Surge (22 page)

“Fuck,” I curse and rush into the condo, leaving the lovesick duo in the hallway.

I continue running toward the master bedroom, where Victoria is stuffed in the walk-in closet. What the fuck was I thinking leaving Leonard watching our captive? The man was having chest pains only this morning, and I assign him the extremely stressful task of containing a deceitful master of disguise as his captive? I’m cursing my stupid ass to hell and back, when I open the door to the master and step inside.

“I take it that we’ve won?” Leonard asks from his position still aiming a gun at the closet door, just as we left him four hours ago. I exhale a sigh of relief, and nod in answer to the question. “Then what the hell are ya doing here, boy? Go let the girls out.”

“I’m going, you lazy bastard,” I reply and hear Leonard chuckle as I close the door behind me. I jog down the hallway and approach the door for the office. Knocking our signal, I hear nothing in response.

“Jared is a stupid fuck,” I mutter and hear giggling in response to Sarah’s appointed password.

“Are you sure it’s safe, Jarry?” Sarah’s voice asks through the door. “Because the brother that I know, would never admittedly call himself stupid without a gun held up to his head.”

“Just open the fucking door, Sarah!” I shout.

“That’s more like it,” she replies. “I was getting scared there for a minute.”

“I’ve been scared for hours,” one of the hens whines. Chelsea? I can’t be sure without seeing them, since they all sound similar.

“Hurry up, Sarah!” That’s the unmistakable shriek of Kelly. “I have to make sure the boys are alright.”

“You mean you have to thank them with your womanly charms,” a girl, that sounds like Marissa, retorts. Scuffling ensues, most likely a tussle between the girls since a man is involved, and they are no longer in an alliance.

“Girls, that’s enough,” Whitney’s chastising voice orders and the scuffling stops, proving my theory to be correct. “Now, help us move this stuff, so that we can get out of here.”

I hear furniture being slid out of the way, as I pace for what seems like forever; when it’s probably only several minutes, before the door finally creaks open. Sarah bounds out first and I crush her into a hug. She may be a PITA, but she’s still my baby sister, and I couldn’t fathom life without her. Seeing her safe and sound, the final tension that was left over from the battle, releases in a rush that has me stumbling with exhaustion. Sarah laughs as she rights me on my tired feet.

“I think someone needs a nap,” she remarks as she pulls back with an awkward grin tugging up at the corner of her mouth. The lack of a confident smile is testament to how worried she truly was. That’s especially the case, when Sarah tries for the tough cookie act; one where she scrunches up her nose to cover the look of horror that her eyes reveal, as she looks me over. I’m covered in my own blood, the blood of fallen foes, sweat and grime.

“Bath first, and then sleep,” drill sergeant Sarah revises. I mock a salute before replying.

“Sir, yes sir.”

“It’s ma’am, you jackass,” Sarah says.

“Whatever,” I huff. “Just stay away from the hall.” I turn to encompass the other four females with my next statement. “It’s a mess, and I don’t want any of you girls to see it, until it’s cleaned up.”

“What about Olivia?” Chelsea asks. “She’s a girl.”

“No, she’s a dyke,” Kelly retorts.

“She is not,” Sarah snaps. “And I’d like to see you say that to her face. Or are you too scared?” Kelly is visibly terrified and shouldn’t even try denying it, but because Kelly is who she is, she gives it a go anyway.

“That bitch don’t scare me,” Kelly says and crosses her shaking arms.

“I wouldn’t let her hear you say that,” John warns from behind me. “We’ll be down another member if she does.” The fuck?

“Another?”

I spin away from the trivial nonsense that is Kelly’s game, to face John. In response, he waves for me and Whitney to follow him out into the hallway where the battle took place. John points to the corner where there are a cluster of the fighters gathered around the fallen member. I can’t stop myself from stopping to peering around the room to see where Olivia is, so I find that she’s over near the window and sitting on Cory’s lap. Seeing that she’s having a little powwow with him, I turn my attention back to whoever was injured, before I give into the childish urge to go and kick the legs of their chair out.

