Surge
Date: 2014-01-15 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Zombies; Dystopia; Romance; Abuse; Post Apocalyptic; Apocalyptic; Horror; Fantasy; Drama; Adult
Description: Creatures lurking at your door step, but are those what you should be afraid of, or is there a greater monster to fear? Jared Benson is a survivor, but that's all he's done is survive. He's about to meet a girl that's going to make him want more than the ability to breathe, but it comes with a price: follow your head, or your heart? Jared Benson is your average twenty-three year old male, he has a foul mouth, he likes sex, he despises attachments, and he doesn't take shit from anyone; he just happens to be living in a post-apocalyptic world. Almost two years ago, the world as he knew it ended,

Surge: (Wheezers: Book One)

Katelin LaMontagne

Copyright 2014 by Katelin LaMontagne

Smashwords Edition

Surge: (Wheezers: Book One)

Katelin LaMontagne

Copyright 2014 by Katelin LaMontagne

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Katelin LaMontagne. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. Cover design by Katelin LaMontagne. First Edition January 2014.

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following word marks mentioned in this work of fiction: 3OH3!, 50 Cent, A Christmas Carol, Adele, Adidas, Aerosmith, Afroman, American Pie, Animal Planet, B2K, Barbie, Batman, Beatles, Beastie Boys, Beenie Man, Betty Crocker, Billy Idol, Billy Joel, Blacksheep, BMW, Bob Marley, Bonecrusher, Boston Red Sox, Brandi Carlisle, Britney Spears, Burger King, Cali Swag District, Call of Duty, Campbell’s, Candy Crush, Carhartt, Cassidy, CCR, Cheerios, Chewbacca, Chia Pet, Children of the Corn, Christmas Story, Different Strokes, Disturbed, Don Mclean, Dora the Explorer, The Drifters, Dumb and Dumber, Dunkin’ Donuts, Dyson, Edith Piaf, Elvis Presley, Eminem, Evanescence, The Exorcist, Ferrari, Five Finger Death Punch, Florence + the Machine, Food Network, Ford, Freddy Fender, Freddy Krueger, GI Joe, Godsmack, Godzilla, Google, Goonies, Green Day, Green Mile, Gucci, Hangover, Han Solo, Hollywood Undead, Home Alone, Home and Garden, Hostess, Hunchback of Notre Dame, IPod, Jägermeister, Jack Daniels, Jaguar, Jenga, Jerry Springer, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, Johnny Cash, Johnny Walker, José Cuervo, June Carter, King Kong, Kit-Kat, Kleenex, Kool-Aid, Lady Gaga, Led Zeppelin, LG, Lil Jon, Lion King, LMFAO, Looney Tunes, Lord of the Rings, Louis Vuitton, Ludacris, Luke Bryan, Lysol, Mac n’ Cheese, Mafia Wars, Matchbox 20, Maury, Mercedes, Metal Gear, Modern Warfare, Mommie Dearest, Moulin Rouge, National Lampoon’s Vacation, New York Yankees, Nightmare Before Christmas, Nightmare on Elm Street, Nirvana, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, Oscar de la Renta, Otis Redding, Otter Box, Papa Roach, Percy Sledge, Pirates of the Caribbean, Poison, Prada, Princess and the Pea, Psycho, Puddle of Mudd, Queen, R. Kelly, Radiohead, Rambo, Ren and Stimpy, Resident Evil, Rihanna, Rolling Stones, Romeo and Juliet, Rosetta Stone, Saliva, Scooby Doo, Sean Paul, Sephora, Sesame Street, Shakespeare, The Shining, Sherlock Holmes, SpongeBob, Standells, Star Wars, Stephen King, Superman, System of a Down, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Temptations, Terminator, Theory of a Deadman, Tomb Raider, Toyota, Training Day, Transformers, Tupperware, Under Armor, U2, Victoria Secret, Waterboy, Wedding Crashers, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, Wilsons Leather, Xbox, YMCA, YouTube.

Prologue:

May, 2013

Olivia

I cringe at the sound of the bullet bursting from the chamber, causing it to veer off course, for the fourth time in as many minutes. Goddamn it all. I’m contemplating hurling the gun from the witch’s walk we call a roof, but a quick reminder that training is now a necessity for survival; immediately cools my temper. Even if that cool down is as slight a drop as going from a burning inferno, to a small blaze. My ears are still slightly ringing as I cock the hammer and reset my stance.

“Shoulders relaxed, arms extended, lock your elbows,” I repeat Travis’s words out loud as I prepare to do the steps again. “Feet shoulder length apart, stare down your target, deep breath in, and squeeze the trigger on the exhale.”

You’d think that four months of relentless gun training with Travis; a gun enthusiast with a license for the last six of his twenty years, would see some improvement in my aim, right? Wrong, I completely suck even with Travis’s older brother Cory, who’s an Iraq War veteran to boot, to aid in my guidance.

Shaking off some of the negative energy, I line up my sight with the target, take a deep breath and steel myself for the loud bang that comes with the release. Exhaling slowly, I’m just about to squeeze the trigger, when I feel two strong arms wrap like bands of steel around my waist and a chin rest on top of my head.

Immediately removing my finger from the trigger, I lean back against Travis’s broad chest. The familiarity and emotion that arises with such an embrace warms me in a way that even the humidity of the New England heat wave can’t. His warm breath tickles the sticky black hair away from my sweating neck.

“You tensed,” he accuses. “It’s causing your aim to be thrown off.”

“Damn it, Travis!” I exclaim without much heat. I slide the safety into place, as Travis obsessively taught me to do, before I lower the gun and abandon my attempt at what little’s left of a proper stance. “I could have shot you.” Even though I can’t hear his chuckle, I feel it in the barely repressed rumble against my back. “Okay, I could have shot in the vicinity of you. Or, I could have finally had a stroke of luck and nicked you.”

Now he doesn’t even try to suppress his full out belly laugh. Hearing it after a four month hiatus, I feel happiness surge all the way down to my toes, even if it happens to be at my expense. I don’t mind because it’s true that I happen to be one, if not the worst, of the few remaining shooters that our world’s end has yet to see. And I’m not so prideful that I can’t acknowledge my own shortcomings.

That’s especially the case when I’m looking at the physical evidence of my obvious failure sitting ten feet in front of me. Nothing screams, ‘you suck!’ more clearly than a target with no holes in it, while being surrounded by a pile of empty clips. Give me a knife and I can nail a running wheezer from twenty feet, thanks to Knife Master Cory’s instruction. But if I’m equipped with a gun, then I may as well roll over, expose my belly and ring the dinner bell.

“No need to be cruel,” I continue with a small smile gracing my lips, due entirely to Travis’s levity surfacing. It can be described as sporadic at best since the outbreak of the infection. That’s just one more thing to add to the long list that the wheezers have stolen from us. “On the bright side, no one besides you and Cory know that I couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn with both eyes open, the sun shining on a windless day, and me standing three feet away from it.”

“Even if I you happened to be equipped with a bazooka,” he huffs with a teasing smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, yeah?” I challenge as I set the gun down on the table.

“Yeah,” he quips nonchalantly. Spinning quickly to catch him off guard, my fingers graze his stomach and he tenses.

“Are you sure you want to take that wager, Travie?” I ask him in a lowered tone, pleased to see his Adam’s apple bounce when I trace a circle around his navel.

Enjoying the darkening of his cerulean eyes, seeing them swim with anticipation of what’s to come next, I instead blindside him with a cheap shot. A quick adjustment in my fingers turns me from seductress to tease, as my fingers slide to the right instead of down like he’s expecting, in order to squeeze the ticklish spot located right below his ribs. An all-out war ensues with Travis dodging and utilizing his longer reach to his advantage, while I use stealth and speed to evade. Its several minutes later, that I have Travis begging for mercy, and we stop to catch our breath.

Once our laughter subsides, I stretch my neck to look up to his towering 6’3” height to my measly 5’2” and ask, “Aren’t you the one that keeps saying that practice makes perfect, Mr. Sharpshooter?”

“That would be me,” he agrees.

With that, the last bit of mirth leaks from his eyes to be replaced with my new hardened version of fiancé. Slight disappointment wells up, but I beat that whiny bitch back down into submission with a baseball bat. In this new world, our ability to stay alive depends completely upon taking training seriously. It could make all the difference in a situation where the only outcomes are on opposite extremes like life or death. He must have seen the last sliver of my deflating mood, because his face softens a bit.

“But I didn’t say to run yourself ragged,” Travis continues.

I feel his strong, calloused hands encircle my arms and work their way to kneading my shoulders. I’m mentally switching out my wooden bat for an aluminum one to beat away the final traces of weakness and shove them into a closet, when Travis pulls me close and whispers in my ear.

“Livi, don’t you think you’ve practiced enough shots today?” His whispered words make me fight a full body shiver, still a losing battle even after four years together. “You’re doing great,” I’m not but I’m not about to correct him. “And your arms must be tired by now.”

Now that he mentioned it, I notice that my arms are starting to burn. With the combined forces of the gun’s heavy weight, fighting the force of the recoil for several clips of practice ammo, and a tickle fight for a finale, I’m beat and ready to call it a day on training. But not before I try just one more time.

“Since I’m a gambling woman, how about we make a wager?” I pause and Travis nods his assent before I continue. “If I miss the target with the last bullet in this clip, since you so rudely interrupted my very serious training, mind you.”

At this point, he does the picture of innocence look like a frickin’ pro. You know the one I’m talking about, the ‘who me?’ look? Yeah, well how fair is it when I have to contend with beautiful baby blues that widen to the size of saucers, which only complement his dark blonde hair, and the addition of the small pout of his full lower lip to finish it off. Suffice to say, Puss in Boots has a strong contender for most adorable faces used to get their way. Though I’m extremely tempted to give in, I push through to name the terms of the wager.

“As I was saying,” I continue with a single brow lift to show that I’m not falling for the look. He lifts one right back with a cocky grin showcasing his straight white teeth, because he knows I’m full of shit, and I am, but I won’t tell him that. Oh no, this boy owns me enough as it is, and he relishes it. I’m good with it, since I own his ass just as much and he knows that, so I call it even. Rolling my eyes to support my bluff, I finish presenting my bet.

“If I miss the target, we go in now and I cook dinner tonight.”

Already I see the spark in his eye that says he’s won and I’d swear on a bible that I see him wipe a bit of drool. But you can’t blame the poor guy when he can’t cook to save his life. I mean, who manages to burn mac n’ cheese every single time they make it? I, on the other hand, was a decent cook prior to the infestation of wheezers. That talent comes in handy when there are only canned goods and the occasional fresh meat for ingredients. Therefore I kick ass in the kitchen. I don’t mean to toot my own horn here, but toot mother flipping toot. As Travis likes to say, I’m ‘The Gourmet Goddess.’

“But if I hit the target,” I press on. “You have to cook.”

“Deal,” Travis quickly agrees to the terms.

Obviously he’s thinking he has this game in the bag, and let’s face it, he most likely does. Queuing up the theme song of Looney Tunes in my head, in the words of Porky Pig’s, ‘Tha- that’s all folks!’ I reclaim my place at the table and pick up the gun before readying up my position to shoot. I’m about the fire it off when I feel Travis’s hands adjust my shoulders and stance. Tapping my feet until they’re shoulder length apart and adjusting the heels of both my hands on the grip to have the proper finger placement, he steps back to give me some room. I take a deep breath and slowly squeeze the trigger on the exhale.

The sound that usually has me cringing, doesn’t even register when I see the target; an apple from the tree next door, explode in a burst of seeds and red skin. Spinning around with a quick victory dance and a huge smile of triumph, my face freezes, when I catch Travis struggling to stuff his gun back into his holster with a guilty look. I feel like I’m the blonde one here and do a dunce slap to the forehead after I realize that my hands aren’t even tingling with the sensation of the recoil, on account of there not being one.

“You knew the safety was on,” I accuse as he puts his hands up in the worldly notion of placating.

“Livi,” Travis begins softly. “I know what you’re thinking, but I was just trying to help. You looked so frustrated when I came upstairs that I knew you needed a boost of confidence...” He begins rambling in the most adorable way imaginable, most likely thinking that I’m going to rip into him. Silly boy, I end his undue suffering by going up on the tips of my toes to a place a gentle kiss on his lips. He’s so dumbfounded that he doesn’t even respond to it.

“So, you’re not mad?” He asks slowly in a confused tone, so I shake my head in the negative and he exhales in relief.

“Why would I be mad?” I ask innocently. “I got off cooking duty.”

“I’m still cooking tonight?” Travis’s face looks so horrified at the notion that all I can manage is a slight shake of my head while suppressing a laugh when he crosses himself in thanks. “Good. I was willing to take one for the team for you, but you remember the mac n’ cheese, right? The bubbling brown slime and it was moving. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from that. I mean, I can’t even look at the cartoon on the box without feeling queasy...”

This time I have to I bury my face into his chest in hopes of smothering my chuckle. He burnt the pasta to the point that is was barely recognizable as bloated noodles stuck to the pot, added who knows what ingredients to turn it brown, and the smell alone turned my stomach, but he still ate it. There was no wonder there why he spent the night mewling in a corner, refusing mine or Cory’s help, even with his head hovering over any empty paint bucket. When I’m back under control, I pull back to meet his Caribbean blue eyes.

“I love you, you cheating bastard,” I whisper. Travis stares at me, eyes so full of emotion that it seems like an eternity before he blinks.

“And I love you, my beautiful girl,” he responds with an equally sweet kiss. “Even if you’re a sucky shot.” I shoot him a mock scowl.

“At least if I were going to poison someone, I’d hit the right target,” I quip. “What’s that saying again? Oh, I remember now, ‘Don’t get high off your supply.’”

“Touché,” he mutters before picking me up bridal style and heading for the roof’s exit. After walking a few steps in silence, he speaks again. “Cory should be back soon.”

“I hope so,” I reply, settling into his well worked arms. “It’s going to be dark and you know how they are at night.”

Travis only nods, because what else is there to say? Neither of us will even contemplate the slim chance that he won’t return. He may not be my blood, but he is Travis’s, and even if he weren’t, I’d still love him as if he were my own brother.

I nuzzle into Travis’s neck, breathing his crisp, woodsy scent mixed with the sandalwood that I love so much, before kissing right below his ear. Suppressing a laugh as he stumbles, I whisper promises of something delicious for dinner in his ear and he picks up his pace.

“You are going to be the death of me woman,” he growls as he pulls open the door to leave the roof.

But Travis didn’t know how true those words were. He didn’t know how those ten, simply said words he meant to tease me with, now taunt my every waking minute.

But I know.

I know this because just before that the door sealed us into our safe haven, we heard a scream. A scream that has the same ability then, that it does now, to freeze my blood. A scream that we should have never answered. A scream that I still regret allowing to change our future. A scream that still haunts me at night.

The same scream that I will never stop hunting until it doesn’t have the ability to be heard again.

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

Part One:

Meet and Greet

“Be careful who you trust, the devil was once an angel.”

-Unknown

Chapter One:

August, 2014

Jared

Four shots. That’s all I have left. That’s all that stands between me, and most certain death. That’s all that’s keeping my ass from becoming a most unwilling chew toy. Not the greatest of odds, with well over a dozen sets of the claws, and gnashing teeth snapping at my back.

Up ahead, I see Danny tripping over his skinny jeans. Those ugly ass pants are what got us into this situation to begin with. That stupid bastard just had to wear them, even when they’re two sizes too small and restrict movement, all because of Sarah. Sarah being the PITA, pain in the ass, little sister that she is; said that they made him look hot. What the hell is hot about an oversized man-child wearing skin tight nuthuggers?

We’ve been full out sprinting for two miles straight, but the pack behind us was still about twenty strong and counting the last time I checked three blocks ago. Danny’s panting, which I’m guessing is most likely due to the jeans cutting off the circulation to his junk; and not from being winded, when I see our flag marking the turn up ahead. Thirty feet, and we’re home free. Thirty small feet, and we’ll most likely live to see tomorrow. Thirty feet, and I’m kicking this preppy kid’s ass.

“Danny, get the gate,” I yell out.

He must have an inkling of a brain cell under all that ridiculous hair, because I see the pack that was strapped to his back, sliding its way down his shoulder as we take the turn onto our street. As soon as I see him start digging for the key, I steal a quick glance at the tall building straight ahead. A third story window tells me that John’s on sentry duty to provide backup if necessary. Thank God for that small favor. Danny’s about three feet away from the metal gate of our apartment complex when I see him start to stumble, yet again.

“You stupid fuck, I swear if you drop that key, I’ll kill you myself!”

Before I finish my tirade, he rights himself and starts working on the lock. I stop about five feet from where Danny’s standing, spin around and pull out my 9mm to hold them off. Four shots, I remind myself. Make ‘em count.

The closest wheezer is about three feet away when I take a breath, release it slowly and pull the trigger. It makes a clean head shot, if you call black blood and green brain matter scattering to be clean, but I barely register it before I’m lining my sight with the next one.

“Hurry the fuck up!” I growl as I unload my last two shots into the nearest bodies. One of which, in a stroke of luck, trips up a few incoming bodies while it’s going down.

“I’m trying, give me a goddamn second,” Danny snaps back.

I’m definitely wiping the floor with this piss ant as soon as we get inside. I don’t give a flying fuck if Sarah doesn’t talk to me for another two weeks. Actually, I like to think of it as an added bonus.

Pulling a few knives from my thigh holster, I throw one and see it spear a wheezer in the slimy mucous that used to be called an eye, before dropping. Gripping the next knife in preparation to stab the incoming wheezer, that’s too quick to throw it at, I hear shots popping off from up above. Three of the closest corpses fall down due to John’s sniping, while I prepare to drop the quick bastard that evaded his shots. Stepping forward with the second knife, I avoid the reaching arms of the smelly wheezer before burying it into his temple, where it remains because I’m not stupid enough to waste precious seconds in a foolhardy attempt at weapon conservation. After all, kitchen knives are an easy enough find.

I’m lining up my throw on my seventh wheezer when I hear Danny start un-wrapping the chain. I pause a second to make sure my throw hits its mark, because if it doesn’t I have to try and take him out before making an attempt to turn and run for the gate. This fuck could definitely outrun me if I tried, and maybe it’s just me, but I’d rather go down swinging than to be taken from behind by some thoughtless asshole that didn’t even buy me dinner first.

Seeing the knife land between the fastest moving wheezer’s eyes, easily digging its way through the rotting flesh and into the brain, I exhale a quick sigh of relief before turning to abandon my defensive position. Falling back, I shove Danny through the opened gate before slamming it shut and re-locking it. As soon as I make sure that the lock and chain are safely in place, my fist lands in the preppy bastard’s face, making him sprawl out a few steps away. Danny quickly scrambles to his feet, as blood starts streaming from his nose, but that’s not nearly enough to satisfy the burning rage I feel.

“What the hell were you thinking? I told you not to wear those ball biters, but did you listen?”

I stomp forward to where he’s standing, shaggy light brown hair hanging in front of his green eyes like that pansy ass pop star, holding his shirt to his face in a poor attempt to staunch the blood flow. Reaching out, I grip the collar of his striped golfer’s shirt and slam Danny into the nearest wall, holding him up on his toes.

“Of course you didn’t fucking listen. You’re too busy thinking with the wrong goddamn head, not that I know how that’s possible when it’s being fucking smothered!”

My balled fist is pulled back, about to be released when I feel hands grip it and tear me away. There are multiple voices talking over each other and different sets of hands that I’m still struggling against to get at Danny, when John’s familiar voice roars over the pounding in my ears.

“Jared, calm down! You’re gonna attract every goddamn wheezer in a five mile radius if you don’t shut the fuck up!”

That clears up the red haze from my eyes. I nod, breathing heavily through the desire to mop the floor with 5’11” of scrawny prepster. Danny’s escorted out of the courtyard by Cory and three of the other men from our group who broke us up. I hear their footsteps retreat upstairs before John finally lets up on his choke hold. Turning away from the blood droplets that Danny left behind, before I decide to follow it like a trail of breadcrumbs, I see what’s left of the crowd of wheezers at the gate.

Due to the strength of the odor, a delightful mix of raw sewage, body odor, and curdled milk, I’m guessing there to be around twenty still standing. With the seven that I personally took down and the three that I witnessed of John’s, that makes a pack nearing thirty.

“That’s the largest group we’ve encountered yet,” John comments, mirroring my own thoughts.

I nod, already knowing where he’s going with this. It’s the same point that we’ve been stressing to the others for months. But do they listen, of course not. Because everyone knows that if you hide under your blanket, the monster disappears, right? Yeah, I don’t think so, and neither do John or Cory. As for the rest, well let’s just say that they we don’t quite see eye to eye, and that’s putting it nicely.

“We started with six on our tail,” I tell John. “By the time we reached the corner market, we had at least doubled that.”

“If they’re hunting in packs, it must mean that pickings are slim.”

Again I nod, since there’s no need to respond verbally. We’re silent as we observe the cluster of wheezers. They were all human a little over a year ago. One year was all it took to reduce a population of over 300 million to mere thousands. One year to turn this group of former people into putrid animals with insatiable appetites. They’re hardly recognizable now if you don’t look specifically for the human characteristics.

Most have little to no hair, they ooze green pus from their red eyes, have flesh peeling off of their partially naked frames, and they all hunch over; some to the point of having their knuckles scrape the ground. The physical conditions depend upon how long ago they became infected and with which strand.

With the original strand, the wheezers are slower to the point of lethargy, unless of course they are provoked by a stupid fuck named Danny, and they have bad night vision. The second strand can be spotted instantly due to their speed, severely hunched over frames where their knuckles are scraped bare to the bone by dragging them across the ground, and their increased night activity. The longer they’ve been infected with either strand, the less human they seem. The one trait that they all have in common, regardless of age or strand of infection? That would be the gurgling noise that arises from their chests, hence the wheezer’s nickname.

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

It all started as a new and highly praised treatment for cancer, known as Gene K. “The Miracle of Life,” was the catchphrase for it. Tested on apes, the results for Gene K were phenomenal. While gorillas and orangutans had satisfactory results in their ability to kill the cancer cells that they were injected with, the cancer in the bonobo chimpanzees was found to have gone into permanent remission. The Gene K vaccine was developed soon after.

The process of development involved an injection of human cancer cells being inserted directly into the placenta of a pregnant bonobo chimpanzee, thereby; the baby chimp absorbed the cancer. While in utero, the unborn chimp’s stem cells attacked the cancerous invaders, combined with the foreign cells and became a new element; coined Gene K for its apparent ability to ‘kill’ cancer. After the chimps were born, researchers took vials of blood from the newborns. From there, lab technicians stripped the blood of everything except Gene K to test on humans.

The initial 100 test subjects were volunteers with the severest cases of cancer, including those with pancreatic, lung, brain, or any of whom were in the higher stages and had little to no hope of recovery. The volunteers were injected with the vaccine and monitored. Researchers found conclusive results that coincided satisfactorily with the bonobo chimp’s testing, but at a much slower rate in humans. Therefore, a small modification was made to the vaccine in hopes of speeding up results to make it more efficient, known as Gene K+. Mass production and distribution of the modified version soon followed. Before the FDA could test the safety of the modified version of Gene K, over 1,000 more patients had been treated with it.

One month after the initial volunteer subjects were treated with Gene K and considered to be cured, side effects began to arise. Flu like symptoms, such as runny noses, watery eyes, and sore throats; were quickly becoming commonplace. With such mild symptoms, the volunteers were then only brought in for their routine examinations. Before toxicology results were processed from the exams, many patients began displaying more severe symptoms.

These symptoms included major hair loss, coughing up blood, and pustules forming on their skin. The most alarming discovery was of the large amount of blood accumulating in the lungs, causing a wheezing noise to gurgle out of the patients’ chests whenever they were attempting to breathe. As a result, doctors and researchers alike demanded immediate quarantine to prevent further outside contamination to occur and because of the possibility of contagiousness.

Only 56 of the original 100 volunteers agreed willingly with the order for quarantine, the remaining 44 volunteers were forcibly detained. Observation and blood tests were rerun in hopes of finding the cause of the degenerative symptoms. With high expectations of success in creating a vaccine to counteract the bad batch of Gene K, the focus was shifted away from monitoring the rapidly deteriorating volunteers.

After one week of forced quarantine, the 44 unwilling volunteers started to display violent tendencies, attacking their arresting personnel and eventually overpowering security to enable their escape from the lab. It was reported that the remaining 56 subjects deteriorated to the point of death, but I know that really meant that they were terminated before they could escape as well.

Reports of madness in the form of biting and scratching both civilians and law enforcement officers; without just cause by the escaped volunteers, were covered by all major news casting stations. Videos of the infected chasing down fleeing men, women and children before being gunned down by military troops were commonplace on the ten o’clock news.

Within two weeks of their escape, the attacks spread from the remainders of the original 44 escapees and their infected recruits, to include the 1,000+ patients injected with the Gene K+ vaccine. With the addition of Gene K+ patients rampaging and rapidly increasing in number, government and military personnel alike advised civilians to board their homes, lock up suspected and known infected, and retreat to bomb shelters if possible.

After three weeks of defensive combat with the infected and the resulting heavy casualties, the military was forced to abandon their offensive positions in favor of defensive ones. Public shelters became the main focus for remaining troops. With civilians told to be on lockdown, bombardments were dropped on areas with high concentrations of infection, causing electric services to shut down indefinitely. Power shortages were a daily occurrence until the final report signed off at 10 P.M. on February 19, 2013 with reports of 80,000+ infected, and to sit tight and wait for help.

That was 20 months ago. 20 months of ‘sitting tight and waiting for help.’ The first six months, we did just that. Watching news reports all day and living off of everything in our kitchen cabinets, even if it meant splitting a box of raisins three ways for an entire week. Depending on your version of lucky, it could be said that we were with just the three of us. Those being my little sister Sarah, my best friend John, and me, living in my parent’s three bedroom condo on the third floor of our complex.

Our parents weren’t so lucky. They were stuck in their office building, the Law Offices of Benson & Moure, which was located in downtown Boston while we were in the outer suburb of Newton. They also had little supplies shared amongst forty odd employees, while we had full cabinets to split between the three of us.

