Beat (6 page)

The other Pushers stared at me, obviously shocked that I wasn’t already beginning to twitch on the ground as the Bug infected me. I wanted to shout at them, at the entire city—all of the fragged up New Chapter—that I’d won. I was right. I scrubbed sweat from my face, my heart still thundering in my chest, and waited for someone to say something.

Jak and Greg spun, scampered to their cycles, and disappeared, pedaling like crazy. Dona took off after them.

Everyone watched them go. “Where are they going?” I asked, my breath catching a little. We didn’t have to leave yet. “What the bug?” But I understood before I’d finished speaking. They were terrified at what I’d just done. They obviously didn’t want anything to do with this anymore.

Then David grabbed Pol, trying to drag the younger boy away. “No!” Pol tore his arm out of his brother’s grasp. “No! I’m staying!”

“No, you’re not! We’re out of here,” David said, reaching for Pol again.

Pol dodged David.

I stepped forward but was grabbed by Bren. He shook his head; this was between David and Pol.

“Let him be!” Melisa said, trying to get between them. “If he wants to st—”

“You shut up!” David’s voice cracked. “He’s
my
little brother!”

“I’m not scared!” Pol backed away again.

“He gets to choose,” Melisa said, planting herself in front of David and folding her arms.

David swung at Melisa, slamming his fist into her cheek. She crumpled, her face slack in shock and pain. “Pol, we are leaving,” David said, lunging.

“
You
can leave if you’re scared!” Pol yelled, dashing toward the ravine about a hundred yards to the right. “I’m not scared!”

David jerked to a halt, glaring at the rest of us. He was breathing heavily and his Papa beeped under its cup. The cool night air felt crisp against my skin as I waited for him to make a move. Melisa jumped at him, obviously ready to get him back for his sucker punch, but Koner grabbed her. A moment later, through the darkness, I saw David’s shoulders slump. He turned and trudged toward the cycles.

I glanced around. Pol was running back toward us now; he must have seen David give up. Pol’s Papa could be heard beeping under the muffling interference cup. Aside from Pol, we still had Bren, Melisa, and Koner. We all stood staring at each other, obviously shocked that so many had decided to abandon us.

“Do you think they’ll tell someone?” Koner’s gaze moved from Melisa’s face to mine, to Bren’s, and then back to mine.

“And get the Enforsers’ attention on them? No way.” Melisa snorted an ugly laugh. “They’re cowards. If they came out and admitted they were involved, the punishment’d be even bigger than a shift in the Dumps.” She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “No way do they tattle.”

Bren snorted, but it sounded forced. He still clutched my left arm. I shook that arm; he got the picture and let go. I tested the glue wad. Still there. I put my pulse at 125. I thought about taking the wad out.

I realized in that moment that everything had changed. There was never a reason to let the knockout get me again—not for the mandated bedtime, not for a too-high heart rate. The wad stayed in. Forever. Or at least until I figured out how to get the stupid Papa off. And I had to tell someone, like an Admin or something.

Silence stretched between my friends and me. My mind filled with thoughts of exposing the Bug for the lie that it was. But New Frisko—all of the New Chapter—might not see me as a hero.

“What do we do now?” Bren asked. Pol chose that moment to rejoin the group. His Papa beeped loudly, and he sucked wind pretty noisily.

We looked at each other. “We have to tell everyone,” I said.

“I didn’t come out here to screw things up,” Koner said.

“None of us did,” Melisa said. “But if you’re gonna cry about it, you should leave, too.” Her arms were crossed on her chest again. In the dark, I could barely make out that she was working her Papa around her wrist.

“Shut up,” Koner said. “I’m not a bug-eater like those guys.”

“We have to tell everyone,” I said, seeing visions of my face on skreens around the world. “This is going to change it all. Everything.”

“Nik,” Bren said. “Quit it.”

I tried to make out Bren’s expression. “What?”
“We’re not rebels or revolutionaries or anything. We just wanted to have fun.” Bren shifted and gestured weakly at the remaining Pushers. “What if we don’t want to screw the whole world up? And what if we made a mistake?”

“It’s no mistake!” My best friend! Seriously? “Melisa checked. You all saw. The Bug’s gone!”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Koner said.

“No,” Bren said. “Nik’s right.”

At the same time, Melisa said, “It was 165. I’m sure.”

“What do you mean, I’m right?” I glared at Bren. “I mean, of course I’m right, but—”

“He means that the Bug’s got to be gone. There’s no way it’s still in the atmosphere like they’ve been saying,” Melisa said.

