Surge (107 page)

“And your C4,” Ace says as he points at the thing Patsy threw to Wally.

“And I’ve got my C4,” Wally confirms. “I have the perfect spot for it, too.”

“Where?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” Wally replies with a crooked smile that looks half crazed, half genius. “Now, for a plan. What’s your tally?”

“Forty-two, twelve and sixteen,” Webby repeats. “So, at least seventy known targets.”

“Where’s the highest concentration?” Wally asks.

“The bonfire,” Ace says.

“Exactly,” Wally says. “So, what we’re going to do is get them move away from the club, and into the trees. We’ll have better protection, and can use the dark to our advantage. Make them think that there are more of us than there are.” Wally waves the device in his hand. “We’ll lure them into the woods, but I’ll rig a few of these for them to stomp on. Obviously, it won’t get them all, but we should be able to take a good portion out with this. I want to make them come out as far as we can, so I want you, Patsy, to lure them to us.”

“I can do that,” Patsy says with a nod.

“Good, just do it quietly, and try to attract as many as you can,” Wally says. “If we can drag them out in stages, it will be less noticeable.”

“How about we have a few distractions?” Ace proposes. “We have our fastest runners in three different spots, so more men will give chase, and they’ll be split.”

“We could do that,” Wally agrees. “Who’s a fast runner?”

“I did track in high school,” Oscar says. “And I was chasing perps for ten years, and never let one get away.”

“Good, who else?” Wally asks.

“I can do it,” Webby says.

“Alright, so the three of you will get them to follow you into the woods,” Wally says. “I’ll set up my traps, Ace, I want you to rig a few for you and Patsy.” Ace nods. “The rest of us will take down whatever remains, before we try and take the clubhouse. I’m guessing that’s where Ollie is, and the lead asshole, so I want to do this as quietly as possible; that way we can take them unawares.”

“Alright,” Patsy says as he rubs his hands together. “This should be fun.”

<~~~<~~~
~~~>~~~><~~~<~~~
~~~>~~~>

Apparently, Patsy’s idea of fun, and mine differ greatly. It took about an hour to set up the traps, most of which I just had to sit there and watch, so it was doubly boring. Which meant that it left me to my worries without a distraction. The whole time they were tying up trip wires, I was freaking out.

What if I accidentally tripped one, and got blown to smithereens? What if we underestimated them, and we end up captives? Then Olivia will have to witness eleven more deaths, which she will feel personally responsible for. She’s already convinced that she has the blood of Travis and her baby on her hands, so how many more will she manage to convince herself that she’s accountable for?

We all knew the risks before we left the compound, and it was our decision to do so. If we are injured or worse, that’s on us, not her, but it won’t matter to Olivia if something happens to one of us. With that reminder, I decide to do anything in my control to prevent that. I know, I know, I’m not Superman and can’t protect everyone. But I can protect one. I glance at the man in question, an older copy of the fiancé and her brother in every sense that counts. She may be friends with the rest of us, but she’s known Cory her whole life.

If something were to happen to one of us, she would upset, but she would recover. But if something were to happen to Cory? I don’t think that what little’s left of the
‘Livi’
in her would survive. Her carefree nature would die, leaving only an empty shell of a person, who despises the world, but hates herself more. She’s already contemplating suicide, which is what prompted this emergency mission, but I know that she would follow through with it if Cory was harmed. So, I won’t allow it to happen, no matter what the cost might be.

“You ready, Jared?” Cory asks. I nod my head at his question. “Good, pick a tree and stay in it. I don’t want your burnt ass injured anymore, Livs will kill me.”

“No, she won’t,” I say with a wave at him. “I’ll be fine anyway.”

“Oh, I forgot you were freaking invincible, excuse me,” Cory says.

“That’s right,” I agree. “And don’t you forget it.” I can’t see it, but I can almost hear him roll his eyes.

“Just pick a damn tree,” Cory orders. “Wally’s ready, Webby’s in place, and we’re waiting for our cue.”

“Alright, I’m going,” I mutter as I walk to the nearest trunk that I think will hold my weight. I hear leaves rustling behind me, meaning that Cory has also climbed into his position, so I hop up and climb as far as I can.

“Nice spot,” Wally’s voice says near my ear. I jump, almost falling from my branch, but Wally chuckles as he grabs my collar and sets me firmly near the trunk. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

“I could have died.”

“You still could,” Wally retorts. “You prepared for that, kid?”

“I knew what I signed up for,” I say.

“Good, because this doesn’t look good,” he replies. “I’ve fought under tough circumstances before, but the numbers definitely don’t add up in our favor at all.”

“So, then we’ll take out as many as we can, and hope for the best.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Wally says. I hear his walkie crackle, followed by rustling of Wally’s coat as he fishes it out.

“
6567
, Patsy in position,” the walkie says.

“Copy that,” Wally says.

“4132, Speedy set to go,” Ace’s voice responds.

“3901, Webby’s green,” Webby replies.