We had contact with my parents and John’s, Mr. and Mrs. Moure, for the first few weeks. Each call ended with the same sign off of sending their love with unrealistic promises to see each other soon, demands to stay safe and to take care of each other. With my ignorant mind thinking we were invincible, I used to find them annoying and somewhat embarrassing. Now, I would give anything to hear even a recording of it one last time.

Especially after they were breached.

Four weeks after the second outbreak of wheezers, we had the great pleasure of listening to the gory end of our parents. It was a day like any other, nothing special about this particular Tuesday afternoon, so we thought nothing of it when we were having our rehearsed sign off. It always began with John talking privately to his parents, when they were done, my father would then take up his turn. I always put it on speakerphone, therefore allowing Sarah to hear his scripted response, too.

‘Take care of my little girl for me, Jared. You’re the man of the house now, make me proud, son.’ My mom always went last with her, ‘Tell my angel to be brave, Jared. But I want you find a good girl, treat her right, and be happy. Stay safe. I love you guys, and we’ll see you soon.’

My mom was always telling me to the same thing, ‘Find a girl, treat her right and be happy,’ it was like a running joke with us.

‘You find her yet?’ My mom would ask every time I walked in the door.

‘No Ma, she wasn’t on the subway today, maybe tomorrow.’

‘Hurry up and find her then, I need me some grandbabies to spoil.’

‘Jesus, Ma, I’m only twenty.’

‘And tomorrow you’ll be thirty-five.’

‘Then I’ll worry about it tomorrow.’

But there were no tomorrows, good girls for me, or grandbabies for her, and we never got to hear them say their rehearsed goodbyes that last time. Right after John’s parents passed the phone off to my dad, the phone line was abruptly filled with our mothers’ blood curdling screams. There were audible growls, tearing and scuffling, before immediately being followed by a dial tone as permanent as their deaths.

19 months ago we were scared and helpless, newly-minted orphans, who hadn’t a clue of what to do. Now, we’re pissed off and starving. We live in a single cramped apartment with thirteen other strays that we’ve picked up along the way. On the upside, at least we’re still alive. That is, if you consider struggling daily to survive to constitute as living.

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

Chapter Two:

“Jared, we can’t stay here much longer,” John says at my right.

I look over and see his arms crossed over his chest, dirty-blonde eyebrows scrunched together low over his dark brown eyes, and his jaw clenched in what I know is determination. That one look I’ve seen countless times over the nearly twenty years of our friendship, ever since it was formed on the jungle gym in preschool. You tend to pick up a few physical cues from someone you’ve known for over 3/4 of your life, especially when said person introduces himself by punching your bully in the face before demanding that you’re going to be his friend or else he’ll kick your ass too. Best friend for life right there; even if the bastard never lets me forget that I owe him.

“I know, but we’ve already tried persuading the group to leave. Majority rules and we only have three votes out of sixteen.”

“Then screw ‘em,” John spits out. “If we don’t move on soon, we’re gonna be mobbed with hundreds. How the hell are we going to scavenge through that shit?”

John thrusts a hand out to encompass the snarling mass reaching through the bars of the gate in hopes of an evening snack. I don’t get to answer, even if there is no plausible response, because I hear the stomping on the stairs behind us that can only mean one thing. John shoots me a smirk, he knows what’s coming and is about to enjoy the show.

“Jared Matthew Benson!” I hear Sarah shout from the hallway. “I am going to kick your ass six ways from Sunday, so help me God!”

I’m already moving to intercept her, when she appears at the bottom of the stairs. Seeing the pack of wheezers still reaching through the gate in an attempt to eat John, her pissed expression turns from fury to fear in a heartbeat, her lips snapping shut while her hazel eyes widen. I drag her inside while John follows behind, shutting and locking the two interior doors as we head up to our third floor unit. The two staircases leading to the upper floors have safety precautions put in place for a possible breach.

On the main staircase, we have a rope rigged to drop a refrigerator from the second floor, while on the emergency back staircase, we have a similar rigging set up with a washing machine. Now, neither John nor I am geniuses by any means, so it’s a simple pulley design that can be tripped by cutting the rope. Hopefully they function enough to be used as a barrier of protection for our floor, or to at least buy us some time to reach the fire escape.

When we reach the landing for our apartment, Sarah spins and plants her back on the wall to steel herself, yet another one of those cues you pick up from being around someone for so long.

“How long?” Sarah whispers.

I see John’s face light up out of the corner of my eye, he knows what this means, as do I. Sarah, who is one of our biggest opposers; and the only one that counts to John or I in making our decision to move on from the condo, has finally given her consent.

“Soon, we need to gather some supplies,” I answer and do a quick calculation. “We have the water collected in the rain barrels from the recent storms, so that should last us at least a few days. Twenty cans of food we can stretch for about three days if we split them evenly, our main concern is protection.” I look to John to see if he has anything to add, he nods.

“Two days,” he revises. “Jared and I will go out tomorrow to scavenge. You stay here with the others, fill up all the backpacks that we have. Fill them with as many blankets, clothes, food, water and other essentials as you can each carry. Make sure it’s evenly dispersed, we can’t have anyone falling behind because they can’t handle their own pack.” Sarah nods and I see John get a gleam in his eye that can only mean one thing, mischief.

“Oh, and make sure Danny packs lots of his skinny jeans. We wouldn’t want to lose him, I mean his nuthuggers, right Jared?” I couldn’t agree more with John’s sarcasm, one less fuckup for me to keep track of, but Sarah takes offense and retaliates in the way only a sixteen year old girl can.

“They are not nuthuggers!” Sarah screeches at the top of her lungs.

I step aside as 5’7” of pissed off teen; along with a curtain of curly dark brown hair flowing behind her like a cape, lunge and collide with John’s rangy 6’4.” The blur of her flying smacks are really the saddest excuse of an attack I’ve ever seen. Sarah looks like she’s fangirling as opposed to furious, which is really quite laughable in this context, but could be dangerous in a different setting.

In retaliation, John gives her the big brother treatment of a bear hug with one arm along with a noogie to mess up her hair with the other. Glancing at my watch, I figure they’ll be done in about, oh twenty seconds due to Sarah’s knowledge of one of John’s weaknesses, which I see her reaching for right now. Her hand goes between John’s shoulder and neck, wiggling her fingers in the slightest of movements and he immediately jerks his head to try and capture her hand. His failed evasion is his demise. John starts laughing and Sarah brings him to her knees, begging for mercy.

“Alright, alright I give!” John exclaims while struggling for breath. Sarah lets up a little but doesn’t move her hand away yet, she lifts an eyebrow at John, which he rolls his eyes at. “Okay, PITA, they are not nuthuggers.” He gives her his most solemn expression, which I know is complete bull shit, but Sarah relents and moves away. I do a countdown in my head, in three, two and John’s already opening his mouth with a retort on one.

“They’re just ball biters.” I jump between the two before they can start up again, which from years of experience, I know that they will. A little levity is necessary to keep you sane in this world, but we still have plans to make.

“Focus,” I order, shooting them both reprimanding glances. “We have a lot of shit to do and we don’t have a lot of time.” Immediately they sober up. “Now that I have your attention, Sarah, tell that stupid bastard that you unfortunately call a boyfriend, that if I see him wear those goddamn pixie tights again, he won’t have to worry about a wheezer catching him because I will personally shoot him in the foot and leave his ass as bait.” She tries to interrupt, but a quelling look her way closes her mouth before I keep going.

“No, I don’t care that they make him look ‘hot,’ the only thing that will be hot, are the wheezers that will be hot on our asses if that fucktard trips and knocks something over again.” Sarah’s eyes widen.

“That’s why they’re all here isn’t it?” Sarah asks and I nod. “Oh Jared, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I know.” And I do, because John and I have tried to shield her from this world as much as possible. “But now you do,” I confirm and she nods. “Alright, so John and I will go scavenging tomorrow, and we leave Thursday at first light.” Sarah and John agree with the plan before we enter the apartment.

Now we just have to convince a group full of pigheaded strays.

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

Chapter Three:

“What do you mean we’re leaving?”

That’s a whiny voice from the back. I’m pretty sure the owner of that shrill is Kelly, but who can be positive with a dozen others raising their voices over each other to make their own opinions known? We’ve been at this for over an hour, and I’m seriously considering the option of duct taping their mouths shut and throwing them in the back of a van for transport. Actually, I may do that just to shut them the fuck up right now.

Before I can make good on my internal threat, Cory steps forward from his spot behind me. He then places two fingers in his mouth, and emits a whistle that is sure to damage a few eardrums with the echo in here; but I don’t give a fuck the potential damage done, since it works. I nod my thanks to him before John, the Professional Placater, graces us with his presence.

“I know you all want to be heard,” he says. “So, why don’t we all try out this revolutionary concept of a raised hand? Simple really, all have to you do is lift your arm up high in the air and wait to be called on. I heard it worked miracles with the preschool crowd.”

John shines them a dazzling smile, the same one that he uses to lure women into his bed, to soften the insult. Upon closer examination, you can see that even his facade is cracking. A twitch in John’s cheek is his tell, but it’s masked by the false smile and a small price to pay after an hour of non-stop bickering with no decisions being made.

“How about a show of hands?” John requests.

In answer, eleven hands fly up in unison. With John, Cory, Sarah and Danny unified behind my decision to move on, that makes just about two-thirds of the group still opposing the plan. I shrug at John to convey my feelings on the matter; I’m perfectly fine with leaving them behind. The way I see it, moving a group of five will be much easier than sixteen; especially if more than half of them are disgruntled travelers, who will just slow us down with their sulking asses moping along the way. Only problem I see arising would be the division of supplies. Sure, it was mostly a group effort, but this is my house and either John or I went to help with every trip made outside the complex, so I think that we deserve our due.

John calls on Leonard first, since he and his grandson Tommy are second only to Cory, as the first of the strays. We found them eight months ago, picking through the looted corner store up the street, and they’ve been with us ever since. Leonard Shue is a retired postman and Vietnam veteran. In his seventies, he does most of the cooking for the group. Thomas Shue, a former ironworker, now splits his time between sentry duty and the gathering of supplies. In his a mid-twenties, he looks like a younger version of his grandfather, with their mirrored brown eyes, strong jaws and Roman noses. As far as I’m concerned, they’re two out of the handful in our group that have actually earned the right to voice their opinions.

“I would just like to thank you first of all for taking us in,” Leonard begins in his age withered baritone. “If you hadn’t opened your home to us and shared your food, Tommy and I would most likely be dead.” Taking a deep breath, he continues. “The problem is my mobility. I know it’s hard to believe, but these old bones just don’t work as good as they used to.”

That earns a few chuckles, since the strong old bastard still hefts around hundred pound rain collectors when he thinks no one’s looking. The few exceptions being when his rheumatoid arthritis acts up, this is quickly becoming a common occurrence, since drug stores raid are turning up empty results for his old prescription.

“I don’t want to slow you down and endanger the group as a whole,” Leonard finishes.

“So, thank you for the offer,” Tommy picks up after Lenny. “But we’re going to stay here and make the best of it.”

“We respect your choice,” John acknowledges. “Just know that the offer remains open if you happen to change your mind by Thursday.” After Leonard and Tommy’s matching nods of agreement, John calls on our next stray.

Mike Williams and his wife Whitney, a bi-racial middle-aged couple, were found by John six months ago. They were holding out in a warehouse that John was raiding for supplies. Mike was a high school math teacher, and Whitney headed the maid service company they owned. Now, they help out with Mike doing supply runs, and Whitney handling the distribution of household chores.

“Whit and I are comfortable here,” Mike states. “We don’t like the idea of starting over again.”

“We know the area,” Whitney says. “We feel secure with the defense system we have in place and would rather stay.” Agreements are muttered by several other survivors before I hold up my hand to shut them up or it will just escalate again.

“Those are good points to make,” I begin carefully. “But keep in mind that some of that very security, to which you are referring, will be leaving in two days.”

“You mean you’d abandon us?” Kelly’s shrill asks.

She steps out from behind the crowd with a pout, which I know for a fact is practiced, since I caught her doing it to her reflection on multiple occasions. How to describe Kelly? She’s the residential bitch, you know every group has one, and she’s the ultimate cliché to boot. Blonde haired, blue-eyed captain of the senior cheering squad, and don’t you dare forget it or you’ll suffer the wrath of her harping.

Unfortunately, I must take blame for this wonderful catch. In my defense, her screeching was attracting a crowd of ass munchers, so it was either take her, or die. I chose to live back then, but now I find myself questioning daily as to if there were a third option available. One where Kelly is bound and gagged, before sacrificing her to the wheezers like a roasted ceremonial pig.

Kelly Randalls has no known survival skills, besides screaming of course, so she’s been with us for miserable five months, and adds no contribution to the group. Well, except for occasionally warming John’s bed. I once asked him how he handles her excessive whining in a shrill voice. In answer, I got his trademark smirk and a, ‘what shrill?’ You don’t need to be have a Ph.D. in sexology to draw conclusions after that.

“We’re not abandoning anyone,” says John the pacifist.

“You can stay here,” I point out, which I’m rooting for. “Or, you can tag along.”

“And are you going, Jared?” Kelly inquires.

She asked that with her come hither smile aimed at me. In response, I want to steal the words of Sarah, and shout, ‘duh! You stupid bitch,’ since the answer is obvious. I mean, didn’t I just propose the plan to begin with? I don’t dignify her with a response to her stupid question, or the inviting smile, because John and I don’t do sloppy seconds, especially in her case. Instead, I turn my attention away from her, to call on the next pickup.

Oscar and Carlos Santos, two former Boston P.D. officers and current snipers, step up to state their takes on the situation. Originally from Puerto Rico, the identical twin brothers are in their early thirties, with black hair shaved close to their scalps and dark chocolate eyes. If seeing double didn’t disorient me enough when I ran into them four months back, their creepy twin powers sure as hell did. Like the ones they’re displaying right now.

Steps taken in unison, matching camouflage pants, black boots and green shirts, plus the uncanny ability to complete each other’s sentences. It’s like those freaky dead chicks in The Shining demanding to, ‘come and play with them.’ Two words for you, fuck no. Danny’s trike tires would have left burn marks on the carpet if it had been me peddling away.

Carlos taking up the lead says, “We aren’t opposed to leaving per se...”

“It’s that we’re wondering where we’re gonna end up,” Oscar finishes.

John looks to me, but I just shrug, so he continues on to Cory whose no better help. Cory looks like hell would be a welcome option, not that the broody bastard talks much anyway. I’m still racking my brain to make up a destination when I hear John announce one word.

“South.”

“South?” I hiss. “What the fuck is in the south? Toothless wheezers?”

“Now that you mention it...” John trails off and I punch him hard on the shoulder. “What? It would be an added bonus.”

“Don’t knock the south boys,” Cory drawls from behind us. “Grandpa Ben may have had no teeth, but you’d have lost yours to his shot gun if he heard you insult his beloved Texas.”

I’m too stunned to reply because, hard ass, silent Cory just willingly offered up a sliver of his family history after eleven months with us. The two-tour Iraq War veteran found John and me soon after we started leaving the apartment to gather more food, almost six months after the order to sit tight and wait out the outbreak. He’d been alone, and for who knows how long on account of his refusal to talk about it.

All we know for certain by word of mouth is his name is Cory Prescott; his prior occupation was an army sergeant, and his age of 26. And he’s about as willing to give up more information about himself, as a horse is going to the glue factory; so we’ve given up on asking. But he’s a cool dude, and knows his shit, so we let it slide. His ability to kick our ass with both hands tied behind his back while blindfolded, may or may not be another reason that we leave him be.

The rest we gathered about him was entirely from observation. He’s got a couple inches of height on me with his 6’4” to my 6’2”, but I’ve got him in weight by about twenty pounds on account of his leaner muscle. Cory has a real knack for hunting, is a master at throwing knives; which he gratefully passed on to me, the stealth of a cheetah, and the ultimate bonus? His ability to nail a target, with fatal accuracy, from both long and short range.

Once John’s successfully picked his mouth off the floor from shock, he shakes his head and replies, “I meant no disrespect to your toothless grand pappy, I was merely suggesting we head south before winter. You know, follow the Canadian Geese?” Cory nods to say he understands John’s true motive of going south is to not in fact wrestle his toothless, possibly wheezer grand pappy, but the advantages of climate change. Before continuing, John shakes his head in mourning.

“If only they were as fierce as their birds, they might have lasted longer. Too bad they were so damn passive.” Ending his eulogy, John turns and faces the crowd again. “So, who’s up for a road trip?”

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

Chapter Four:

Apparently, no one is.

Cries of outrage come from the hen house, a group containing Kelly and her two best friends for life, as of this minute anyway, Marissa and Chelsea. The trio are all in their early-mid twenties and as thick as thieves, that is, until John flashes an undirected smile their way. That’s when it gets interesting. Claws similar to the wheezers come out, hair is pulled, insults hurled, fat lips and crying ensue, which only end when John carts one away for the night. What can I say, he likes the variety, and I like to watch reality TV in real time.

Marissa Souza and Chelsea Adams came as a pair just after Carlos and Oscar. Both were college students when the outbreak began, so they spent the last 16 months in the university’s shelter. The only reason that they left is because the food supplies were finally depleted. They were separated from the deserting group when wheezers attacked the unprepared civilians emerging from the shelter. The girls only lasted because they found a dumpster for them to hide in.

Cory was the one who found them on a supply run and brought them back. They smelt as pleasant as any putrid dumpster can, with Chelsea’s curly red hair and Marissa’s brown, both tangled in knots, their clothes filthy and Marissa having bare feet from having to, ‘sacrifice her poor Louis to those greedy monsters,’ in favor of survival. After they smelled relatively clean, we assigned them to water collecting with Kelly and they’ve been friends ever since.

So, while the hens are squawking that they aren’t going anywhere, I turn to another member of the group. Akio Yamamoto is a second-generation American born Japanese man in his mid-thirties that arrived last month when I found him wrestling a wheezer in a grocery store the next town over. He had been in a bomb shelter in his basement, but similar to Chelsea and Marissa’s plight, he ran out of supplies and had to vacate it. Unlike the hens, he survived for a month on his own before I found him and brought him home.

Having completed his years of residency and worked in a hospital for the two before the outbreak, Akio’s medical knowledge is a highly prized commodity. Black hair hangs slightly in front of the wire-framed glasses that are perched low on his nose, so I can see the wheels turning in those brown eyes without the glare from the quickly setting sun. Decision made, he clears his throat and raises a hand, to which Cory’s ear-splitting whistle draws attention to. Once the roar of the crowd settles, our doctor speaks.

“While the South’s warm weather would be ideal for the winter months,” Akio’s smooth voice begins. “There’s work to be done here, and I cannot abandon a patient in need. It goes against my honor, and my doctor’s oath, so I’ll be staying behind.”

“I can respect that,” I say.

Even though it would have been a greater asset for us to have a trained medical professional in our arsenal, we can deal. Especially with the amount of fighters going with us topping that of the defenseless. Since we now have the twins’ consent, that means we have six fighters being John, Carlos, Oscar, Cory, Danny and myself, Sarah will be the only untrained person in our decreased group of seven.

“Don’t stay on my account, Doc,” Leonard counters. “Old age happens to the best of us, and I can manage. They’ll need you more than I will.”

Akio and Leonard begin arguing quietly amongst themselves before the final member of our group makes her presence known. Victoria’s a twenty-something red-headed vixen, with a bit of hero worship, that’s been steadily following my trail since I saved from being eaten alive by a lone wheezer three days ago. I’ll admit it works in my favor, because what red-blooded, straight male can walk in on a naked, traumatized female lying on his bed and send her away? The poor girl would have been cold in that big bed and all by her lonesome. So, while I got a hero’s welcome, I used a few clever flicks of tongue and hands to prevent her from having nightmares. See, I’m generous.

Alright, cut me some slack here. I’ve been abstinent for over a year out of fear of being caught bare assed and sweating by my baby sister, because it would traumatize her for life, and I’d die a painful death via embarrassment. John didn’t share my sentiments, since he’s enjoyed a nightly fuck fest since Kelly and the girls arrived. I should know since I still have nightmares over the noises breaching through the wall connecting my room to his. Not to mention every trip outside the condo he makes, John comes back with spermicide and a new box of condoms that miraculously disappears in a matter of days. ‘No Mini-Me’s running round this bitch,’ is John’s motto, and has been since he first dipped his wick at sixteen.

Since I’m a man, and I have needs, I grudgingly hit John up on a loan for some rubbers the second the red head presented herself to me on a platter. Not to mention the physical relief after a long day filled with tension, without the downside of a pesky emotional attachment, is just the way for me to unwind.

After a few seconds, Victoria works her way through the crowd with a swish of her hips to sidle up next to me. She wraps her arms tightly around my waist, pressing her chest firmly against mine. With the low-cut, skin tight top presenting her small cup size at the perfect gazing angle without my having to even try, she licks her thin lips before looking up to meet my gaze.

“Do we really have to leave in two days?” Victoria asks and I nod. Tears well up in her pale green eyes and she looks down. I’m not the best with tears, seeing as I have a penis, but dealing with a little sister for sixteen years out of my 23, gives me an edge over others of the male variety. Taking a page from the big brother booklet, I carefully lift her chin and lower my voice to as gentle a tone as I can manage.

“We do,” I answer. “It’s what’s safest.”

“But it’s safe here!” She wails before the tears start cascading like a waterfall in the rainforest.

Goddamn it, this is why I usually leave John to deal with Sarah’s tears. I’m looking for that teddy-bear bastard as I feel her start hyperventilating against my chest. Shushing her as I pat her hair down, I mutter as much smoothing bull shit that I can recall John saying during one of Sarah’s meltdowns.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” I say and start increasing the pace I’m patting her hair back with. “I’ll watch out for you.”

My fingers are tangled in knots of hair at this point and I’m getting more uncomfortable by the second. Searching frantically for some female aid, since I’m pretty sure I’m doing more damage than good, I feel her claws start digging into my chest. Mother, fuckity fuck does that hurt. ‘I need Midol and chocolate stat. I repeat, I need a freaking case Midol and a pound of chocolate, right the fuck now!’

I carelessly detach my fingers from Medusa’s hair and begin to pull back in order to get Sarah to deal with this hormonal shit, or Akio to sedate her. Actually, sedation is my choice after her nails dig further into my flesh than Sarah’s prick of a cat Morris does, to the extent that I’m sure she will leave permanent scarring.

“We still have two days before we leave,” I offer in a final attempt at self-preservation. I’m just about to order the good Doc to inject her with the same dosage as a rhino of our precious drugs, when Victoria’s head snaps back and her breathing sounds normal again. Obviously, I must have done something right.

“You promise?” Victoria demands with a swipe of her hand across her cheek to collect the last few tears and smearing makeup, I didn’t know she even had, across her pale face.

I nod in answer, I’ll promise her a fucking pony that shits gold and rainbows if that’ll get her to stop. With what can only be described as a triumphant smile, she accepts my reassurance before quickly disappearing back into the escalating tempers of the crowd. This leaves me feeling as befuddled as any man can be when dealing with a woman’s drastic mood swings.

It’s official, women are fucking weird. Shaking my head to clear it, I turn my attention back the voices rising to decibels that could wake the dead. Since Cory’s method worked, I give it a go and emit a wolf whistle I’m proud to say had the nearest people, namely Akio and Leonard, wincing.

“Now that I have your attention,” I begin. “How about I tell you all a little story before any of you make your final decisions?” Without waiting for a response, I begin to relay today’s events to the group.

“You all know that Danny and I went on a supply run today. What you don’t know is what happened during something as common as a routine trip to the market. We were filling our packs with as many goods as we could when a wrongly placed foot,” caused by Danny’s horrible attire, “knocked over a display case. The noise attracted three wheezers to take notice. We moved as quietly as possible when we were leaving, but they still saw us and began to give chase.” Understatement of the year. Those bastards sprinted like the Kenyans in the Boston Marathon.

“Three quickly became six within the first block. Six to twelve by the third, and finally, thirty-odd following us straight up to our gate.” Gasps of shock and wide eyes spread around, but there are the few being Carlos, Oscar and Mike, who witnessed them during the fight downstairs, that only fidget uncomfortably.

“With that being said, how about we take a head count of who will be joining us on Thursday?” Four hands go up, belonging to the twins, Whitney and Mike. Leonard looks uneasy, but less firm than he was twenty minutes ago. “Lenny, if you really feel that your old ass is incapable of walking six measly miles a day, then stay here.” Lenny scowls at the remark, just like I hoped he would. That tough ass veteran would definitely not back down to the challenge I just threw down. I add a little more to push his stubborn self onto my side of thinking. “But I thought you were a spring chicken, a man in his prime, the freaking energizer bunny! Not some goddamn elderly cripple.”

“The hell I am!” Leonard shouts at me with a face flushed in anger. “I’ll be going with you on Thursday and be running circles around you, you whoreson!”

I bite back my grin and nod my acceptance to the gauntlet he threw at me. Obviously, he won’t be physically capable of running circles with his arthritis, but we can make arrangements to accommodate for his condition. Be that a cane, pit stops, or days of rest, we’ll be able to squeeze them in since that’s the only reason Leonard doesn’t want to go with us, meaning that Tommy and Akio won’t join us without him.

You can see it in Leonard’s age worn eyes, he wants to join us. That we’ve become family to him in the eight months he’s been here, and from the slight bit of fear mixed into those dark irises, I know that’s also the same reason he doesn’t want to come. He thinks that he’ll either hold us back, or put us in danger. But he won’t, I’ll make sure that he isn’t a burden; he’s an asset to this group. And he is an asset with the amount of work he puts in as head chef, assistant to Whitney, lending a hand wherever it’s needed, guidance counselor and morale lifter. Lenny has affected each of us in some way or another, and it would be like a physical blow to the group if he weren’t part of it anymore.

Same goes for Akio’s physician skills and to a lesser extent, Tommy’s. Tommy’s more of an introvert, so he keeps to himself, but I’ve seen him upon multiple occasions with his nose stuck in one of Akio’s medical books or his journals. The Doc had me retrieve these from his apartment a few weeks back, so there’s now a duffle bag full of books, medical supplies like tubes for IVs, prescription painkillers in needle form, stitching equipment, scalpels, and all kinds of things that we didn’t have before.

