Surge (24 page)

Standing up, he breaks contact with Olivia and walks toward the kitchen. I’m left completely baffled. Maybe they aren’t into public displays? Or maybe Cory has a lot of respect for her, so he chooses not to brand her like a possessive asshole, and saves their passion for private? God, I hope so, because that simple kiss to the forehead already made me see green, so a full out make out session would probably enable me to rip him off of Olivia, before replacing his lips with mine. Shaking those thoughts away before my mind comes up with a porno-esque scenario in which I bust in on them while they’re hot and heavy, toss Cory outside, and claim Olivia alpha-style; I step forward.

I approach slowly, not really sure where she wants me. Olivia must see my hesitation, because she holds out her hand to indicate the spot that Cory just vacated. I cautiously take a seat because if she changes her mind, I can move fast, that way I can salvage the situation before it becomes another rock-fest like in the courtyard. I leave a good foot between us, so I’m leaning against the opposite wall she’s on, with my right knee resting on the cushion in the middle.

“I bet you’re wondering what the psycho wants, right?” Olivia asks bitterly. My eyes snap to hers. Who the fuck called her psycho? Other than my own mental rambling, I don’t think I’ve called her it aloud. And I’m pretty sure that she isn’t crazy at all. Damaged, yes. Crazy, no.

“No,” I reply with my own temper showing. “I was wondering what my new
ally
needed to talk about, and wanted to personally thank her for saving our asses from my stupidity.”

“You weren’t stupid,” she spits out. “I already told you, they know how to appeal to your instincts, and make them work against you. It’s fucking sick, but effective.” I nod to show that I agree with her, but my guilt will always remain. I could have gotten everyone killed, and Mike was shot.

“Stop it,” Olivia demands. “What’s done is done. You made up for your mistake, and have fifty bodies to prove it.”

“Fifty?” I inquire and she nods with a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“You missed two under the washer, five under the fridge, and the one hog tied in the kitchen.”

“I can’t believe that worked,” I say and her smile spreads a little more. “John and I were just fucking around, and decided that rigging a heavy ass fridge would be a fun way to waste time.”

“Well, your boredom just might have saved you,” she says.

“Or it could have been my good luck charm,” I reply with a meaningful look at her. “Third time’s a charm, and all that.” She looks away with her lips pursing.

“Believe me, I am not good luck.” I don’t bother denying it, because Olivia’s as firm as cement. She’s silent for a few minutes before she clears her throat and speaks. “I heard that you were going to head south, but what if I had a place that you could all go, and be safe up this way?”

“What kind of place?”

“A military compound,” Olivia answers.

“That sounds too good to be true,” I counter, even though I’m a little excited about the prospect.

“It’s not,” she says. “I’ve been there myself. It’s safe. There are electric fences, concrete walls topped with barbed wire, round the clock guards, food, and shelter. It’s a safe haven that protects you from monsters and wheezers alike.” I note the use of
‘monsters’
not referring to the wheezers.

“Then, why aren’t you there?”

“I told you, I have shit to do,” Olivia replies cryptically.

“Alright, what’s the catch?” Because anything this good has to have one.

“They require any able body to train,” Olivia says. “All who enter are subject to check ups, and must physically and mentally train for their newly assigned profession. Be that a chef, or a guard, everyone learns how to defend themselves from both humans and wheezers.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” I say.

“It isn’t,” she agrees. “And you wouldn’t have to be constantly vigilant. You could take a minute for yourself every once in a while, so it’s as close to normal as you can find in this world.”

There’s a hint of longing in her voice when she says
‘normal.’
Like she could never see herself as a normal person. I want to hug her, and say all kinds of reassurances, but I know that would freak her out, so I don’t make the attempt.

“There’s also the fact that the journey would take about a month.”

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

“A month?” I ask horrified. How the hell could I convince the group to make that long of a journey?

“Now, hold on,” Olivia says and holds up her leather-covered hand. “That was just an estimate. I added in days for rest, gathering any supplies that we’ll need along the way, or to avoid packs of wheezers. And believe me, there are a lot of packs.”

“So, that little cluster of thirty I saw, is commonplace?” Olivia bobs her head. “Great.”

“You’ve been in the burbs for too long, Jared,” she says with a hint of mirth in her eyes. “Us city folks have seen some crazy shit, that you couldn’t have ever dreamed of.”

“Oh, yeah?” I challenge and she nods. “Like what?”

“A new mutation in the wheezers,” she answers. I look at Olivia with wide eyes to show her my interest. “They can climb, they’re super-fast, and are covered in coarse hair.”

“Fuck,” I curse. “So, they’re becoming more like monkeys?”

“Not monkeys, apes.” Olivia lifts her small chin to make her offense known.

“So sorry, ma’am,” I say and tip my imaginary hat at her. “I didn’t mean to misname the monster.”

“They are not the monsters,” she hisses. “They are what we made them. That makes
us
the monsters and
them
the victims.”

“I’d like to hear you explain that to my parents,” I retort with my own temper rising. “Those things you foolishly call
‘victims
,
’
tore them apart for fun.”

“My mother happened to be one of those
‘things,’
” she replies with pain taking over the fury in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I say because it’s the polite thing. Not that it makes anything better. It doesn’t take the pain away, or bring back a loved one, so I don’t see the point of it; but it’s been drilled into me since childhood.

“Me too,” she sighs. “Everyone lost someone. It doesn’t matter how, as long as the result is the same.”

“And your dad?” I ask carefully because her talkative mood could backfire at any time now.

“Car accident when I was sixteen. And before you ask, I’m twenty.” I nod my head in thanks to the offered piece of information. “My mom, she was one of the original volunteers,” Olivia says with a tone that’s hiding her true emotions. “Stage four lung cancer, so it was her last hope of seeing Christmas.”

