Surge (13 page)

John moves closer to us and we form a trio of ass kickers. While John and I take out as many runners as we can, Olivia stabs and hurls daggers at any that we miss, or come close enough for her to reach. After an eternity, which is probably only twenty minutes real time, we’re victorious.

Surrounded by fifty or so bodies, I realize that something must have attracted them here in the first place. I’ll get the bottom of whatever the fuck it was, along with whomever the bastard was that spooked Olivia. If it was Danny again, I’m gonna be real motivated to climb all the way up to the roof, just to toss him from the top.

Speaking of Olivia, I turn to face her. She’s collecting her machete, hunting knife and daggers from the ground when I walk over. Remembering her personal space requirement, I stop a good five feet away.

“Are you alright?” I inquire. A nod is all I get, and I can’t read her face since it’s covered by the visor again. “You sure? No bites? Scratches?” I hold my breath, because I really don’t want to have to put her down.

“I’m fine,” she snaps. “And I would have been better if your douchebag group didn’t fuck with my plan.” I don’t say anything, since she’s right. On both accounts; of a portion of my group being douches, and for screwing up a seemingly flawless plan. “If I’d known I was going to get shot, I wouldn’t have come.” Wait a fucking minute.

“Shot?” I ask in a careful tone, belying my anger. “You were shot?” She shakes her head.

“Nothing but a flesh wound. Now let’s get the fuck inside before I stab someone.”

I agree because the faster we get inside, the faster I can check out this
‘flesh wound.’
Waiting for her to move first, which she doesn’t, I step aside like a gentleman to signal for her to go. Still, she won’t budge.

“After you,” I offer. Olivia denies me with another head shake. “Please go ahead, I’m scared that something may grab my foot and pull me along to hell with it.” With a choked noise, which sounds suspiciously like a laugh, she begins moving. After about twenty feet, I catch on to her awkward gait. Actually, it’s more of a limp that’s being purposely hidden, sort of like an animal not wanting to show its vulnerability.

“What happened to your foot?”

“Nothin.’”

“Bull shit,” I retort.

“Not bull,” she counters. “It’s my ankle, not my foot. Twisted it when the big bastard tackled me.”

Remembering her brush with death, I recall her freezing is what allowed said bastard to tackle her in the first place. Why’d she freeze? Was it just because she was startled? Or something else? Yet another missing puzzle piece to add to the impossible to complete Olivia mystery.

Watching her struggle to walk is not only painful to me, but dangerous if a stray wheezer or wheezers are in the area, so I decide to risk a broken nose. Moving quickly and as quietly as possible, I scoop her up and make a dash for the gate that John’s holding open. Olivia struggles the whole way, landing a head-butt to my lip and an elbow to my throat, which is what makes me set her down inside the now locked courtyard. I’m fighting for breath, when I notice Olivia in the corner rocking back and forth, muttering something inside of her helmet.

“Olivia, you alright?” John asks cautiously. She ignores him, not pausing in her rocking or the muttering of undecipherable words. John looks to me and I shrug having no idea what the fuck earned me a split lip, or sent her off on a crazy spin. He tries again, “Livi?”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Her screech is obvious. “I told you not to touch me!” Ah, the breach of personal space is what set off her tick. “Now, go the fuck away!”

“We’ll leave you alone as soon as you’re safe inside,” I offer. Wrong move, I realize when a knife is hurled in my direction, but I’m able to dodge it since her aim’s off due to the rocking.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she growls. “Unlock the goddamn gate so that I can leave.”

“I can’t do that. It isn’t safe.” She says something that I don’t catch, but I do hear her breathing heavily inside of that damn helmet. Why the fuck are all the women in my life prone to hyperventilation? I try the gentle route I used with the red head. “Olivia, please come inside?”

Her head starts whipping side to side so fast I think that she’s gonna give herself whiplash, when I hear someone running down the stairs. Turning, I find Sarah’s wide, hazel eyes trained on the psycho in the corner.