Before, we couldn’t treat more than a headache or a paper cut with our Tylenol and SpongeBob band-aids. Shut up, we love SpongeBob in this house. I happened to find my cartooned best friend on a supply run months ago, and he’s been with me ever since. Shaking away thoughts of SpongeBob square ass, I turn my focus back the group. That’s when hear her again.

“I’m talking to you, Jarry!” Kelly shrieks.

Oh hell no, this bitch didn’t just use PITA’s childhood nickname for me. Sarah couldn’t say my name until she was five, but could say ‘Jarry’ when she was only a year old, so it stuck like ‘Jon-Jon’ did, which was obviously her name for John. I don’t mind it coming from my baby sister, but I sure as hell do when it comes from the blonde harpy in front of me. I glare at her, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Sarah do the same.

“It’s Jared,” I hiss at her. “Now, what the hell do you want?”

“I’ll call you whatever I feel like, Jarry!”

“You won’t,” I promise, or else I’ll tie her to the front gate like the ceremonial pig I was contemplating earlier. “Get to fucking point already.” Kelly sniffs and raises her nose in the air before replying.

“How do we know you aren’t lying to get your way?” Kelly asks with no small amount of disdain, a common occurrence since Victoria’s arrival and my repeated denial of her charms. I meet Kelly’s eyes and send her a look that dares, ‘You really want to go toe to toe with me?’ I mentally curve my fingers in a most welcome invitation. ‘Bring it on, bitch.’

“You wanna see them?” I inquire casually with arms crossed and leaning back against the wall behind me. “I can personally escort you downstairs and give you an up close encounter with them, that is if you’d like me to. Believe me, it would be no hardship on my end. Hell, they might even grant you an autograph in blood.” Kelly huffs and rolls her eyes, but I can see her shaking in her stilettos as she steps back. Yeah, that’s what I thought. “Anybody else need to see some evidence? No? Are you sure?” I pause. Going once, going twice annnd gone!

“Alright then,” I announce to the group at large. “You’ve all had your say and now you’ve heard ours, so if you’ve changed your mind and will be joining us, be ready early Thursday morning.”

With that, I leave the room.

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

Chapter Five:

The next morning, I wake up to the beeping of the solar watch I use for an alarm. Reaching around blindly in dark to find it on the floor, I hear a moan and the springs whine as Victoria shifts. Reminding myself to speak with her about the no sleepover over rule when I get back, for the fourth time, my hand finally makes contact with the watch. Silencing that asshole, I wipe sleep from my eyes with a long yawn. I’m getting too old for this shit.

Groaning all the way, I leave the comfort of a warm bed, since it’s crowded with 130+ pounds of bed hog anyway, and get ready for a day of scavenging. After slipping the watch back on my wrist, I get dressed in some relatively clean smelling cargo jeans, black army issue boots, a short sleeved t-shirt with a light rain jacket for some protection from teeth, while lowering the risk of dying from heat stroke. Then I head down to the hallway, pass through the great room, and into the kitchen for breakfast. John’s already dressed, sitting on the counter and munching on some sort of dry oat cereal straight out of the bag.

“Morning, dickhead,” I mutter as I make way in. Some nearly expired instant coffee; which admittedly tastes like ass, is my destination. You learn to appreciate the little things, like horrible coffee, when there’s little left in the world.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” John replies with a smirk. The fucker’s been a morning person his whole life, while I’m a night owl who would rather sleep ‘til two in the afternoon. Fucking wheezers. They just had to ruin everything, the greedy bastards. “I see that even a night with Vixen Vicky can’t cheer up your sullen ass.”

Victoria really isn’t all that great in bed, she just kind of lays there like a dead fish and her moans are so artificial, that it’s like I’m watching an extremely overacted porno. I have to basically tune out her, ‘oh, yes babies!’ and fantasize that it’s some other woman I’m on top of in order for me to come. But I don’t mention any of that aloud because I still get off in the end. So really, I can’t complain much since lousy sex is still better than no sex at all. I oughta know, with over a year of abstinence under my belt. And no, I wasn’t the slightest bit rusty in my technique, so don’t even go there with that, ‘maybe it was your fault’ bull shit. My penis may have not seen any part of the woman anatomy for over a year, but he still got action once a week.

Fine, every other day. Fucking alright already, every day, and sometimes multiple times were necessary. Are you happy now that you pulled it out of me? Pun intended there, but seriously, I’m a twenty-three year old man with a healthy appetite for sex. I was having it at least once a day, with a different woman every night for years, so I’ve had variety. Sometimes I even had the great pleasure of multiple women as bed partners at the same time. And every single one of them was still calling for more, even as I hustled out the door without leaving my digits. I’m an admitted manwhore, and they were told that before they took me home, so they should’ve known better. One night of fabulous fucking with mutual parties satisfied, was just how I rolled back then.

Take for instance the morning the world went to shit. I had just left two of my previous night’s conquests’ in bed, before trudging home to find a mandatory lockdown in order; meaning there was no way in hell that I could have just quit cold turkey. So, the beast has been stroked to keep him happy, or else Godzilla would have taken over and started humping furniture legs. Believe me, the dining room table’s legs were looking extremely sexy at one point, so I had to take action before I raped inanimate objects in front of Sarah and scarred her for life.

But let’s get back to Victoria. She sucks, not literally because she thought oral was ‘gross.’ Isn’t it funny that she told me her opinion mere seconds after I went down on her and she screamed out her climax, the selfish twat? Anyway, Vicky sucks figuratively since she’s about a low 2 on a 20 point scale when it comes to rating her in bed. And I’m an excellent judge with a ton of experience, meaning I know what I’m talking about. So, while John gets to bury his cock between six sets of lips, my poor penis only gets one, and it happens to be wider than the Grand Canyon.

No, I’m not small or needle-dicked, you assumptive assholes, as I’ve said before, I’ve pleasured many women, so I know that it isn’t me. Victoria’s just been ridden hard and put away wet so many times, that her vagina is the equivalent of shoving a Q-tip through a doughnut hole. There’s absolutely no friction unless I force it in at an angle, nor do I get to feel those delicious ripples that squeeze my cock like a vise when she orgasms. And she does orgasm, since I know how to give it to her regardless that she’s inept at giving it back to me.

It’s sad, but true, to say that I got a more pleasure from pumping into my freaking fist. Or maybe I should just kick Vicky out, and sneak the table leg into my room when we get back? We’re only here for two more nights, and if I don’t take up the opportunity while I still can, then I’ll miss my chance at ever giving those smooth, rounded curves a try. Nah, someone will notice a three legged table and come looking, most likely catching me in the act of plowing a wooden post, or I could get splinters and I sure as hell don’t want Akio touching my dick. I shake my head and sigh with regret, I’ll just have to grit my teeth and deal with the red headed bed hog and her cavernous vagina.

Instead of saying all that, because John would only laugh his ass off at my miserable plight, or my table fetish, I wave away the ‘vixen’ comment even if it’s more like ‘prude.’ Just last night she huffed in disgust and whined her refusal when I dared suggest she turn over so that I could take her from behind. I mean, who does that? I just wanted to stifle the awful porn-like noises a smidge, and hide her pouty face, so that I could concentrate on visualizing someone else.

Like an actual porn star, who knows how to use her body, rather than sit there and not give an inkling of participation. Victoria doesn’t even wrap her legs around me, the lazy ass, even when she’s the one who demands missionary sex and turns her nose up to everything else. Fuck that, vanilla sex is boring.

That thought’s the one that seals it for me. I’ve finally decided, and table leg it is. At least it won’t complain at all of the different positions I want to do, hell, Diney won’t make a single one of those horrid noises. I’ll be breaking out the tool kit as soon as we get back, and I make a side note to remember to grab a crowbar to pry the evicted red head from my king sized mattress.

With that decided, I turn back to the present as opposed to yet another poor sexual encounter, in favor of guzzling down the black tar in my cup. I slowly savor the feeling of warmth pouring down my throat until it hits my gullet like the bombardment that was dropped last year. Shaking out my limbs, I do a couple of jumping jacks to get the blood flowing and immediately start to feel better. Sweet caffeine, you are and will remain the one and only love of my life.

“You’re like a freaking crack addict taking a hit,” John says with a revolted expression. I just flip him off, because, hello? How the hell would I be able to function without my caffeine fix?

“We leave in five.”

I snatch the box of cereal from John as I walk out and hear him curse behind me, but I just ignore it and shove some oats into my mouth. Chowing down a good three handfuls, I toss the box on the coffee table next to our supply packs. Strapping my thigh holster on my left leg, I load my hunting blade along with four kitchen knives into the loops. Next is the shoulder strap for my 9mm. Checking the safety, since I don’t want to add an extra hole in my ass, I shove a spare gun in the back of my pants. I fill the pockets of my cargo pants with granolas, the oat cereal, a water canteen, ammo and a flashlight before I’m ready to go.

When I reach the courtyard, I see that Cory and Sarah are already waiting for the sendoff. Sarah runs over and hugs me as if it’s the last time she’ll ever see me again. I respond in kind, because there does happen to be the miniscule chance that my awesomeness is too much for the wheezers to resist. John receives the same treatment from Sarah when he finally arrives.

“We’ll be back by sundown,” I promise her when she pulls back with tears streaming down her face.

“Stay safe,” Sarah demands while wiping at her eyes. “Or I’ll drag your stupid asses out of hell, just so I can kick it all the way back in.”

“Aye, aye baby sis,” John replies with a salute. “We shall return with our stupid asses fully intact.” Sarah giggles, just like John intended, before heading back upstairs.

“You take care of her,” I say to Cory. “If anything happens to her, it’s on you.”

He jerks his chin in the affirmative with his solemn expression firmly in place. After almost a year of friendship, I know that Cory would give his life to protect another’s. But he’s especially protective of Sarah’s for some odd reason, who the hell knows? Maybe she reminds him of his great aunt Sally or some shit, I don’t care so long as it gets the job done. And he will, since he hasn’t failed us yet.

John steps up to the gate with his knife and takes out the two stragglers who decided to be spend the night at our humble abode, how sweet of them to wait? I unlock the gate before slowly removing the chain to reduce any unnecessary noise. Handing off the chain to Cory, I take a deep breath and release it before stepping out of the courtyard. Doing a thorough visual sweep of the area, I motion John forward and we leave the safety of home base.

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

Moving quickly, John and I remain in the shadows of the tall buildings and houses in the area. We agreed upon raiding a supermarket eight miles away in the city, since we’ve already cleaned out the closer ones. The trip should take about eight hours round trip, leaving us with plenty of daylight to guide our way back. Maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll even have some extra time to hit the sporting goods store for some much needed weapons.

The inbound journey is pretty uneventful. Since its daytime, we only see the occasional Gene K wheezer. Some are munching on the remains of some variety of mammal or trash, a couple sniff the fresh meat in the air so we take them down silently with our knives. For the most part, we leave well enough alone so as to not attract too much attention.

A huge parking lot announces our arrival at the local chain brand supermarket. With all the abandoned cars, it looks like a fucked up, apocalyptic version of musical chairs. Many have their doors open with long dried blood smears telling the tale of their unfortunate owner’s demise. Trash, glass, shopping carts and torn clothing litter throughout the spaces between the parking spots. A gridlock of cars blocks the entrance to the store, so John and I have to climb over them in order to enter.

We climb through the smashed glass that used to be a window to gain entrance. It’s dark as night, even with a strong twelve o’clock sun shining bright outside. The stagnant air smells of decay, must and mold, not the most appetizing, but I’ve smelt much worse. This doesn’t even earn a nose wrinkle compared to the spoiled meat and curdled dairy smells that ranked supreme in the beginning of the end.

John silently motions that we should split up now. I nod before we ready our guns and knives in order to head in different directions and do our individual sweeps. After a few close calls in the first months because of ignorant raiding, John and I have learned our lesson to not assume a place is empty, but to clear it out prior to collection. Walking down each of my half of the aisles, beginning with produce and ending in baking goods, I ignore the gore staining the floor and pick my way through trash to clear my side and wait for John to signal safety on his. Within a couple of minutes, he gives the all clear and we get to work.

With relative safety confirmed, we pull out our flashlights to inspect the shelves and floor for stuff that’s still edible. Every canned good, that isn’t bloated, is packed into each of our backpacks. Seeing as this store has been looted many times before us, we only gain about ten measly cans. Pretty disappointing finds until we reach the jackpot in the next aisle. Jars of pickles, olives, peppers, cans of ready-made sauces, boxed pasta, flour and spices galore are added to the stock. With backpacks fit to burst, John and I make our way back out the window.

When we’re back outside, I watch John’s back while he plots the course to the sporting goods store via an old fold out map. It’s still pretty quiet outside; actually, it’s eerily silent. But after living in close quarters with fifteen other people, I’ve grown to appreciate the silence because you don’t know when, or if, you’ll get to experience it again.

“Two blocks down,” says the peace destroyer himself, “It’ll be on the left side of the second right.” Huffing out a sigh, I adjust my backpack into a more firm position on my shoulders.

“Are you sure?” I press. “The last time it was on the right side of a left turn.” John shoots me a quelling look, after all, ‘How was he supposed to know the map was upside down?’ Yeah, he’s still paying for that mistake months later.

“That was months ago,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Can you blame me? I was used to the creepy robotic bitch ordering me to take a right in two hundred feet, or screaming to make an illegal U-turn.” Rising to his feet, John adjusts his bag before continuing. “Now, I have my manly instincts guide me,” he continues. “Left side, on the second right.”

Taking his word for it, because I can mock his ass later and revoke his man card if he’s wrong again, I lead the way. Again keeping to shadows, the few daytime wheezers that we run by don’t see his with their poor eyesight. With our quick pace we reach the storefront to Hal’s House, a huge sport emporium, in ten minutes.

The parking lot is similar to the grocery store’s, but with way fewer cars. We pick our way through the debris on silent feet and weapons ready. John pulls the door open just a crack to see if we trip a bell, which we thankfully don’t, before he steps inside. After we’re both through I give the nod to sweep and we split off in different directions. Overall there are no strong odors that stick out, which can be an indicator of a relatively safe marathon shop. It’s confirmed when I find nothing amiss, so after finishing out my end, I meet an already finished John waiting by the checkout stand.

“Looks like it could be a good hit,” he remarks indicating the full shelves.

“This place hasn’t been ransacked yet,” I agree. “Baseball bats and hunting knives should be priority. Half of us don’t know how to handle a gun, and I’d rather not be taken down by a lousy shot.”

“Or a great shot,” John remarks with a grin. “Your sullen ass isn’t Mr. Popularity right now.” I shrug in response, since it’s not in my nature to kiss ass in order to appease the whole. My motto is deal with it, or hit the bricks. And if you’re a real douchebag, you could earn the high honor of a meet and greet with my fist.

The plan is to grab weapons first since they’re our priority. Pending time, we’ll double back for protective clothing, shoes, medical supplies and any other extras the store carries. Reaching our main goal, I start grabbing aluminum bats and handing them to John. With our backpacks already full of food, John snatched a few empty duffel bags from the shelf and is stuffing the bats inside. With a quarry of four bats, varying in sizes and weights, he stands and hefts the unfilled duffel from the floor. I look from the small number of bats in the bag; which isn’t enough, and the remaining hundred on the walls, before raising an eyebrow at John.

Leaving the aisle, he calls over his shoulder, “I saw something else along the back wall.” Following his lead, John walks to a display case in the back of the store. “This is what we really need.”

Looking at the case, it feels like Christmas in August when I spot the crossbows, hunting rifles and huge ass knives locked inside the case. With great effort, I’m able to restrain the urge to hurl myself at the case, drool on the glass and praise baby Jesus. Barely.

I make an attempt to keep my tone bored, when I’m borderline hyperventilating, and say, “That’s a great find and all, but unless you’ve acquired the great art of lock picking in the last ten minutes, I can’t see how those are going to help us.”

John flashes me a shit eating grin, which says he has it all under control. He holds up a finger to indicate waiting before disappearing down an aisle. When he reemerges a few seconds later with a couple of towels and boxing gloves, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see where he’s going with this. Quickly stuffing his hand into the glove, John holds the towels out to me.

“If you hold these over the glass,” he says. “It should muffle the noise.” I nod and do just that. Just as he’s about swing, I stop his hand.

“Wait, let me try something first.”

Without explaining, I pull out my knife and score the glass with a deep grooved ‘X’ to weaken it. Jerking my chin for him to try again, I set the towels back up. Taking a deep breath, he pulls his fist back, and lets his arm fly. Holding my breath, I watch as John’s fist makes contact with the glass. A small cracking noise is all that escapes, but the glass is merely bent in the middle. Stifling a laugh at John’s glare burning holes in the glass, I finish the job with a well-placed elbow. The window gives with the ‘X’ splitting apart, but not falling to the floor.

“Show off,” John mutters.

He begins slowly removing the triangles of glass from the wooden frame one piece at a time. After all the glass is out of the way, he reaches up to the highest crossbow on the shelf. With a crazed smile plastered on his face, he gives the bow a tug and a high pitched wail rents the air. John’s eyes widen, but I spin with my knife ready to gut the bastard keeping me from my prize. It takes me a minute to comprehend that it’s not a wheezer making the noise, but an alarm.

“Fuck!”

I exclaim the curse as a pack of wheezers comes sprinting down the aisles like its Black Friday at Walmart. John rips the boxing glove off of his firing hand and comes up shooting in a blink, as the knife that was in my hand lodges its way into a skull. Communication is futile as we fight off the massive army of smelly bastards coming in droves. I spend my first clip of ammo in six bodies, and reload within seconds.

John’s gun takes out another handful. I zone in completely on head shots, but even with so much concentration focused on the task, a half dozen shots miss due to the speed of the wheezers. Especially the ones that are actually using their fists to run on all fours instead of dragging them along like dead weight. I’ve never seen anything like it before, but I don’t want that fucking animal anywhere near me, so I dial in on those creatures. There are only three or four of them, but they’re fast, so it takes six shots to put them all down. Zipping through the remaining four clips of ammo in my 9mm, I pull out the spare.

“I’m out!” I hear John roar over the crowd.

“Find an exit!” I shout back and fire off more rounds.

Reloading my spare with the last clip of ammo, I follow John’s retreat. We make it two aisles toward a door before we’re cornered. Tipping a display case down, I hunker down next to John and hand him my remaining gun as I pull out knives. We must have taken out thirty wheezers already, but they’re still coming on strong. I’m hurling knives left and right, until only my eight inch hunting blade remains, and then I have to revert to stabbing eyes and temples. This happens to be pretty fucking hard to do, when there are seven sets of bloody teeth snapping at you like hungry sharks. Over the alarm’s screeching, I almost miss the clicking of John’s gun.

Empty. We are so fucked.

“Nice knowing you, you sulky bastard,” John swears at my right.

“Fuck you, pansy-assed pretty boy,” I retort. Ah, male bonding at its finest. Even in the face of death.

John’s distracted swinging away with a bat like a home run slugger in a derby, when another wheezer dives over the tipped shelving unit and goes for his neck. I’m shouting warnings and diving to cut the fucker’s head off, but I don’t make it. But that knife sure as fuck does. Said knife comes whizzing from who the fuck knows where, spearing the wheezer’s head to the wall behind a bewildered John.

Looking in the direction of the knife thrower to see who are hero is, I find a short dude in head to toe skin-tight leathers and a motorcycle helmet, standing on top of the next row’s shelving unit, and now toting our crossbow. A great number of the wheezers switch their attention from us to him, leaving John and I with an easily dispatched handful, and allowing us to watch the dude going to town like a pro.

Shooting off arrows with deadly accuracy, twelve bodies drop so fast, it’s almost in unison. After he’s out of arrows, we’re expecting our conquering hero’s going to turn tail and save his own skin from the twenty remaining bastards who are reaching out with hungry arms, and are currently pawing at him like he’s a performer at a sold out concert. But not this crazy bastard. Instead, he pulls out a freaking machete and jumps into the fray. Arms and legs are flying, and heads literally roll, while the machete blurs in rapid arcs. If a wheezer latches on to his arm or back, he doesn’t panic. Instead the guy buries a knife into the offender’s eye, or head-butts the fucker off. This dude’s a wheezer killing machine.

John and I are too stunned to realize that the alarm is now off, since we’ve been distracted watching the action, but we notice it when Motorcycle Man finishes off the last wheezer with a strike to the center of its head, splitting it open like a nasty version of piñata. Finding that mobility is in fact a possibility, John and I climb over the tipped shelving. We begin picking our way through the destruction to thank our savior, who is now kicking the last wheezer, which is more than dead already.

A few steps away we hear a muffled, “Asshole.” Followed by another kick. “Break my mother flipping nail, why don’t you?” The speed of the kicks picks up double time, while John and I exchange raised eyebrows. Obviously, the guy’s a metro, but who the fuck cares when he has mad skills? “I just fixed them you cocksucking, mother fucking, two ball bitch!” John clears his throat, fighting off a laugh, but the dude must’ve heard it because he spins away from the corpse to face us.

“Don’t think I forgot about you two fucking geniuses!”

The masked crusader shouts and points a leather-covered finger in our direction. John puts on his placating hat and holds up his hands, which fall along with our jaws when the helmet comes off. Revealed is the most gorgeous woman I’ve yet to see, with her black hair pulled back in a sweaty braid, exquisitely symmetrical feminine bone structure, a tiny perfect nose, full red lips pursed in anger; which is really a shame since they have better uses that have Junior downstairs rising to attention, and large dove grey eyes that could mesmerize a room if they weren’t shooting daggers, as they are right now. And she’s pint sized. I want to stick the mini Tomb Raider in my pocket, take her home and play doctor.

“I think it would be great idea to be eaten today,” she mocks in a poor imitation of a male voice. “What do you think, Fred?”

“Actually, the name’s John,” the fucker beside me corrects in a husky tone, revealing his arousal. “This ugly bastard is Jared, and you are?” He’s practically purring, and I’m waiting for him to drop on all fours and go wind around her ankles, begging for a scratch.

“The name’s kiss my ass,” she snaps in answer.

“It would be my pleasure,” John quips with his dazzling smile. Just as he steps forward to do just that, she reaches inside her leather jacket. He doesn’t make it more than a foot in her direction before she has a gun aimed at his chest.

“G-go on and try it mother fucker,” she dares, her tone steeled. “One more step, and you’ll join the bodies at your feet.” Shooting me a look that promises pain, she continues. “That goes for you too. Get your shit and be gone in ten seconds, or you lose your balls to my little friend.”

Tilting her head back to indicate her huge fucking machete that’s now strapped on her back, John covers his junk and steps back. The guy downstairs winces at the warning, and while the head that wasn’t threatened bodily harm is positive that she could, and most certainly would, relieve us of our male parts if necessary; I can see that she’s nervous. Picking up on the physical cues in the slight shaking of her hands holding the gun, eyes dilated and the sweat beaded on her forehead, I try a different tactic. Meeting her gaze, I raise my hands to show that I’m not going to hurt her.

“We don’t want any trouble,” I begin in a harmless tone. “We just came for supplies, we aren’t going to hurt you.” Her huge eyes dart between John and I, like a cornered bunny rabbit. It makes me want to go hug her and promise to keep her safe, but the fact that she would rip my face off like a rabid raccoon without even hesitating, keeps me back.

“Where’re the rest of you?”

“It’s just John and me,” I reply. Scoffing, she points to the bag full of now spilled bats strewn across the floor.

“When do you think I was born, yesterday? Two people don’t need that many, so where the fuck are they?”

“The group’s back at our apartment complex a few towns over,” John answers. “You’re more than welcome to join us.” An adjustment of her gun leaves a newly freed hand capable of making a long hunting knife appear like a goddamn magician.

“I’m sure I am,” she replies, her words dripping with sarcasm. With the gun still pointed at John’s chest, the knife is held in a defensive position aimed in my direction.

“That’s not how he meant it,” I shoot John a look that screams, ‘what the fuck?’ Where’s the, ‘I’m a good boy, I swear,’ act he used to charm Sister Mary’s skirts off with when we actually need it?

“Oh,” she inquires innocently. “Then how exactly did he mean it?”

“We help you, and you....” a jab to the ribs ends John’s poor word choice.

“What my simple minded friend here meant, is that we would like to repay our debt.” She makes a real show of thinking it over, tapping the tip if her enormous knife on her tiny chin, before replying.

“No, now get the fuck out.”

“What about safety in numbers?” John proposes. Now that gets her attention. It’s obvious that John’s back on his game, when the badass in front of us looks like a Yorkie flipping for a treat.

“How many are we talking here?” Rising to John’s bait, she sinks her teeth in and fires off questions without stopping for breath. “Ten? Thirty? Is it all men? How far away?”

“There’s sixteen including us,” I answer. “Ten men, six women, one being my little sister, Sarah. And it’s about ten miles from here.”

“Can we go now? Right this very second?” She puts her weapons away before eyeing the spilled bag of bats. “Shit. They’ll need those.” Crouching down to an even smaller size, if that were possible, she continues muttering to herself as she starts re-packing the goods.

Exchanging an amused glance with John, we know that she’s sold and we’re no longer in danger of being carved up by the black widow; at least for the moment anyway. Since we’re distracted, we almost miss her pause in movement, indicating that we’ve been caught. Her mouth snaps shut and she pins me with a glare that’s worthy of being added to the dictionary as the perfect visual interpretation. Five feet of pissed off pixie, abandon the task of packing, in favor of regaining her footing.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes in a sickly sweet voice. “I didn’t know I was performing stand up. Why didn’t you say something?” With a brush of her hands, she continues. “I would have pulled out the high quality shit for an audience such as yourselves. After all, you dumbasses were hilarious cowering in the corner.” She stops to clasp her hands under her chin, and widens her eyes, before continuing in a higher pitch. “‘Please don’t eat me, sir. I haven’t kissed my boyfriend goodbye yet.’”

“Hey now,” John takes offense. Rightly so, after no display of bromancing having taken place. “One, I’m as straight as they come, babe, trust me.”

She flashes him a bite me grin, one that puts John’s dazzling one to shame, in response to the first numbered fact. Oh, I’d bite her alright, but I don’t say anything since John’s still talking and I don’t want her pointing her gun in my direction. Or to lose my balls to her machete.

“Two,” John continues. “We didn’t expect it to have an alarm.”

