Surge (28 page)

“That was a sixty year old, $4,000 bottle of red wine you just chugged as if it were a watered down keg that tastes like piss, you asshole,” Olivia hisses. “Kindly grab a bottle of Jack if you plan on drinking your stupid ass under the table, and putting us all in danger.”

Slamming a bowl of stew in front of me and tossing two slices bread beside it, I have no intention of drinking another drop. Whatever ground I gained with her, was just lost to my childish antics. Disgusted with how I’ve handled feelings that I’m unaccustomed to, my appetite takes a hit. And that is really a damn shame, since it smells delicious. The bowl is filled with carrots, potatoes, onions, and meat that looks like rabbit, all in a dark brown sauce. I want to ask where the rabbit came from, since we didn’t have any meat other than squirrel or canned last time I checked, but I don’t because I’ve been sufficiently chastised enough for one day, thank you very much.

A kick to the shin has me glaring at John. He ignores the glare and jerks his chin at my bowl of food. I shove it toward him thinking that’s what he wants, but he glares back and pushes it toward me in a silent demand to eat. After witnessing the stern look, that is hilarious on John’s face, I pick up my spoon and force a spoonful into my mouth. Once the flavor touches my tongue, my stomach growls in response, demanding nourishment with an appetite fit for vengeance if it isn’t satisfied. I finish my bowl and mop up the thick gravy with my bread to get every last drop.

Looking up from my bowl, I notice how silent the table is. You can always tell how a meal is by the noise at the table. If it’s loud, then the food is awful, and the guests are making noise to distract the chef from noticing that the bowls were left untouched. And if the noise level is quiet, like it is now, that means people are too busy stuffing their faces to speak. I bite back a smile that’s trying to come through in comparison to last night’s dinner, to tonight’s.

Glancing at the woman responsible for the change, I see her silent for a different reason. Olivia’s absently stirring her bowl with a spoon like that time in the sporting goods store, but she isn’t smiling this time. Her jaw is clenched and her hand is balled in a tiny fist around her spoon with what I’m sure are white knuckles underneath her glove. I want to kick my own ass for pissing her off and making her lose her appetite, but she must feel my eyes on her and looks up.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper and Olivia tilts her head with a quizzical look on her face. “I shouldn’t have wasted your wine.” Shaking her head to clear it, she replies.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says with a wave of her hand like it was no big deal. “I’m the one who should be apologizing for snapping at you.”

“No, you were right,” I counter. “It wasn’t mine.” Again she shakes her head.

“Believe me when I say it wasn’t the wine that pissed me off,” Olivia replies. “I’m actually glad that you wasted that selfish bitch’s supply. So, thank you for that.” Giving her a confused look, she again waves me off. “Don’t worry about her, she’s rotting somewhere in hell right now anyway. It just reminded me of something and I took it out on you, so, I’m sorry.” Slowly sticking out her trembling hand with an unsure smile on her face, she continues in a hopeful tone. “Friends?”

“Friends,” I agree and shake her hand.

How could I deny her something so simple, when it took her a great deal of courage to accomplish it? I can’t, and neither could anyone with half a brain. Besides, friends is one step in gaining her trust, so I’ll take it and anything else she’s willing to give. Groaning from my left has Olivia swiping her hand from mine and looking at John, who’s licking his bowl clean, with wide eyes.

“Cut it out, you damn pig,” Cory orders. John lowers the dish and sets it carefully on the hole-y table in front of him.

“Screw you and your little dog too,” John replies. “That was freaking delicious.” He looks toward Olivia. “What did my little chef use to create this bowl of heaven?”

“A little of this and a touch of red wine,” Olivia says with a shy smile.

“What is it with you and alcohol?” John inquires, but he’s wearing a smirk to show that he’s teasing. “I mean, who raids a liquor store?”

“I was having a bad day,” she answers with a shrug. “And liquor can come in handy. Cleaning wounds, sterilizing equipment, numbing pain...”

