Surge (18 page)

“Don’t lock it!” I shout.

“It’s fine, Jared!” Whitney calls back.

I begin pacing back and forth like a caged lion, second guessing myself for letting Whitney walk into a situation that she’s completely unprepared for. Olivia is a killing machine without the infection, so what could she do with it? After all, Dolly was a frail old woman who turned into a professional wrestler, while Olivia’s a younger, bad ass model, so how much more deadly could she be, if she were to lose control?

I’m just about to kick the door in, when it reopens. Whitney steps through first, before motioning for Olivia to follow after her. Obviously seeing her hesitate inside the room, Whitney offers her a hand and whispers something that makes Olivia’s gloved hand grip the other woman’s in a strong hold that should have had Whitney wincing; but she’s either tough, or she hides it well.

Olivia steps into the hall with her raven hair loose and covering her face. She’s obviously wearing something of Sarah’s, since it’s a long pair of jeans; which are rolled at the bottom to keep in place, a turtleneck, and a loose sweatshirt that’s two sizes too big for her short frame. The only things that scream
‘Olivia,’
 are her leather gloves, and motorcycle boots. It’s fucking hot out, so I don’t know how she’s wearing such an outfit, but I don’t dare to ask.

Following Whitney’s lead, Olivia keeps her head down as she walks down the hall, without any sign of a limp. This is not the same girl that took down thirty wheezers a few hours ago, nor is she the temptress from my mental fuck fest. It has to be an act, and I don’t trust it at all. I cross my arms to show her I mean business, when Whitney shoots me a scowl any mother would give a misbehaving child. Not caring, I maintain my pose even as they pass into the great room. I turn and follow them with Oscar in tow, entering a now silent room.

Every eye is trained on the pixie girl with the hidden face, that’s trailing behind Whitney like a mother duck leading her duckling. Olivia, never having released Whitney’s hand, takes the seat to the woman’s right, while Mike’s sitting on the other side of his wife. I take my seat at the head of the table, that way I can see everyone with one glance.

For instance, I see when Whitney introduces Mike to her; Olivia shrinks away and wraps her arms around her middle. I’m thinking she’s going for a knife, and am preparing to make a move, when Whitney just rubs Olivia’s tense back and shakes her head at Mike. Mike scratches his head, seeming as confused as everyone else, since they’re all staring at Olivia with their mouths agape. Sarah, having had enough, finally speaks up.

“This isn’t a freaking zoo,” she snaps and plops down on Olivia’s other side. She jumps, so Sarah pats Olivia’s hand in reassurance. “Now, eat or leave.”

With that, the seven gawkers’ heads; including Marissa, Chelsea, Kelly, Oscar, Carlos, Mike and Danny, turn away to resume the daily dinner routine. John comes in a few minutes later to take a seat at my right, and is straight across from Olivia. He observes her silent nature with severe concentration, almost looking constipated, before giving me a
‘what the fuck?’
shrug.

I’m just about to shrug right back, when Olivia spews a mouthful of soup across the table. She jumps to her feet, shoving the chair back against the wall like she can’t get far enough away. I’m tense, waiting for knives to start flying at whoever pissed her off or touched her, when she spits on the floor and wipes her tongue on her sweatshirt sleeve.

“What the fuck is that?” Olivia bellows with an accusing finger pointing at the bowl. “Are you trying to poison me?” Her head swings in my direction with daggers shining in her grey eyes. And she’s back. I feel like jumping up with a fist pump, but I restrain myself.

“That would be soup,” I answer casually and take a bite of the god awful excuse for food in front of me. I fight my gag reflex when the flavors hit my tongue. It tastes like four day old ass, with a sprinkle of garbage as a garnish.

“The fuck it is!” Olivia retorts.

Picking up the bowl daring to pass itself off as food, Olivia hurls it across the room. There, it lands in a splatter of spilled slime-like contents crawling down the wall and a rattling, thankfully plastic, bowl on the floor. From there, she goes around the table, stacking bowls in varying levels of fullness. Ignoring wide eyes and protests, she takes everyone’s bowl and dumps the load of dishes into the kitchen sink, before pouring an entire bottle of liquid soap over the top of it.

“That shit’s inedible,” Olivia says.

Olivia said it with a swipe of her hands on her jeans, when she came back into the room. The dining room is again silent as they gaze upon the fuming woman, who is no longer hiding behind her glorious hair, that’s unbound and slightly curled from her braid. The hen house’s eyes go round in envy, while the guy’s eyes fill with masculine appreciation, as they all take her in. Even with her horribly fitted clothing, her feminine beauty is undeniable.

“John, you lying bastard,” comes an age worn voice of Leonard from the living area of the great room. “She is much more than
‘cute.’
” Olivia’s head snaps to take in Lenny, her body was tight with tension upon hearing the voice, but when she sees the withered man; she relaxes a little.

“Hello, sir,” Olivia replies respectfully. “I’ve heard from Whitney that you aren’t feeling very well. I’m very sorry if I’ve disturbed your rest.”

“Rest?” Leonard asks with a
‘who me?’
hand on his chest. “Who needs rest when I could be gazing upon my future wife?” Olivia’s husky laugh echoes through my bones. God dammit! I thought I cured myself of my unfortunate case of DIC.