At this point, she drops her guard and bursts out a husky laugh that I should find insulting, but it has a completely different effect all together. The sight of her cheeks flushed with mirth, full red lips parted, and eyes dancing; rage war on my libido. I ignore it, with the exception of a discrete adjustment in my now tight cargos, to see if John has a clue about what she finds so funny. A look of puzzlement on his face as he observes her like she’s the missing link is all I get there, so I return my focus to the girl. Seeing the look of confusion on our faces, she sobers up.

“My god, you’re serious.”

Shoulder checking through us, well, it’s more of a rib check in her case; the girl curls a finger over her shoulder to show it’s alright to follow her. We weren’t moving out of fear of maiming without permission, and then we stay back at the appointed, ‘twenty feet, if you value your life.’ If I’m being the honest man that my mama raised me to be, I’ll admit that I might or might not have accidentally checked out her ass four times. Shut up, I’m a guy, it’s what we do. And who can resist beholding the piece of art I have the great pleasure of trailing after? Not me, that’s for damn sure.

Beautifully encased in the snug black leather, swinging side to side with unaware seduction, and surprisingly muscled thighs to complete the picture, our to-be-named escort comes to an abrupt stop in front of the display case. This leaves John, the depraved bastard, with no time to avert his eyes from her delightful derriere. I just about bare my teeth at John for wiping the bit of drool that escaped from his mouth and shout, ‘This one’s mine, you selfish prick!’ But I manage to catch myself at the last second, and look at the girl.

Her face full of amusement, which I highly doubt she’d be feeling if she were psychic, she points out a sign that reads, ‘Equipped with alarm. Will prosecute.’ In our defense, it’s fucking tiny. A little blue triangle that every store displays in their window to scare off petty teens and the store employees always ignore the obnoxious beeping that screams, ‘This fucker didn’t pay taxes! Get him!’

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes with what appears to be utmost sincerity. “I didn’t know you were illiterate.”

“We’re not illiterate,” John hisses to cover a rare case of embarrassment. “I didn’t see the fucking sign, alright? I screwed up, so thank you for saving our asses from my neglectful stupidity.”

The girl trains hard eyes on John in the most unnerving way; it looks like she actually could be psychic. But she must have just been battling some kind of internal debate, because she nods and sticks out her gloved hand.

“Olivia,” she states while shaking a stunned John’s hand. Turning to do the same to me, she meets my gaze before repeating, “My name’s Olivia.”

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

Chapter Six:

“So, Olivia, huh?” John asks before stuffing another bite of granola in his mouth.

After her introduction, we decided to take a break before we finish scavenging for our goods. Locked tight in an office at the back of Hal’s House, Olivia’s sitting on the desk, cross legged and chowing on some delicious smelling soup in a screw top canister. I’m tempted to beg for a taste, but from the look she sent John when she began eating, she doesn’t like sharing.

“Olivia, what?” She returns absently without turning her attention away from her bowl of soup. She’s been staring at it for twenty minutes, like it holds to key to life, and has a weird smile on her face. Not weird like she looks creepy, but in a way that reveals smiling to not be something she does often; which is really a shame.

“Why’d you decide on telling us your name?” John presses. Olivia just shrugs and swirls her spoon around. “Are you full, ‘cause I can sure eat some more.” That gets her attention, her head snaps up and she blinks her eyes like she just remembered that there are two other people in the room.

“Sorry,” she says. “What was the question?”

“You’ve been staring at that bowl for a while,” I respond. “Are you full or something?”

Nodding quickly, she shoves the soup toward John and me with a little more force than necessary, causing some of the liquid to spill over onto the desk. Turning away with suspiciously watery eyes, Olivia hops off the desk and stretches. When she turns back, I’m questioning the validity of my own eyes, since hers are clear of any hint of sadness.

“Well, eat up,” she orders with a shooing motion or her hand. “We don’t have all day.”

John sizes me up, before lunging at the same time I do. The bastard may be taller, but he’s not as fast as me, so I reach it first and tip the bowl up. The flavor that bursts on my tongue has me nearly moaning in pleasure and I guzzle down half of it before John elbows me in the gut for his turn. I just about bare my teeth and hiss at him, when Olivia speaks up.

“Down boy,” she orders with a smirk. “I have more if you can behave.”

Nodding vigorously, I’m practically panting with excitement. John’s licking the bowl so that he doesn’t waste even the slightest drop. Reaching into her pack, Olivia pulls out another canister and refills the bowl with still warm soup. The smell has me salivating with anticipation, and my stomach grumbles louder than my great aunt Helga used to snore. Flashing a smile of thanks at Olivia, I devour my portion of the soup in seconds and hand back the bowl.

Without licking it like a certain dog beside me, who’s currently eyeing her like she’s a piece a filet mignon he’d love to sink his teeth into. And why does that piss me off? Death, that’s it. I’m pissed that his blatant ogling will tick her off and we’ll end up shish kabobs or with slit throats. Eventually, if I keep repeating it, I’ll believe it and no longer want to smack some sense into my best friend. Plus the bastard has a harem of groupies already, so I call dibs.

“Where the fuck did you find this masterpiece?” John demands while rubbing his stomach. “And who made it? Campbell’s?” It looks like he’s ready to wage war if need be to find out.

“I didn’t find it anywhere,” she snaps. “That’s my recipe, you cheap bastard.” Olivia balls her fists and her chest heaves in short huffs of anger. “Campbell’s? Are you serious? Those douchebags couldn’t create flavor like that, even with a gold plated recipe book.” Stepping in before John loses his teeth, I try to distract her.

“What kind of meat did you use?” I inquire. Black hair; coming undone from her braid, swishes in my direction, before steel grey eyes meet mine. “It’s really good.”

“Squirrel,” Olivia answers through clenched teeth. She takes a few cleansing breaths before continuing. “I caught it this morning.”

“So, you’re alone?” John asks, testing the waters. A quick nod of her head. “For how long?”

“A while,” she barks.

“No family, friends, acquaintances...” John trails off as her glare turns lethal, ending that topic of discussion. I try for another.

“Why’d you help us?” I inquire, since I am curious. She could have left us as a distraction while she escaped.

“I didn’t help you, I helped myself.”

“You waltzed into a store full of wheezers in a freaking frenzy, and that helped you how?” John asks bewilderedly.

“I didn’t waltz into a frenzy, you jackass,” Olivia retorts. “I was already here.” I notice she only answered half the question, and make a mental note to discover why later.

“What, did you pop out of the freaking ceiling like a tiny troll protecting her treasure?” I question. “Because you weren’t here when we got here.”

“We did a sweep,” John adds with a smug smile.

“You really need to work on your technique,” she advises, accompanied by a ‘tsk-tsk’ noise. “Because I was here before you dumbasses. In this very room, in fact. Just because a door is closed, doesn’t mean it’s empty.” She shoots us a chastising look. “I heard you two walking around like a herd of elephants, while I was in here trying to find the switch to turn off the security for the gun case.” Olivia pats the crossbow on her lap like it’s a prized pet.

“That’s when you meatheads decided brute force to be the better option.” Scrunching her brow and deepening her voice, she punches a fist to her chest in rendition of a caveman. “‘Me he man and punch glass out of way.’ Instead you Einsteins triggered the burglar switch. After I cut the alarm, I saved your stupid asses from being the catch of the day.”

“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.

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

Chapter Seven:

“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.”

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

We make it to her safe house just as the sky’s about to open up.

Olivia’s place is not the Imperial, but it’s more than sufficient for the night. A two story brick house attached to a row of clones, with window boxes full of what used to be flowers but are currently neglected weeds, and is located on a tree lined street, it has Bostonian charm.

Entering through a small spiked gate, Olivia fishes around in her bag before coming up with a bike lock to keep it shut. Giving the lock a tug to make sure it holds, she steps back with a satisfied nod. Hopping up the stairs, she takes out a key chain with what appears to be thirty plus keys, and starts flipping through until she finds the right one. After turning the lock, Olivia opens the door and swings an arm out.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” her voice is still muffled behind the visor, which she must realize, because she flips it open before continuing. “One of them anyway.”

“Why so many?” John inquires with furrowed brows. “Wouldn’t you rather set up a base?” Olivia gets a faraway look in her eyes. She’s silent for a few seconds but comes back with a vigorous shake of her head.

“No,” her voice is hard. “It’s best to keep moving.”

And move she does. After triple locking the front door, she leaves John and me staring after her retreating form exiting from the foyer. Knowing there’s more to the story than she’s willing to tell, I turn my attention to observing our temporary safe house. It was a multi-million dollar home prior to the infestation, so the furnishings reflect the wealth.

Traditional couches, antique rugs, upholstered chairs and rustic wooden tables are spread in a design centered around the massive fireplace with original brick. The brick extends down the entire left side of the open concept house, leading to a formal dining and massive modern kitchen. Dark wood cabinets with granite counters and stainless steel accents decorate the space. Off to the right is a staircase with wood and iron spindles for a railing. In conclusion, it’s a bittersweet reminder of what the world used to be.

I plop down on the couch in front of the floor to ceiling fireplace while John takes the tufted recliner to the right. I’m staring at the still hot coals, indicating that Olivia must have been here before bumping into us, and listening to the raging thunderstorm outside when John speaks up.

“She’s a strange one,” he remarks quietly. “Fucking gorgeous, but a bit of a kook.”

“She is that,” I agree. “But who isn’t a little off kilter living in the world that we do?” John nods to admit I have a point.

“Not to mention she’s all alone,” he adds. “We’ve always had each other and Sarah, and then we found the others along the way. What’s to say we might not have turn into a couple of Rambos toting machetes if we were all alone?”

“You have to admit, that was fucking awesome,” I say with a grin.

“You always did have a thing for Rambo,” John counters slyly. I laugh because it’s true, not in an ‘I want to fuck him’ kind of way, but an ‘I wish I were a badass like he was.’ Totally not gay, but I do still have the useless DVDs in my room to prove I was a fan.

“And Tomb Raider,” I reply. “So did you, you sick bastard. Always making her drown, so that you could check out her virtual ass.” John chuckles as he flips me off.

“I was nine, you asshole,” he points out. “At least I didn’t play doctor with my sister’s Barbies.”

“You lying fuck!” I accuse. “It was your idea to let GI Joe have a little play time with her. You said Ken didn’t have the right equipment to get the job done, so she needed a real man.”

We both burst out laughing at that memory. I think we traumatized my mother when she walked in to see two eleven year old boys reenacting the nasty with plastic toys. To round out the picture, this included some embarrassing, poorly made sound effects and voice-overs that would make a porno proud. I remember her face turning beet red when John, not having noticed her said, ‘Give it to me Joe,’ in a high pitched Barbie-like imitation. My mom immediately spun around, walking right back out with a slam of the door.

But she got us back with the resulting sex talk, which included some traumatizingly realistic visuals of childbirth from the book she went to retrieve. All with Mr. and Mrs. Moure’s explicit permission of course, the pack of sickos. I wasn’t able to look at any person of the female persuasion for more than three seconds for an entire month without envisioning bloody placentas trailing after them like a gory dog on a leash. This unfortunately included the nuns at school and made learning near impossible for a while, as well as earning me numerous raps on the knuckles along with orders to pay attention.

The memory of my mom still hurts, but I think forgetting her altogether would be a worse pain. I loved my dad, but he was a workaholic. Pulling long hours with John’s dad in the office, we mostly seen them at dinners and the occasional ball game that John’s dad took us to. But our moms worked only part time, so they were always there to pick us up after every scrape, support us at all our games and embarrass us as all moms occasionally do. I wouldn’t have traded her for anything in the world. John must have caught my mind wandering, because he sobers up showcasing a rare appearance of seriousness.

“Do you remember when we first met each other?” John asks. “That fat fuck, what was his name? Ah, Herbert. Who the fuck names their kid Herbert?” He waves his hand. “Anyway, Herby kept shoving you around and you were letting him. I still don’t know why, I would have just gut punched his ass if I were you, but I’m glad you didn’t because you still owe me.” I nod because my four year old self’s shyness is the reason I got the douchebag talking for a best friend.

“Here I am, doing the monkey bars like a fucking champ, when I hear some cocky bastard mouthing off and shoving a kid around that was half his height and weight. So, I go on over to put this bitch in line, one quick pop to the nose and he tumbles down like a stack of dominoes. Fucking pansy.” He pauses to take a breath.

“And who gets in trouble? Me, that’s who, because Herbert’s privileged ass calls me the instigator and I get sent to the office. I puffed up my chest and was walking out with my head held high, since I got that douche to cry for his mommy, when I hear this little voice behind me say that it wasn’t my fault.” I remember that, it was probably the first time I spoke without raising my hand out of fear the nuns would rap my knuckles with a ruler. “The uppity bitch ignored you, so you got up and followed me out of the room. We go down to the office, take a seat outside, and wait for our moms to show up. That’s when I took it upon myself to make the introduction.”

“Your version of an introduction was to say I better be your friend, or I was next,” I retort. “Some giraffe boy threatens me, what was I supposed to do? I feared for my life.”

“Fuck you,” he says with a chuckle. “And it was only a few inches.” More like half a foot, but I caught up eventually. Now he only has two inches on me, lanky bastard. “When our moms showed up, they both go ape shit on the principal,” John continues. “They didn’t even know each other then, and they still teamed up to take a strip from his ass for punishing their two ‘poor, defenseless boys’ for sticking up for themselves. They were like soul sisters from then on.”

Our dads clicked too. Vacations were always taken together as a group, our dads started up the law firm as partners within a year, and John’s mom was Sarah’s godmother when she came along a few years later. John was an only child, so Sarah and I are all the family he has left.

“And you were the uninvited guest from hell,” I say and he laughs.

“You loved me and you know it,” he boasts. “I remember when you got your growth spurt in high school, the first thing you did was lay out Herbert Vincent Hemington III.”

“He had it coming,” I reply. “I was just biding my time, waiting for the right moment to strike.”

“The right moment just happened to be when he asked Rachel Von Tuten to prom before you did?” John asks dryly.

“The douchebag knew I was planning to,” I remind him.

“Nut up or shut up,” is his smartass reply. “It’s a good thing I showed you the ropes. Then they were following after you as if they were sheep, and you their herder.” I flip him off in response. “Admit it, without me you’d probably be a 23 year old virgin.”

“Fuck you!” I retort. “I lost it at fifteen without your help, thank you very much. Plus, it was way before you lost it to Regina Bolman during sophomore year.” John’s mouth gapes open.

“You selfish prick!” John exclaims. “You were holding out on me!” He jumps onto my couch and puts me in a headlock. “Who was it?” I reverse the hold before I answer.

“Georgina Wilkinson,” I answer. “Senior cheerleader, and slut extraordinaire.” John flips us back over.

“Where and how?” He demands after pinning me with a noogie.

“In the backseat of her boyfriend’s car. She needed tutoring in freshman math, because she was too fucking stupid to have senior math, and didn’t know that two plus two didn’t equal potato.” John releases my pinned arms, not that I couldn’t break out of it if I tried, before rolling on his back and clutching his stomach with a guffaw. Our laughs echo off the walls.

“You cheeky bastard,” he says while wiping tears from his eyes. “I bet that was the only time your brain ever got you the girl.”

“Yeah, ‘cause then they noticed my purty face and huge dick,” I retort. John rolls his eyes, and it’s only then that I notice how quiet it is in here and remember we aren’t alone, and we haven’t seen Olivia in hours. Standing up and brushing myself off, I start for the kitchen.

“Make me some food,” the lazy bastard on the floor orders.

I wave him off and go searching for our not so friendly hostess. Seeing the empty kitchen and dining room, I head upstairs. There are four rooms and a bathroom up here, all with their doors open, so I peek into each one before continuing on. When I reach the last bedroom, I’m thinking that she must have ditched our asses until I notice a fifth door propped open with a can again. Removing it, I head up the stairs leading to a witch’s walk.

The storm has since died off, but the roof is still wet from the thunderstorm we had, so I have to move around slowly or I’ll wind up on my ass. After carefully navigating my way, I finally find my target sleeping with her jacket tucked under her head as a pillow. That’s when I notice a couple of attributes that the pesky, snug leather jacket was hiding. Tomb Raider beware, because this girl’s got you by a mile. Olivia is stacked better than one of Hef’s bunnies, and she hides them. First opportunity I get, I’m accidentally burning the jacket. Such beauties should not be smothered, they should be showcased.

“Are you going to stand there like a creeper, or ask for whatever the fuck it is that you needed?”

I’m startled when she sits up and faces me with murder in her eyes. Mental note for future reference, do not wake the sleeping tiger. Clearing my throat, which I know will not remove the huskiness of arousal completely; I make up some bull shit excuse.

“I was going to make dinner, and was wondering if you’d like to join us.” Heh, heh, not bad if I do say so myself.

“I’m not hungry,” Olivia snaps.

She then rips her jacket back on, zipping it a few inches, where it isn’t able to go up anymore. How the fuck did that happen? That was tighter than the school committee’s purse strings just a few hours earlier. Did she sprinkle some miracle grow on them? Stuff her bra with tissue like Sarah did for a pool party in sixth grade? My dad went zero-to-sixty in 0.001 seconds after that visual, and he always banked his anger for use in the courts. Shaking those ridiculous thoughts away, since I don’t care where they came from so long as they’re here to stay, I try again.

“How about some company?” I propose as she fiddles with the zipper. Finally giving up, she holds it closed with a gloved fist. “I like star gazing, and don’t get to do it much from home.” Without waiting for her to answer, I sit down where I am, seven feet away since I don’t want to press my luck and be tossed over the side. Nor do I want her to see the erection that caused me to sit down in the first place.

“We don’t go up to the roof all that much since we’d have to climb twelve floors, and I’m not that motivated.” Seeing how she’s just staring at me like I’m the loon, I pick something else. “How’d you find this place?”

“I knew the area,” comes her barked answer. Okay, this is more painful than trying to get answers from Cory, and he’s one tough bastard. Going for broke, I begin again with something innocuous. Picking up the can, I hold it out.

“What’s with this?” Rolling her eyes at me, she replies.

“That, my intrusive friend, serves two purposes.” Olivia ticks them off with her fingers. “One of which is to prop a door open so I can make a fast exit without falling in defeat to the impossible opponent called a door knob, like some scary movie bimbo with more silicon than brains.” I can’t help it; her snarky answer makes me laugh. “The second of which is to warn me when something comes through, with the exception of some asshole who doesn’t know what personal space is, even if it were to hit him over the head with a two by four.”

“And how successful has this little can been for you?”

“Very,” she says smugly. “The crunch of the can announced your arrival, even before your stomping feet on the stairs did.” Fuck, most likely she caught my wandering eyes. Oh well, guy here, remember? Sex-brain comes with the penis.

“Am I really that loud?” I ask, because if I am that noticeable to a human’s ears, how many wheezers can hear me?

“Not loud per se, I just pay very close attention to my surroundings.” Since she’s in a slightly accommodating mood, but knowing there must be a story for her excessive guard, I make note to ask later. When the risk of her stabbing me in the eye is significantly lower.

“You just need to lighten your step a little. I bet not many people pick up on it. Including you.” Looking over my shoulder, she shouts, “Hey, Douchebag.” That’s when I hear John’s tread on the stairs. Jesus, am I’m off my game today.

“Kind of hard to lighten two hundred pounds,” John mutters behind me. “What the ‘eff man. I’m downstairs, waiting for my food, and you’re up here catching fireflies? I’m freaking starving.” Looking down with hopeful eyes pointed at Olivia, he pulls out his charming smile. “Would you be kind enough to share some more of your exquisite soup with little ol’ me?” When John batts his lashes at her, she starts laughing hysterically. “Damn, it was worth a shot.”

“I’m sorry pretty boy,” she replies with a little bit of mirth hidden in her grey eyes. “But you unappreciative assholes ate all my soup without so much as a simple thank you.” Successfully chagrined, John and I look away. “On the other hand, if you could learn some manners, I just might whip something simple up for you.” I’m snapping my head up and down while John’s bouncing on his feet and clapping.

“But it’ll cost ya.”

I should’ve known. Women are always wanting something.

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

Chapter Eight:

When that something happened to be heating up water for her bath, I wasn’t complaining so much. The mental image of her naked in a claw foot tub and submerged in bubbles, provided me with sufficient enough payment already, but that was in addition to the bonus of a hot meal that could pull a mouth-gasm even out of the finicky assholes on Chopped. Shut up, my mother loved that show and I’m proud to have been a momma’s boy. It got me lots of extra cookies.

So, that’s how we ended up here, with John and I boiling several pots of water over a roaring fire in the parlor; while Olivia’s in the kitchen cooking something on the gas stove that smells like heaven. Taking turns filling the giant sauce pots with water from a now empty koi pond out back, Olivia liked sushi or so she said, we drag it in to boil it before lugging them upstairs to the master bath. Therefore, I quickly notice why she negotiated these terms that at first seemed to weigh in our favor.

They do, but the job is still extremely tedious with having to carry eight thousand pot-fulls of water to make a dent in the soaker tub with non-working jets. It’s on my way back from the third trip that Olivia announces that dinner’s done. The words are barely out of her mouth when we arrive at the table, out of breath from the mad dash through the great room, and tuck napkins into our shirts like a couple of pansies.

Placing the steaming pan in front of us with a flourish, she steps out of the splash zone. The pan is filled to the rim with wild mushrooms that Olivia picked herself, accompanied by rabbit she had roasted from yesterday, linguini she had on hand, and Marsala wine from the liquor store she raided.

Why she went to a liquor store to begin with is still questionable, but I ain’t stopping to ask, since I’m busy stuffing my face with pasta soaked in goodness. My plate, that was piled higher than a mountain, clears in mere seconds so I go for another serving. That’s when I notice she isn’t eating, but sitting there with a sad smile on her face. When she notices me watching her, watching us, her face abruptly blanks, and she stands to leave.

“Aren’t you eating?” I ask. John glares at me for daring to share Olivia’s own food with her, but I don’t care. This would be the second time she’s given up her food to us, when we have packs full of shit from the raid earlier, and if she keeps it up at this rate, she’s gonna starve herself to death.

“I’m not hungry,” she answers without stopping her forward progress. “Enjoy the food while it’s hot.”

“Are you sure?” I press, earning a jab in the ribs from John. I turn a glare of my own his way, but he doesn’t notice, since he’s riding a food high.

“I’m sure,” Olivia snaps. “I’m going to take a bath now, and if either of you dare to come anywhere near the bedroom door, I’ll slit your throat and stuff your balls down into your stomach.”

That’s a very graphic visual, but it doesn’t stop John from shoveling in food. When she finally disappears around the corner toward the staircase, I make a plate and set it aside for her. I’ll bring it up later and force feed it to her if necessary. I’ll risk the loss of fingers if need be, but she’s going to eat every damn bite before I leave the room.

“Are you gonna eat that?” John asks while pointing his fork at my plate.

I shake my head and slide it over for him to demolish. Puzzling out the mystery of Olivia takes precedence over any hunger I might have had. She’s an intelligent survivalist, with a pinch of snarkiness, sarcasm in spades, and violent as all get out. But what if it’s all bravado? What if her survival technique is to shut out the world so she isn’t disappointed if something unexpected happens?

My god, I sound like a chick.

I must be suffering the debilitating condition called DIC, Dick In Charge, since obviously he’s running the show right now. The stupid prick is filling my head with ridiculous thoughts, trying to justify the risk of swallowing my teeth if there’s even a remote possibility of a roll in the hay. Which there isn’t, because she sure as hell wouldn’t go for it, and I don’t even want to try. Sure, she’s a sexy pixie, but she isn’t my type. Oh, no. I like my women nice and pliable, and she’s about as flexible as a rock.

Must schedule release, stat. When was the last time I dipped my wick? I check my watch, 19 hours and counting. The new red head, what’s her name again, Vanessa? No, Victoria. It’s Victoria, and I must remember her name or I won’t have the pleasure of a proper welcome home via her ginormous vagina. That should hopefully cure me of my unfortunate case of DIC rather quickly. If not, there’s always that cock tease of a table leg.

Game plan set in stone, or I’ll beat that mother fucker into submission, pun intended, I start cleaning up. I pull out a cooler bag from my backpack and snatch the ice packs from a first aid kit. It’s one of those pop and shake things that only last a few hours, but it’ll keep longer in the insulation. Finding some Tupperware containers in the cabinets, name brand for these wealthy fucks; too bad they’re probably dead and can’t enjoy it, I pack away what little John couldn’t handle of dinner due to the food coma he’s now sleeping off. I leave the plate I made for Olivia, since I still intend to bring it to her even if I’m fighting DIC, she needs to eat. I’ll just put it outside the door, that way I made the effort. And I keep my balls, I call that a definite bonus.

Grabbing Olivia’s plate and my water canteen, I head upstairs. After taking a few steps, I remember her comment about stomping and make a conscious effort to lighten my tread as I approach the door to the master. Setting the plate down quickly before I give into the urge to knock, I back my way slowly down the hall and tiptoe down the stairs.

Mentally patting myself on the back for a job well down in tackling the first step in conquering DIC, I tap John on the shoulder to send him upstairs to a bed. He may be a morning person, but he can get grumpy if he doesn’t get his seven hours, so I take first watch. Sitting by the candlelight at the dining room table, I pull out a deck of cards from my cargos and play some solitaire. I can’t think of a more fitting game to play during the night watch.

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

After four hours on watch, 42 games of solitaire, and polishing off the remaining chicken Marsala, my eyes are starting to droop. I stand to go trade off with John when I see Olivia in the doorway with my canteen in her hand. I’m going to plead the fifth here since Ninja Girl doesn’t count as a threat, well not in the sense of being eaten alive. Alright, let me rephrase that, she won’t tear my flesh off with her teeth in mindless hunger. There, that’s better, she’s not the mindless flesh ripper that I’m watching out for, so she doesn’t count for being able to slip past my watch.

“I’ll take watch,” Olivia replies as she sets the canteen down in the middle of the table. “You look like you’re falling asleep anyway.”

I nod and brush a hand over my tired face, feeling thirty plus hour stubble. I must look and smell like a dirty hobo peddling for change, while she’s sitting across the table like a freaking Victoria Secret model. Her raven hair is loose and shining like silk in the lowering candlelight, smooth sun kissed skin, lips red as a rose and smelling of rich apples. I want to lean in to grab a handful of that luscious mane and take a whiff.