“Getting drunk like an alcoholic,” mutters a blonde bitch named Kelly. Olivia leans forward so that she can see said blonde.

“I’m sorry,” Olivia begins in a tone that’s not sorry at all. “Did you not find the meal to your liking? Because if you have a problem, you could always leave the condo, hunt the rabbits, clean the kills, and scavenge for the rest of the supplies; all the while fighting off infected, before coming back up here to cook it for yourself. Since you sure the fuck aren’t using my ingredients, or the group’s precious supplies, to make something else that’s inedible.” Pausing to wait for response that doesn’t come, Olivia continues. “Are you sure? I’ll even lend you a knife. Sure, it’s a bit wobbly in the handle, but I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”

“You’re a right bitch, you know that?” Kelly hisses.

“Oh, I’m well aware of the fact,” Olivia answers with a grin. “And quite proud of it too.” Tapping her chin, Olivia looks at Kelly. “But if I’m
The Bitch
, what does that make you? We can’t both be one, anyone have a new persona for Barbie? She’s having an identity crises.” I bust out laughing with several others, before Sarah replies with a voice completely void of inflection.

“We could always use an old cougar,” Sarah says as she looks at Kelly. “I mean, she is old, and preying upon the men; so, why not?”

“Fuck you, Sarah,” Kelly retorts. “I’m twenty-seven.” Fucking liar, she told us she was twenty-one when she first got here.

“And sleeping with John, whose only twenty-three, you hag,” Sarah says.

“You old bitch, why didn’t you say anything?” Olivia asks sweetly. “You have seniority over me, so keep your moniker, and I’ll find a new one. Us youngins are flexible like that.” Standing abruptly, Kelly slams her chair into the table before glaring at Olivia.

“I hope you die on the next trip outside,” Kelly says in a cold tone.

“Keep on wishing, hun,” Olivia replies carelessly with a shrug. “I’ve been praying for death for months, and it just won’t come. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and someone upstairs listens to you, since they sure as hell haven’t been listening to me.” Standing up calmly, Olivia pushes her chair in before addressing the silent table. “Thank you once again for the lovely meal, but I have some work to do, before we leave tomorrow.” Grabbing Cory’s outstretched hand, they exit the room through the front door.

“You see what you brought home, Jared?” Kelly asks. “A psycho who’s suicidal, that’s what. And she’s supposed to lead us to safety?
Puh
-leaze. What’s to say she isn’t walking us all straight to death, like we’re in a freaking cult. Maybe she killed the real rescue team last night, and is now finishing off the only one that’s left upstairs who can lead us to safety?
‘The Screamer
,
’
my ass. It sounds like she made it up; and you’re letting her get away with it, like she’s the reincarnation of Jesus who can do no harm. So, stop thinking with your dick, and see what’s in front of you; nothing more than a Jezebel tempting you to take the apple.”

“Shut the fuck up, Kelly!” John bellows and stands up. “Do you ever stop bitching? And now you’re adding religious scripture in? Are you serious? We went to Catholic school our whole lives and
you
most certainly are
not
the Virgin Mary.” Kelly’s mouth is gaping, but he doesn’t stop there. “You know your way around the male body better any whore of the trade, so don’t you
dare
try accusing anyone else of it, you fucking hypocrite.” Pointing at the door, John continues shouting at a wide-eyed Kelly.

“And as for that girl who just walked out of here? You don’t know her from a whole in the wall, but you’re in here accusing her of being a whore, a liar, a murderer, a psycho and who the fucks knows what else, when all she’s done is help us since we’ve met her. But since you feel threatened, and you’re jealous of her because she’s fucking gorgeous, and does a hell of a lot more than you ever could; you try to drag her through the mud behind her back, since you’re too chicken shit to say it to her face.” Slamming his hands flat on the table, John finishes. “We’re through, so go find some other guy’s dick to suck.”

