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following orders. Plus, remember Carla? She wasn’t obedient to the Chemist. Infected don’t obey. But his Chosen do.”
    She sucked on her bottom lip a moment. “The disease interacts with us differently, the same way a common cold affects individuals with different symptoms. You’re suggesting the virus gives us different levels of power, and the Chemist altered the disease cocktail so his new creations will inherently assume their place in a hierarchy? Without even being aware of it?”
    “Otherwise they’d attack each other. We Infected don’t like being around our own kind. Somehow, he solved this problem with the new ones.”
    “If might makes right then, because of your freakish power, wouldn’t you be their natural leader? Or Tank? Damn, imagine how they’ll react around Tank.”
    “They hate me. Attack me on sight. So Chosen don’t obey everyone stronger than they are. The Chemist had a trigger which made the tigers attack me and no one else. Maybe he’s doing the same thing with them?”
    “Hannah Walker didn’t attack the Outlaw. She seemed disinterested with you, on top of the tower.”
    “I think her mind is broken beyond tinkering. We’re just lucky she couldn’t smell Chase Jackson up there in the swirling winds.”
    Samantha shuffled restlessly in her chair. “So how does the Chemist make new Chosen obedient to him but hate you?”
    “No idea.”
    She said, “None of this explains why Infected aren’t repelled by you. We’re drawn to you.”
    “Must be a rare side-effect. Watch, here comes another Chosen.”
    On screen, another girl approached the argument, which was now bordering on violence. The girl was small with dark hair. Possibly east Asian. She clearly had the disease inside her. A thousand attributes screamed it, even at this distance.
    The men noticed her and stopped. She was the only girl. They backed away. We couldn’t hear the conversation, but she was shouting. She gestured. They obeyed.
    “Do you see?” I whispered. “The disease is stronger in her. They feel it.”
    “I see.”
    “She’s the smallest, but the most powerful. She’s naturally in charge, until a bigger and stronger animal comes along.”
    She chuckled. “You might be onto something, Outlaw.”
    PuckDaddy interrupted our thoughts. “Contact,” he announced. “Samantha, your motion sensors detected movement and I confirmed with the camera. Target is coming up the corridor. Right on schedule.”
    “Roger that,” she said. “Let’s move.”
    “Girl, you KNOW I love it when you talk all tactical!”
    I pulled my mask into place.
    Puck’s vehicle rolled to a stop and we jumped into a hidden alley. We were beyond the border of the Chemist’s southern boundary, near the unfinished SoLA Village South Tower. We climbed the steel skeleton five hundred feet into the air as quickly as possible.
    Other than the war zone, southern California is beautiful. The sky is an infinite blue, cool and crisp, and the distant ocean sparkles with sunlight. Ahead of us, the San Gabriel Mountains were tipped with winter snows.
    Los Angeles International Airport was shut down. Zero air traffic. The Chemist had destroyed multiple pipelines, resulting in oil shortages. Gas was twenty dollars a gallon. All modes of transportation were struggling, not just air travel. Even the military cut back.
    Lee finished Samantha Gear’s vest two weeks ago. It was just like mine, complete with parachute and wings, except hers didn’t have red Outlaw stitching. He practically hyperventilated while measuring her.
    Puck spoke into our ears, “Military cameras spotted you two on the tower.”
    I replied, “Let them watch. I’m wearing my mask and Samantha is tired of hiding.”
    Soon we’d be forced to clarify which military we referred to. The American government (including armed forces) was split straight down the middle, being pulled apart by Chemist followers, including Blue-Eyes, the beautiful girl controlling Washington.