“Right,” Bren said. He crossed his arms and glared back at me. “But that doesn’t mean it’s our business to go out and make a mess of everything. And maybe we don’t want to.”

“I want to!” Pol practically jumped with each word. What was he, ten? Eleven? “We could change the whole world!”

I couldn’t see her, but I knew Melisa had just rolled her eyes. “Spam. It doesn’t matter anyway. We have to get back home.” I heard the wry grin in her voice. She fiddled with her Papa and put her right hand in her zip pocket. “There’s got to be a patrol due around here soon.”

“Okay, we can wait,” Bren said.

“No!” I wasn’t going to sit through Bio class again. Another two hours of Mr. Jonson’s droning voice would be torture, especially now that I knew he was just lying to us. “No waiting. I’m going to—”

It occurred to me that I had no idea what I should do to get the word out. The Speekers were basically good-looking Admins with special voice enhancements. And all of the grown-ups I knew were Teachers or doing some other kind of work for the city. Maybe one of the men in the Enjineering Dome? Was everybody lying or did nobody know? What about the Prime Administrator? What about Mom or Dad? Mom had said she was sure the Bug was gone, but maybe she would listen. Maybe she would help get the word out.

I had to tell them. That would be step one. I would tell them in the morning. Or maybe even as soon as I got home. They would forgive me for sneaking out, right?

“Let’s meet during lunch tomorrow,” Koner said, already moving toward the cycles. “We can all come back with some ideas and stuff.”

I wanted to argue, but he was right. “Fine. I’ll keep quiet until then.”

“What if David doesn’t let me come?” Pol’s voice dripped with self-pity.

I had to admire the kid’s spine, but I also didn’t care if he didn’t show up at lunch or the next time we met at night. We only did this every couple of months so we didn’t push our luck, and I didn’t want to babysit. It wasn’t like Pol had done anything, anyway.

“Your problem, Bugface,” Melisa said. She glanced at me and then Bren. She gave him a smile and followed Koner.

Bren hung back, so I stayed with him. “See you all tomorrow!” I called. I felt deflated. The thrill of victory had faded to something like disappointment or frustration. I’d proven there was no more Bug and now . . . nothing.

The others called some “Yeahs” over their shoulders and were soon pedaling away. I faced Bren.

“So,” he said. “Hero much?”

I grinned. “Well, yeah. You should worship me and stuff.”

He smiled back. “I’ll wait on that. Besides, you’ll probably be too famous for me in a week or two.”

“True.” I pushed my cycle toward where his leaned against a tree. “But you can stay around and, I don’t know, polish my cycle. Maybe clean windows.”

“You’re a bug eater,” Bren said, kicking my calf.

We said nothing until we got to his cycle. “That was pretty stupid.” Bren mounted up.

“Nope. Perfectly planned and perfectly executed. With perfection.” I kicked his cycle’s back wheel.

“Spam.” Bren glanced at me with a grin. “I took my speed controller chip out.” Then he was pedaling furiously toward the path we had just come from. Given that he was riding through oxi-grass, he didn’t go fast, but he took me by surprise, so it took me a minute to catch up with him.

At the path, he reached into his zip pocket. “We can’t have you feeling too special, now,” he said, showing me a thin wad of glue.

My heart pounded for a moment. It had worked for me; of course it would work for him. “I bet you can’t even hit 130,” I said. I adjusted my knockout blocker.

“Frag that,” Bren said. He slid the glue wad between his Papa and his wrist. “You know I can.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Want to check it, oh perfect one?”

“Shut up.” I caught him again as he rode up the path toward the hill. “You’re sure about this?”

“Dok. You just did it.” Bren pedaled faster, pulling away. “Of course I am.”

Dok. Funny being called what was short for doktor. But after they had saved what was left of the human race, the nickname for people stuck.

Bren continued pulling away. He was making it a race. We crested the hill, ignoring the help the kinetic motors were giving, and screamed down the other side.

“120!” Bren shouted.

“Weak! I’m already at 130!” I called.

Then the only sound was the wind in my ears and the frantic spinning of our pedals and wheels. We kept following the path. It led toward our homes anyway and was easy to follow, even with the stars and half-moon as the only light.

“130, minimum!” Bren didn’t even look back. He was faster than me, somehow naturally stronger.

“I hit 140 forever ago!”

