Surge (86 page)

He leaves me to ponder that thought. Should I try, or not?
‘To be, or not to be. That is the question.’
Yeah, I quoted Shakespeare, get over it already.

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

I wake up to an empty bed. Opening my eyes, I blink a few times to adjust to the dark room. Pressing the button on the side of my watch, I see that it’s 3:47. Listening closely, I try to hear if she snuck off to the bathroom, but I don’t hear anything. Reaching onto the nightstand, I pick up my flashlight, and scoot out of bed. The door’s open, so I know that she left the room. Continuing down stairs, I glance into one the living rooms, and see Danny sleeping on one couch, while John’s on the other. Seeing that’s all that’s in there, I go down the hall and find Carlos in the kitchen.

“You see Olivia?” I ask.

“She went downstairs about an hour ago,” he answers without looking up from his card game. “Said that she couldn’t sleep, and was going to try and work off some energy.”

“Thanks,” I say.

I see him nod before I pull her soda can out of the door. Reaching up quickly to replace it, I head downstairs. I can hear music from somewhere down here, but can’t make it out until I get closer to the door it’s coming from. I recognize the piano from Rihanna’s “Stay,” and then I see Olivia. She’s barefoot, wearing her leather leggings and only has only a sports bra on for a top, but I’m still a little sore in the groin area from my vigorous stroking session earlier; and Olivia’s assault the other day, so it doesn’t really raise a physical reaction. Okay, there’s still a slight reaction down there, but I ignore it, in favor of watching Olivia glide around the room on her toes. It’s a lot of smooth and graceful movements with turns, extensions, and jumping.

I can’t tell what half the shit is called, since I’ve never taken dance lessons, but it looks complicated with the angles she’s flexing at and the balancing involved. Having been dragged to Sarah’s recitals when she was little, I know that it’s ballet at least. Earlier, I couldn’t watch her dance because I was a tad jealous, and wanted to chop limbs off of the bastards partnering with her. But she’s alone this time, so I get to witness her talent, and can see that it actually carries over to her wheezer killing skills.

I know that sounds weird, but if you’ve seen her swing her machete like it’s an extension of her arm, and dance her way through a group without them even touching her, you’d understand. Her movements are fluid like water, and her short height appears elongated when she extends her form from fingertip to pointed toe. It looks effortless, like when she single handedly obliterates a pack of wheezers, but I know that it must have taken a lot of training to get her to where she is. I’m guessing years, but I can’t be positive without asking her.

Olivia’s turns are quick, almost to the point of making me dizzy, but they look pretty. She holds her final pose, bent at the waist and pointing her left leg at a 180 degree angle as she stands on tiptoe, for a few seconds. It seems impossible, but she makes it look simple as she glides it back down slowly to the ground. Seeing that her routine is finished, I decide to knock on the door, before I stand here like a creeper for longer than I already have.

“Are you going to stand there like a creeper, or ask for whatever the fuck it is that you needed?” Sufficiently startled at the sound of her whispered words in the silence, I nearly fall on my face, when I pull my arm back from the door. Olivia starts laughing at me, as she pulls the door the rest of the way open. “Oh man, you should have seen your face.”

“Damn you,” I curse and see her smile. “I wasn’t trying to be a creeper, I didn’t want to interrupt you during your
‘ME’
time.”

“I believe that you’ve already done that twice before,” she says smugly.

“And you called me a creeper then, too.” Olivia shrugs. “How long you been dancing.”

“Since I could toddle,” she answers. “My mom signed me up for ballet before I was two, started jazz when I was four, hip hop at five, and partnered ones at ten.”

“Sounds like you were pretty damn busy.”

“I was, but I loved it,” she tells me. “Especially the competitions. Up on the stage, with the lights shining down, it was exhilarating, scary, and fun, all at the same time.”

“Which is your favorite?”

“Depends,” she says as she taps her chin. “If the beat is good, hip hop. But with ballet, you can tell a story. Well, you can tell a story with any of them, but ballet is just beautiful. Then with partnered styles, they’re a lot of fun with the lifts, but you have to practice constantly to get your timing right, like Cory and Travis figured out.” Olivia smiles a little sadly at that, so I try to pull her to the surface, before she sinks under the weight of her grief.

“Anyway, I only came down here because my comfy pillow was missing, and I was wondering where it went.”

“Your comfy pillow couldn’t sleep, because someone was snoring like a bear.”

“I don’t snore, so it must’ve been you.”

“Oh, it was you alright,” she counters. “And if your chainsaw buzzing wasn’t enough, then you started talking in your sleep.
‘I don’t like elephant cake, I want jelly frogs.’
”

“What?” I ask with a laugh.

“I dunno,” Olivia says. “Then you started meowing. I thought it was Mori at first, but then I figured out that it was coming from you.”

Damn, looks like our earlier conversation about sex and purring transferred over to the unconscious state, just as I feared it would. I don’t remember most of it, mostly just stills, like Olivia singing about dirty minds and new positions, then her strapping me down to have her wicked way with me. No, not the way she was strapped down; but more of the very willing, erotic way. Still no way in hell I’d admit something like that though, especially when she’s the woman whose ankles I was winding around.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Olivia asks.

“Yes,” I answer bluntly. When she looks confused, I explain. “You lied about the water. Twice.”

“Those don’t count,” she says with a wave at me. “We’re talking about some serious shit here. I mean, jelly frogs? Hello, everyone knows that gummy sharks kick gummy frogs’ ass.”

“No fucking way,” I retort. “Those blue little bastards are boring. Jelly frogs look so real, and you could play with them. Jelly sharks look like bloated airplanes.”