Jogging through the bodies on the floor, I shove a few people out of the way for Whitney to get through. That’s when I see Akio leaning over Mike’s prone form. Whitney takes up her husband’s hand in her own with teary eyes. His shirt has been cut open, and Akio is probing a gunshot in Mike’s lower abdomen with gloved hands, and a set of tweezers. There’s a small stream of blood flowing from the wound, but I don’t see any more holes. Mike’s conscious, and while he’s in obvious pain, I figure that must be a good sign.

“How you doing there, Mike?” I ask. Mike’s eyes look huge behind the thick lenses of his glasses, when they meet mine.

“It hurts like hell, but I’ll live,” he replies. I nod and look to Akio for confirmation.

“He’s lucky. It didn’t hit anything vital,” Akio confirms as he pulls a bullet out with the tweezers. “I’m more worried about the possibility of an infection, without the proper sterile equipment.”

“Dump some Jack on it,” I hear Olivia offer. I glance over in the direction of her voice, finding her now standing behind John and holding Cory’s hand. “That’s what I always use if I’m out of rubbing alcohol.”

“We’re fresh out of Jack,” I say dryly.

“Well, why didn’t you say anything?” Olivia inquires with false cheer. “I happen to have several bottles in my backpack.”

With that, she releases Cory’s hand, and runs into the condo. I see Cory’s eyes follow her every move, like he thinks that she’s going to disappear if he doesn’t keep an eye on her. Is that what happened before? Did they get separated because Cory let his guard down? How long ago was it? And is that why he always kept tabs on Sarah?

I’ll have to get the story from him later, because Olivia returns holding her pack in her hand. Kicking the holey coffee table over so that it’s right side up, she puts her bag down and rummages through. Her gloved hands come out with three bottles of Jack Daniels, one of which is opened and missing about half of the liquid. I’m guessing from tending her own wounds, because I haven’t smelt any evidence of alcohol on her. Just fresh apples, and a hint of mint.

Not that I’ll be smelling her anymore, thanks to her asshole fiancé’s miraculous reappearance. Yes, I’m bitter, get the fuck over it. I wanted to take her for a spin, just like every other red-blooded male in the room, and now I won’t be able to.

I wonder how Cory will react to his girl being used as fresh material to jack off with in mental fantasies? He’ll probably kill anyone who even looked at her wrong. Or, maybe they would just leave? They’re both survivors, and experts at their trade. So, what do they need us for? Fuck! They don’t need us.

“You aren’t leaving,” the words rush out of my mouth before they consult my brain for permission.

Obviously, Olivia was right yet again, because I am more of a Mouth than a Sloth. I mean, I basically just shrieked that like a clingy ex-girlfriend dragging herself after her rapidly escaping boyfriend and screaming,
‘Don’t leave me!’
What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve never felt this needy before. I learned a long time ago to depend on myself, since my dad proved to be more interested in his job, than his family. My mom was his complete opposite, but it’s different since I’m a dude; and the man who should have showed me the ropes, didn’t give a damn. I can honestly say that I learned more from John’s father, than my own, but that’s all in the past. My dad is gone, my mom is gone, John and Judy Moure are gone, and they aren’t coming back. Besides, I’m doing just fine without dear old Dad anyway.

“Huh?” Olivia asks from across the room near Akio. She’s given him the bottles of alcohol, and is now looking at me with that weird animal head tilt thing. Taking a deep breath, I try to make up for my blunder.

“I mean,” I begin. “I hope you aren’t leaving now. We need you.”

“I am leaving,” she replies. “Not right this second, but soon. I have shit to do.”

Looking at Cory, her eyes get pained, and he reaches for her hand. Olivia’s gloved fingers grip his and she doesn’t show a single flinch of discomfort, or anger at the touch. That simple gesture makes my chest burn in raw envy. And I’m
never
the jealous type. Never have been, not even once in my life, and now this pint sized Tomb Raider makes me want what I can’t have. What Cory has. He has her trust, but I don’t, and I never will. Maybe they should leave? Yeah, that would be for the best. Then I could finally be free of my DIC, and the urge to steal another man’s woman. That was a big
‘no-no’
in Mr. Moure’s book, and I refuse to disrespect the dead.

I turn away from the display of affection in front of me, and walk over to help John. He’s trying to move Mike into the condo, so I carefully grab Mike’s feet and lift. We make our way through the bodies with minimal jostling, and continue on toward the hospital room. Whitney and Akio stay in the room to tend to Mike’s injury, while John and I go back to start clean up.

