Free The Infected 1: Proxy by P. S. Power Page A

a silver tray with several things on it. Needles and syringes. They stayed by the elevators on the far side of the track and watched him hobble over slowly. When he got there the woman, a cute, slightly plump doctor named Sara, gave him a shot in the arm and told him that he'd start getting loopy after a few seconds and be ready for bed inside fifteen minutes.
    Brian went with Jason, feeling Penny's hand on his arm steadying him as the drugs kicked in. He would have been a lot more amazed by their effects if he hadn't spent most of the last ten days in a similar state. Jason took him to floor nine and showed him to his room, number four, right on the main hall. Convenient.
    Penny told him it was one of the good rooms, but didn't explain what that meant, not that he'd have understood. The more drugged he was, the better he could hear her it seemed, until, finally, after Jason left them at the door, Brian could see her.
    She looked see-through, but he could see her face, heart shaped, thin, but not skinny, just like she took care of herself. Her clothes were just the same sweats he and Jason wore, but filled out a lot more nicely in the chest. He reached out and touched her there, his hands too clumsy to do anything specific, it probably seemed to her that he'd done it on accident.
    "I can see you." He said so sleepily he doubted she'd understand him. Brian fell asleep hard then, hitting the pillow, not even getting under the white and green bed spread.
    He woke up hours later, nearly ten hours later he saw when he looked at the green numbers on the clock sitting on the table next to his bed. It was about fifteen minutes until he had to start working out. He got up, stiff and sore, but no worse than he'd felt in the cell.
    Better, because he could breath. Amazing how much a little thing like air could change a person's outlook, wasn't it? That and all the water he could drink. It was incredible. The sad part was that he really meant it, which made him sigh a little.
    He got up and realized he wasn't wearing any clothes. He must have taken them off during the night. Only explanation after all. Well, he had been kind of out of it, hadn't he? Drugs would do that to a body.
    In the bathroom he found a wonderful shower that surrounded him with sprays of water from all sides in a space nearly as big as the entire bathroom he and Doug had shared for years. The little tile squares were pink, not his favorite color, but the water didn't need to heat up, coming out warm to start with. He washed quickly and shaved with the electric razor sitting on the counter, hoping it being there meant it was for him to use. Brian dried with the big fluffy towel that felt so soft he wanted to linger, but made himself brush his teeth and go find clothes. In the closet there was an array of things, no underwear, but everything else he needed for working out, including some black trunks that were the stretchy kind people wore to ride bikes in.
    He put them on, not seeing anything else, wearing them under some sweatpants. They worked pretty well for it. It felt a little funny, but maybe it was what they were for?
    Brian got down to fourteen to find it empty at seven, so he just started running on his own. A slow jog that made his groin hurt a little. Not a sharp pain, just a light, dull one, so probably just muscle soreness. Kind of the point of all the walking the day before after all. He ran for most of an hour before someone else came in. A red-haired woman that looked to be in about her mid-twenties and like she should have green eyes, whether she did or not, freckles lightly visible as he passed. The woman sat and stretched, bending easily. She folded in half, twisted further than Brian had thought possible and then did a few odd-looking sit-ups, with her legs lifting off the ground, bouncing in place for a few minutes.
    He tried to keep running as long as he could, stopping only for water. At about eight-thirty his legs just wouldn't work anymore, not