Chapter 10-1

Class ended in five minutes and all I could think was, seven hours of school is too long for a superhero.

I shouldn't think that way. My mom was an English professor and she'd be rolling in her grave if she'd ever heard me say that out loud. Education mattered. A developing mind needs to learn. I wondered what she'd think about me fighting the zombies, though. Would she make an exception? Would she understand? Or would she take the other side, just so we could have a long drawn-out argument and polish up our debating skills?

God, what I wouldn't give for one of her lectures right now.

What really grated was the fact that my last class was English. I actually liked English class, and not just because of my mother. Miss Morrows, the teacher, was actually passionate about the subject material and had the charisma and skill to captivate her class. Watching her dissect Shakespearian play and uncover hidden motives and insights I'd never even thought of was beauty in and of itself. Last week, I would have said it was the best way to end the school day.

Now, I just want the bell to ring so I can get back to the things that actually matter. Schoolwork just didn't seem important when there was an army of monsters less than a mile away, eating people.

Outbreak was contained in the Docks, yes, but it wasn't beaten yet. With the Phorid creature dead, the rest of the horde became mindless and started killing everything in sight. No matter what anyone said, they were still a danger and had to be treated as such. There were still people in the Docks who survived the catastrophe and I couldn't do anything while cooped up in a classroom. Damn the guidelines, I didn't join the Wards so I could sit around and watch people die!

I slowly unclenched my fist and forced myself to calm before I snapped the table in half by accident. No need to get frustrated. Rules are rules and even the PRT had to pay lip service to them every now and then. I suppose I should be grateful we were still allowed to fight at all. Not that I was some sort of war junky or even that I enjoyed wading through wave after wave of mutant horrors, it's just that…

It was the right thing to do, even if it was for only a few hours a day.

Guess that was my schedule for the next couple of weeks: School, followed by Search and Destroy, followed by pretending to Dad that I wasn't out fighting a war for several hours a day.

The bell rang. Just as I got up, Miss Morrows called out to me. "Taylor, a word before you leave, please."

Once upon a time, those words would have filled me with dread. If I couldn't get out of class fast enough…

No. Emma wasn't here. I was safe.

I looked around. A few curious glances, but nothing more. There wouldn't be any pranks here. If I was going to be ambushed, it would be by my friends, trying to drag me into doing something fun for a change. I still wasn't at peace, though. Then again, two years of torture doesn't simply disappear in a month.

"Taylor," Miss Morrows began "are you sure you're alright?"

Oh great, one of those conversations. The biggest downside to all the teachers knowing about my 'extracurricular activities' was the sympathy I got for something they couldn't possibly hope to understand. Of course, being Arcadia, they actually cared enough to ask, even if you didn't want them to. "I'm fine."

"Your grades are slipping and I can tell you're a lot quieter now."

"I've been busy. We both know with what."

She sighed. "Taylor, you can talk about this. What happened to Dean…"

I sighed in irritation. Dean and I weren't what you would call close. Not the way I was with Missy or Lisa. He was a friend, though, and he went above and beyond to try and make sure I was happy. I suppose some people might interpret that as interest, but Dean did that to everyone. It's just how he was. "Dean was a good guy. We'll all miss him. End of story. I don't need to talk about it." I replied, a bit colder than I intended.

"There's more than that, though." Of course, she'd think that, him being the only other Ward in this class. As if I could only have cape friends.

Sam didn't count. She wasn't really a cape anyway.

"Not really. He was a friend to me, but nothing more. My grades are slipping because I don't have the time or the energy to do the work. I'd rather think about saving the living than talking about the dead." Sorry Mom.

"The dead have a lot to teach us, Taylor. Revenge, for instance, and what happens to the people who pursue it."

Oh, so that's what it was. Afraid I'd run off and got myself killed pursuing some vendetta against Outbreak. Clearly, she didn't know me. "I'm not interested in revenge. Outbreak needs to die. My feelings on the matter haven't changed because one of its victims happened to be a friend of mine."

"And what are those feelings, exactly?"