John leaves the table with a group of gaping members following him with their eyes, since he just showed that he is not always the charming, complacent guy he pretends to be. Kelly walks a few steps after him.

“If you leave this room, Jonathan Andrew Moure, I swear I’ll never touch you again!” Kelly shouts.

“Good, because I don’t want your shriveled hands, or your tissue tits, to touch me anyway!” John retorts and slams the door behind him.

Kelly picks up her empty bowl and throws it, but she most certainly is
not
Olivia; meaning it only goes so far as the other side of the table to hit Chelsea, who’s sitting across from her. Chelsea takes a direct hit to the face, getting covered in gravy and taking a plastic bowl to the lip, before she lunges for Kelly. That’s as much as I stay to see, before following John out the door.

Screaming, shouting and scuffling come from the closed door, but I ignore it as I pass the pyre of dead. As I pass him, I wave at Tommy, who rolls his eyes at the door. Screaming fights between the women are commonplace, so the rest of us pretend it isn’t there, and eventually, it isn’t. No matter who started it, or who was involved, the trio of girls always ends their daily brawls wrapped in each other’s arms, with tears streaming down their faces and promises to never let it happen again. All the while, the men scratch their heads in confusion.

I ignore the everyday girl bickering downstairs, to see a new version of girl on girl going on upstairs. This is sure to be far more entertaining than the fight ensuing in our condo. And more than likely, much more informative.

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

Continuing up to the fourth floor, I find the door closed but not locked, so I slip inside. John’s leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, Cory’s closer to Olivia with a similar pose; while Olivia is ripping tape away from Victoria’s hair. The room is darkening along with the sunset, so a few candles have been lit around the room. It gives the mundane room a warm glow that helps guide Olivia in her cutting.

“Everything alright down there?” Olivia asks without turning from her task. “There was enough shouting to bring a pack of wheezers right to your front gate from miles around; so I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a crowd of them out front, as if it were a St. Patty’s Day parade.” Fuck, she heard everything.

“Everything’s fine,” I answer. “Just a little lover’s quarrel, followed up by a fight with the girl on the side.”

“Ah, so I missed an episode of
Maury
?” Olivia inquires and John laughs. “Damn, that was one of my favorites.”

“I was more of a fan of
Springer
.”

“Too scripted,” she counters without stopping the hack job she’s giving the red head. “Plus, they did away with allowing them to fight, so it was just a bunch of dwarves hurling cake at each other. Which was just stupid, everyone knows that those little guys would rather have eaten their confectionary treat, just ask the hobbits.” I laugh at her argument over daytime talk shows. I remember watching them with my mom when I was home from school sick, on account of there being nothing else on.

Fine, I admit it, I liked watching them; especially when you had four different dudes being tested to find one paternity, and the woman’s 1000% sure positive that they’re
all
the daddy to that one baby. This is obviously impossible, and proved to be so, when Maury said those five magic words that have the ability to make the chick hurl herself onto the floor and cry out at the injustice of the all; when it’s her fault, since she’s the one who couldn’t keep her legs closed.

Come on, don’t judge me; they knew what they were doing when they did the nasty with six dudes, and didn’t bother to use protection. We all learn about the human anatomy at some point, so there’s no plausible excuse to have that many possibilities, unless you’re getting around. I have no problem with a woman having a healthy sex life, it’s when they’re irresponsible, that it pisses me off. That’s when diseases are spread, or there are innocent children involved. Said children are then terminated due to their parents’ careless negligence, abandoned to the system, or raised with warring parents. It’s not right to fuck up a kid’s life like that, since it’s tough enough growing up; so there’s no need to add conflictions prior to they’re even born, onto their already overflowing plates.

I turn my attention back to the present, since old shows like that, and paternity no longer matter, in time to see Olivia slicing away six inches of Victoria’s hair. She does without care, before she pulls some of the tape free.

“That’s better,” she says. “What do you think, Cory? Isn’t she pretty?”