“I’m extremely flattered,” says the she devil with a seemingly genuine smile at Leonard, the old bastard. And here I was praying for him to make a full recovery. “But I believe we might have to get to know each other, before you agree to tie yourself to me for life. I may be a little too much for a fine man, such as yourself, to handle.”

“Nope, I’m decided,” counters the aging Casanova. “You’re the woman for me, now I just have to convince you.” Stepping toward Olivia, Leonard holds out his hand for her to shake, which she does. “Leonard Shue. Former postman, veteran and current cook. There, now we’re acquainted. When we getting married?”

“I’m sorry, Leonard,” Olivia replies. “But if you’re the chef responsible for that atrocity I was just served, I’m afraid the deal is off.”

“It definitely wasn’t Lenny,” John informs her. Olivia looks to each occupied chair at the table as if she could smell out the culprit. Everyone meets her gaze, showing their innocence, when one turns away.

“Alright,” Kelly snaps. “It was me. But how the hell should I know how to cook? It wasn’t like I had to, servants were for that type of shit.” Whitney shoots her a disapproving look, which Kelly sniffs at with disdain. Now, I know why Kelly was suspiciously absent from John’s worship circle, she was busy giving us all food poisoning.

“You could have asked for help,” Olivia offers.

“Oh, yeah?” Kelly challenges. “And who the hell do you think you are, you uppity bitch? Coming in here, and throwing shit around like you own the place.”

Three words. Wrong. Fucking. Move. Queen bitch of the group is about to lose her crown and be taken down several pegs, if not murdered, when Olivia gets her hands around her neck.

“Listen, Bimbo Barbie,” Olivia begins in a careful voice, containing a raging fire underneath. “You may have been the HBIC in high school, but let me tell you something.” Moving faster than Kelly can react, Olivia has her pinned to the wall, with her forearm on the throat of the several inches taller Kelly. “This ain’t fucking Kansas anymore, Dorothy. And I’m not one of your scared ants that you can stomp on when they get in your way. This is my world now. Got it?”

Kelly, sufficiently terrified, bobs her head up and down so vigorously, that she looks like a bobble head. Olivia releases her grip on Kelly’s tube top, which drops several balls of tissue when Olivia steps back. Sarah starts laughing hysterically, while Whitney hides a smile behind her napkin. Straightening her own clothes, Olivia glances at the once again gaping crowd, and makes a move as if the jump at them; which has more than a few flinching. Obviously, not me, because I’m not afraid of the pixie person. Nope, she didn’t even make me blink; but I did drop my spoon. Olivia then rolls her eyes at the shivering diners.

“Thank you all for the lovely meal,” Olivia says sweet as pie, and curtsies before leaving the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” John introduces. “I give you Olivia.”

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

“My God,” Danny says after several moments of silence. “She’s the female version of Jared.” That earns a few chuckles from the table, definitely not Kelly, and a scowl from me. We are not alike at all, and Olivia’s fucking nuts.

“I like her,” Leonard replies. “She’s feisty.”

“More like psycho,” Kelly mutters. My scowl turns from Danny to
The Bitch
. No one calls my psycho
‘psycho’
but me. I’m about to tear into her, when Sarah beats me to it.

“She is not psycho!” Sarah snarls. “And it was about time someone put you in your place.” Sarah increases her voice to a screech imitating Kelly’s. “
‘Who do you think you are, you uppity bitch?’
Have you looked in the mirror lately? Of course you have, I saw you checking out your stuffed chest an hour ago.”

“She attacked me!” Kelly shrieks. “She’s gotta go.” Looking to John, she pulls out the pout. “Either it’s her, or me.”

“Goodbye,” I answer for John.

He’s currently finding his worn table setting to be quite the fascinating piece of craftsmanship. All John’s missing is a couple of twiddling thumbs, and to start whistling, in order to show his disinterest in giving into Kelly’s demands. Kelly looks around the table for some other supporter, but finding none, she huffs and walks out of the room. Everyone knows she’s not going anywhere.

“Who’s hungry?” I inquire. I almost laugh when I see every hand dart up in unison. I’m guessing that Olivia’s interruption of the meal wasn’t protested as strongly as it appeared.

“You mean that Kelly’s cooking didn’t fill your bellies?” John asks with a smirk. “And here I thought that Olivia was the only one that didn’t like it.” That earns chuckles all around.

“Alright, who knows how to make something edible?” I ask.

I blatantly ignore Leonard’s waving arm and look for others. Seeing Whitney and Mike’s arms are also raised, I wave for them to follow me into the kitchen. I rinse my hands in the basin filled for that purpose by the sink, before waiting for further instructions. Whitney hands me and Mike some potatoes and carrots, which have grown to maturity in our garden on the balcony, to peel and dice while she heats a pot of water over the gas stove. Deciding on another attempt at soup, because it can fill the most people with the least amount ingredients, we get to work.

Chopped potatoes and carrots, along with canned chicken, corn and peas, are all added to the pot of boiling water. Whitney adds some seasoning for flavor and lets it simmer for an hour. When it’s finished, we bring the cleaned out bowls and the pot to the table. Calling everyone that remained in the great room’s living area to the table, I send Sarah to get Olivia.

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