It’s that urge that gets me moving. Taking a page from her book, I grab my canteen off of the table, that’s suspiciously full, get up and leave the room without responding. It’s when I hear her whisper, ‘thanks,’ that I feel like a prick, but I push through it and fall immediately unconscious in the nearest bed.

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

Chapter Nine:

“Rise and shine,” a most unwelcome voice says. I groan and pull the blanket tighter over my head.

“Go away, dickhead,” I mutter.

“Nope,” the bastard refuses with a peppy pop on the ‘p.’

Fucking morning people, they just don’t understand what it a chore it is for us normal people to not want to leave our warm beds and face the miserable sun.

“Come on, it’s after five and we have to get moving. Daylight’s wasting. Hey, remember that song your mom used to sing?” John’s tone deaf voice grates on my nerves. “Let’s go-o!” His emits this horrid howl that puts the wheezer’s screech to shame, but doesn’t miss a beat; even when the blanket disappears with his finisher of Johnny Cash and June Carter’s “Time’s a wastin.’”

As I’m about to go for a low blow, I sniff something. Something that no longer exists, and is nothing more than a no good cock tease. I’m so devastated, and on the verge of tossing myself on the floor and crying out in a tantrum to end all tantrums, that I almost miss the cup John’s raising to his lips.

“It’s a real shame you didn’t wake up in time,” he teases with a smirk. “Because you could’ve been enjoying this masterpiece, instead of me.”

“Is that what I think it is?” My voice is a low growl, like a mother bear about to defend her cubs.

“Um-hm,” is the smug reply. “Dunkin’ Donuts’ French vanilla, black with four sweet n’ low. Too bad this is the last cup.”

He goes to lift the cup to his lips for another long swig, and this time, I do land the nut shot. While John drops the cup to cover his injured balls, my cat-like reflects rescue the beloved coffee before it even threatens spilling a drop. I’m inhaling the concentrated scent of a long forgotten friend, while John’s mewling on the floor, but I couldn’t care less. The bastard deserved it for coming between me and my precious coffee. Besides, he should know better. So, shame on him. The mug is drained in ten seconds flat. I’m wiping the last drops of liquid up with my fingers and shoving them in my mouth, and doesn’t that have to be the exact moment for Olivia to walk in.

Now, this looks bad. I mean, John’s rolling around making some weird cooing noise, while I have dirty fingers shoved into my mouth; so how’s that look to an outsider? Like savages, exactly. So, you normal people out there would understand why I’m baffled when she doesn’t even batt a lash.

“Oh good, you’re up.” Olivia says in a bland voice. “Now, let’s get moving.”

With that, she retreats down the hallway. See, only a nutcase could treat this like its normal, everyday behavior. Either that, or she’s the freaking Terminator. Whatever the case, it gets me moving. Stepping over John’s prone body, and evading his fists along with promises of retribution, I collect my shit from the floor and head to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

Brushing my teeth and scrubbing my face and hands with canteen water, I look semi presentable. Not that I’m trying or anything, since I didn’t even shave. I finish with a brush of my fingers through my dark brown hair. Who needs to try for bed head when you already have it? Only douchebags, that’s who.

Besides, bloodshot blue eyes and day old sweat covered bodies do not bode well in attracting the opposite sex. Thinking of, I may have to schedule a swim in the river before letting Vanessa get under me. No, not Vanessa. Victoria. I say her name like a mental mantra on repeat as I finish getting dressed and head downstairs.

On the table, there’s a plate with some type of egg on, is that bread? It is! Well, it was before I desecrated the yummy, still warm slices of toast in two swallows. I don’t even remember what the eggs tasted like, and it’s a shame really, because someone took the time to painstakingly make them over easy to perfection. I’ll let you have one guess as to whom the chef was, and I’ll even give you a clue: she doesn’t have a penis.

“How’d you make the bread?” I inquire of Olivia, who appeared as if I conjured her with a thought. I truly am curious for her answer, since our head chef Leonard hasn’t figured out how to make it without the old staple ingredients.

“Flour, condensed milk, dry yeast, water, salt and sugar,” Olivia answers like she’s reading off of a mental recipe, and maybe she is. Either way, she’s a fucking genius.

“And the eggs?”

“Nest out back,” she replies. That sours my stomach a little. “It was abandoned, I checked. Not that it mattered anyway.”

It obviously mattered to her, since she made the effort to check first, but I don’t mention it. I’m just glad that the stomach crisis was averted. Would have been a waste of amazing bread otherwise.

“It was delicious, so thanks.”

Olivia nods and that’s that. Well, at least I thanked her this time, so it’s a start. Maybe we can even become acquaintances who pass pleasantries someday? Yeah, you’re right. That’ll be likely when hell freezes over. Actually, that analogy no longer works on account of the wheezing bastards, so how about when pigs fly? Yup, I’ll stick with that one for now until I’m proven wrong.

Leaving the silent chick in the kitchen, who is currently making good on her earlier plan for a manicure at the next stop, I start readying my equipment. Holsters are buckled, boots triple knotted, and rain slicker in place; I then stuff my cargo pockets full of the expensive cutlery in the kitchen.

It’s some high quality shit that’s made to last. Instead of being attached to the cheap plastic like most other sets have to keep you buying more of their same shitty product, these ones are a single solid piece of sharp metal for a blade and widens to form a handle. My guess is that they’re Japanese made due to the even weight distribution designed with precision cutting in mind. I don’t think that the manufacturer included a warranty guaranteeing their ability to take out a wheezer, and that’s a damn shame, because these babies are ideal for throwing.

I’m raiding cabinets to see if there’s anything else we can use when John walks in with arms full of goodies. It looks like he raided the medicine cabinets in the bathrooms, since there are bottles of pills, band-aids, gauze and rubbing alcohol in the mix. Plopping the stack on the counter, he makes his way over and sinks a cheap shot in my gut while my hands are full. Cans of food are immediately dropped to clutch my poor abused stomach that’s threatening to upchuck breakfast.

“Cheating bastard,” I gasp out.

“Fuck you,” John spits at me. “That wasn’t anywhere near what you deserve, you low blowing prick.”

“You know better than to fuck with me in the morning.” Standing straight, I meet his gaze with murder in my eyes. “That goes double when you get between me and my coffee, especially Dunkin’s.”

“Touché,” is the muttered response.

“Are you boys done, or do you need to have a time out?” Turning to face Olivia’s dry tone, she continues. “Because this house has plenty of corners for you to kneel in, and vent your feelings, if you aren’t. On the down side, that would be a waste of daylight, so maybe you should just kiss and make up already, that way we can move on?”

“We’re good,” I answer and John nods his agreement.

“Splendid, I so wasn’t looking forward to bending either of you two giants over my knee.”

Leaving us with that visual, Olivia heads toward the door. When she’s out of range, John mutters his smart assed reply of, “Too bad. ‘Cause I’m more than willing to be punished if she’s the one dishing it out.” My sentiments exactly, but I don’t say it out loud. And that’s a good thing, since Olivia’s reply echoes from the foyer.

“I heard that, you depraved bastard.”

“Yeah, John,” I say with a smirk as I give him a shove. “Watch your filthy mouth, you pervert.”

“Puh-lease, you friggin coward,” John retorts with a shove of his own. “I’m just man enough to say what we were both thinking.”

Flipping his know-it-all ass the bird, I leave him laughing and go meet Olivia. She’s standing in front of the un-barricaded door with her helmet on, and jacket miraculously zipped up tight to her chin. With a signal to wait, she slips out the door and zips her way down the stairs. Scurrying like a squirrel, she crouches low to the ground and pops her head out sporadically like a groundhog to check out her surroundings. Seems a little extreme to me, but to each his own. Shrugging at John, I follow her example. Making my 6’2” frame as small as possible, which is nothing to her small stature, I creep over slowly to join her by the gate.

“See anything?” A shake of her helmeted is the answer to my question.

“Then what’re we waiting for?” John whispers from my other side.

“Nothing,” Olivia replies. “Just making sure it’s clear to move.”

After another thorough search of the area, to the extent of paranoia, she finally undoes the combo for the bike lock. Pausing to stuff it back inside her bag, Olivia pulls out her huge ass machete and signals for me to take point. I move quick, leaving John as the buffer between me and her eighteen inch blade.

No way in hell am I trusting her not to change her mind and hack off my head. John must follow my direction of thoughts, because he speeds up his pace to be even with my strides and lengthen the distance from Olivia’s reach. We’re basically full out sprinting by the time we hear the machete toting Rambina call out.

“What the fuck?” Speaks the devil herself. “Are you trying to lose me? Because I don’t need this shit.” Turning back to reject her claim, we’re just in time to see Olivia stop in the shadows on the corner, preparing to turn right. Retracing a few steps back to meet her before she books it, and leaves us behind, I reply.

“We’re just trying to get back faster.” Semi-true, yes, but also a crock full of bull.

“Well, you two fucks have me by a foot,” Olivia begins as she spins to the right and brings her machete down a wheezer, that came out of fucking nowhere, lunging for my face. “Not to mention, you need me a hell of a lot more than I need you.” With that, she stomps on the rotten mush that was a head, rips her machete out and shakes some of the black goo off with a flick of her wrist.

“Make that, don’t need you at all,” Olivia revises. “So, if you boys would like to play nice, remind your twelve year old brains that I don’t have cooties, and slow the fuck down!” Turning her visor covered face from me to John and back. “You’re loud and if you’re a mile ahead of me, I won’t reach your pathetic asses in time.”

“You’re right,” I say like a chastised school boy. “But you have to admit, you are pretty intimidating.” Cocking her helmet to the side, the animal like trait sufficiently creeps me right the fuck out, before I hear her muffled response.

“Really?” John and I nod our heads in complete affirmation. “Good. Now move.”

Shoving John to the left and sweeping my legs out from under me, Olivia thrusts her machete straight out and spears another wheezer in the stomach. Ducking down, she then flips the wheezer over her back. Before I manage to pick my ass up from the ground to finish off the scrambling bitch on the end of the machete, Olivia pulls an arrow from her back and jams it into the wheezer woman’s red tinged eye. Greyish ooze trickles from the wound and the scrambling ceases immediately.

Finally standing up, with my hunting knife in hand, I scan the area for any more fucks deciding that my ticket’s up. John has his crossbow locked and loaded, ready for any more surprises that try to pop out of the woodwork. Finding nothing, I rescan just to make sure, listening intently for any noise that doesn’t belong to nature. Still not trusting myself due to the blatant evidence of several fuckups in the past twenty-four hours, I abandon pride and look to Olivia.

“It’s clear,” she confirms. “For now at least.” I nod my thanks. “You can go quickly, just don’t sprint like a freakin’ cheetah chasing a gazelle, it attracts too much attention.”

Pointing forward, she signals for us to move. I make it a few feet before she calls out to stop. I’m spinning with my knife ready to carve any mother fucker with the balls to come at me for the third time in the last ten minutes, when I notice the crossbow Olivia’s holding out in offering.

“You don’t have any ammo, and you need it more than I do.” Seeing me hesitate to claim it, I swear she rolls her eyes behind the face mask when she shoves it in my direction, even if I can’t see it. “Just take the fucking thing before I save the wheezers the trouble, and shoot you myself.”

John stifles a laugh as I tuck my hunting knife away to accept the weapon along with a dozen arrows. My fingers barely grip the handle to the bow and quiver of arrows before she drops her end and takes four huge steps back. Confused as hell, but not willing to sit here waiting for the next blindsiding prick, I lead the way.

We go two miles out of the remaining four with only attracting two wheezers from the dozens that we see. John snipes one and I take out the other straggler with our bows. Olivia takes it upon herself to collect the arrows from the bodies before returning them to our quivers, while we’re still moving. Keeping a steady pace, we reach our town limit within an hour. Another twenty minutes and we’re less than four blocks away from the condo-plex. One more street over, and we’ll have a clear view straight at our building. That’s when I see the clustered bodies crowding our gate.

“Fuck,” John curses softly.

“I take it that’s your place,” Olivia remarks and we nod. “Just peachy.” Pulling her hunting knife out to hold in her left hand, and the machete for her right; Olivia steps forward. “Wait here, I’ll be back.”

“Cool it Terminator,” I order while reaching out to grab her arm and prevent a suicide mission. Her knife tip digs into my throat before I make contact with her.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” Putting my hands up, I follow John’s example, and back up several steps.

“I was just going to say that we have a back entrance we can use,” I say in my best ‘climb off the ledge’ voice. “There’s no need to risk your life.” She huffs out a laugh behind her helmet.

“Who say’s I’m risking my life?” Without waiting for a response, she continues. “Are you confident that your barrier will hold off that many?” I hesitate, since that was the point we were making when we planned to move in the first place.

“That’s what I thought. So, here’s what we’re going to do.” Tucking her knife away, she unzips her high collared coat from her chin about a fraction of an inch, before reaching inside and coming out with her chained dog whistle. “You two are going to take one side of the street each. Shoot any mother fucker that doesn’t drop.” Not knowing exactly what she means, I go to interrupt when she holds up a hand. “Just trust me, alright?”

I don’t know why, maybe because she’s saved our asses multiple times, or maybe because she knows her shit, but I do. I trust her confidence, and that’s why I let her lift her visor, place the whistle in her mouth and walk into the fray like a beautiful avenging angel rocking leathers.

“Take the right,” I tell John and run to the left side of the street.

I get to my position twenty feet away from the crowd when I see the wheezers react. Several screech and cover their ears. The ones that are hunched over and dragging their hands, face plant when they move to protect themselves from the sound. The crazy bitch was right. Not only does it work, it’s fucking hysterical.

While the wheezers are dropping like flies, Olivia zooms in to hack off heads or split skulls to finish them off. Any that are still standing, John or I take out with our arrows. It’s an uncontested slaughter with her ping ponging through the pack to make sure they go down and stay down permanently, while we’re shooting away. Olivia has decimated her way through half the crowd when shots start firing off from the third floor window. Startled, Olivia drops the whistle from her mouth, and all hell breaks loose.

I watch in horror as Olivia freezes in mid swing of killing a standing wheezer covering its ears. Without the whistle to distract it, the huge fucker tackles her to the ground. I’m sprinting with my crossbow aimed directly at his head. A quick squeeze of the trigger ends the wheezer’s miserable life as I’m running toward the wrestling bodies. I quickly reach Olivia’s prone body still struggling with the weight of the giant.

Kicking the corpse aside, I grip Olivia’s collar and yank her up onto her feet. Seeing her now empty hands, I shove her defenseless self behind me and fire off my arrows. Six drop in as many seconds, when I see a knife go whizzing past my ear and take out a seventh. I should have known better than to accuse her of being defenseless, even mentally. Freaking psychic.

John moves closer to us and we form a trio of ass kickers. While John and I take out as many runners as we can, Olivia stabs and hurls daggers at any that we miss, or come close enough for her to reach. After an eternity, which is probably only twenty minutes real time, we’re victorious.

Surrounded by fifty or so bodies, I realize that something must have attracted them here in the first place. I’ll get the bottom of whatever the fuck it was, along with whomever the bastard was that spooked Olivia. If it was Danny again, I’m gonna be real motivated to climb all the way up to the roof, just to toss him from the top.

Speaking of Olivia, I turn to face her. She’s collecting her machete, hunting knife and daggers from the ground when I walk over. Remembering her personal space requirement, I stop a good five feet away.

“Are you alright?” I inquire. A nod is all I get, and I can’t read her face since it’s covered by the visor again. “You sure? No bites? Scratches?” I hold my breath, because I really don’t want to have to put her down.

“I’m fine,” she snaps. “And I would have been better if your douchebag group didn’t fuck with my plan.” I don’t say anything, since she’s right. On both accounts; of a portion of my group being douches, and for screwing up a seemingly flawless plan. “If I’d known I was going to get shot, I wouldn’t have come.” Wait a fucking minute.

“Shot?” I ask in a careful tone, belying my anger. “You were shot?” She shakes her head.

“Nothing but a flesh wound. Now let’s get the fuck inside before I stab someone.”

I agree because the faster we get inside, the faster I can check out this ‘flesh wound.’ Waiting for her to move first, which she doesn’t, I step aside like a gentleman to signal for her to go. Still, she won’t budge.

“After you,” I offer. Olivia denies me with another head shake. “Please go ahead, I’m scared that something may grab my foot and pull me along to hell with it.” With a choked noise, which sounds suspiciously like a laugh, she begins moving. After about twenty feet, I catch on to her awkward gait. Actually, it’s more of a limp that’s being purposely hidden, sort of like an animal not wanting to show its vulnerability.

“What happened to your foot?”

“Nothin.’”

“Bull shit,” I retort.

“Not bull,” she counters. “It’s my ankle, not my foot. Twisted it when the big bastard tackled me.”

Remembering her brush with death, I recall her freezing is what allowed said bastard to tackle her in the first place. Why’d she freeze? Was it just because she was startled? Or something else? Yet another missing puzzle piece to add to the impossible to complete Olivia mystery.

Watching her struggle to walk is not only painful to me, but dangerous if a stray wheezer or wheezers are in the area, so I decide to risk a broken nose. Moving quickly and as quietly as possible, I scoop her up and make a dash for the gate that John’s holding open. Olivia struggles the whole way, landing a head-butt to my lip and an elbow to my throat, which is what makes me set her down inside the now locked courtyard. I’m fighting for breath, when I notice Olivia in the corner rocking back and forth, muttering something inside of her helmet.

“Olivia, you alright?” John asks cautiously. She ignores him, not pausing in her rocking or the muttering of undecipherable words. John looks to me and I shrug having no idea what the fuck earned me a split lip, or sent her off on a crazy spin. He tries again, “Livi?”

“Don’t fucking call me that!” Her screech is obvious. “I told you not to touch me!” Ah, the breach of personal space is what set off her tick. “Now, go the fuck away!”

“We’ll leave you alone as soon as you’re safe inside,” I offer. Wrong move, I realize when a knife is hurled in my direction, but I’m able to dodge it since her aim’s off due to the rocking.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she growls. “Unlock the goddamn gate so that I can leave.”

“I can’t do that. It isn’t safe.” She says something that I don’t catch, but I do hear her breathing heavily inside of that damn helmet. Why the fuck are all the women in my life prone to hyperventilation? I try the gentle route I used with the red head. “Olivia, please come inside?”

Her head starts whipping side to side so fast I think that she’s gonna give herself whiplash, when I hear someone running down the stairs. Turning, I find Sarah’s wide, hazel eyes trained on the psycho in the corner.

“What the fuck did you do?” Sarah asks.

“Watch your mouth,” the fatherly tone comes to me automatically. “And all I did was carry her inside, since her ankle’s busted.”

“Her?” Sarah looks at the leather clad, helmet bound, Olivia with an unconvinced expression. “No need to lie, Jared, I already have a boyfriend.”

And boy, does she love to rub that in my face. Her argument was that Mom and Dad let her date, so I couldn’t stop her. Not wanting to point out the fact that they’re not coming back, I let her get away with it. After I threatened Danny with a very painful death; involving maiming and drawn out torture, if he ever hurt her. Or got her pregnant.

“Her name’s Olivia,” John confirms. “She took a little tumble outside, and she’s trying to catch her breath.” Sarah raises her eyebrows at such a bull shit answer to Olivia’s current state, before slowly creeping her way over to the corner.

“Your name’s Olivia?” Sarah questions in a soft voice. “That’s a pretty name.”

I look to John and see him covering his mouth to hide his laugh. The Olivia we know would have torn into us if we said such a stupid, generic statement. But what do we know? We have balls, not ovaries.

“How about we go get you cleaned up?” Sarah proposes. “You’re bleeding.”

Olivia’s head snaps up and her helmet spins around wildly in search of the source forming the small puddle coming out of her sleeve. Her hand reaches for a tear in her right jacket sleeve. Cupping the injury, Olivia stands and nods at Sarah to lead the way. Sarah acting like a mother leading her kid off to the first day of preschool, offers her hand out to Olivia; who takes it, and they go upstairs.

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. Women are fucking weird.

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

Chapter Ten:

“Any idea what that was all about?” John asks once the women have disappeared.

“No fucking clue, man. I was just trying to help, and she flipped out.” Pointing to my split lip as evidence, I continue. “She was limping from a twisted ankle, so I picked her up to give her a boost. I didn’t know she was going to go rambling psycho.”

“It was an anxiety attack, you dick,” John snaps in a rare show of anger. “She’s been alone for who the fuck knows how long, and the first time someone touches her; not only is she unwilling, but unaware when a stranger snatches her up like King Kong. Even before the world as we knew it ended, a chick would have flipped out.”

“How the fuck should I know?” I retort with my own temper rising.

“Because she held you at knife point over it half an hour ago, you forgetful bastard.” Successfully chagrined, my anger deflates like air out of a popped balloon. Running a hand through my hair in agitation, I lay myself at John’s mercy.

“How do I fix it?” John grins, meaning we’re good again.

“When I fucked up with a woman,” he begins. “This wasn’t often, mind you, since I’m a friggin master.” Rolling my eyes at him, I curl my fingers for him to get on with it. “I used to buy something for her. Chicks dig that shit. And since Olivia is most certainly a chick under all that sexy armor, she does too.” Crossing his fingers in front of himself, John proceeds with his teaching. “I hope, ‘cause we need her and whether she wants to admit it or not; she needs us too.” I highly doubt it, but I’m willing to give John’s plan a shot. And if he’s wrong, at least I have something to hold over him.

“So, what should I do?” I ask. “I can’t get her flowers, chocolate’s either melted or expired, and I just don’t think she’s the type to appreciate a blood covered apology card.”

“What do we know about her?”

“Slim to none,” I answer. John gives me a pointed look. “Alright, she’s a badass who handles a machete like it’s an extension of her arm. She’s an intelligent, aggressive, sarcastic smartass who can win any type of cook off, even while wearing a blindfold.”

“And she loves leather,” John adds with a dreamy sigh.

Bingo. Her ripped leather jacket needs to be mended. Leaving John in the courtyard, I run upstairs in search of Sarah. Praying to anything that’s holy that this will work, I run through the great room. I ignore the shouts welcoming me home, and head directly to Sarah’s room. Knocking lightly, I wait for a response.

“Go the fuck away, Jared,” Olivia voice snarls through the closed door. I’m not even surprised she knows who it is, but hearing her say my name for the first time, almost knocks me on my ass.

“Listen, I’m sorry for scaring you,” I begin and hear something like a growl come from the other side. Freaking the fuck out, since I don’t know for a fact that she wasn’t bitten, and Sarah may be in there, I ditch the nice act. “Sarah, if you’re in there, come out now.”

I hear steps approach, meaning that Sarah is indeed locked in with a possible infected. Heart rate increasing to dangerous heights, I just about rip Sarah’s arm out when I pull her through the door, and slam it shut behind her. Running an eye over my baby sister’s exposed arms and neck, both of which are unmarred by bloody gashes or bite marks, I release a sigh of relief as my heart’s frantic beating slows down a bit.

“What the hell, Jared?” Sarah hisses while rubbing her arm. I let the language slide this time.

“She could be infected,” I say simply. “So, stay the fuck out. I’m posting someone to guard this door until the Doc can check her out.”

“Olivia isn’t infected you dumbass,” she replies. “She’s pissed.”

“Language,” I mutter and she rolls her eyes. “And you don’t know that for sure, you’ve never been close enough to one.”

“That’s because you don’t let me leave the courtyard,” Sarah counters. “And I have too been close to the infected. Remember Will, George and Mikayla?”

Didn’t the smartass just have to bring up the bad batches of strays? Those fuckers lied about not being infected when I took them home, only to find out a couple days later that they were nothing more than bull shit spewing wheezers in the making; leaving John and I to put them down and clean up the mess. But we learned and we now know the symptoms to look out for.

These symptoms include mood changes like irrationality, cold-like symptoms, rapid breathing, tweaking, then finally the red eyes and wheezing, meaning that the infection has taken over. Plus, no one comes into the condo without agreeing to a full strip search, not that we do this all the time. Usually just being willing to strip for strangers is proof enough on its own. Modesty be damned if it means survival.

“Those were different and you know it,” I remind her. “Olivia got taken down by a wheezer out front, and I haven’t been able to check her out yet. So, can you please, help me keep my sanity, and stay away from this door?”

“Fine,” she huffs. “But I know she isn’t infected, and she won’t like being caged in like an animal.” True enough, but I can’t take the chance.

“She knows that we have to take precautions,” I say loud enough for Olivia to hear and am hopeful for her full recovery when I hear her, ‘fuck you,’ in reply.

“Olivia, sweetheart,” I taunt just to hear her normal reaction again. She doesn’t disappoint when something gets thrown at the door, sounding an awfully lot like a knife. “Can we take your clothes to be cleaned? Sarah can give you something to wear.”

“No fucking way am I stripping in this house,” she retorts. “You sick bastards probably have cameras.”

“Not only is that impossible, since we don’t have electricity or the equipment,” I counter. “But it’s also plain disgusting. That’s my baby sister’s room, you pervert, so have some respect.”

“I’m sorry if I have offended you, Sarah,” Olivia says sweetly.

“You haven’t,” says Sarah in return. I mouth ‘turncoat’ to Sarah, who laughs, before I refocus on Olivia.

“So, will you please pass out your clothes so that we can wash the blood off?” I hear what sounds like lightly pacing footsteps before she replies.

“Alright,” she begrudges. “But you back up right the fuck now, and I’ll hand them over to Sarah, or no dice.”

“No can do,” I disagree. “You may try and take her as a hostage so that you can leave. Not to mention that you could be infected.”

“I’m not an infected kidnapper!”

Sarah pushes me out of the way and starts talking through the door. “I know that, and I’m waiting right here for when you’re ready to pass them out to me.”

“Thank you, Sarah, you really are a sweetheart,” Olivia replies. “But your brother’s a dick.”

Sarah laughs in agreement, as if I’m not standing right here and hearing their every word. After a few minutes, the door lock unclicks and cracks open about a millimeter. Only after Sarah’s confirmation that it’s her at the door, does it open just enough to shove the clothes into Sarah’s hand before slamming shut with the lock clicking back firmly in place.

“Take anything you need, Olivia,” Sarah replies. “We’ll have these cleaned up and back to you in a jiff, I promise.”

