Surge (17 page)

I have a feeling that he and Olivia could be bosom friends.

“What the fuck Lenny!” I exclaim upon entering this sad excuse for a hospital. “I’m gone for a day and you decide to croak? I’ve been waiting months for this, and I won’t be denied my due.” Pausing to point an accusing finger, I continue. “I want to be here to witness your old ass’s demise, you scheming son of a bitch.”

Akio shoots me a look of disapproval, and Tommy looks like he’s plotting my funeral, when Leonard’s barking laugh echoes off the walls. Seeing his grandfather’s healthy response, Tommy smiles gratefully, it not a little reluctantly. Which is a perfectly reasonable reaction to my seemingly disrespectful behavior to his sick grandpa.

“Come here you ungrateful whelp,” Lenny says as he motions me over with a wave of his hand.

I approach his bed and when I’m within arm’s reach, doesn’t the sly bastard pull me down for a noogie, but with an admittedly weaker exuberance than usual. With Akio clucking at his exertion, Lenny releases me and I step back. John gives me a nod of approval. This is why he and I have been friends for so long. We’re like chameleons, we can be serious, or ridiculous depending on our mood and the given situation. This is great for lightening up tension, like the present situation for example.

“You have to take it easy, you old fart,” John adds with a smirk at Leonard’s scowl. “We have a new girl that I just might be persuaded to share with you when you recover.”

“Is she cute?” Lenny the old flirt asks like an excited toddler begging for a cookie.

“Cute doesn’t begin to describe her,” John answers. Isn’t that the understatement of the year. But it serves its purpose when we see Lenny turn to Akio.

“You heard ‘em Doc,” says the now ideal patient. “Fix me up, my girl’s waiting for me to save her from the counterfeit Lothario.”

Leaving the doctor to his work, John and I exit the mock hospital room. Closing the door behind us, John turns to face me with a shit eating grin on his face. He exaggerates sniffing the air for a few seconds before talking.

“Do you smell something, Jared?” John asks me. When I shake my head, he explains. “It smells awfully familiar, but I don’t recall seeing any of the girls today, have you by any chance?”

“What is it?” I ask. “Kelly’s obnoxious perfume? Marissa’s hairspray? Chelsea’s bubble gum? Sarah’s lotion?”

“No, those aren’t it,” he denies. “It smells a little bit muskier than that. Like a unique mixture of sweat, bodies and spunk.” John sniffs in my direction. “That’s it, you smell like sex. It looks like you squeezed in some extra time for Vicky.”

“Fuck her,” I spit out and his eyes widen at my cursing of the red head.

“Didn’t you already?” John asks confused.

“Well, she’s a bitch, and since you happen to have a fetish for bitches, you can have her,” I tell him. John shrugs at the fetish comment.

“Isn’t Victoria your admirer though?”

“That cum box is one in the same,” I reply and he laughs. “Seriously, take her. I’m actually begging you to take her off of my hands. I don’t want her or her bed hogging, lazy ass in my room again.”

“Trouble in paradise?” John inquires with mirth dancing in his brown eyes. “I’m pretty sure all was well and good an hour ago when there was this mysterious earthquake that managed to contain itself to only rattling the frames on my wall. It was the damndest thing I’ve ever seen, and even stranger was the sound that accompanied it. It sounded an awfully lot like a bed frame smacking the wall, and horrible porno sound effects added in, if you’d asked me.”

“She snores, she talks too god damn much, and she tries to
cuddle
.” John visibly shivers at that, so I nod and continue to state my grievances. “She’s always in my room, even when I’ve told her to stay the fuck out on multiple occasions. If she’s not in my room, she’s dogging my every step, or in my freaking face and asking so many fucking questions.
‘Do we have enough food, Jared? What about ammo? Are you sure it’s safe? What will happen if the monsters got in?’
I just want to go to fucking sleep and she wants pillow talk after some subpar post coition. Seriously, she is the
worst
fuck I’ve ever had.”

“That didn’t sound awful,” he remarks with his trademark smirk. “It sounded like she gave it to you good.” I look away. “Oh my god, you didn’t.”

