Broken Angels by Harambee K. Grey-Sun Read Free Book Online Page A

had he really done—to deserve such a punishment?
    Was it a sin, or a blessing? Or were both equally false words, having no relevance to real life?
    Robert’s viral condition—at least when controlled through a combination of willpower, smart attire, and frequent medication— allowed him to do some good in the world. But who really gave a shit whether he lived or died? Who’d given a shit about that poor old man he’d seen literally falling to pieces? Known Virus-carriers were treated worse than the homeless. And if one had the misfortune of being homeless and infected, well…
    After eight long years, the total number of the infected—both dead and living—remained relatively small, and mostly ignored. It was estimated that, at any given time, there were one hundred thousand to two hundred thousand living Virus-carriers on the planet. The vast majority of those who contracted the Virus died shortly thereafter or were quarantined; treatment of victims varied from country to country, locality to locality. In the United States, far too many of the country’s elected officials and opinion-makers abused the out-of-sight-out-of-mind philosophy. They felt only a few million Virus-carriers dead or on the verge of dying worldwide over the span of eight years was nothing for them or the populace to get too excited about. After all, the ordinary flu killed somewhere between a quarter of a million and half a million people worldwide each year, and very few people got too worked up about that. Besides, overpopulation and a tightening economy were far more dire problems.
    Those who ran the Heartland Security Agency agreed with this assessment, but they were also smart enough to give the Virus some attention. Almost from day one, the Agency had been at the forefront of an educational campaign that tried to prevent its spread, while at the same time orchestrating a propaganda campaign to persuade the public that carriers of the Virus couldn’t really perform the amazing feats numerous witnesses had seen them perform.
    Robert chuckled as he thought about some of the propagandistic acrobatics the HSA had performed over the years to explain away the actions and misdeeds of Virus-carriers. Their supernatural-seeming performances were, without fail, dismissed as mere illusions, sophisticated-but-still-amateurish magic tricks. Nothing to worry about. Professional stage magicians, circus freaks, and any halfway decent clown at a children’s party could perform tricks just as amazing. Whatever fantastic tricks anyone thought they saw or heard about could be illuminated by rational, common-sense explanations, courtesy of the HSA’s wordsmiths. The government’s expert debunkers could also easily disprove any of those fantastical tales told by bloggers and others on the Internet about isolated happenings in other countries.
    No wonder no one gave a damn about the Virus and whatever catastrophes to which it might be a party. Lies, ignorance, and illusions—all of them were so blissfully sweet. Reality was much too pungent for the senses.
    Robert opened his eyes. He’d heard someone shouting at him. He turned his head and saw a frazzled-looking middle-aged woman in a yellow bathrobe, half hidden behind the open front door. His Mustang was idling in her driveway, and she was none too pleased about it. Only some of her words were in English; all that Robert understood were a couple of racial slurs and something about getting a gun if he didn’t get out of there.
    His drug-assisted rumination was over. The medication has steadied his hand. His nails were the proper color. Time for him to get on with his official duties.
    Robert arrived at the hospital in ten minutes.
    He passed through the security check on the first floor then went to the fifth floor, where he had to pass through a second check before getting to the right hall. When he saw Sam, he had many questions for her, but she was the first to speak.
    “Where’s Darryl?”
    “On