Surge (9 page)

“Thank you, oh wise one,” the smart ass beside me says with a bow. “Our puny brains would have been sacrificed without you.”

“Damn straight, and you two owe me a new mani at the next stop.”

Taking off a glove, Olivia holds up her left hand for inspection. A white gold ring with a rock the size of Texas winks at me, so I barely notice the chipped nail she’s talking about. That was a low blow to libido. How old is she? She looks eighteen at most. And where the hell’s the guy who spent his life savings on that ring, leaving this beauty to fend for herself? Dead, most likely. That’s the only way she’d be away from my side if she were mine, not that I want her in that sense, of course. Just in bed, honest. Is that why she’s alone? Or did the bastard abandon her for displaying psychotic tendencies?

Or maybe she truly is a black widow.

Before I can work up the courage to ask, she’s whipping her leather glove back on. Throwing her soup canister into the bag on her back, she gives the strap holding her machete a tug to make sure it stays in place and checks the chamber of her gun. Grabbing her helmet and crossbow, she basically runs like the hounds from hell are after her, leaving us behind. John must’ve missed the ring, since he has a head start on his own gear, as I begin to ready my own equipment.

Leaving the office, we find Olivia stuffing supplies into her bag. First aid kits, several pairs of leather gloves, paintball goggles, an extra pair of hiking boots and a dozen sports bras are most of the items packed. Zipping the contents safely inside, she hefts her burden, which has to weigh more than her whole body, onto her shoulder like it weighs nothing. John heads one way with a duffel to pack supplies for the group, while I head in the other with a second assigned to the same task.

Several varying sized pairs of boots and sneakers of the male and female variety are first. Next, some thick hoodies, to provide a barrier of protection, and jeans that don’t squeeze a man’s nuts off are added to the bag. A few first aid kits and medical tape are thrown on top before I work my way to the case that almost killed us.

John’s testing out a crossbow, while Olivia’s stuffing arrows in both of their bags. I can that see she attached a shoulder holster to her bow, since it’s now on the opposite shoulder as the machete. That reminds me of something.

“Why didn’t you use your gun on the wheezers?” Olivia’s hands freeze for a second, before she shrugs.

“Machete’s quieter,” she answers casually without looking up. A little too casual if you ask me.

“But you were willing to shoot us if it came down to it?” I press. “The noise would have been okay then?”

“Yup,” comes the response with a pop on the
‘p.’

“You don’t have any ammo, do you?” John inquires. Straightening to her full 5’ nothing, she stares down John like he’s the pixie person.

“Wanna find out?” Olivia dares. Slightly unzipping her leather jacket, which I don’t know how she’s wearing in the trillion degree heat wave we’re having, she pulls out her gun. Checking the safety lock, she holds the gun out to John. “Go on, take it.”

John looks like he suspects a venomous snake to be hidden in the chamber, but calls her bluff due to pride. Just as his fingers make contact, her hand seizes his wrist, her body twists and she flips him over her shoulder. Kneeling on his chest, she holds the gun to his head and says, “Bang.”

Is it wrong that her taking down someone turned me on? Probably, but I’m perfectly okay with it. Hell, sign me up for the next one is all I can think of when Olivia quickly climbs off of him, brushes herself off and tucks her gun away. Fuck, I’m actually jealous that he got to brush against her body even with it being as brief as it was. I’m busy in my head, and Olivia’s adjusting her coat, all the while John’s on the floor gaping up at her like a fish. Shaking away his head full of cobwebs, a huge grin spreads across his face.

“You have got to show me how to do that!” John exclaims as he pops up onto his feet. “You were like a fucking ninja.”

Quick as lightning, Olivia smacks a hand over his mouth and cocks her head to the side. Listening closely, I hear shuffling outside. John snatches his bags off the floor and whips them onto his shoulders before readying his new crossbow. Olivia mouths,
‘Back door,’
and we nod for her to lead the way.

As she walks, Olivia tugs a small metal thing on a chain necklace out of her jacket. Holding it to her lips, she blows, but no sound comes out. A screeching noise comes from behind us and I pick up the pace, since I’m not willing to take on another army without ammo for my 9mm. I’m thinking her whistle’s broken at this point, but Olivia just keeps blowing away like there’s no tomorrow, as we make our way to the back exit.

My mind is in the gutter thinking about something else those succulent lips could have more success at blowing, when she stops at a door cracked open. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she pulls an aluminum can out from the top of the door, that she must have used to prop open herself, before slipping outside. I quickly close the door behind me and John blocks it with a barrel, just in case whatever was shuffling around inside decided to follow us out.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Olivia says with a pointed look at the barrel.

“I don’t like being taken from behind,” he replies in defense.

“That’s all well and good,” she begins. “But I have it under control.” Olivia follows up the comment by waving her little broken whistle at us.

“What the hell’s a broken whistle gonna do for us?” John demands, taking the words right out of my mouth.