“Look, the carpet is brown!” I exclaim and point to the carpet runner in the hallway. “Has it always been brown? I don’t think so. Wouldn’t I have noticed that it was this color after living here for over fifteen years? Have you noticed that it was changed? Because I sure haven’t.”

“You did,” John says with a chuckle. “You pulled the old bag over the head trick, you sick bastard. I bet you even pictured Lara Croft down the hallway, didn’t you, you depraved pervert?” I flip him off, which makes him laugh harder. “You did! I fucking knew it. I so heard you call out her name, I even asked Chelsea, but she said she couldn’t hear over Vicky’s screaming. But I don’t think she hears much of anything over her gum chewing.”

“Did I really?” I ask in a whisper. John nods. “Fuck. You don’t think she heard, do you?”

“I’m pretty sure she did, I mean, you were laying on top of her, right?”

“No, no, not the red head,” I say with a careless wave. I seriously could not care less if Red heard me chant Olivia’s name, but I do care about my mini Tomb Raider hearing it. “Olivia,” I clarify.

“No, I don’t think you shout it
that
loud,” John replies. “Besides, maybe she’ll take it as a compliment that you’re using her as a fantasy fuck.” I give him a look. “Or not. So, was she any good? I may have to give her a try sometime. Those lips were made to wrap around my pole. And that ass....”

I turn and go in the opposite direction from John, hearing him voice all of the shit he’d love to do with Olivia. I block out as much as I can out before I have to whack my best friend. She’s
my
fantasy woman, and he’s got three chicks in the flesh to choose from; while I’ve kicked my only breathing version to the curb. At least he doesn’t know about her hidden attributes. I think I’ll keep the information about those babies to myself.

Passing a wave at Oscar, who’s sitting opposite to Sarah’s bedroom door with a gun at the ready, I continue on to the game room in search of Sarah. She’s usually my last stop when it comes to doing rounds so that I could spend more time with her. That time has since been hacked in half due to my selfishness. Junior may have demanded attention, but I should have used some self-control and cut him off. Oh well, I’ll make it up to her somehow.

Approaching the game room door, I spot Sarah sitting by the bay window with Danny and Mike. They’re playing some version of board game while dinner’s being readied by whoever’s covering for Lenny. Approaching the trio, I see that the game is Monopoly and that Mike is in full on teaching mode. It’s probably the only time he gets to use his previous life’s work, since Sarah and Danny refuse to read books or learn anything that they won’t need to survive. Which they do have a point. Who needs to know what the fuck a parabola is when you have wheezers chomping at your ass?

I spin a chair backwards and take a seat next to Sarah, ignoring her prick of a cat’s hiss. I love animals, always have, but this particular one despises me for some odd reason. I don’t know why, but it could be because he remembers when I accidentally stepped on his tail when he was a kitten, which is why his tail is permanently hooked at the end. So, maybe he’s holding a grudge over the deformity caused by my drunken stumble from over three years ago? Or it could be from the time I brought home another cat so that he could have a playmate. That sweet little kitty has since been chased off by the bossy asshole that’s currently glaring at me.

Yes, this cat can glare, and it’s fucking disturbing. His green eyes narrow to slits, as he stares me down. Since he’s not a dog, meaning that he won’t take it as a challenge, I make it one and stare right back. His hooked tail flickers back and forth like a pendulum, picking up pace with each tick-tocking swing. Finally seeing that I’m not giving in, Morris tries for a dominance swipe with his claws extended. I dodge the paw and laugh when Morris hisses in protest. It’s like he expected me to just sit there and let him draw blood. As if, you lazy asshole, you gotta work for it. I’m preparing for another strike, but I wasn’t expecting it to come from his owner. I feel Sarah’s sneaker make contact with my shin, so I look up and scowl at her failed expression of innocence. Her eyes are wide, but there’s a smirk curling at the side of her mouth.

“Your cat’s evil,” I tell her. Sarah cuddles the beast closer and pats his head; Satan’s hell cat nuzzles into the contact.

“Mors is not evil, huh, baby?” Sarah coos at him. I can hear the bastard purring from here.