What were my feelings about this…That's a very good question. I didn't blame anyone for Dean's death. Carlos still wouldn't say how he died, but considering the situation, I doubt it was his fault. I was sad, yes, and there was a certain emptiness in our quarters without our resident knight-in-shining-armor, but…nothing else. This wasn't like when mom died. I liked Dean, but nothing more. His death, while tragic, wasn't particularly devastating to me. Not like it was to Vista, who actually had a crush on him, or Dennis, who were BFF's through-and-through. Or, presumably, Glory Girl, who must have had actual feelings for him.

Me? Sorrow, but nothing else, really. If anything, my feelings for Dean's death were secondary to the annoyance and frustration I felt for the PRT and their loony-bin policies, or the helplessness of being stuck in class while others were fighting for their lives less than a mile from here. I was one of maybe a dozen people in the entire city who was completely immune to the plague, and instead of doing my job, I was stuck here. I should be out there, fighting.

But I wasn't going to discuss that with a teacher, no matter how nice. At best, it was a waste of time; they couldn't do anything anyway. At worst, they'd try to 'help'. Unless that help was an excuse slip to let me return to the front, they'd only make things more complicated.

I suppose the word for this situation would be 'ironic', considering how badly I wanted them to do something back at Winslow.

"It sucks that he's gone, but there's nothing I can do about that. There's no use moping about something I can't change. For now, I'm going to stay strong and do what I can to get rid of Outbreak. Nothing more, noting less." Before she could reply, I raised my hand and said: "I'm not bottling things up. We're getting all the support we need and you can bet that the moment the quarantine gets lifted, the PRT will throw so many shrinks at us that we'll all develop an irrational fear of psychologists."

She looked at me with a face that made me wonder if she'd heard a single word I'd said. "If you ever want to talk…"

"You're here, yes, like all the others." I sighed. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't need help. No offense, but…I don't think you'd understand."

"You'd be surprised." Miss. Morrows replied, cryptically. "Go. Your friend's waiting.

I walked out the classroom and saw Sam speed towards me and smiled. Normalcy. While part of me just wanted to rush to PRT headquarters as fast as I could, another wanted me to slow down a little. Just a few moments of being a normal teenage girl. No more, though. Not while Outbreak was still around. Still, it was nice to just tattle away about stupid, mundane things and ignore the giant, stone wall around the city. Or the slightly less giant wall made of steel blades around the Docks.

"So, I heard they're letting us out in a couple of days." She asked with a strange mix of hope and worry in her voice.

"If everything goes well, yeah." I reassured her. "Not the Docks, though. Too many zombies. They'll probably open the gates and let some reinforcements in."

"Surprised they're not waiting until the whole city is clean…"

"It'll take too long. They're already worried about riots and stuff after just a week. Honestly, it's a miracle that the city isn't on fire yet. Well, aside from the Docks, that is."

We walked through the Boardwalk and the first thing I noticed was that everyone was still going about their normal routines. Shops were open, people were walking around, minding their business and everything looked like there was nothing wrong. Nothing aside from the forced smiles and worried looks on everyone's faces.

It was better than the alternative, I suppose. The stories I've heard from the worse areas of the city were grim, to say the least. For now, the police was able to keep order, thanks in no small part to the truce we have with the villains, but that wouldn't last forever.

"Is it just me, or has that van been following us?" Sam suddenly asked, pointing to a grey, unmarked van tucked away in a nearby alley. "Could have sworn I've seen it before." She squinted, before saying: "It is! It's got the same derpy light thing at the back."

I sighed. Sadly, I knew exactly who was inside. "That's the PRT, Sam. They've been following me for a while now."

"Really? Since when?"

"Since the whole Outbreak thing started." Since it became clear I was directly linked to a S-class threat. Since it became clear that my tolerance for PRT bullshit had its limits. Since it became clear my loyalty was not assured. "Don't worry about it. It's the PRT being its usual, paranoid self. They're just here to make sure nobody does anything stupid. Tensions being high and stuff."