“2525, go for gold,” Wally says. The walkie choruses
‘copy that,’
before it clicks off. “Hope you’re ready, ‘cause you’re about to get a crash course in training.”

“Please, I was born ready,” I reply.

“Christ, save us all,” Wally mutters.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” I mimic in the word’s Mrs. Moure.

“Fine, Jesus Christ,
please
save us all. Better?” Wally asks.

“Better.”

“Didn’t know that I had a freaking holy roller in the bunch,” he says.

“I’m a good little Catholic,” I say and hear Cory laugh from somewhere nearby. “Go to church every Sunday, and everything. Sure, the priest tries to bite me, but I did miss out on my last confession, so it’s understandable.”

“Well, I guess that explains it,” Wally says.

“Explains what?”

“Why she calls you
‘Mouth,’
” Wally explains. “You just keep running it.”

“Well, get used to it,” I say. “‘Cause you’ll be hearing it plenty more in the future.”

“Once again, Christ save us all,” Wally says.

“Amen,” Cory replies.

<~~~<~~~
~~~>~~~>

I do manage to shut my mouth for the next time minutes. I figure that it would probably be best to listen for running footsteps, as opposed to babbling nervous nonsense. So, that’s probably why I once again almost fall out of the tree, when Wally’s walkie goes off.

“Ah, Cap, we got a problem,” Webby’s voice announces. My heart rate increases to dangerous heights, and I have to fight to urge to snatch the walkie from Wally’s had and demand answers.

“What kind of a problem?” Wally asks.

“The dead kind,” Ace replies. Is it possible for a physically fit twenty-three old man to have a heart attack? I believe so, because my heart is beating out of my chest like a cartoon character.

“Explain yourselves,” Wally demands. That’s more like it, he was being too lenient with these fucks.

“They’re dead,” Patsy says.

“Who’s dead?” I ask. I hear a click before Wally repeats my question.

“Who’s dead?”

“Who else could they be?” Patsy retorts.

“Donaghue,” Wally hisses.

“The fucking raiders!” Ace shouts his response through the walkie. “They’re all dead.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Wally says.

“They’re dead,” Webby repeats.

“But how?” Wally asks.

“Don’t know,” Ace says. “No gun shots, no knife wounds, they’re just dead.”

“No, I got some drool coming out of this one,” Patsy announces.

“This one’s foaming too,” Webby adds.

“Alright, all of you shut up, we’re coming down,” Wally says.

He ignores their replies, and scrambles down the tree. I quickly follow after him and see Cory’s already at the bottom. I can’t read either of their expressions, but I can see from their profiles that Cory’s brow is furrowed in confusion, and Wally is tense in the shoulders. Wally doesn’t order us to wait, so we follow after him. I keep my steps exactly where he places his, so that I don’t trip a trap, and from the sound behind me, Cory’s doing the same.

Since we climbed pretty deep into the woods to lay in wait of the raiders, it takes us about twenty minutes to reach the tree line. Wally doesn’t pause this time, he just punches the branches out of his way and stalks out into the open. I follow his lead, and walk out onto the cracked pavement of the former parking lot. I can see that the bon fire has died out a bit, so I’m curious as to the cause. Did they die a while ago while we were rigging our traps, and haven’t fed it? Or did they let it die off so that they could go to bed? It’s after midnight, so that’s a possibility.

I guess that we’ll never know, since the raiders are indeed dead. I stepped over at least a dozen bodies, but I’m no medical expert, so I couldn’t even take a guess as to the cause of death. Since the moonlight is streaming down better out in the open, I can see that Wally hasn’t a clue either. He stands from the body he was examining and continues on to meet the others.

“Any idea what happened to them?” Wally asks. Head shakes go around, while others shrug.

“P-poison,” Tommy replies.

Ten pairs of eyes turn to stare at him. I can tell by the stiffness that overtakes his posture, that he regrets answering, because it made him the center of attention; putting a metaphorical spotlight on him without any option other than to answer the question. I see Tommy clench his fists at his side, and take a deep breath, before speaking.

“Poison,” Tommy repeats. “Foaming at the m-mouth, vomiting, d-discoloration of the e-eyes.” He points at the examples of each in the raiders. “I s-suspect that s-someone put it in t-this.” Tommy leans down and pries a bowl from a raider’s stiff fingers. He lifts it to his nose, and nods. “P-poison.”

“So, it’s like a cult then?” Patsy asks and Tommy shrugs as he tosses the bowl down.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Ace counters. “They were eating and having a good time, so I don’t think they knew that it was poisoned. In cults, it was usually the Kool Aid.”

“
‘Oh yeah,’
” John says in an imitation of the red pitcher of punch from the commercial.

“Okay, so they were poisoned,” Wally says as he rubs his temples. “But by whom?”

“Olivia,” I answer. As soon as Tommy suggested it, it sparked a memory of a conversation I had with her. When they all turn the spotlight on me, I explain. “She told me about how she added a few extra ingredients to their food before, so it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if she did it again.”

“Then, where the fuck is she?” Cory demands. I look at the clubhouse.