Following Sarah’s retreating steps, I snatch my goal from her arms and ignore her protests when I go to find Whitney. Walking into the great room, I glance around and notice the gathered group members that are clustered around our meeting couch. Damn it, I’m so not in the mood for this. Releasing a sigh, I hook the leather gear under one arm and prepare for battle.

“Who’s the guy you brought back?” Kelly asks with hopeful eyes, as if Olivia’s beautiful face could be mistaken as anything besides feminine.

“That woman,” I add with emphasis on ‘woman,’ to which Kelly being Kelly mutters, ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’ “Is named Olivia. And she’s our newest member to the group.”

“She’s infected,” counters a slightly accented voice belonging to Carlos.

“We saw her go down ourselves,” adds his super twin, Oscar.

“So, you’re the ones responsible for the fallout,” I accuse. “Because we were doing just fine without your help.”

“Actually, Jared,” Mike interrupts with an adjustment to his plastic framed, Buddy Holly-esque glasses. “That would be me.” Seeing the pissed look on my face, he holds up his hands. “I was just trying to help. I didn’t notice you and John until you ran out of the shadows.”

“You almost got us killed,” I reply with a low voice hiding my temper. “And why were you on watch to begin with?”

“We were teaching him how to shoot,” Oscar offers.

“Since we weren’t sure if you and John would come back, we were trying to prepare more snipers,” adds twin two, also known as Carlos.

“And Cory left a few hours ago,” Marissa adds with a sigh.

She’s been after Cory for a while, even when she takes John up on his offer every single time. I’m guessing her promiscuous activities are what deter Cory from taking her bait, because he hasn’t so much as glanced at the deliberately displayed, balloon-like chest Marissa shimmies in his face. Maybe he isn’t into plastic women, or maybe he’s gay? I don’t know, since he doesn’t talk about himself, but I brush that all aside and focus on the key words in that miserable huff.

“Wait, a goddamn second.” I hold up my hands up. “Where the fuck did he go?” Cory was supposed to watch Sarah for me, he promised, and he deserts her? How the fuck is that keeping his promise?

“He had me keep an eye on Sarah,” Danny answers from beside Sarah, cooling my temper slightly. “So that he could make a run to the drugstore. Leonard was having chest pains earlier and the doctor said we needed some hydro glycerin in case he had a heart attack.” It’s then that I notice the absence of Cory in addition to Akio, Leonard and Tommy.

“But he’s fine now,” Whitney says. “We gave him some Bayer, and they’ve since stopped.” I nod in thanks for the explanation. I’m glad the old bastard’s alright, he has spunk and I kinda like the old coot, so it would suck if we lost him.

“How long’s he been gone?” John inquires. He’s been silently observing the group since he came upstairs a few minutes ago.

“Like, a few hours,” John’s harem member Chelsea answers with a mindless snap of her gum. “But who cares, since you’ve come back, baby.” Chelsea makes kissy faces at John with her overly glossed lips, before she blows another bubble, which she then pops and chews like a cow. Really? Is that supposed to be a turn on? He’d get a mouthful of bubble gum and slimy gloss.

Maybe it’s just me, but I’d rather kiss the woman, rather than coating, and I fucking hate being called ‘baby.’ It should be reserved for bed partners you don’t recall the names of. It’s a filler, like ‘Wrap your legs around me....baby.’ That could totally save you as opposed to saying a name which turns out to be wrong, ‘cause then you wind up on the floor with blue balls. Not that I’ve experienced this myself, mind you. I always left names and endearments out of sex so that I didn’t say the wrong one; and I didn’t give her any false ideas of it going past one night. But I have heard from John that he uses generics like ‘baby,’ or ‘honey’ so that he doesn’t mix up the girls.

“He’ll be back soon,” Marissa says with conviction and a glare aimed at Chelsea.

“I know,” I say quickly to prevent the murder Marissa’s look is promising to commit. “He always does.” Seemingly appeased, Marissa sits back and nods.

“Where’s Vicky?” John inquires and I’m about to ask who the hell Vicky is, when Kelly answers with a sneer.

“She’s been locked up in Jared’s room all day.”

Kelly crosses her arms before giving me a smug smile. Obviously, The Bitch enjoys being the one to tell me about my bedmate’s faults. Well, honey, I regret to inform you that I already know her faults, and plan on using a crowbar to pry her out of my bed after I give sex just one more try. Then, after what promises to be yet another unsatisfying sexual experience, I’ll break out the tool belt and steal a leg from Diney.

“While we’ve all been earning our keep,” Marissa adds with her anger now redirected.

“She’s new,” I say in defense of the red head, only because I feel bad about forgetting her again.

“She’s lazy,” Chelsea counters and follows Kelly’s example of crossing her own arms. Since they’re not currently at each other’s throats to gain John’s favor, the trio is in an alliance. Wiping a tired hand over my face, I reply.

“I’ll talk to her.” After I remind her to stay the fuck out of my room, and quit sleeping in my bed again. “Carlos or Oscar take watch. Don’t matter which, you both know your shit. Just one of you take Sarah’s door, and other take the front.” They nod their identical acquiescence. “Someone take over cooking duty until Leonard’s cleared by the Doc. If that’s all, meeting adjourned.” Nine bodies scatter in different directions, but I recall my mission and stop Whitney.

“Can you do me a favor?” I ask and she nods for me to continue. I hold up the blood covered leather. “Help me clean these up and teach me how to sew? I might have upset our new guest a teeny bit, and I’m trying to make it up to her.” Whitney’s chocolate brown eyes fill with a motherly look.

“Jared, you big softie,” she says with a pat on my cheek. I’m about to protest that this has nothing to do with being soft, that it’s an act of desperation to keep Olivia from leaving. And self-preservation so that if she decides to stay, she won’t chop me into tiny unidentifiable pieces.

“You spread yourself thin already, I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” I reply and kiss her cheek.

Whitney gives me a sad smile. When she and Mike first came, they told us that they couldn’t have kids and were in the process of adopting before the outbreak. She always says that we’re the kids she always dreamed of having. We go along with it out of respect for her, and because it’s nice to have a motherly figure around.

Taking her self-appointed burden, Whitney spins away and leaves the room. I spy John entertaining two out of three groupies that hero-worship him, leaving Kelly suspiciously absent from the love-square. That’ll require further investigation later, because I have a date with a red head that will be thoroughly chastised after my warm welcome home.

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

Four mindless rolls in the sack later and I lay panting from the exertion, and covered in well-earned sweat. No, the woman that I just climbed off of, that’s as far away from me as I could possibly get with the exception of removing myself from my bed; because that’s friggin impossible in my boneless state, had no part whatsoever in working me up into a fucking frenzy. But the woman down the hall sure as hell did.

That raven haired goddess was front and center in my mental fantasies, to the point that I nearly shout her name each time I spent my load. Just thinking of her red mouth, that generous chest I only glimpsed at, and her saucy attitude has me recovering at record speed, revving me up for another go that I have absolutely no time for. I’ve already succumbed to the urge for too long as it is, and I can’t allow Junior to have his way again.

Shut up, all men name their penises, mine just so happens to be named Junior. And we almost always refer to them as if they are a separate person from us, since they tend to have a mind of their own.

It’s bad enough that I’m slacking on my chores, but then there’s the fact that I’m mentally banging a woman that doesn’t like physical contact of any kind. If Olivia had any idea of what my depraved brain did to her, she’d most likely run as fast as her little legs could carry her. Fuck, don’t think of her legs. Because then I think of her leather-covered ass that I want to sink my teeth into, and her toned thighs that I’d love to bury myself between like I did less than five minutes ago in a delightful fantasy where she rode me cowgirl style with her tits bouncing. And he’s back. Fuck you, DIC! Just fuck you!

When the body on the other side of the bed slides over, trying to snuggle, I get my ass moving. I should thank the red head for being a nice sperm catcher, or for pulling me out of my head, or even for murdering my boner with her clingy act, but I don’t. Instead, I choose to evade her octopus arms, remove the fourth condom and dispose of them in my trash can beside the bed, before I start pulling on clothes. With each article being restored to rights, I become more and more focused on the important things. Well, things that enable survival because my dick’s happiness is pretty important too. Just ask any man, and he’ll tell you the same.

With mental faculties slowly returning, I remember that I have shit to do, like checking up on the group, seeing how we made out with the new supplies, and making sure that we’ll be good to go early tomorrow morning. All of these thoughts take up residence at the forefront of my mind, pushing my extremely active libido to the back burner. Cargo pants in place, I stand to rip my t-shirt over my head. Feeling a hand come around to settle on my stomach, I recall that I have a bone to pick with Miss Sticky Fingers. I snatch up Red’s wrist in a gentle, but firm grip before turning to face my clingy charge.

“What’s wrong?” Vanessa asks.

“Several things,” I answer simply and begin ticking them off. “First and foremost, you slept in my bed. That’s a big no-no that you’ve been informed of multiple times.” That brings a pout out that rivals Kelly’s in practiced plastic perfection. Why I put up with this shit is entirely due to that pesky man piece that demands attention. Training a hard look on her, I continue.

“I’m not a cuddler, and I won’t pretend to be one. The agreement was for no strings attached sex, plain and simple. If you can’t deal, this ends now.” Nodding her head, she looks away. “This brings us to the next problem that we have.” That brings her attention back in a flash.

“What problem?” Victoria, not Vanessa, asks with squinted eyes as if she’s trying to read my mind.

“You not pulling your weight,” I reply. “The girls told me you’ve been in here all day, instead of helping.”

“That’s because they’re tattle-taling bitches.” Feeling extremely defendant of my group to someone that dares to insult them after five short days of being here, I snap back my retort.

“Everyone has a job here. Be that keeping watch, cleaning, cooking, gathering supplies, gardening or collecting rain, it all has to be done in order for us to survive. We don’t spend the day lying in bed like invalids. If you don’t like it, tough tits ‘cause that’s how we run things.”

Vanes-Victoria huffs and crosses her arms; it’s obvious that she’s trying to divert my attention away from her lack of effort, and to her insignificant chest. I bet she even thinks that my marathon erection was because of her. Yeah, that so didn’t happen then, and it ain’t happening now. Her charms no longer affect me now that I’ve experienced firsthand that they’re nothing but an act, and there’s also the fact that my fantasy woman is located less than a hundred feet down the hall.

Red doesn’t even belong in the same category as my sexy Tomb Raider, or Diney for that matter. Diney at least has an excuse for her cold, statue-like state, so what the fuck’s the red head’s? Hell, I should just trade up to Olivia, but then I remember a certain machete that would maim me if I even tried, so maybe not. Seeing that my unfortunate second runner up, who is now behind Diney in the race, is still trying to tempt me into getting her way, I roll my eyes at her ridiculously childlike antics.

“Once again, if you can’t handle it, it ends now,” I repeat and see her drop the pout in exchange for a scowl when she realizes that I’m not falling to my knees and kissing her feet. “Just don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.”

“Fine,” she snaps. “I’ll help.” A flash of tangled red hair flashes like fire, when she shoves clothing on and slams the door on her way out. Well, it looks like I’ll be going back to abstinence, and I’m good with it since my hand can do just as well, if not better than that red headed bitch ever did.

It also looks like John just gained a new member for his ranks. Because there’s no way in hell that phony witch will ever be allowed to enter my domain again.

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

Chapter Eleven:

After Victoria slammed out of my room, I went to do my rounds. Each time I come back from a trip outside the gate, I follow it up with a routine. This includes making sure our booby traps haven’t been tripped and are in functioning order, then I check the rain barrels and the small garden that line the balcony off my parent’s old bedroom. It’s only during my rounds, or for bathing in their master bath; that I can work up the courage to enter their former retreat that John now occupies. Out of respect for my parents, we switched their mattress out with one from a neighboring condo for him debauch with his harem.

Before we had Cory to construct our rain barrel system, we used to collect water with pots and pans. Obviously, this wasn’t all that effective, so we had just enough water to scrounge by for drinking, but not enough for bathing. Yeah, we were reeking to high heaven with an unpleasant perfume of body odor for about six months, that is until John and I found a creek down the road. So, while we were dipping in chilly water and watching each other’s backs, Sarah was restricted to sponge baths. I know, it was awful, but we weren’t taking the chance of bringing Sarah out in the open.

We tried to shield Sarah from as much as we could, because we didn’t want her losing hope as the months trickled by without any aid coming our way. Of course she knew what was going on, since she’s wasn’t blind or deaf, so she seen the news reports back when the power was still on, heard the wheezers screeching in the street below, and watched the bombardments being dropped. But we didn’t want her to know how bad it truly was, so we kept up the facade. John and I played up our normal, silly selves to keep Sarah distracted with normalcy. We played board games, used the pool table, told jokes, and came up with stupid shit to do so we wouldn’t start bouncing off the walls with hyper energy.

It was impossible to keep it up, especially when it was obvious just how truly changed the world was, especially with the glaring the evidence of no electricity, plumbing and our shut-in status. But we couldn’t risk leaving our condo unit with Sarah, because we weren’t confident we could keep her safe due to our lack of skills. John’s dad had taken us hunting or to the gun range a few times, but we were by no means experts with our backgrounds; me being a former stock boy and John a lifeguard at our local Y center. Yeah, I teased him to no end about working for the YMCA when he’s straight, but that’s just what guys do. It doesn’t matter anyway, since John paid me no mind, because he loved working with the kids and had been there for the four years prior to the infestation. But back to Sarah, another reason we didn’t want her out in the open, was because of the close calls we had in our complex alone.

You see, we depleted our food supply within the first two months, which is understandable when you have three people with nothing better to do but sit around fretting. We were already showing signs of malnutrition from eating nothing but canned food that’s been overly processed, and that was split three ways, but then to add emaciation to the list? I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sit around, waiting for help that might never come, while we starved to death.

That was when I made the decision to raid the other condo units in our building. I would have travelled to a grocery store, but the bombings were less than a mile down the road, and I didn’t want to risk it. I wanted to get food, and get back before John or Sarah could get any crazy ideas in their heads to follow after me. The only way that they would have agreed to let me go out alone, was if I stayed close; that way I could scream for help. You already know that if I got bit, I wouldn’t have screamed for help; I would have crawled my ass into the woods, and hung myself from a tree, as opposed to bringing the infection anywhere near Sarah or John. But I agreed to their terms anyway, so that I could get what we needed without endangering either of them.

So, after I locked Sarah in our condo with John, I went to check out the other units. Because the power had gone out a month before, since it was last February that we got the lockdown order, and it was only April 2013 when I started leaving our unit, it was dark by the time I had convinced John and Sarah to let me go out. I equipped myself with a flashlight, a knife, and my dad’s 9mm. As I mentioned before, he was a lawyer; and quite paranoid that one of his ex-clients would come after him, so he kept it locked in a safe in his closet. With weapons is place, I slipped out into our condo’s foyer, and used the back staircase to go down another level.

It was quiet inside the stairwell, so I crept down to the second floor unit. An old lady named Dolly lived there, and I knew her since she used to bake me goodies when I was a kid, and pay me fifty bucks a month to carry in her groceries; even when we had an elevator. I didn’t complain, since I was a teenager and I liked the money, plus she made the best walnut brownies from scratch. Dolly had to be the sweetest old woman I’d ever met, which is a rarity in itself since her blue-haired counterparts were never very nice. Always yelling at you to get off their lawn, or whacking you with their cane if you did something they didn’t like, or arguing over paying full price when they should have gotten the senior discount. Or maybe, it was just my granny that did that, so I’m prejudiced?

Either way, that was not Dolly. She had a heart of gold, even if she was a tad lonely. She was a widow, and her kids lived in Idaho with her grandkids, so she lived alone. But she didn’t become a crazy cat lady. Instead, Dolly had her car service called in daily at eight A.M. sharp, and went to the senior center. There, she spent the day doing whatever old people do at the center, be that activities or hanging out with her cotton-headed friends, until six o’clock when she was dropped off. This would be why I didn’t think to check on her, since I figured that she would have been locked safely in the facility the next town over.

Boy, was I wrong.

Dolly lived on the floor below ours, so I went down to the second floor. Thankfully for me, Dolly was one of those trusting people, so her door was unlocked. This meant that I could just turn the knob and walk in, as opposed to having to kick it down. I’m sure that John would have come running if he heard a crash, so I was doubly thankful for it.

Stepping inside, I shut the door behind me, before I continued down the entry hallway. All of the condos in our unit were cookie cutter copies, so the layout was identical to ours, and I’d been in here countless times, so I knew where the kitchen was. I continued toward my goal, not hearing any noises, but there was this horrid odor in the air.

I recognized it as an awful mix of rotten meat and dairy, the same smell that our condo unit had a few weeks back when the power never turned back on. We tossed our spoiled food out the windows, and pushed the fridge out into the foyer; but even before we rid ourselves of the rotten food, our unit didn’t smell anywhere near as bad as this. There was another identifiable smell underlying the rot, but I ignored it, as I walked through the great room.

That’s when I started seeing stuff on the carpet. Since it was dark in the condo, with the sun going down, the shades being drawn, and I only had a small flashlight to guide my way; I didn’t know what it was until I accidentally stepped in a pile of it. I remember looking at the shit on my shoe, wondering when the fuck she got a dog; and why the hell she left the poor thing alone, when I heard it. It was a cross between a growl and a raspy hiss, but the thing baring its teeth at me, was no longer Dolly.

It was wearing one of Dolly’s signature flannel nightgowns, the same one she was known to wear anytime she went out on a quick trip to buy scratch tickets at the corner market, so I knew that it was her; even while everything in me was praying that it wasn’t. I tried convincing myself that some deranged hobo had broken into Dolly’s condo, and stolen one of her nightgowns; while Dolly was safely locked up in her senior center and playing bingo with the angry elders she called friends.

But it wasn’t true, no matter how much I wished it were. What used to be Dolly, was now the beast in front of me. Dolly’s grey hair, which was usually immaculately coiffed into a loose braid-bun thingy, was nothing more than patches of stringy strands. Her frail body was hunched slightly forward, and the hands that she used to knit me ugly sweaters with, were curled into gnarled fists. She had a weeping wound on her neck, which had trailed black blood down the front of her dirty yellow nightgown. Worst of all, was the stench coming off of her. Even from ten feet away, I could smell the mixture of raw sewage and body odor coming off of her, thus informing that it wasn’t dog shit that I stepped in.

I gagged at the foul odor, and the reminder that I had stepped in human waste, as I reached for my knife in my pocket; even though I could shoot a gun. John and I used to go hunting with his dad, no, not real hunting; since I’m an animal lover and would rather shoot myself in the foot, than kill deer. Yes, I eat meat, but I wouldn’t be able to hack a chicken to death, before eating it; I preferred the packaged stuff in the grocery store. Anyway, Mr. Moure used to take John and me up to this resort in New Hampshire where they offered shooting life like targets in the woods, so you got to experience the fun of shooting real guns, without the whole killing aspect. I don’t care if that makes me a pansy, I liked it, and it allowed me to use both rifles in the woods, and hand guns at their range.

This meant that I was fully capable of taking care of one infected granny, but I didn’t want to alert John or Sarah. I also didn’t want to attract the wheezers outside, so I gripped the handle of my kitchen knife and stared down my target. I so did not want to do it. This was my sweet little neighbor who baked me homemade cakes for my birthday, and iced it with whipped topping, since she knew that I hated the artificial shit. This was the woman who used to come to John and I’s baseball games to cheer us on, even if my own father wouldn’t show his face. The same woman who used to knit me those god awful sweaters every Christmas, but I would wear it at least once in her presence, and smile to show how much I loved it.

Hey, I’m not heartless, and they were the warmest sweaters ever. I might even have the one from last Christmas, since it had just passed when the 44 wheezers escaped from the labs. I didn’t want Dolly to be infected, never mind having to be the one to take her out. But infected Dolly took the decision out of my hands.

I remember her lunging forward, faster than I’d ever seen her move in my entire fifteen years of living above her, making me have to dodge quickly to avoid her claws. Yes, she had freaking claws. I don’t know if it was because she hadn’t cut them in a while, or if the mutation made them rival Edward Scissorhands’s length. Okay, they weren’t that long, but they were about a quarter of an inch longer than her fingers, which is pretty damn long for natural nails. Whatever the cause, I didn’t want Dolly landing a gouge in my flesh like she used to do with her lottery tickets.

After I dodged her swinging arm, I spun around to swipe my blade at her. Since I had no knife training back then, I utterly failed at that poor attempt. I missed her neck, which was what I was aiming for, when Dolly did that growl/wheeze sound as she went for a bite of my arm. I threw myself back to avoid her teeth, not realizing that I was backing toward an end table, so I went toppling over it and landed with a crash on the other side. The table tipped, throwing a lamp on top of me, and Dolly jumped onto the pig pile. She was fucking strong, I remember that clear as day.

Her wrinkled fingers, that used to knit hats for her grandkids, were clinging to me in a Kung-Fu grip, and her face was less than four inches from mine. The lamp was crushed between us, and I had my forearm across her chest to hold her back, but because I was a newb, I dropped my friggin knife and flashlight when I toppled over. My flashlight somehow landed at an angle to profile her face, so I could see her red eyes and the drool as it dripped from her stinky mouth, to land on my cheek.

Again fighting the urge to vomit, I tried to toss her off with a shoulder shake. No dice, so I tried using my legs. I was panicking more and more with each second that I stayed trapped underneath the infected Dolly, so I threw all that nervous energy into a leg press. I managed to get one foot under her belly and kicked forward. The lamp went one way, while we went the other. Dolly’s grip stayed strong, so my shirt got pulled along with her, meaning that I got choked out a bit, but it allowed me to reach the flashlight. I couldn’t see my knife, and I wasn’t wasting another second with the feral grandma, so I pushed aside any feelings of wrongness I had.

This wasn’t Dolly. This wasn’t the woman who was a surrogate grandparent to me, and she wasn’t some frail, helpless old woman that I was attacking. I repeated it over and over again, as I bashed her skull in with the flashlight. Thankfully, the bulb cracked on the first blow, so I didn’t have to see what I was doing. Knowing that I was killing something that was formerly human, was bad enough, but to see it? I don’t think I would have been able to do it right then, especially with someone that I knew and cared about before they turned rabid.

I don’t know how long it took, or how many bashes to the skull it took, before the thing under me finally ceased moving, but I know that it was dead when John burst into the apartment with a flashlight of his own. When he flashed the beam on me, I immediately stopped swinging, dropped my bloody weapon and threw up right there on the corpse. I couldn’t even lean to the side and avoid disrespecting Dolly any further. I was covered in her black blood, my own vomit, and other things I couldn’t name; so I couldn’t blame John when he took one look at me, then the bloody pulp on the floor, and turned a pale-ish green, before running toward the nearest bathroom. I heard him doing some retching of his own, when I finally managed to crawl away from the body.

I never did make it to Dolly’s kitchen to look for food. John did something with Dolly’s corpse, what he never told me, but I was thankful for never having to deal with it. We went back to our condo, and I went straight to the master bedroom. I took three pot-fulls of our precious water, and scrubbed my skin raw, before I retreated into my room. I locked myself in there for a week straight, out of fear that I could be carrying the infection due to the massive amounts of black blood that was on me, along with drool that dripped on my face. I didn’t eat any of the food John left at the door, which he obviously managed to get from somewhere, but I did drink a little bit of the water when he threatened to break the door down.

When John finally convinced me that I wasn’t infected, since I wasn’t shitting myself, or coughing up blood, I came out of my self-imposed solitary confinement. When I saw Sarah’s worried face, still gaunt even with John feeding her, I decided right then and there to make myself stronger. To train harder, and to leave emotions out of it. I needed to be the big brother, the protector, and keep my promise to my dad of taking care of Sarah. That was when John and I started training in hand to hand combat, and a little bit of knife handling. We also added the condition of never going out alone. We would lock Sarah in our condo and watch each other’s backs.

With that decided, John and I cleared out all of the condos in our complex. Six of them had wheezers inside, one of which was formerly a family of four, but I didn’t look at it that way. I looked at it as it’s them, or us; and I chose us, so the nameless faces of the infected were taken care of, before we took the former residents’ supplies. When we ransacked every condo in the complex, we had to spread out and leave our safe haven. That’s when Cory found us.

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

John and I were shopping in a grocery store down the road from our condo, when we saw him. Dressed in head to toe fatigues, we originally thought that he was either infected military personnel, or aid, but we weren’t going to approach him until we were sure. John and I followed him at a distance through the market because he looked more human, since he was walking upright. It wasn’t confirmed until he took two knives from his thigh holster, hurled one at a wheezer running at him, and buried another in the temple of the one closer to him.

Yeah, we immediately started screaming like little girls, ‘We’re here, we’re over here!  We need your help!’

Cory scowled at us, before throwing more knives at the incoming wheezers, which we had attracted with our excited exclamations. When he ran out of knives, he pulled out a silenced gun, and finished them off. Once the bodies were lying at his feet, he tucked his gun away and stalked over to us. Grabbing both of us by our collars, Cory knocked our heads together.

‘What the fuck was that for?’ John demanded as he rubbed his smarting head.

‘You stupid fucks attracted a crowd,’ Cory hissed. ‘And I don’t have time to deal with bull shit.’ When he moved to go around us, I grabbed onto his sleeve, making him turn and raise a fist. I immediately released his jacket and held up my hands.

‘We don’t want any trouble, we just want to know where we should go? Where it’s safe? Where’s your group? The backup? ‘Cause I don’t see anybody with you. Where’re the tanks, the guns, the bombs...’ I continued rambling until Cory rubbed a hand down his face and shook his head.

‘Look, I’m not with anyone,’ Cory said. ‘I don’t know where you should go, or where it’s safe, so I can’t help you.’

‘But you have to!’ I exclaimed frantically. He was the first person that we’d seen in months that wasn’t infected, and he was military, so he should have known something. ‘They said to wait, and we’ve been waiting for six months! What the hell are we supposed to do? What about Sarah?’

‘As I’ve already said, I can’t help you,’ Cory repeated. ‘I was on leave before the outbreak, so I don’t know about any refugee camps, and I don’t know who Sarah is.’

‘She’s my sister,’ I said. ‘Surely you have someone to take care of. A friend, a cousin, your mom, a freaking sibling! Something!’ Cory’s faced hardened, so I tried to appeal to his humanity, no matter how buried it might have been. ‘You’re military, right?’