His laughter carried easily back to me. He wasn’t going to beat me. I leaned forward, keeping my butt on my seat and pumping furiously. I had to be nearly at 160 again. Still no Bug. Of course.

“I’m there! Gotta be past it!” Bren slowed a little as I caught up with him.

“Are you sure?”

Bren gasped for air, his face flushed a darker shade of gray in the light of the stars and park lamps. “Yes!” He pedaled harder.

“Where are you going?” I wasn’t sure he heard me over the wind rushing past. We leaned into our turns, following the winding path through groves of trees and past the edge of the huge ravine.

“Leaving no doubt!”

Then we were in a real race, both of us trying to make it to Purple Rez first. We zoomed past a herd of maintenance bots as we left the path, caught air, and hit the street. We both laughed.

Skidding to a halt at the street that led to his home, Bren let out a whoop. I did the same and we both burst into laughter. This was better. Better than before.

We grinned at each other, trying to speak around gasps. “I won,” Bren said.

“I let you.”

“Spam!” He gulped. “Had to. Hit. At least. 160.” He spat into the road and heaved a huge breath.

Now two of us. It was even better that the other one was Bren. My best friend. “Me too.”

He checked his Papa and shook his head. The interference cup was still on. “Gotta. Be. Late.” He angled his cycle down the street. “Tomorrow.” He coughed, then gulped more air. “Death to the Bug!” He rolled away.

“Yeah.” I watched him go for a second and turned toward my home, checking that my glue wad was still protecting me from the knockout. I pedaled hard toward home.

I was never going to get the knockout again. The totally useless knockout, controller of humanity.

Death to being afraid of the Bug. Death to the New Chapter.

I heard Bren cough again. He had to be at least a block away. I could only hear him because there was nothing else making a sound anywhere.

Another cough came.
What?

I tapped to a stop. I hadn’t coughed at all after pushing past 140. What was wrong with Bren? A fear I didn’t want to name filled me, and I spun around, hurtling to catch up with Bren.

I found him stopped in the middle of the street, off his cycle and hunched over, hands on his knees.

“Bren!” I called from halfway down the block.

In the illumination of the streetlamps, I saw his face turn. He coughed again.

“Bren,” I said again, hopping off my cycle. “What’s going on?”

He tried to straighten but ended up clutching his chest and tipping backwards until he landed on his backside.

What the bug?
Tingles spread across my body, fear squeezing my chest. Impossible.

“Bren!” Panic, sour-tasting and blinding, forced me to my knees next to my friend. He wasn’t coughing anymore but was gasping. He fell back again, lying down in the middle of the street.

“Nik.” Bren clutched his zip over his chest, his other hand reaching for me. “Hurts.” The streetlights provided enough light for me to see that his lips were darkening, turning blue.

“What is it?” I let myself wonder if he had asthma. Nobody ever got excited or stressed out in New Frisko, so asthma practically didn’t exist. But we’d talked about it in PathoFiz. An obsolete disease. Like the Bug was supposed to be.

Bren’s body started jittering and shaking violently. He gulped as if drowning. His face looked like one of the fish in the bio lab. His eyes darted to my face and to the sky, back and forth, wildly. “Nik. Help.”

I didn’t know what to do. If this was the Bug—it couldn’t be. I’d be sick too. I’d have been twitching in Hope Park. The Bug was gone from the atmosphere.

But what else could it be? I yanked the cup off my Papa and threw it down the street.
Please see that I’m out here. Please.
How long would it take the Enforsers to notice?

Bren’s face mottled with dark splotches as I watched him. The spots looked black in the blue-tinged lights of the streetlamps. He gagged and sat up violently. I tried to hold him down, hold him still, frantically trying to figure out what to do. Bren puked. My arms were splattered as his vomit cascaded down his front. He lay back, shaking more and rolling back and forth.

“Nik!”

I met Bren’s eyes for a moment, and then he looked away again. It was as if his eyes couldn’t stay still, like he was wildly searching for an escape from whatever was happening to him.

Mottled face. Puking. Couldn’t catch his breath.

This sounded like the Bug. I shook my Papa, hoping it would make the signal faster.
Come on!
“Help! Someone help!”

How could Bren have been infected with the Bug, but I wasn’t?

Impossible.

Suddenly Bren’s heels slammed again and again on the smooth street, his arms flailing uncontrollably.

He was having a seizure. A bad one. If this was the Bug, it was cutting off his oxygen supply and forcing his heart to beat way faster than it should. I had to do something.

