they'll send them right up,” Lara said, bandaging a deep gash on a woman’s arm.

  Ami ran downstairs and told the guards to expect the plumbers.

  Not long later, two unusually dressed men clomped up the stairs to Ami’s apartment.

  The smaller of the two had stringy blond hair and wore striped trousers, a vest, and rectangular red glasses. His enormous accomplice had black hair, a beard and wore a floor length black duster and a wide brim leather hat. They both carried tired leather duffels.

  The giant man swept the hat from his oversized noggin, and straightened his full black beard, introducing himself as the Dungeon Master. He went by DM. Under normal circumstances Ami would have shied away from such an imposing figure, but underneath all the hair and leather were soulful brown eyes. His eyes sparkled as he introduced his partner, the little guy in strange red spectacles who sported a watery blonde soul patch. He referred to him as Tim O'Dation. Tim bowed. With his bulbous forehead, receding hairline and huge grin, he reminded Ami of a dolphin. She found herself smiling too. She left them to their work in the bathroom and went back to making her rounds. She thought that they seemed like a very cute couple, and she’d have to remember to ask Ichiro how he knew them.

  Ami lost track of time walking the line, and when Vanessa messaged that she'd called the bike ambulance, and it was time to wrap up, Ami was glad because she was exhausted. She cracked her back, turning to see Tim O’Dation and DM descending the stairs, their steel-toed boots clanking.

  “Should be good to go,” DM said. “The bath has the works, and we added an extension for the kitchen. If there are any problems in the design, don't hesitate to text us. We'll be right over.”

  Tim O’Dation handed Ami a beige calling card written in Victorian script. He adjusted his glasses and smiled.

  “Offer you guys a six pack for your trouble?” Ami asked, hanging off the railing and stretching her back.

  “That's okay. But say 'hey' to Trips when you see him,” DM said. Ami’s eyes grew large. DM and Tim O’Dation looked at each other. “We would have heard something if anything were wrong.”

  Ami nodded, shuddering a breath.

  “No news is good news.” Tim said.

  “Guess.” Ami shrugged, nodding. People were filing out around them.

  “Hey, Nightingale!” Someone called. They looked up and saw an expectant face looking over the bannister.

  “That’s me. Gotta go. See you 'round,” Ami said, darting up the staircase. Her stomach tightened as she pressed her way through the crowd into the apartment. Whatever it is, you can handle it.

  Sally darted out from the kitchen, drying her hands. “He's been asking for you, by your real name. Someone called him Red Rocket.” She nodded at the bathroom. “He’s in there. Couldn’t stop him.”

  Ami’s throat clutched. “In there?”

  “He's big. You want me to call someone?”

  “No, that’s okay. Thanks,” Ami said, her pulse thudding in her ears. How on earth could he have gotten by without my noticing?

  She rapped gently, then cracked the door and flicked the lights. Jeesh, they broke the lights, she thought as she kicked the door open and stood in the doorway.

  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out the shape of a head wrapped in a towel lolling over the back of the tub and an armored hand dangling over the side. The other hand held a glowing phone on his chest, a live post-modernist
version of The Death of Marat.

  “So, you're a murdered radical journalist, are you?” Ami asked in a whisper, as giant tears formed in her eyes. She kicked the door closed.

  “Vive la révolution,” Trips whispered, with a lackadaisical fist pump, then patted down the towel over his eyes.

  There was a knock at the door. Ami inhaled sharply, wiped her face and cracked the door. She tried not to sound pissed. “Yes, what is it?”

  “We're leaving,” Vanessa said, offering Ami a pitcher of rehydration fluid and a sleeve of plastic cups, while craning to see inside. “There's a truck waiting, outside.”

  “Um, okay.” Ami cracked the door a bit wider and took the pitcher and the sleeve of cups and placed them on the counter by the sink.

  Vanessa nudged the door open. “Are you okay with him? Should we take him to the hospital?”

  Ami turned to look over her shoulder at Trips. “No, I think I can manage.”

  “Oh, okay,” Vanessa said, craning to see.

  Ami cleared her throat. “It's okay. I know him.”

  “Ah, okay.” Vanessa leaned on the doorknob.

  Ami could tell she wasn’t going to leave until she got more. “It’s my boyfriend, my fiancé, Trips Kentigern.”

  “Ah, okay.” Vanessa grinned and nodded at Sally standing behind her.

  “Don't forget to turn off the GPS beacon on your phone. I turned off the one in the window. Okay?” Sally said, poking her head through the door.

  “Thanks for the reminder.” Ami pulled out her phone and turned off the beacon, then placed it on the counter. She was glad her identity remained hidden by using the pseudonym Nightingale and now she was offline. Her apartment was hers again. “Good night. Thank you.”

  “Good night,” Vanessa said, pulling the door shut.

  Ami knelt next to the tub and slid the phone from Trips' grip. It displayed the words I love you in Gaelic. She smiled and placed Trips’ dying phone on the counter next to hers. She poured rehydration fluid into a plastic cup with trembling hands. “Can you drink some water for me?”