‘I was,’ he answered with a shrug. ‘What of it?’

‘Protect and serve,’ I said.

‘Country’s dead,’ he retorted.

‘We aren’t,’ I countered. ‘But we will be if we don’t get some help. We don’t have any formal training, but you do. Show us what you know and you can be on your way to wherever you were headed afterward.’

‘Or you could stay,’ John proposes. ‘There are only three of us.’ Cory clenched his jaw, so I pulled out the family card.

‘Please, we need help,’ I said. ‘My sister, Sarah, she’s only fifteen, and she’s starving to death. If you don’t show us how to survive, she’ll be dead within a week.’

Yeah, I stretched the truth a little, but it worked, because Cory finally agreed to follow us home. He only had the bag on his back, and that’s all he’s had since he never left. He arrived at our condo, looked at our laughable booby traps, food and water collecting techniques, shook his head and set his bag on the couch. We’ve since gotten him a mattress from another unit, so he now has a place to rest his head in the den down the hall.

The first thing Cory did was demand a trip to Home Depot. He took the keys to my Cobra and said he’d be back. I trusted him then because I took his sniper and backpack as collateral. But Cory was a man of his word, because he came back an hour and a half later. We lugged the barrels, tubing, tools, nails, lumber, rope, tape, and other various supplies through the gate in quick runs. Cory had pulled the car as close as possible, and we threw a few pigeons; which he had killed, to the wheezers to munch on while we unloaded. After carrying it all upstairs, Cory got to work.

He first cut holes in the tops of the barrel lids, and then he poked holes in the plastic tubing and fed it through each barrel’s top. Using a tarp, he rigged it with rope and tape so that it aimed downward at an angle, leading to a funnel which was connected to the tubes. Hence, we had six functioning barrels that put our pots and pans to shame. With a water supply available, Cory constructed a six by three rectangular box with the lumber and made it have two tiers. The top tier he nailed in a slotted pattern with boards, before putting a mesh barrier on the bottom and filling it with soil. Once the dirt was fed some plant food and hydrated, he planted various seeds for staple vegetables like potatoes and carrots, which have long shelf lives.

Cory’s inventions are what I’m checking on right now. I check the water system first. The tarp has been replaced already because some asshole bird decided to fly through it, but it looks good today. The angle is right, leading directly into the still connected funnel and tubing, so each barrel is ready for any more showers that may come our way.

Once I’m satisfied with the amount of available water for drinking, bathing and cooking, I check our garden. There are now several wooden, rectangular shaped boxes that Cory and I have constructed to accommodate feeding more people. Each one has drainage underneath, and are all filled with various vegetables and herbs. After I make sure that they’re prospering, I make my way to our appointed sniping position.

Our condo takes up an entire level of the complex, as I said Dolly’s was, but there’s a hallway that acts as a foyer. It’s separate from the living space and where the now non-functioning elevator used to land and has emergency staircases for exits at both ends. The window in the hallway facing the front is where we have a chair setup for who’s ever on guard duty to use. Like Carlos is utilizing right now. Walking over to join him, I lean against the wall before speaking.

“It was a good idea training the others,” I say, somewhat begrudgingly since I should have thought of it myself.

“But shitty timing,” he replies. “We honestly thought that she was alone, so we let Mike help out.”

“Well, he needs some more help,” I counter with a grin, showing that I’m not holding it against him. “Because he shot Olivia.” That gets his attention. Carlos’ dark eyes abandon his watch for a second to meet mine. “She said it was only a flesh wound, but I haven’t been able to check it out yet.”

After a nod, Carlos asks, “Where the fuck did you find her? Here Osco and I are, showing Mike how to aim, when we see this dark angel walk in calmly with a machete to necromance the wheezers to death.”

“It’s a dog whistle,” I correct him. When he looks at me similar to how John and I looked at Olivia, I just nod. “And believe it or not, she found us.”

“More like saved our asses,” John retorts from down the hall. He walks over and assumes a similar position to mine on the opposite wall. “Twice.”

“You expect me to believe that one tiny chick saved both of your asses?” Carlos asks incredulously.

“One pint sized ball of badass indeed saved us from our own stupidity,” I concur.

Seeing the look of interest in Carlos’ eyes, I relay the sports store incident, with some embellishment added by John, painting him in a better light of course. Claiming it was my idea to break into the case to begin with, the lying bastard, but I let it slide since I still went along with it. Just because it wasn’t my idea, doesn’t mean I’m not just as much at fault for following through with it, as my mom always said. And I’m man enough to own up to my mistakes, unlike the cowardly bastard grinning like the cat that got the cream. Too bad asshole, there isn’t even any cream left for you to get, you moron.

After we finish telling him about how we met Olivia, John and I leave Carlos to his watch; with us promising him a switch soon, and him promising us to spread the word on Olivia’s attributes. She’s going to need all the help she can get to gain acceptance in our group with her aggressive nature mixed with a dash of crazy.

Entering the condo, John and I head to the kitchen to see how our new supplies are coming along. The girls are working together diligently to put away our backpacks full of goods. The duffels are also unloaded onto the counter and organized into categories of weapon use, medical supplies and clothing. After all is found well and good in the kitchen, we make our way to my father’s old office and newly appointed sick room. New recruits are usually held here for a few days, just to be on the safe side, before we let them out.

This is where we find Dr. Akio, Tommy and Leonard. Leonard is propped up on the twin mattress in the corner, another drag in from a different unit, and trying to read a book from the floor to raised ceiling version of a library in the room. But reading is impossible with Tommy keeping vigil over his ailing grandfather. He keeps fussing over Lenny, fluffing pillows or fetching water and looking altogether lost; while Akio keeps using his doctor voice and asking, ‘How are you feeling?’ To which Lenny replies, ‘Old, now back off.’

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.”

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

Chapter Twelve:

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.

“Don’t lock it!” I shout.

“It’s fine, Jared!” Whitney calls back.

I begin pacing back and forth like a caged lion, second guessing myself for letting Whitney walk into a situation that she’s completely unprepared for. Olivia is a killing machine without the infection, so what could she do with it? After all, Dolly was a frail old woman who turned into a professional wrestler, while Olivia’s a younger, bad ass model, so how much more deadly could she be, if she were to lose control?

I’m just about to kick the door in, when it reopens. Whitney steps through first, before motioning for Olivia to follow after her. Obviously seeing her hesitate inside the room, Whitney offers her a hand and whispers something that makes Olivia’s gloved hand grip the other woman’s in a strong hold that should have had Whitney wincing; but she’s either tough, or she hides it well.

Olivia steps into the hall with her raven hair loose and covering her face. She’s obviously wearing something of Sarah’s, since it’s a long pair of jeans; which are rolled at the bottom to keep in place, a turtleneck, and a loose sweatshirt that’s two sizes too big for her short frame. The only things that scream ‘Olivia,’ are her leather gloves, and motorcycle boots. It’s fucking hot out, so I don’t know how she’s wearing such an outfit, but I don’t dare to ask.

Following Whitney’s lead, Olivia keeps her head down as she walks down the hall, without any sign of a limp. This is not the same girl that took down thirty wheezers a few hours ago, nor is she the temptress from my mental fuck fest. It has to be an act, and I don’t trust it at all. I cross my arms to show her I mean business, when Whitney shoots me a scowl any mother would give a misbehaving child. Not caring, I maintain my pose even as they pass into the great room. I turn and follow them with Oscar in tow, entering a now silent room.

Every eye is trained on the pixie girl with the hidden face, that’s trailing behind Whitney like a mother duck leading her duckling. Olivia, never having released Whitney’s hand, takes the seat to the woman’s right, while Mike’s sitting on the other side of his wife. I take my seat at the head of the table, that way I can see everyone with one glance.

For instance, I see when Whitney introduces Mike to her; Olivia shrinks away and wraps her arms around her middle. I’m thinking she’s going for a knife, and am preparing to make a move, when Whitney just rubs Olivia’s tense back and shakes her head at Mike. Mike scratches his head, seeming as confused as everyone else, since they’re all staring at Olivia with their mouths agape. Sarah, having had enough, finally speaks up.

“This isn’t a freaking zoo,” she snaps and plops down on Olivia’s other side. She jumps, so Sarah pats Olivia’s hand in reassurance. “Now, eat or leave.”

With that, the seven gawkers’ heads; including Marissa, Chelsea, Kelly, Oscar, Carlos, Mike and Danny, turn away to resume the daily dinner routine. John comes in a few minutes later to take a seat at my right, and is straight across from Olivia. He observes her silent nature with severe concentration, almost looking constipated, before giving me a ‘what the fuck?’ shrug.

I’m just about to shrug right back, when Olivia spews a mouthful of soup across the table. She jumps to her feet, shoving the chair back against the wall like she can’t get far enough away. I’m tense, waiting for knives to start flying at whoever pissed her off or touched her, when she spits on the floor and wipes her tongue on her sweatshirt sleeve.

“What the fuck is that?” Olivia bellows with an accusing finger pointing at the bowl. “Are you trying to poison me?” Her head swings in my direction with daggers shining in her grey eyes. And she’s back. I feel like jumping up with a fist pump, but I restrain myself.

“That would be soup,” I answer casually and take a bite of the god awful excuse for food in front of me. I fight my gag reflex when the flavors hit my tongue. It tastes like four day old ass, with a sprinkle of garbage as a garnish.

“The fuck it is!” Olivia retorts.

Picking up the bowl daring to pass itself off as food, Olivia hurls it across the room. There, it lands in a splatter of spilled slime-like contents crawling down the wall and a rattling, thankfully plastic, bowl on the floor. From there, she goes around the table, stacking bowls in varying levels of fullness. Ignoring wide eyes and protests, she takes everyone’s bowl and dumps the load of dishes into the kitchen sink, before pouring an entire bottle of liquid soap over the top of it.

“That shit’s inedible,” Olivia says.

Olivia said it with a swipe of her hands on her jeans, when she came back into the room. The dining room is again silent as they gaze upon the fuming woman, who is no longer hiding behind her glorious hair, that’s unbound and slightly curled from her braid. The hen house’s eyes go round in envy, while the guy’s eyes fill with masculine appreciation, as they all take her in. Even with her horribly fitted clothing, her feminine beauty is undeniable.

“John, you lying bastard,” comes an age worn voice of Leonard from the living area of the great room. “She is much more than ‘cute.’” Olivia’s head snaps to take in Lenny, her body was tight with tension upon hearing the voice, but when she sees the withered man; she relaxes a little.

“Hello, sir,” Olivia replies respectfully. “I’ve heard from Whitney that you aren’t feeling very well. I’m very sorry if I’ve disturbed your rest.”

“Rest?” Leonard asks with a ‘who me?’ hand on his chest. “Who needs rest when I could be gazing upon my future wife?” Olivia’s husky laugh echoes through my bones. God dammit! I thought I cured myself of my unfortunate case of DIC.

“I’m extremely flattered,” says the she devil with a seemingly genuine smile at Leonard, the old bastard. And here I was praying for him to make a full recovery. “But I believe we might have to get to know each other, before you agree to tie yourself to me for life. I may be a little too much for a fine man, such as yourself, to handle.”

“Nope, I’m decided,” counters the aging Casanova. “You’re the woman for me, now I just have to convince you.” Stepping toward Olivia, Leonard holds out his hand for her to shake, which she does. “Leonard Shue. Former postman, veteran and current cook. There, now we’re acquainted. When we getting married?”

“I’m sorry, Leonard,” Olivia replies. “But if you’re the chef responsible for that atrocity I was just served, I’m afraid the deal is off.”

“It definitely wasn’t Lenny,” John informs her. Olivia looks to each occupied chair at the table as if she could smell out the culprit. Everyone meets her gaze, showing their innocence, when one turns away.

“Alright,” Kelly snaps. “It was me. But how the hell should I know how to cook? It wasn’t like I had to, servants were for that type of shit.” Whitney shoots her a disapproving look, which Kelly sniffs at with disdain. Now, I know why Kelly was suspiciously absent from John’s worship circle, she was busy giving us all food poisoning.

“You could have asked for help,” Olivia offers.

“Oh, yeah?” Kelly challenges. “And who the hell do you think you are, you uppity bitch? Coming in here, and throwing shit around like you own the place.”

Three words. Wrong. Fucking. Move. Queen bitch of the group is about to lose her crown and be taken down several pegs, if not murdered, when Olivia gets her hands around her neck.

“Listen, Bimbo Barbie,” Olivia begins in a careful voice, containing a raging fire underneath. “You may have been the HBIC in high school, but let me tell you something.” Moving faster than Kelly can react, Olivia has her pinned to the wall, with her forearm on the throat of the several inches taller Kelly. “This ain’t fucking Kansas anymore, Dorothy. And I’m not one of your scared ants that you can stomp on when they get in your way. This is my world now. Got it?”

Kelly, sufficiently terrified, bobs her head up and down so vigorously, that she looks like a bobble head. Olivia releases her grip on Kelly’s tube top, which drops several balls of tissue when Olivia steps back. Sarah starts laughing hysterically, while Whitney hides a smile behind her napkin. Straightening her own clothes, Olivia glances at the once again gaping crowd, and makes a move as if the jump at them; which has more than a few flinching. Obviously, not me, because I’m not afraid of the pixie person. Nope, she didn’t even make me blink; but I did drop my spoon. Olivia then rolls her eyes at the shivering diners.

“Thank you all for the lovely meal,” Olivia says sweet as pie, and curtsies before leaving the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” John introduces. “I give you Olivia.”

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

“My God,” Danny says after several moments of silence. “She’s the female version of Jared.” That earns a few chuckles from the table, definitely not Kelly, and a scowl from me. We are not alike at all, and Olivia’s fucking nuts.

“I like her,” Leonard replies. “She’s feisty.”

“More like psycho,” Kelly mutters. My scowl turns from Danny to The Bitch. No one calls my psycho ‘psycho’ but me. I’m about to tear into her, when Sarah beats me to it.

“She is not psycho!” Sarah snarls. “And it was about time someone put you in your place.” Sarah increases her voice to a screech imitating Kelly’s. “‘Who do you think you are, you uppity bitch?’ Have you looked in the mirror lately? Of course you have, I saw you checking out your stuffed chest an hour ago.”

“She attacked me!” Kelly shrieks. “She’s gotta go.” Looking to John, she pulls out the pout. “Either it’s her, or me.”

“Goodbye,” I answer for John.

He’s currently finding his worn table setting to be quite the fascinating piece of craftsmanship. All John’s missing is a couple of twiddling thumbs, and to start whistling, in order to show his disinterest in giving into Kelly’s demands. Kelly looks around the table for some other supporter, but finding none, she huffs and walks out of the room. Everyone knows she’s not going anywhere.

“Who’s hungry?” I inquire. I almost laugh when I see every hand dart up in unison. I’m guessing that Olivia’s interruption of the meal wasn’t protested as strongly as it appeared.

“You mean that Kelly’s cooking didn’t fill your bellies?” John asks with a smirk. “And here I thought that Olivia was the only one that didn’t like it.” That earns chuckles all around.

“Alright, who knows how to make something edible?” I ask.

I blatantly ignore Leonard’s waving arm and look for others. Seeing Whitney and Mike’s arms are also raised, I wave for them to follow me into the kitchen. I rinse my hands in the basin filled for that purpose by the sink, before waiting for further instructions. Whitney hands me and Mike some potatoes and carrots, which have grown to maturity in our garden on the balcony, to peel and dice while she heats a pot of water over the gas stove. Deciding on another attempt at soup, because it can fill the most people with the least amount ingredients, we get to work.

Chopped potatoes and carrots, along with canned chicken, corn and peas, are all added to the pot of boiling water. Whitney adds some seasoning for flavor and lets it simmer for an hour. When it’s finished, we bring the cleaned out bowls and the pot to the table. Calling everyone that remained in the great room’s living area to the table, I send Sarah to get Olivia.

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

This time, dinner goes on without a hitch. No one blatantly stares at Olivia; they’re more like casual glances trying to understand what to make of her. Well, good luck with that. I’ve known her for longer than anyone here, besides John, and I still haven’t a clue as to who she really is.

Like right now. She’s quietly conversing with Sarah, as if she isn’t the shiny new toy that everyone wants to play with. Especially the men, meaning Carlos, Oscar, and the now with us, Tommy. Well, step the fuck in line, because I’ve already called dibs. That, and I have a new opening for my provider of physical relief.

Speaking of which, I haven’t seen Red since our talk earlier. She’s most likely disregarded everything I’ve said, and is hiding out in my room again. Damn, I forgot my tools and crow bar. Maybe I can sic Olivia on her? Nah, she wouldn’t go for it unless it benefited her in some way.

I turn my attention back to the now smiling beauty to my left. Furious, Olivia’s gorgeous, but when she smiles, it steals your breath straight from your lungs. Her full red lips turn up slightly, like they aren’t quite sure what to do, and reveal straight white teeth that must have cost her parents a fortune in orthodontist work. I’m still staring at her like a newly pubescent boy with his first nudie magazine, when John elbows me in the ribs. I’m about to retaliate in kind, when I see him point at Akio in the hallway, waving me over. I get up from the table and go to meet him. Seeing as he looks a little worried, I quicken my pace. Following him outside the condo and into the hallway, I shut the door behind me before he speaks.

“We might have a problem,” Akio states calmly. Only a doctor can utter such a sentence, without a single trace of inflection.

“What kind of problem?” I inquire. “Is it Leonard, because he was flirting away like there was no tomorrow, so that has to be a good sign, right?”

“No, no it’s not Leonard,” he rejects. “He seems fine, just a scare. It could have been something as simple as a pulled muscle, or a little constipation.” Thank you very much for that delightful visual, Doc.

“So, if it isn’t Lenny,” I begin. “What is it?”

“Why don’t you have a look for yourself?” Akio offers and leads the way to the window he was watching. Looking outside to the now setting sun, later in the day since it’s the tail end of summer, I see what he’s pointing at. Outside, there are cars. Cars that weren’t there a few hours ago. Cars that weren’t there a few hours ago, means people.

“How is that a problem?” I ask starting to get a little excited. “That means more survivors. More survivors, means stronger defenses. Or it could finally be the help we’ve been waiting for.”

“Or it could be hostiles,” Olivia counters from behind me. Turning, I see Miss Buzzkill with her arms crossed, and her body tight with tension. “Have you seen any people or groups recently?”

“No,” I answer, somewhat peeved that she’s raining on my parade. “You’re the first person that we’ve seen in months.”

“That’s not true,” John denies. “You just picked up the red head a few days before we left.” Olivia freezes, her eyes widening as wide as saucers before replying.

“Take me to her,” she says with a voice as cold as ice.

Not knowing where she’s going with this, but knowing better than to deny her, I lead Olivia to my room. Stepping inside, I see that Victoria is indeed lounging on my bed, fiddling with my watch. I’ve had it with this bitch, and am about to order her to get the fuck out, when I hear Olivia beat me to it with a shout of her own.

“You!” Olivia snarls and rushes past me.

I’m thinking maybe I shouldn’t have sicced Olivia on my burden, because before Victoria has a chance to react, Olivia knocks her off the bed in a tackle that would make any lineman proud; trust me, I would know with seventeen years of experience in the sport. When John and I run over to try and separate them, we find Olivia pinning Victoria’s struggling arms with her knees, and a knife pointed at the red head’s throat.

“Olivia, what the fuck?” I ask and go to pull her off. Olivia doesn’t move her body any more than to pull a second knife out, and point it in my direction.

“I’m handling this,” Olivia growls at me. She punctuates her next words with thrusts of her second knife like she’s fencing. “So, back the fuck off.”

“Handling doesn’t mean attacking her,” I retort.

“Jared, help me,” Victoria pleads with scared eyes. “You promised you’d watch out for me.”

“Everything’s fine,” I tell her as I ease my way toward Olivia. Raven hair swishes in my direction, accompanied by ice cold glaciers for irises.

“Everything is not ‘fine,’” Olivia snarls at me.

No it fucking isn’t, I mentally agree. That’s because this chick is bat shit crazy, and I have to remove her from the helpless red head; that she still has pinned to the rug, before she inflicts any further damage. See, this is what happens when you let your dick rule you.

“Olivia, drop the knife,” I demand calmly.

“Fuck off!” Olivia shouts at me and tightens her hold on Victoria. “You have no fucking clue what you’re dealing with.” No shit, Sherlock.

“Jared, get this crazy bitch off of me!” Victoria shouts in a trembling voice.

“I’ll show you crazy.” With that, Olivia chops off one of Victoria’s fingers. Victoria starts screaming and thrashing to try and dislodge five feet of surgeon imposter from her body. “How’s that, bitch? How do you like it?”

Holy fuck! This chick is legit crazy. I’ve brought a certifiable psycho into our midst, and released her on the unsuspecting red head; whose only crimes are being a lousy fuck, and a lazy bed hog. What the fuck was I thinking? John’s watching the pair avidly with an inscrutable expression, while I manage to shake off my shock and step forward. I’m just about to rip Olivia off of Victoria, but freeze mid step when I hear her next words.

“Are you honestly trying to pretend you don’t recognize me? Because I know you fucking do, since I sure as hell remember you.” Leaning forward, Olivia snarls something so low that only Victoria hears it, and I know that this isn’t a case of mistaken identity, when Victoria smiles in response.

“But I thought we had fun,” says the red headed taunter, without so much as a tremble in her voice.

“I’m going to fucking end you,” Olivia promises. “But before I do, you’re going to answer some questions.”

“Fuck you,” she retorts. Victoria spits in Olivia’s face, and earns a wallop from the handle of the knife. Victoria, sick bitch that she is, doesn’t even utter a sound, when we hear the wet crunch of her nose breaking.

“How about we try this again?” Olivia proposes with a deadly tone, as she swipes her sleeve across her spit covered cheek. “You can either willingly tell me what I want to know, and you die quickly, or I can drag it out nice and slow?”

“Although I like it slow, as you well know,” is the response. “Hey, I made a funny!” Crazed laughter emerges from Red’s throat, to be cut off by Olivia putting pressure on it with the bloody knife. “I think I’ll choose neither.”

“That’s not an option,” the raven haired knife wielder says in a voice promising that death will definitely not be coming quickly, regardless of the option chosen.

“He’ll come for me, and you know it.”

“I’m planning on it,” Olivia says as she slices another finger off with a surgeon’s precision.

“I cannot in good conscience sit here, and condone this line of torture a moment longer,” Akio interrupts. I glance over at the Doc, before he continues. “I took an oath.”

“Then get the fuck out,” Olivia barks. “Because I’m just getting started.” Akio leaves before Olivia lines her knife up with another of Victoria’s fingers. “When are they coming?” Victoria doesn’t answer, so Olivia starts putting pressure on it without cutting through completely. Victoria starts struggling again, but Olivia manages to contain her; even with Red having a severe height advantage, and outweighing Olivia by at least ten pounds.

“Answer me, you fucking bitch!”

“Day after tomorrow,” Victoria spits out. Olivia lets up a little on the third finger.

“Good girl,” Olivia pats Victoria’s hair like a behaving pet. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Now, let’s try for another, shall we?” Without waiting for a response, she continues. “What time?”

“Two o’clock,” Red answers. Olivia nods before she continues.

“A.M. or P.M.?”

“A.M.,” Victoria says easily.

“How many?” When Victoria doesn’t answer, Olivia returns to the third finger.

“Twelve,” barks the deceitful bitch. Again lessening up on the third finger, Olivia asks the next question with a deadly calm.

“Where is he?”

“Dead,” is the immediate answer from Victoria.

“You lying cunt,” Olivia accuses and Victoria loses a third finger. “Let’s try this again. Where the fuck is he?”

“Somewhere you’ll never find him,” Victoria answers. She then closes her eyes with a cruel smile. “So, why don’t you just finish me off already?”

“No, I’m not done playing yet,” Olivia replies. Jumping quickly to her feet, Olivia stomps a booted foot onto Victoria’s throat. “She knows more, but for now, get some rope and tie this bitch up. Shove her in a closet, and put a guard on it.”

“Oh goody,” comes a choked response from the witch on the floor. “She’s kinky like you, Jared.” Thoroughly disgusted with myself for not only falling for her tricks, but for touching her body intimately on several occasions, I turn to a pissed off John.

“Grab some rope and duct tape,” I order and he nods before leaving the room. I rub a hand over my face, because I have no clue what the fuck is going on; it’s like I’m at the circus and Olivia is the ringleader. Relinquishing any attempt of rein holding, I naively thought I had, over completely to my master, I ask for my instructions.

“What do we do?”

“Hide the women,” she answers in a detached voice. “I don’t care if they can handle a weapon or not, hide them somewhere, and have them lock the door. Order them to not make any noise and don’t come out for anyone but you, and only then if you say the password.” I nod to say I’m following, before she continues. “Split your best shooters in half, and place them at both entrances.”

“And then what?” I inquire because she doesn’t say any more.

“We wait.”

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

Chapter Thirteen:

After John came back with the supplies, we tied up the spy. With enough rope to hog tie a horse, a sock shoved in her mouth and duct tape holding it all as a double barrier; she isn’t going anywhere soon. Once she was bound, we shoved her in the game room’s closet, locked it, and posted an armed-to-the-teeth Leonard at the door, with an order to shoot without asking questions. The former postman, and Vietnam veteran, didn’t batt a lash at such an order.

Olivia supervised me while I hid the girls. She rejected both mine and Sarah’s rooms as options, saying that Victoria knew the areas too well. Finally, she approved of locking the girls in my dad’s former office, also known as the hospital. After locking the door, the girls barricaded it with anything and everything they could find, just as Olivia ordered them to do. With the girls secure, Olivia turned to address the protection put in place.

The twins were split, since they were both cops, and can handle guns with ease; so Carlos is on one end, and Oscar on the other. Everyone was given knives, along with a gun if they can handle it, or a bat if they can’t. With Carlos are John, Mike, Akio and Tommy to cover the back entrance. On the front entrance with Oscar are Danny, me and Olivia. When I asked her if she was going to be able to fight with her injuries, Olivia shrugged as she answered that, ‘she’s had worse.’ But when asked by Danny, ‘why she wasn’t with the women,’ Olivia said, ‘she’s not human, but machine’ with a pointed look at me. I guess Sarah told her about that, fucking PITA.