“What the fuck did you do?” Sarah asks.

“Watch your mouth,” the fatherly tone comes to me automatically. “And all I did was carry her inside, since her ankle’s busted.”

“Her?” Sarah looks at the leather clad, helmet bound, Olivia with an unconvinced expression. “No need to lie, Jared, I already have a boyfriend.”

And boy, does she love to rub that in my face. Her argument was that Mom and Dad let her date, so I couldn’t stop her. Not wanting to point out the fact that they’re not coming back, I let her get away with it. After I threatened Danny with a very painful death; involving maiming and drawn out torture, if he ever hurt her. Or got her pregnant.

“Her name’s Olivia,” John confirms. “She took a little tumble outside, and she’s trying to catch her breath.” Sarah raises her eyebrows at such a bull shit answer to Olivia’s current state, before slowly creeping her way over to the corner.

“Your name’s Olivia?” Sarah questions in a soft voice. “That’s a pretty name.”

I look to John and see him covering his mouth to hide his laugh. The Olivia we know would have torn into us if we said such a stupid, generic statement. But what do we know? We have balls, not ovaries.

“How about we go get you cleaned up?” Sarah proposes. “You’re bleeding.”

Olivia’s head snaps up and her helmet spins around wildly in search of the source forming the small puddle coming out of her sleeve. Her hand reaches for a tear in her right jacket sleeve. Cupping the injury, Olivia stands and nods at Sarah to lead the way. Sarah acting like a mother leading her kid off to the first day of preschool, offers her hand out to Olivia; who takes it, and they go upstairs.

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. Women are fucking weird.

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

“Any idea what that was all about?” John asks once the women have disappeared.

“No fucking clue, man. I was just trying to help, and she flipped out.” Pointing to my split lip as evidence, I continue. “She was limping from a twisted ankle, so I picked her up to give her a boost. I didn’t know she was going to go rambling psycho.”

“It was an anxiety attack, you dick,” John snaps in a rare show of anger. “She’s been alone for who the fuck knows how long, and the first time someone touches her; not only is she unwilling, but unaware when a stranger snatches her up like King Kong. Even before the world as we knew it ended, a chick would have flipped out.”

“How the fuck should I know?” I retort with my own temper rising.

“Because she held you at knife point over it half an hour ago, you forgetful bastard.” Successfully chagrined, my anger deflates like air out of a popped balloon. Running a hand through my hair in agitation, I lay myself at John’s mercy.

“How do I fix it?” John grins, meaning we’re good again.

“When I fucked up with a woman,” he begins. “This wasn’t often, mind you, since I’m a friggin master.” Rolling my eyes at him, I curl my fingers for him to get on with it. “I used to buy something for her. Chicks dig that shit. And since Olivia is most certainly a chick under all that sexy armor, she does too.” Crossing his fingers in front of himself, John proceeds with his teaching. “I hope, ‘cause we need her and whether she wants to admit it or not; she needs us too.” I highly doubt it, but I’m willing to give John’s plan a shot. And if he’s wrong, at least I have something to hold over him.

“So, what should I do?” I ask. “I can’t get her flowers, chocolate’s either melted or expired, and I just don’t think she’s the type to appreciate a blood covered apology card.”

“What do we know about her?”

“Slim to none,” I answer. John gives me a pointed look. “Alright, she’s a badass who handles a machete like it’s an extension of her arm. She’s an intelligent, aggressive, sarcastic smartass who can win any type of cook off, even while wearing a blindfold.”

“And she loves leather,” John adds with a dreamy sigh.

Bingo. Her ripped leather jacket needs to be mended. Leaving John in the courtyard, I run upstairs in search of Sarah. Praying to anything that’s holy that this will work, I run through the great room. I ignore the shouts welcoming me home, and head directly to Sarah’s room. Knocking lightly, I wait for a response.

“Go the fuck away, Jared,” Olivia voice snarls through the closed door. I’m not even surprised she knows who it is, but hearing her say my name for the first time, almost knocks me on my ass.