“So, she volunteered and got infected,” I finish and she nods. “Was she one of the ones that escaped?”

“No, my mom was willing to be quarantined,” she says with a bite to it. “You want to hear something funny?” Not seeing anything that could possibly be funny about such a situation, but not wanting to offend her, I nod my acquiescence. “Those volunteers that
‘deteriorated to death?’
” Olivia makes air quotes over the reported cause of death for 56 people, I nod to say that I recall hearing it. “They were the cure.”

“What?” Bobbing her head, Olivia continues.

“They were the cure,” she repeats. “I saw my mom the same day that the 44 escaped. She was healthy, and in remission. Absolutely beautiful, with her hair growing in a rich black color, her blue eyes shining with love, and her smile sparkling with hopes of coming home to celebrate.” Olivia wipes a tear from her eye. Her voice changes from being soft and tender when speaking about her mom, to steel with anger.

“But she didn’t come home. They executed the 56 who stayed. All of which were healing, unlike the mutated ones that escaped. None of them had red eyes, showed signs of aggression, or wheezed, and they still shot them all to death. Then they burned their bodies, as if they were no more trash. With them, any hopes of creating a cure from their blood, were set ablaze.” Looking up to meet my eyes, she continues.

“Like I said, they aren’t the monsters. Humans are, with their pushing the limits of science in order to extend life. But what they can’t seem to get through their thick skulls, is that everything dies eventually. Be that ten minutes or 800 years, it doesn’t matter how long you live, what counts is how you live it while you can.”

“And are you satisfied with how you’ve lived it?” I ask because it seems as if she’s thought about this for a while.

“No, I’m not,” she replies. “Wasted time, stupid decisions, and poor judgment calls don’t make it possible for a happy ending.” I’m thinking that she’s referring to me, until I see the haunted look in her eyes. In hopes of clearing that up, I try for levity.

“We could be miserable together,” I propose. “John always calls me a sulky bastard, but I think he’s the one that doesn’t got it right. Life is shit, and then you die.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” she says with a small smile.  She then stifles a yawn with her hand. “Sorry, I don’t find you boring. I’m just exhausted.”

“I was about to take offense,” I reply with a teasing grin. “You can take my bed if you want.” Shaking her head back and forth so fast, that I think she might fall over, she replies.

“No way in hell am I going in there,” Olivia says horrified. “There’s no knowing what I’d find hidden under the mattress, and it probably smells of skank.” I laugh because she’s mostly right. I do have some mags under the mattress, and just thinking of having the red headed slut in there, makes me want to retch.

“Are you sure, because I plan on burning the mattress, and tossing some holy water in there to exercise the shit out of it; before I ever enter my room again.” Olivia bursts out in a husky laugh. I like the sound of it, and plan on making her do it more often in the future.

“I’m positive,” Olivia says, once she’s recovered. “I’m gonna go out and sleep in the hall, make sure no things go bump in the night.”

“There’s more?” I ask and she nods. “And you think they’ll come back tonight?”

“Not tonight,” she revises. “I put new locks up to keep out wheezers.” How the hell did I forget about that? “But they most likely wouldn’t have gotten through your booby traps, anyway. Cory and I had a hard time climbing them as it was already.” That makes me feel slightly better, but I should have checked them out myself. “Besides, it isn’t the wheezers I’m concerned with. It’s the raider’s leader, he’s going to retaliate, since he doesn’t like it when someone makes him look foolish.”

Olivia turns and almost sprints away before I can ask how she knows who the leader is, or what his motives are. I let her go because I’ve just learned several pieces of the no longer impossible, but complicated puzzle that is Olivia.

“She’s harder than she used to be,” a voice, with a slight southern accent, comments from behind me. I spin to face Cory, who’s leaning against the door frame.

“She had to be to survive,” I defend.

“I know,” he says. “But that isn’t the same easy going girl, who used to run like a wild child through my house, with her pigtails bouncing behind her; all the while singing Joan Jett.” I could definitely see Olivia singing Joan Jett, especially since she wears the head to toe leather ensemble like a security blanket, but the pig tails, and easy going nature have long since been buried.

“No, I suppose not,” I agree. “But there’s still the same person that you proposed to, underneath all that leather.” I don’t know why I’m pointing this out to him, if he can’t see her for the beautiful woman she is, I stand a chance of swooping in for the steal. Cory cocks his head to the side in a manner almost identical to Olivia’s, making me wonder who taught that trick to the other.

“I’m not the one who proposed to her,” Cory replies. What now? “Why the hell would you think that?”

“Well, there’s the fact that she’s wearing an engagement ring,” I begin. Then I start naming off facts robotically since I’m still focused on the fact that he isn’t the fiancé. “Then the way that she ran into your arms, instead of stabbing you for calling her
‘Livi
,’ and she doesn’t have an aversion to you touching her.” Cory’s jaw tightens, and his eyes go cold.

“She has her reasons,” he says through clenched teeth. “The person who gave her that ring? That was my little brother. Travis and Livs were attached at the hip, since they were both in diapers.”

“Where is he?” I ask. Hearing him use the past tense, I think I know how this tale ends, but I want confirmation.

“Travis’s gone. That’s all you need to know.”

With that, Cory spins away from me and heads toward the hallway, same as Olivia went out to a few minutes before. Rubbing my tired eyes, I walk toward the kitchen. That’s where I find that John’s literally sitting on top of our bound captives, upon walking in.

“I said for you to babysit,” I remark with a smirk. “But it’s just an expression, I didn’t mean for you to take it literally.” John flips me the two finger salute while covering a yawn.

“Fuck you,” he says. “I’m freaking exhausted, and thought I might fall asleep on my watch, so I decided that using them as a pillow could kill two birds with one stone.”