“Listen,sweetheart,” I start in a gentle tone, so I don’t startle the possible crazy in our mix. “That thing may be nice and shiny, but unless it calls a magical dragon to swoop down from above and carry you away, I don’t see how that’s going to help us.” John’s looking at her like she’s lost her marbles, and maybe she has. She’s by herself, maybe that’s the reason why. How the hell would we know?

“It’s not broken.” Glaring at the two of us, Olivia answers through clenched teeth. “If you two douchebags would shut the fuck up for a minute, you would have learned that this
‘nice and shiny’
object does not in fact call dragons, but instead harms a wheezer.” John’s about to make some smart ass remark, but Olivia holds up her hand and keeps talking.

“Have either if you fine gentlemen heard of a dog whistle?” Not waiting for our stupid asses to respond, since now I get it and I feel like a dick, she continues. “A dog whistle emits a sound above a human ear’s hearing capacity. But to a dog’s ears, the frequency can be heard and heeded to. So, one major use of this whistle is to try and get a dog to stop barking.” Pausing to see if we’re following her lesson, we nod our heads and she presses on.

“Wheezers, as we well know, no longer apply to the human category. The animal DNA that courses through their veins via the infection, affected their hearing. When I blow this here trusty whistle.” Olivia demonstrates, and we hear a far off screech of pain. “While some wheezers block their ears in a very human fashion, which is hilarious mind you, they all shy away from the sound. Therefore, the whistle is in fact not broken and harms the wheezers, any questions?” Turning her back on us, she repositions the whistle and starts blowing again as she sashays away.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” John mutters before following after her. I, on the other hand; having been taken successfully to task numerous times in our short acquaintance, just became her biggest customer for any and all bull shit she’s selling my way.

At least for now.

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“Where’re we headed?” Olivia asks. She stopped at the end of the alley way behind Hal’s, and is now scanning the street like a hawk, while waiting for us to catch up.

“East,” I answer. “Toward Brookline.”

“Alright, Mr. Vague,” she replies snidely with a swing of her arm. “Lead the way.”

“It’s a condo-plex about eight miles away,” John adds for description. Nodding, Olivia tucks the necklace for the whistle inside her jacket and pulls her helmet on.

“Is that really necessary?” John inquires as she obsessively stuffs her braid away.

Without answering, she runs a hand over the front of her jacket, ignoring John’s question completely. Appearing satisfied with her inspection, for who knows what; Olivia gives a quick nod at me to move. Raising his eyebrows at me, John nods his head and agrees to move on. Sticking with the same route we used on the way in, we reach the grocery store parking lot within ten minutes. It’s still deserted, so we keep going.

Moving at a quick pace, we make it another three miles before I notice the complete lack of wheezers. None of them are scuffling in the streets, not even one picking through trash, absolutely nothing. The absence of any wheezers along the way can be a bad sign. A glance at the sky shows that showers are imminent. Either the wheezers are sensing a bad storm is on the way and they’re taking refuge like wild animals, or there’s an early shift from type one to type two due to the lack of sun. Neither option is ideal, so I signal to stop and consult our direction.

“Why’d we stop?” John asks. He pulls a swig of water from his canteen and wipes his mouth with a sleeve before tucking it away.

“Did you notice anything along the way?” I ask and he shakes his head in the negative. “Exactly.”

John looks confused, so I look toward Olivia. She has her helmet and visor still firmly in place, so I can’t see beyond my reflection to read her expression, but a jerk up and down signals her comprehension.

“No activity,” is her muffled response. I nod in agreement and turn to John.

“No activity’s a good thing,” John counters. “We can make it back without a parade of maggots chomping at our asses.”

“It could be,” I agree. “Or it could mean that a bad storm sent them retreating to find shelter.”

“Or a switch to night feeders,” Olivia proposes.

“I get it,” John replies. “The night owls might come out to play early.” Olivia mutters something like,
‘give the boy a cookie,’
but I’m not positive until John smirks at her and says in a voice full of heat, “Only if you’re baking, sweetheart. Only if you’re baking. Preferably naked.” She slides a hand to the handle of her machete, and he flinches before cupping his pride.

“Focus,” I order. “Do we risk it by sprinting the rest of the way home, or do we make camp for the night?”

“Sarah won’t like it,” John warns. “The last time she was near hysterics when we didn’t come back.”

“It’s either we make her worry a few more hours,” I offer. “Or risk not coming back at all.”

“Alright,” he agrees. “But you suffer the wrath of little sis this time. My ears still hurt from her screaming like a fishwife.” I agree to the terms, Sarah’s a cuddly kitten compared to the teacup ninja at my right. “So, where we staying?”

“I hear the Imperial Inn has vacancy,” I quip and John laughs. “You can even stay in the honeymoon suite for free. Just don’t expect 5 stars, I heard the staff service is terrible.”

John begins singing R. Kelly and Cassidy’s “Hotel.” When he gets to the part having her participate,
he looks at Olivia, who flips him off.

“I got a place nearby,” Olivia replies. “But we have to be quiet,” giving us a pointed look, “And move fast.”

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