“Listen, I’m sorry for scaring you,” I begin and hear something like a growl come from the other side. Freaking the fuck out, since I don’t know for a fact that she wasn’t bitten, and Sarah may be in there, I ditch the nice act. “Sarah, if you’re in there, come out now.”

I hear steps approach, meaning that Sarah is indeed locked in with a possible infected. Heart rate increasing to dangerous heights, I just about rip Sarah’s arm out when I pull her through the door, and slam it shut behind her. Running an eye over my baby sister’s exposed arms and neck, both of which are unmarred by bloody gashes or bite marks, I release a sigh of relief as my heart’s frantic beating slows down a bit.

“What the hell, Jared?” Sarah hisses while rubbing her arm. I let the language slide this time.

“She could be infected,” I say simply. “So, stay the fuck out. I’m posting someone to guard this door until the Doc can check her out.”

“Olivia isn’t infected you dumbass,” she replies. “She’s pissed.”

“Language,” I mutter and she rolls her eyes. “And you don’t know that for sure, you’ve never been close enough to one.”

“That’s because you don’t let me leave the courtyard,” Sarah counters. “And I have too been close to the infected. Remember Will, George and Mikayla?”

Didn’t the smartass just have to bring up the bad batches of strays? Those fuckers lied about not being infected when I took them home, only to find out a couple days later that they were nothing more than bull shit spewing wheezers in the making; leaving John and I to put them down and clean up the mess. But we learned and we now know the symptoms to look out for.

These symptoms include mood changes like irrationality, cold-like symptoms, rapid breathing, tweaking, then finally the red eyes and wheezing, meaning that the infection has taken over. Plus, no one comes into the condo without agreeing to a full strip search, not that we do this all the time. Usually just being willing to strip for strangers is proof enough on its own. Modesty be damned if it means survival.

“Those were different and you know it,” I remind her. “Olivia got taken down by a wheezer out front, and I haven’t been able to check her out yet. So, can you please, help me keep my sanity, and stay away from this door?”

“Fine,” she huffs. “But I know she isn’t infected, and she won’t like being caged in like an animal.” True enough, but I can’t take the chance.

“She knows that we have to take precautions,” I say loud enough for Olivia to hear and am hopeful for her full recovery when I hear her, ‘
fuck you,’
in reply.

“Olivia, sweetheart,” I taunt just to hear her normal reaction again. She doesn’t disappoint when something gets thrown at the door, sounding an awfully lot like a knife. “Can we take your clothes to be cleaned? Sarah can give you something to wear.”

“No fucking way am I stripping in this house,” she retorts. “You sick bastards probably have cameras.”

“Not only is that impossible, since we don’t have electricity or the equipment,” I counter. “But it’s also plain disgusting. That’s my baby sister’s room, you pervert, so have some respect.”

“I’m sorry if I have offended you, Sarah,” Olivia says sweetly.

“You haven’t,” says Sarah in return. I mouth
‘turncoat’
 to Sarah, who laughs, before I refocus on Olivia.

“So, will you please pass out your clothes so that we can wash the blood off?” I hear what sounds like lightly pacing footsteps before she replies.

“Alright,” she begrudges. “But you back up right the fuck now, and I’ll hand them over to Sarah, or no dice.”

“No can do,” I disagree. “You may try and take her as a hostage so that you can leave. Not to mention that you could be infected.”

“I’m not an infected kidnapper!”

Sarah pushes me out of the way and starts talking through the door. “I know that, and I’m waiting right here for when you’re ready to pass them out to me.”

“Thank you, Sarah, you really are a sweetheart,” Olivia replies. “But your brother’s a dick.”

Sarah laughs in agreement, as if I’m not standing right here and hearing their every word. After a few minutes, the door lock unclicks and cracks open about a millimeter. Only after Sarah’s confirmation that it’s her at the door, does it open just enough to shove the clothes into Sarah’s hand before slamming shut with the lock clicking back firmly in place.