Sam thought for a moment, before a mischievous grin appeared on her face. That couldn't possibly a good sign. "Well, we should get those hard-working men something nice, shouldn't we?" Before I could say anything, she disappeared into a store. Five minutes later, she came back with a box.

"Okay, I'll bite. What's in the box?"

"Donuts!"

"Donuts?"

"Yeah, you know, cops love donuts, don't they?" She said with an ear-to-ear grin.

"They're PRT agents. Police and PRT hate each other's guts."

The grin widened. "That's even better! Serves them right for spying on you. Now shush and start walking."

I groaned in response. Should I do this? I mean, these were just guys doing their jobs. Letting the big wigs know I was on to them wouldn't actually change anything. In fact, it would probably mean that they'd be more careful in the future. That's why I never said anything before. On the other hand, I did kind of want to see their faces when they realize they've been made, if only to rub it in later.

Fuck it, I'd give them their damn donuts. Hopefully, they'd choke on them.

I grabbed the box and walked away, ignoring Sam's cheering. I knocked on the van's rear door and opened it. Then, with my number one winning smile (which probably made me look like an axe-murderer), I said: "Hello gentlemen. I've noticed you've been following me for the past few days and figured you'd like a little snack."

The three men inside looked at me with a mix of shock and concern. No guilt, though. You'd think they'd look like they just got caught with their hands in the cookie jar, and yet… Something was wrong. "You're not PRT." One of them started eying his weapon. A large rifle that looked powerful enough to blow up a tank. Or me. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you." I said as evenly as I could, while pressing the panic button on my PRT-phone. I've never really tested my durability without my armor. While I could easily take a hit that would've incapacitated a normal, I didn't think I could survive getting hit by a cannon. In addition, the guy was sitting too far away for me to be able to take him down before he could fire the gun. If I was going to get out of this without being injured or outed, I'd have to bluff. "You know who I am, you know what I am, and I'm guessing you also know what happened to the last couple of guys who pointed guns at me."

The guy closest to me chuckled under his breath. Someone needed a little more convincing. I pulled a knife from his belt and planted it between his legs, a hair's breath away from his crotch. The man's surprised squeak was very satisfying. "My mother used to run with Lustrum, back in the day. Don't test my patience." I snarled. It shut him up very nicely. "Now, who do you work for? Empire? Coil? Spill it."

To their credit, the three simply sat still and kept quiet. Even with my enhanced senses, they didn't give anything away. I looked around the van a little more, trying to find more information. They all had notepads with a lot scribbled on them, probably so that they could communicate with each other non-verbally. Smart, when you're trying to tail someone with superhearing.

Not that it helped them much in the end…

With the three of us locked in a staring contest, I couldn't help but let my mind wander. I had been so convinced they were PRT. Why? In hindsight, the reasons I'd thought of didn't really hold up. I'm a Thinker, and a pretty high-rated one at that. They must have known that I'd be able to spot a tail and wouldn't be stupid enough to try. Not when I was already being paranoid. I should have figured this earlier. I should have done something earlier, if only to get them off my back. Ignoring something to death didn't work for the bullies at Winslow, so why did I think it'd deter the PRT?

Part of me wondered if I was slipping into old habits again.

Fuck. I pushed the thought out of my mind and focused on the problem in front of me. "You know, I really want to know what the hell you three were thinking. Stalking a teenager isn't going to look good in prison. Stalking a Ward and then being arrested by said Ward is probably even worse. Seriously, why are you here?"

One of the men grumbled. "What was that?" I asked. I could hear a siren in the distance. Must be the PRT. "Just so you know, there's kind of a truce going on and this would be breaking it. Your bosses are going to disavow you the moment they hear you've been caught. You really want to start talking because I can guarantee that the PRT aren't going to go easy on you. Breaking the Truce is one thing, breaking it to go after a minor is another altogether."

The grumbler wanted to respond, but the guy in the back snarled: "Not a word, Carl. Not a fucking word."

"Fuck you, and fuck this little shit too." The first replied. "All high and mighty! You're the one who broke it first, you bitch!"