“He is,” I insist. “He even leaves his sacrificial pets on my bed to curse me.”

“It was just a mouse,” Sarah retorts. “And it was one time.”

“Twice,” I say and hold up two fingers. “Just last week I found one in my sheets.”

“Then quit letting him out,” she orders.

“He has to go to the bathroom,” I counter. “I just would prefer if he didn’t use my bed as his personal dining table.”

“This ain’t Burger King, you can’t always have it your way,” Sarah says. I wave off her smart ass comment and look at the game board.

“Who’s winning?” Sarah and Danny both point fingers toward our mathematician. I guess math does serve a purpose in the apocalypse after all, even if it is only to win a game of Monopoly against two teenagers.

“That reminds me,” Sarah says and looks at me. “You used me.” Already knowing what she’s referring to, I don’t deny it.

“I know,” I answer. “But she never would have handed over her jacket otherwise.”

“So, I take it that’s your peace offering?” Sarah assumes and I nod. “Good luck.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Rah-Rah,” I mutter and ruffle her curly brown hair when she smiles at her childhood nickname.

“I heard that you ‘effed up,” Danny says. Scowling at him, since I did punch him for pretty such the same thing the other day, I don’t respond.

“And got saved by a girl,” adds my obnoxious baby sister.

“That’s no girl,” Mike interrupts. “That’s a machine.”

“A machine in fine working order,” I agree. Even though I know that isn’t entirely true, I can’t let the others know that she may tip the scale more on the side of crazy town upon occasion.

“She isn’t a
‘machine’
at all, you a-holes,” Sarah hisses at Mike and me. “Olivia is a product of her environment.”

“Listen to you, sounding all educated,” I mock tease her and receive a weak punch to the shoulder in answer. “And how, pray tell, do you know she’s a product of anything after a few short hours of acquaintance?”

“I formed an opinion, same as you,” comes her reply. “And you’ve only known her a dozen more hours than I have.” Eighteen more hours, and several mental fucks, but I won’t be discussing sex with my baby sister, so I leave it there.

“Touché. Now deal me in.”

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

We played Monopoly until dinner was announced, and seeing as I came in halfway through the game, I refuse to say that Mike kicked my ass. But I have no problem admitting that he sure as hell kicked Sarah and Danny’s collective asses. I’m on my way to the dining area in the great room, when I’m waylaid by Whitney.

“Hold up Jared,” she says from behind me. Turning to face her, I see Whitney holding up her arms full of folded leather gear. “I just finished. Maybe you could bring these to our guest and invite her to dinner?” I’m about to interrupt her, since it’s dangerous, but she holds up her hand and continues. “She has to eat sometime.”

“Then I’ll bring her a plate,” I offer and she shakes her head.

“How about I check her for bites?” Whitney proposes. “That way she can join the rest of us. She must be going stir crazy by now.” Fuck. Stir crazy Olivia could be way worse than possibly infected Olivia, so I agree to a compromise.

“If she refuses to let you see her, she stays in the room.” Nodding her acquiescence, Whitney leads the way. Cautiously approaching the door, like I’m about to face the firing squad, I knock lightly.

“Are you here to let me out?” Olivia inquires.

“Possibly,” I answer vaguely. “I have a proposition for you.” Without waiting for her to reply, I continue. “If you let Whitney check you for bites, you can come out and eat with us.”

“How do I know if you aren’t lying, and no
‘Whitney’
actually exists?” My poor, paranoid Tomb Raider asks.

“I do,” Whitney replies. “I even have your clean clothes for you.”

“Jared, move you and your guard down the hall,” Olivia orders. I’m about to protest, because Mike would try and kill me if anything happened to his wife, when Whitney touches my arm and shakes her head. I shove a knife in her pocket, and make sure she knows how to use it, before I give in.

“Alright,” I huff. “Come on, Oscar.” We walk a dozen steps down the hall, and call out to prove it, before the door opens a crack for Olivia to peek out. Seeing the nonthreatening, African American woman holding her clothes as promised, Olivia pulls her inside.