The knockout! His heart rate had to be higher than 140 still. I dove across Bren’s body for his left wrist, missing it and ending up more covered in his mess. I tried to ignore the stink but gagged. I swallowed, pushing myself into an awkward hop that carried me from Bren’s right to his left side.

This time I got him. He moaned and his heels slammed on the ground again. I pinned his arm between my knees and held his wrist. I knocked the metal cup off. It clanked against the road, disappearing into the darkness. I pulled the glue out and watched for the Papa to register contact with Bren’s skin again.

It began to beep loudly. Incredibly loudly. And fast. Maybe ten beeps per second. It could have been one continuous beep it was so fast.

On the Papa, I watched the digits flash. Bren’s heart rate was 164 and rising fast.

“Come on!” I shouted, wishing the knockout would work fast. Would it give him more than one? If anybody was really monitoring the Papas in one of the Admin buildings, they might notice Bren and send help. Sick with worry, trying to deny the guilt that was building in my stomach, I reached for Bren’s face.

“Bren. It’s gonna be okay. The knockout will help.” He was shaking worse now, so hard that his bones should have been splintering.

“Nik.” Bren’s voice was a croak, a sound squeezed through pain I didn’t want to imagine. This couldn’t be happening. This could
not
be happening.

“Bren. I’m sorry. I don’t understand.” My throat tightened. A sob tore through me. I didn’t want to scare him worse, so I tried to keep the tears back. I failed. “I’m sorry. I don’t get it. This shouldn’t be happening.”

“Nik,” Bren said again, going suddenly still and focusing on me. All I could see around his pupils was white. “Nik.” His voice was a barely audible whisper.

I swallowed, trying to get control of myself. I leaned closer. “Bren. It’s gonna be okay. Somebody will come. I’m sorry.”

His left hand squeezed my hands tightly, bone-crushingly. “Bug.”

Then he screamed. His back arched up and his head slammed into the pavement of the street. It happened again, then a third time.

Terrified, totally paralyzed, I watched my friend. Should I hold him down? Would my Papa give him more knockout if I got it off me and onto his wrist?

Stupid. Nobody could get their Papas off.

Bren screamed again, his chest heaving. Lights went on in houses all along the street.

Suddenly he went still and totally silent. He was looking at me.

I leaned forward, hoping the knockout had finally worked. “Bren. It’ll be—”

I gagged, all the strength leaving my body. The whites of his eyes were gone, replaced by dark gray. Tiny dark streams of blood rolled down his face, pooling on the pavement. His chest didn’t move.

I sucked in a breath, trying to hold it back, but I couldn’t. I flung myself to the side and threw up.

Scrubbing my face with what I hoped was a clean part of my zip, I straightened. “Bren.” I slid closer on my knees. “Bren?” He didn’t move. “Please! No, Bren. Don’t! Please!” I grabbed his shoulder, shaking him. Nothing. I don’t know everything I shouted at him, fear and grief making me jittery. I shook his shoulder again.

Bren didn’t move. “What do I do?” I asked the street, the night. “What do I do?” A memory from Fiz Ed of how to do CPR. “Bren! Please don’t die. I’m sorry.”

I swallowed and got control of myself. His shirt was covered in puke. I pulled it up so I could try getting to his chest and doing CPR. You were supposed to push the chest, try to get the heart started, right?

I reeled back, disbelief and guilt and horror mixing into a knot of sickness inside me. I tasted my vomit, needed to throw up again, needed to spit. I yelled instead. Bren’s chest was—was bleeding. It was as if the blood had pushed so hard at the inside of his skin that it had finally pushed its way through his pores. Blue lines marked his veins under his skin, all over his torso.

I heard doors opening down the street.

“What do I do?” I looked left, right, all around me. Bren was gone. The knockout had been too late. He would be found. People would be here in a minute.

I had to get out of here. If I stayed, I’d get in trouble. They’d think that I did it. Or at least that I’d been involved.

I was involved. I
did
do it. I couldn’t run away from my best friend.

I stared at Bren’s face, his wide eyes. Leaning forward, I gently slid his eyes closed. “Bren. I’m sorry. So sorry.” Whatever happened, I was going to stay with him. But what if I had to tell Jan? I couldn’t do that. I imagined what her reaction would be if I spoke those words to her. Tears falling from those blue eyes.

Wait.