Tommy and Danny are searching through the bodies for anything that we can use. They retrieve guns, knives, bats, clubs, and axes that were used during battle; and can be reused again. They then organize the stockpile of weapons on the bullet ridden dining table. Both are filthy, Danny with a black eye and a busted nose, which might be from me, but I’m not positive; and Tommy with a cut across his cheek, but they’re no worse for wear.

Carlos and Oscar are on the other half of the foyer, piling bodies in the corner. I’m not sure what to do with them. If we take them outside, they’ll attract the wheezers right to our doorstep; but if we leave them in here, it’ll reek. Oh well, at least we’re leaving soon, so I go over to give them a hand moving the corpses. As I’m dragging the sixth body, I notice that the twins did that freaky, identical shit again. On Carlos’s right, and Oscar’s left arms, are matching gauze patches wrapped over wounds. Carlos notices and looks at me questioningly, so I point to his arm.

“What hit you?”

“Knife,” Carlos answers.

“And you?” I ask Oscar.

“Same,” he replies.

“You two are freaky as shit, you know that?” I inquire and they laugh in unison.

That creeps me out even more, so I get back to the task of clearing out the hallway. A ton of bodies are missing parts. Dismembered arms, legs and heads, are all scattered away from their owners. My guess is that those bastards had the great pleasure of meeting Olivia’s machete. Most are riddled with bullets, same as the walls, tables and couches; but others have bashed skulls or knives sticking out of various areas in the corpses that John and Tommy haven’t gotten to yet.

My count of the pile is at forty-two when the others walk over to observe the gruesome mound. Danny looks like he may puke, the twins glare at the pile as if the corpses might rise from the dead and try to attack again, Tommy doesn’t look like he gives a fuck about anything but sleep, and John looks impassive. I glance around the room to find Olivia and Cory, but don’t find them.

I’m internally cursing them to eternal damnation in a fiery hell for leaving without so much as a word, when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Tensing in preparation of another attack, I pull out my hunting knife and whip the door open. Finding Cory carrying an unconscious body, I step aside and let him and Olivia through. Cory drops the guy on the ground and that’s when I notice that the raider is missing most of his right arm.

“Looky what we found!” Olivia exclaims excitedly, like she’s just been given a brand new set of leathers.

“A cripple?” John asks and scratches his stubble.

“Not just any cripple,” she corrects him, but doesn’t lose any of her exuberance. “This bastard was a raider. We found him covered in some slimy blue stuff, with his arm stuck underneath the washer.”

“I fucking knew it would work,” John boasts as he punches Cory in the arm, who scowls, but John ignores it. “Now, what do we do with him?”

“You don’t
‘do’
anything with him,” Olivia says with a now cold voice. “I found the prick, that makes him mine.”

“But I caught him,” John counters and steps back when Olivia moves forward a step. “I mean, where do you want him, Olivia?”

“I want him tied and tossed in a closet, like the other bitch,” she replies. “I’ll get answers out of them, even if I have to rip them out of him piece by piece.” I look to see how the fiancé is taking this display of crazy, but Cory looks like he may hold the body still for her to do as she pleases. Fuck, the asshole’s perfect for her.

“Can’t we just kill them already, and end this shit?” Tommy asks while releasing a loud yawn.

“Oh, we’ll kill them,” Olivia agrees. “But not before I get what I need out of them.”

“And what is that?” Oscar asks.

“A location,” she answers. When everyone looks for her to lengthen the vague answer, she just shakes her head and her face shuts down. “Never mind, that’s for me to deal with.”

“And me,” Cory adds with a steeled tone, and she nods.

“Any who,” Olivia says with faked indifference. “Cory was telling me that you were having some trouble convincing the majority of your group to move on.” I glare at Cory for sharing my inability to lead this group.

“We were,” he says nonchalantly.

That doesn’t mean I want Olivia knowing about my inaptitude. I already feel like shit for endangering the group, getting Mike shot, and dragging Olivia into my mess; I don’t need to be judged on top of all that. Because making me feel worthless, would just add any layer of shit on top of my pile, which I certainly do not need any more of.

“I have a solution,” Olivia says, interrupting my mental sob fest. This time when everyone looks at her, she answers. “How about a little story time?”

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