“Oh, yeah?” Olivia challenges and I nod. She pulls the t-shirt I gave her on over her sports bra. And though it was only about three holding those babies down this time, I didn’t even look at them. Fine, I may have peaked once or twelve times while she was dancing, but that was different. I was just checking out her form, honest. “Suit up, asshole, we’re making a run.”

“Now?” She nods. “Hell no, it’s like four A.M. Do you wanna be eaten alive?”

“We’ll be fine, but if you’re scared of the Boogeyman, stay here, and I’ll be back in an hour.”

“I’m never scared,” I reply.

“Great fucking song,” she says with a smile. Then she starts singing Bonecrusher’s “Never Scared.”

“The amount of music you’ve memorized never ceases to amaze me.”

“Why thank you, but I can’t take all the credit,” Olivia says as she walks toward our training table. “I had many different influences to help construct my repertoire.”

Picking up her coat, I see that there are several more bras and ace bandages underneath. Either she doesn’t like the constriction when she’s dancing, or she felt safe because everyone’s sleeping except for Carlos. But he was on watch, so he wouldn’t have left his post. I don’t ask about any of that, since she sat here talking to me in her bra for several minutes without appearing uncomfortable. This could be a good thing, because that means she trusts me, and is comfortable around me. And for that same reason, it could be a bad thing.

If Olivia feels that way, it could mean that I’m not a threat, since she thinks I’m not interested, and have been friend-zoned; which is a death sentence. I can’t be friend-zoned; I need to make her see that I want her in every way imaginable. And I need to do it quick, before I wind up eighty-five, and having finally worked up the courage to tell her; I’m rolling around her ankles in a wheelchair, completely ignoring her beau beside her. I’m mentally whaling phantom elders, when I hear Olivia say something.

“Anyway, meet me back here in five minutes.” Olivia has already picked up the pile of bras and was heading toward the bathroom, when she called that over her shoulder.

“Where are we going exactly?” I ask.

“To prove you wrong, of course,” she pauses in the doorway, and turns slightly to reply. “There’s a candy store down the street that I know for a fact has both gummy sharks and frogs, and I plan on cleaning them out. So, are you in or out?”

“I’m in,” I say. “But wouldn’t it be easier to meet upstairs?”

Olivia meets my eyes. “Do you want John or Cory to know we’re leaving, and say we can’t go, or to come with us?” I shake my head. “Then we meet down here, since it’s a walk-out.”

“And you’re sure you’re up for this?” I ask.

“I’ve dealt with worse, now get moving because I’m leaving in four minutes, with or without you.”

I leave Olivia singing U2’s “With or Without You” as she closes the door to the bathroom. Jogging upstairs, I snatch up my backpack, and coat off the counter. That’s when I drop them, and jump at the sound of a voice.

“You find her?” Carlos asks.

“Jesus, I forgot you were up here.”

“You found her then, because the only time your head is up in the fucking clouds, is when you’re around her, or have just left her.”

“Are you saying that’s a bad thing?” I inquire.

“No, I’m just curious as to what that’s gonna mean for you when she leaves.”

“Where the fuck’s she going?” I demand.

“After Cole.”

“And you know about Cole, how exactly?”

“She asked me and Osco about him back at the ranch.”

Unease creeps up my neck, lifting the light dusting of peach fuzz hair up like a magnet. “Why would she ask you or Oscar about him?”

“Have you ever heard of the name Cole Sanders before?”

I rack my brain for a few seconds, thinking of why that name sounds so familiar. And then it hits me. Right before the infestation, the news focused around a string of unsolved murders in the Boston area. The reporters referred to him as the copycat Boston Strangler. The attacks centralized around college campuses, and targeted dark haired women in their twenties. Victims were all raped and strangled to death, before being dumped by the harbor. Police were clueless as to who the offender was, due to the lack of evidence left on the nude bodies; since they were bleached, and there were also no blatant ties between the victims. Then there was a break, when they caught a 29-year-old Caucasian male; later identified as Cole Sanders, in the act of trying to abduct his thirteenth victim within a nine-month time frame.

I never really watched the news before, but it was everywhere, in the newspapers, on the internet, the radio. Even my father’s law office was contacted in hopes of creating a defense for Sanders. I don’t know if he accepted the case, or if he had the chance to accept it, before the lockdown order; but it wouldn’t have surprised me if my dad was working on freeing a murdering rapist the day the lockdown order was set in place. After all, my dad thought OJ was innocent.

“The serial killer,” I say and he nods. “Are you telling me that the man who chained Olivia in a basement, is the same Cole who had himself a crime spree?”

“That would be him,” Carlos confirms. “I didn’t arrest him personally, but I did work on the case. I took interviews from the surviving victim, questioned witnesses, all the groundwork that should have put him away for life. Instead, he didn’t even serve a month.”

“And now he’s free to do it to whomever he wants.”

“Seems so,” he agrees. “I may no longer be a cop, but I am Olivia’s friend, so when she goes, I’ll be going too.”

“I was already planning on going,” I tell him.

“And what would you do with Sarah?”

I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I promised my parents that I would take care of her. Running around the northeast, and possibly dying while I’m chasing a notorious murderer, was definitely not what they had in mind. And now that I know who we’re dealing with, I don’t know if we stand a chance. I mean, this guy evaded the entire Boston Police Department for nine months, so what chance do we have of finding him?

Never mind surviving wheezer attacks during our search. I couldn’t possibly stow Sarah away for months, without a guarantee that she’ll be safe, or that I’ll be coming back alive. It’s not a simple supply run down the street; this is scouring infested cities, and looking for trouble. Fuck, that’s putting it lightly. It’s more of a suicide mission, than the simple in and out revenge operation that I originally thought it would be.

“That’s what I thought,” Carlos says. “Go ahead with your puppy love while you still can, Jared, because I can guarantee it’ll be gone before you know it.”

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