Why had Bren gotten the Bug and I hadn’t? I couldn’t keep up with my thoughts; my head felt heavy. What had just happened?

This was the Bug, right? I forced my thoughts into a rough order. Bren had shown every symptom of an infection from the Bug. It had to be, but why wasn’t I dead? Why Bren and not me?

Somebody would come. Enforsers or Admins—somebody would find Bren and me, would explain this whole thing. They would want to test me, find out if I was immune. They would know how Bren had avoided the knockout. They would know to ask me about it.

I couldn’t face that.
Get away.
I had to go. Had to go.

I pushed myself up, wobbling for a minute.
No.
Bren was my friend. I hadn’t died but he had and it was my fault. I had to stay and help figure out what had happened. If I was immune, I could help—everyone.

Everyone except Bren.

The high-pitched whine of an Admin pod drifted through the night sky. I checked my Papa. Nearly 02:30. Had only an hour passed since I’d proved the Bug was—

But it wasn’t. Bren had just proved the Bug was still around. I turned slowly, feeling like my thoughts were pushing through layers of wet clothing. Lights were on in most houses down this street; people were coming out. Some of them had to have seen me.

How had this night gone so bad? “This is insane.” I shook my head, trying to clear it. I forced a deep breath through my burning throat. “This is . . . wrong. Wrong.”

I was alive. Something was very wrong.

Somebody shouted. People ran my way, their shadows multiplied by the streetlights. I leapt on my cycle. I couldn’t stay. I had to figure out what was going on, what had happened tonight. And I couldn’t get caught in questions or investigations.

I couldn’t take the accusations.

I started to pedal away, sick at my own fear and guilt.
No. You did this. You can’t run.

I left my cycle and walked back to Bren. I was going to stay right there.

“Hey! What’s going on?” A woman came into view, baggy sleeping clothes waving all over as she jogged toward me.

“I don’t know! My friend.” I looked at Bren’s unmoving body. “I think he’s dead.” My throat tightened. Tears dripped down my cheeks.

“What are you doing out here?” The woman stopped a few feet away from Bren, staring at him. “Oh no. The Bug.”

“We—we were—” I couldn’t breathe.

“What’s happening out here?”

“It’s the Bug, Rob.” The woman stepped closer to the man who had just arrived. He put his arm around her.

“What?” The man took everything in, Bren’s body, me standing there crying. “Hey kid. What happened? Why aren’t you at home sleeping?”

I shook my head, unable to speak.

An Enforser pod screeched to a halt a few meters above the street. Lights blazed from all over it, blinding me.

“Return to your homes. Return to your homes.” The metallic voice rang out as the pod hovered above the street, a wide door opening in the side.

The couple didn’t wait around, and I saw other people who had started to come over disappear back into their houses.

“You! Stop right there.” The voice came from the first Enforser who dropped out of the hover pod.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

Then he shot me.

From one moment to the next, I was standing and then slamming onto the road, pain blossoming around my left shoulder. A rubber bullet.

“Nik Granjer, you are in violation. Stop resisting detainment.” The voice came from the pod again.

I wasn’t resisting. I rolled to my knees, confusion and pain battling it out in me. “I’m not!”

“We will use lethal force if you continue to resist.” The amplified voice rang out along the street.

Frag me! I stood, putting my hands up. “I’m not resisting! Just help my friend. I think I’m imm—”

I felt myself picked up a little and thrown backwards by the next rubber bullet. Then more explosions sounded, and I heard and felt more of the bullets slam into the road around me, a few hitting my chest. Had they cracked my ribs? Why weren’t they listening? Frantically, I scanned the area. Five Enforsers were approaching. I heard the whir of the drums on their Keepers. “I’m not resisting!” My cycle was maybe two meters away.

“We have no choice, Nik Granjer.”

Bug that! I jumped at my cycle, my feet landing on the pedals, and I jetted out of there as fast as I could move my legs.

“Stop!”

Keepers fired, but I was moving fast and weaving, trying to get the cycle’s pneumatic feet to go back up. I felt bullets hit the cycle, and one hit my lower back. Another fountain of pain erupted. I pedaled hard, glad I still had my wad of glue in. The last thing I needed right now was the knockout. I glanced over my shoulder. The Enforser pod’s door was closing. I thought I saw at least one Enforser still on the street near Bren.

Why were they trying to kill me? I had to hide.

Impossible. I still had my Papa, and I’d thrown both my and Bren’s interference cups away somewhere. Fragging drek.