So, that’s how we ended up here; sitting in the hallway waiting at ten o’clock on a Wednesday night, for a raid supposed to take place around two o’clock in the morning, the day after tomorrow. The hallway is dimly lit with only a few candles in the corners, along with the moonlight streaming through the window, to light our way.

Oscar’s got his sniper trained on the street, searching for any sign of movement, Danny’s leaning against the wall twirling a knife around in his hands, Olivia’s back in her leather gear with her helmet on standby and sharpening her machete, while I’m checking the rigging for the front stair’s booby trap. Once I come back in the room, I hear Danny speak.

“Why are we waiting now, if they aren’t coming ‘til Friday?” Danny asks. “We leave before then anyway.”

“Because the bitch was lying,” Olivia answers without stopping her sharpening.

“And you’re sure that they’re really coming?” Danny questions.

“I’m positive,” she says.

“But how do you know?” Danny presses. I’m expecting Olivia to snap at him, but she just meets his eyes and replies with three simple words.

“I’ve seen it.”

Danny’s about to pester her more, but a stern look from me stops his inquisition. Obviously, Olivia knows what she’s talking about a lot more than we do, so we shouldn’t piss off the expert. I know there’s a story to tell, but since there is no time, I make note to ask later. If we’re still alive that is.

Not that I doubt Olivia’s leadership skills, or anything like that, it’s just that we’ve never had to kill humans before. Infected, yes, humans, no; so I’m not sure how prepared the others are to take life. As for myself, I’ve already decided, that if some mother fucker is going to try to come in here, and take what’s mine, the asshole is going down, no questions asked. But for the others, I’m not a mind reader, so I don’t know where they stand on the matter. Hopefully, they’re not on the fence, and have decided that defending our home is what counts.

With that settled, I walk over to the wall Olivia’s sitting against; before I slide down to take a seat a few feet away. I decide that I have time for one question.

“Touch me and die,” she mutters while in the middle of a vicious swipe of her machete against her handheld sharpening tool. Seeing how her knives took off Victoria’s fingers as if they were butter, that fucker has to be sharp.

“I won’t,” I reply and meet her eyes to show her that I’m serious. I’ve learned that lesson, thank you very much. “How’d you know that we had an insider?”

“I’ve seen it,” she repeats without looking up. “They probably used the same technique here, since it works like a charm.” Pausing to glance up at me, she continues. “I bet you heard a scream and ran in, looking to help out.” I nod, confirming that. “Congratulations! You’ve been physically and figuratively fucked by ‘The Screamer.’”

“I guess I’m not the only one who thinks with his dick,” Danny retorts. I’m about to go for him, mostly because he’s right and I’m pissed at myself for being so gullible, when the flat of Olivia’s machete lands across my chest. Looking over to meet her hard eyes, I wait for her to speak.

“Don’t take your anger out on him,” she orders. “Save it for the fuckers coming to take what’s yours, keep your sister safe, and make up for your mistake.”

Taking a deep breath to contain myself, because no mother fucker’s getting within two feet of Sarah on my watch, I nod to say I’m good. Her machete stays in place for a minute before Olivia’s satisfied with what she sees and removes it. Shooting Danny a stern look, she continues.

“Just don’t think I’ll save your ass if you mouth off again. Tempers are high, and we don’t have time to deal with bull shit pissing contests.” Danny nods his consent and stays quiet, most likely fearing Olivia’s wrath more than mine. And I guess that I too, would fear a person with a twelve inch blade in their hand.

No one speaks for the next half hour. Olivia puts away her sharpening tools before she slides up her sewn sleeve to check out this massive watch on top of the leather gloves, which I now see reach to mid arm. I’ve yet to see either injury, but she hasn’t shown any signs of pain or discomfort, so I figure they must have been minor. No one her size could have that high of a pain threshold.

Seeing the time, which is only 10:30, Olivia slides her helmet on. After pulling the strap as tightly as possible, she meticulously stuffs her braid inside, but leaves the visor open. Standing up, she picks up her machete and moves toward the door that leads down to the front courtyard. I move to join her, but she waves me back saying something along the lines of me being more of a hindrance than a help by distracting her with all the noise I make. Feeling like a petulant child denied a turn on the swing, but knowing she’s right, I instead join Oscar by the window.

“Anything yet?” I inquire and Carlos shakes his head.

“Do you think this will work?” Danny asks from behind us. Leaning against the wall beside Carlos, I face Danny so that I can answer before Olivia comes to rip a strip off of him.

“Olivia knows what she’s doing,” I answer with complete confidence. “She’s seen it before, so she knows what they’re planning to do, and how to counterstrike it.”

“Ella tiene fuego.” I look to Oscar to translate, since I only know a few phrases in Spanish, like ‘Donde está el baño?’  Which is, ‘Where is the bathroom?’  Or, ‘vete a la mierda, hijo de puta quien cocksucks.’ Which means, ‘Fuck you, you mother fucking, cocksucker.’

“She has fire,” Oscar adds. “If anyone can lead us successfully through an invasion of raiders, she’s one of them.”

I don’t like the appreciative quality that his voice takes on, like it’s more than just her badassery he’s admiring. But I got a one up on him, because he doesn’t know the half of it. If he’d seen her chopping fingers as if they were nothing more than a hangnail just a few short hours ago, like I did, I doubt he’d sound so admirative right now.

Oh no, that’s for my depraved brain. It’s currently crushing on the demented girl, interpreting her torturing answers out of a deceitful bitch; to be an honorable act, instead of being what it really is. Which is barbaric. The sick grey-mattered bastard.

“And she happens to be hearing everything you dicks are saying, when she’s trying to listen for an attack,” Olivia’s voice snaps through the door. “So, shut the fuck up, you gaggle of gossiping women, because they’re going to be here any minute. And since I didn’t sign up to be a freaking martyr, and plan on seeing tomorrow, pay a-fucking-ttention.”

We ‘gossiping women’ shut the fuck up immediately.  Olivia is completely right, she didn’t sign up for this, I did. I basically signed our own extermination notice when I invited the snake into our chicken coop. Not only that, but I literally laid with the enemy. Even if my intentions were good, the outcome is still the same. I put the group in danger with my own poor judge of character.

“Jared.”

Olivia’s voice drags me out of my guilt-ridden thoughts. Dragging my eyes over to meet hers, I see something hidden deep in the depths of those grey eyes that I can’t quite identify, but it looks like a mix of compassion or maybe acceptance? I’m not sure what it is, but whatever message she tried to pass with her eyes, must have clicked with some part of my brain, because it gets me to step into the game.

Nodding my head in thanks to whatever the hell kind of woman’s voodoo she just mind fucked me with, I check my gear. Hunting and throwing knives easily accessible on my thigh holster, 9mm locked and loaded on my shoulder strap, and crossbow located on the opposite side with arrows attached. All weapons ready and accounted for, I order Oscar and Danny to check their own supplies. Both Oscar and Danny have knives and handguns, but Oscar has an assault rifle that he’s had left over from his policing days. After making sure that they’re ready, I jog down to the other end of the hallway to see how the others are faring.

Tommy’s currently keeping watch with a sniper at the window, I know he’s also equipped with his own handgun, but he’s no good with knives unless they’re at close range for a hand to hand melee. Mike is next to Tommy, armed with a bat and knives. Mike wasn’t as confident with a gun after the incident with Olivia, so he refused to take the remaining one available; even after she told him that the bullet only nicked her.

John and Carlos are in the stairwell listening for any sign of raiders. Carlos has an assault rifle like his twin, but he was out of handgun ammo, so he’s operating mainly with the rifle or the third bat; the fourth of which is down the other end as a backup. John’s armed with the second crossbow, a magnum, and since he’s like Tommy with his aversion to throwing knives; he was given one of the hunting rifles we got from Hal’s.

“Everyone ready down here?” I ask and see most nod their heads in assent. Then I spy Akio sitting with a bat in the corner, looking like a city kid lost in the jungle. Walking over to take a stab at reassuring him, I try to project as much confidence in my voice as possible. “It’ll all be over soon, Doc.”

“Does it have to begin at all?” Akio asks. “Can’t we just find a compromise? How do we even know that they’re going to attack? Maybe they’re just coming talk, or they want to join with us?”

I highly doubt that they’re coming for a tête-à-tête, when they plan on breaching our barriers and sneaking in like wannabee guerilla war fighters at two A.M., but I let Akio continue to vent his concerns.

“All we have is the word of a stranger, who attacked a member of our group, and performed barbaric torture techniques to force out answers.” Knowing that Akio is an educated man trying to find reason in a world that doesn’t abide by society’s old rules anymore, I cut him some slack.

“We don’t know for a fact that anything’s going to happen,” I agree. “But we also want to be prepared if there is even a small possibility of a threat. Wouldn’t you rather be over prepared, rather than under?” Nodding his head, Akio replies.

“I can see the logic in defending our supplies,” he says. “But I will not attack with deadly intent, without being provoked first.”

“So, what are you suggesting we do?” I ask and Akio shrugs.

“I have an idea,” Tommy replies from near his window perch. It takes me a minute to recover from my shock, since Tommy never offers his opinion, or talks much at all for that matter. After I’ve sufficiently picked my jaw up off of the floor, I turn to face him, and he continues. “Ever seen Home Alone?”

“I fucking love that movie,” John says. “Little Macaulay kicked Pesci and that other dude’s ass.”

“Exactly,” Tommy nods. “It’s our home, and we have to defend it.

Seeing where he’s going with this, I point out that we already have two booby traps; those being the fridge and washer riggings that John and I set up. I remember Cory shaking his head at our amateur pulley system and claiming that it was going to kill someone; so he refuses to use either of those staircases, unless it’s unavoidable. He’d rather climb down our fire escape, than have a two hundred pound fridge drop down and flatten him like a cartoon character. Hey, it’s been up for months, and no one’s died yet, so I guess that we did a pretty good job. Especially, when you take into account that the only experience with construction work we had, was a semester of shop in high school.

“Those are good,” Tommy agrees. “But we need more, or else it’ll just be an old fashioned s-shoot out once they get up here.”

“Alright, so if they decide to break in instead of knocking politely,” which I can guarantee they won’t be doing at 2 A.M., “then we figure out how to stall them. And we can make some barriers, so that we can duck behind them for cover once they get up here,” I say this to Tommy and see him nod along with the others. “That way it won’t be a slaughter.”

Mutters of agreement pass around, so Mike and Tommy run inside to drag furniture from the great room out; while Akio takes up sentry duty at the window. John leaves Carlos in the stairwell to grab something from the kitchen, which he claims that he has a better use for. Knowing John, he could decide to stand at the top of the stairs and drop cans on unsuspecting victims’ heads; but that would be a waste of supplies, so I’ll stop him if that is indeed the case.

I call Danny over to help me move some furniture over to our side of the hallway. Dragging a couch and a stainless steel coffee table to our side, we now have a little bit of cover to try and dodge a few bullets behind. Mike and Tommy have already dragged another couch in, and are now moving the dining room table into place.

I have to physically restrain myself from throwing myself on top of Diney, and begging for her to be spared. She’s too young! And I haven’t been able to take her for a test drive yet. Fortunately, I’m able to tear my focus away from the table when John returns with his arms full of, out of all things; dish detergent. I raise my eyebrows at him, but he just smiles and takes his bounty into the stairwell with him.

“What the fuck are you going to do with those?” Carlos asks with an incredulous tone. “Bubble them to death?”

“Obviously, you are not a fan of the movie,” John huffs.

He then goes down a few flights of steps as quietly as possible, while I lean over the railing to see what he’s doing below. John unscrews the lid to one of the bottles, and dumps the contents behind him as he walks back up. He continues dumping more bottles as he climbs each flight, so by the time he reaches the top, John’s finished emptying the liquid out of three of his five bottles. All I can think of is that Whit’s gonna be pissed. With Olivia wasting a bottle earlier, and John dumping another three, someone’s gonna get it, but at least it won’t be me.

“Where’re your slick shoes, Data?” I ask as John steps onto our floor’s landing, making him laugh at my reference to Goonies.

“I’m good with being Data,” John replies. “That token Asian saved all those stupid white kids with his inventions. Without him, they would have been up shit creek without a paddle.” Adding as if it were an afterthought, he says, “But you get to be Sloth.”

“Fuck yeah I’m Sloth,” I boast. “He may be the ugliest bastard ever, but he’s one strong mother fucker, who’s rocking a Superman t-shirt. And he gets to eat all the Baby Ruths he wants.”

“I’d figure you more of a ‘Mouth’ character myself,” I hear a muffled female voice say from behind me. “Because you almost never shut the fuck up, when I tell you to.” Spinning around to face Olivia, I see her visor is in place and her machete is at the ready. “We got company in five.”

Olivia walks back over to our side, with Danny scrambling after her. I glance at my watch, 12:00 a.m. They’re way earlier than that red headed cunt said they would be, just like Olivia warned us of earlier. I turn to John and Carlos, offering them good luck and ordering them to kick ass, before I jog back to the other side with fury coursing through my veins. Olivia was right once again, I’m glad that I banked my anger, because I can now unleash it on Victoria’s trespassing friends.

Arriving back on our side, I take up my position by the flipped over steel coffee table, which luckily doesn’t affect me in the same way Diney does. Oscar’s with me, while Danny’s hidden behind the couch. Olivia is crouched in her position in the corner next to the door. Since the door opens out, the plan is to have her stand behind it, listen to how many footsteps she can make out, and then signal for when I should cut the rope to the fridge’s booby trap.

Hearing the door to the downstairs open with a loud creak, we know it’s game time. The hallway is nearly pitch black with the candles now blown out, and so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. This allows the sound of light footsteps jogging up the steps to echo up to us, sounding like individual gunshots screaming out their arrival. We all prepare for Olivia’s count with baited breath. It doesn’t take long, after about thirty seconds, she holds up two full hands twice and then one hand with a ‘so-so’ shake, to indicate that there are about twenty-five raiders incoming.

The footsteps are getting increasing louder by the second, when Olivia makes a pulling motion with her arm. Taking my cue, I pull out my hunting knife, and hack the rope to the fridge in half with one strong swing; leaving a six inch gash in the wall. Putting the larger blade back on my holster, I hear the whirring noise of the rope rapidly being pulled from the loop attached to the ceiling, quickly followed by a sickening crash of metal and the crunch of breaking bones.

“What the fuck!” A raider exclaims, but he’s drowned out by the sound of running steps, that are treading the last flight of stairs with pounding feet. Obviously, they no longer caring about the amount of noise that they’re making. The door whips open a few seconds later to reveal a masked man in fatigues, that’s holding a flare, and followed by several similarly dressed raiders with flashlights. We let the first wave inside to give them a false sense of security, before attacking.

The stocking caps are pulled over their faces, hiding their features, but they don’t conceal the shocked eyes that pop out when an arrow spears the first man’s chest. He drops with his flare, along with two of the others from gunshots to the head or chest. The dropped flare casts a red glow around the room, and the flashlights the ones still standing are holding in their hands have effectively lit the narrow hallway up like individual Christmas trees. Their lights also highlight them as targets for us to strike, kind of like neon signs screaming, ‘Hit here!’ Olivia attacks from behind, silently slitting throats and spearing her machete through their backs, which then resurfaces on the other side, dripping life blood on the floor; all before they even know what hit them.

Five men go down, before the raiders can recover from their shock, and return fire. Two shots go over my head as I’m ducked to reload behind the coffee table. Beside me is Oscar with his assault rifle pumping holes through three bodies like Swiss cheese, while I go up on my knees with my 9mm in hand. I shoot off two consecutive rounds, which land between the eyes or in a forehead, before I drop back down to dodge the bullets being fired back in retaliation.

My ears are ringing with all of the guns going off at such close range, and echoing off of the walls in the narrow hallway; but I can still hear the grunts and shouts of pain coming from all around me. I’m hoping that none of them are friendly, but there’s no time to check. I know it’s an occupational hazard to have casualties, either fatal or superficial, but we can’t do anything to treat them right this second anyway. At least not until we win this battle for our turf.

I switch back to my crossbow and impale a guy in the stomach with the arrow. Seeing a guy sneaking up on a distracted Danny, I throw a knife with my left hand. It lands in the attacker’s uncovered eye before he drops the club that he was planning to whack Danny over the head with. Danny shoots me a disbelieving look, like he couldn’t possibly believe that I would save his ass when I despise him. It’s simple really; Sarah would kill me if I let anything happen to him. And the little piss ant may not be such a fuck up after all. I’ll reform my opinion of him later. After I get his number count, that is.

Oscar empties his assault rifle into the crowd; there are lots of hits to the torso areas, and a few misses that embed their way into the wall behind them. Olivia’s since taken cover behind the couch with Danny. She pops up, hurling her daggers with speed and deadly precision. Four daggers hit their marks, before she dives back down to recover. Danny takes up the slack while she’s busy pulling out more ammunition, emptying his clip into the two guys that were preparing to lunge over the couch.

I empty my own 9mm into the heads of the three guys coming closer to the tipped over coffee table in front of Oscar and me. Oscar has since switched to his handgun, and is now firing away, while I reload the crossbow to use my final four arrows. Since it’s a single fire weapon, I have to pause between shots to reload. It’s time consuming, but worth it when it hits the target in a red zone, like the heart, a lung or the brain. I aim for brains, but after one misses, since the guys manages to duck it, I switch to chest shots because they’re larger target zones. One of my last two arrows lodges between the dodger’s ribs, imbedding its way into his lung. As that guy falls, I see Oscar take a hit and go down.

Hurling my knife at the asshole that shot a member of my group, the fucker dies a quick death with a knife to his eye. A glance at Oscar shows him holding an arm, could be bad, but not fatal. Exhaling a breath, I grab Oscar’s uninjured arm and start dragging him back to the relative safety of the coffee table. That’s when I hear Olivia shout my name.

Turning to see what she’s shouting about, I find a big ass mother fucker diving over the table, in time to take me to the ground. Landing with bruising force, the breath expels from my lungs in one fell swoop, but I’m not going out without a fight. Fighting through the burn in my lungs, I break the choke hold that the guy was attempting to do, with an upward sweep of my arms. Wrapping my right leg around the bastard’s calf, I slam my left shoulder into his chest, and use his heavy weight against him, to flip us into the reversed position. As I come up on top, I have my hunting knife in hand, and am about to stab him in the heart, but that’s when I feel a forearm wrap around my neck in a successful choke hold. What the fuck is with these guys and choking? It’s so unoriginal.

I calmly grip the guy’s wrist and twist, hearing a satisfying crack, before I land an elbow in his gut. Using my final throwing knife, I end the whimpering coward who was holding his poor abused wrist. An injured Oscar is now rolling around with some unarmed dude, but he looks like he can handle it; so I look for the big mother fucker that I didn’t get the pleasure of finishing. Spotting his big ass trying to sneak up on Olivia, which is laughable because not only is the guy as inconspicuous as a clown in the Supreme Court; but no one, and I mean no one sneaks up, on the ninja which is Olivia.

The big bastard currently has his arms reaching out from behind her. Lunging forward, he wraps them around Olivia in a bear hug; and lifts her off of her feet like she’s a freaking rag doll. I’m about to go fuck him up for not only invading her personal space, but for also daring to lay his disgusting paws on her, and for breaking her no touching rule; when Olivia pulls her helmeted head forward and slams it into the guy’s face in a supersonic head-butt with all of her weight thrown into it. Olivia drops from his arms, landing in a low crouch before she turns with her machete raised, and relieves the asshole of his head.

His head literally rolls in my peripheral vision, when I make a dash for the baseball bat near Danny’s feet. Danny’s still using knives, and he’s actually pretty decent. Landing a few chest shots with only one or two misses, he could take John or Tommy in a knife throwing contest.

Raising the bat to my shoulder, I take a quick peek around to see how many are left. Since there aren’t any more gunshots popping off, there are now only a few clusters of men left, and they are all fighting in some form of hand to hand combat. Be that with fists, or with handheld weapons like clubs, bats or axes. Seeing an abandoned ax, I pick it up and pass it to Danny to use, since he’s now out of both knives and ammo; and hand to hand is not his strong suit. He immediately takes the weapon and runs into the fray.

Oscar, still favoring his right arm, is beating a guy with a club. Delivering a crushing blow, the raider ceases movement before Oscar looks around for a new target. Spotting one, he holds the club in his left hand and runs to sucker punch a guy with a haymaker from his right hand, who was attempting to come up behind a distracted Olivia with an ax. Quickly switching hands, Oscar brings the club down on the fallen guy’s head. While Oscar assists Olivia, I run over to help a struggling Danny out. He’s locked in a battle of strength over control of the ax, with a guy who’s a good four inches taller than him. Sweeping the legs out from underneath the bastard with my bat, I stomp on his throat.

“Pick someone your own size, you fucking bully,” I snarl and let Danny finish him with the ax.

Turning back to view the room, it’s complete carnage. While there are only two left standing, one with Carlos on the other side of the foyer, and one on our side, who’s currently sizing up who he thinks he can take; there are tons of bloody corpses strewn across the floor. I pick my steps carefully as I charge the contemplative raider to make his decision for him. I’m just about to bat a grand slam to end this shit, when a gunshot pierces my ear drums. The bullet whizzes past me and lands between the masked eyes of the final raider.

“I’m guessing I’m a little late for the party,” a familiar voice announces from behind me. “But better late than never, as my momma always said.”

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

Chapter Fourteen:

“I agree with your momma,” I say to Cory.

Turning to face him, I see that Cory’s holding a plastic bag of goods in his hand. Said bag goes dropping immediately to the ground, carelessly spilling the bottles of pills in a bloody puddle on the ground; at the same time I hear something else fall behind me with a clunk, and a choked voice says his name.

“Livi?” Cory asks with an equally affected voice, as he stumbles a few steps forward. “Is that really you?”

In response, five feet of leather clad woman; missing the helmet, run so fast it’s almost impossible to see her. Olivia’s jet black braid identifies her, as it flows behind her sprinting form. I’m thinking it’s to kill the son of a bitch who dared call her ‘Livi’ but alas, it’s not meant to be, because she instead hurls herself into Cory’s chest. His arms immediately encircle her in a bear hug that is a hell of a lot friendlier than the one she received twenty minutes ago. And far more welcome, judging by the way Olivia is clinging to Cory just as tightly.

I’m hoping that this is her long lost brother. Or a cousin’s, sister’s, ex-boyfriend’s uncle’s nephew. Anything other than what I think it is. But I’m proven wrong, when Cory pulls back and cups Olivia’s filthy cheek with absolute, undeniable love filling his eyes; as he takes in her beautiful face like it’s a dream come true.

Obviously, he’s not gay, so I’m gonna take a wild guess here and say that this is the missing fiancé. The bastard who deservingly spoiled her with a ring that must have cost him his life savings. Isn’t that just my luck? The one girl that I actually want warming my bed, already belongs to the guy who showed me how to survive. A true war hero, and handsome prick to boot, who owns her heart just as much as she owns his.

“I’m guessing you two know each other?” I inquire with a forced bland tone, since I want to scream my rage at the injustice of it all. But I guess this is what I deserve. This is my penance for bringing Victoria into our ranks, and mentally fucking or insulting Olivia for the majority of our short acquaintance.

But not Cory. Oh no, he deserves her in spades. And Olivia must agree, since she hasn’t stabbed him, or freaked out when he touched her; like he’s doing right now. The fucker has an arm wrapped securely around her waist, like a brand of ownership. What a dick, why not just lift your leg and piss on her?

“I’ve known Olivia her whole life,” Cory answers with a smile.

The bastard actually smiled. He never smiles. Not once in the entire year that he’s been with us, has he so such as cracked a glimpse of his teeth. Actually, maybe he has no teeth just like his grand pappy, and that’s why he doesn’t smile? That’s it. Cory doesn’t smile because he’s afraid his falsies will fall out. Ha-ha you toothless prick, I got all my teeth.

“I even changed her diapers,” Cory adds and earns a half-hearted elbow to the ribs from a grinning Olivia.

Okay, now that’s just sick. What kind of pervert changes the diapers of his future wife? A depraved fuck, that’s who. What’d he do, rob her from the cradle? I heard that they still do that down south, so he probably did, since he’s got at least five years on her.

And how dare he make her smile? Olivia likes to scowl, or glare daggers, like the one she hurls when she’s pissed; which is admittedly most of the time. That’s her forte, not a flash of beautiful teeth that light up the entire dimly lit room. She’s supposed to strike fear, not lust. Goddamnit, Junior! I said fear, not lust! Go back down into hiding before the real Olivia sees, and chops you off like the bodiless head staring at me with his dead eyes.

Hold the fucking phone. That’s it. Cory doesn’t know the psycho that he has the great honor of calling his fiancé. Maybe he’ll cut her loose, and I can swoop in as a revenge fuck? I’m game for that, a little bit of angry sex with the psycho is the least I could do for her as my personal thank you.

And when I say psycho, I say that in the most flattering way possible. There are good kinds of crazy, like ones that keep you alive; and then there are the bad kinds of crazy, like the ones that could get you killed. Also known as the red headed viper that’s bound and gagged in the master bedroom’s walk-in closet, and currently missing a few of her digits, as a courtesy to Olivia’s amateur surgeon practistry.

“Fuck,” I curse and rush into the condo, leaving the lovesick duo in the hallway.

I continue running toward the master bedroom, where Victoria is stuffed in the walk-in closet. What the fuck was I thinking leaving Leonard watching our captive? The man was having chest pains only this morning, and I assign him the extremely stressful task of containing a deceitful master of disguise as his captive? I’m cursing my stupid ass to hell and back, when I open the door to the master and step inside.

“I take it that we’ve won?” Leonard asks from his position still aiming a gun at the closet door, just as we left him four hours ago. I exhale a sigh of relief, and nod in answer to the question. “Then what the hell are ya doing here, boy? Go let the girls out.”

“I’m going, you lazy bastard,” I reply and hear Leonard chuckle as I close the door behind me. I jog down the hallway and approach the door for the office. Knocking our signal, I hear nothing in response.

“Jared is a stupid fuck,” I mutter and hear giggling in response to Sarah’s appointed password.

“Are you sure it’s safe, Jarry?” Sarah’s voice asks through the door. “Because the brother that I know, would never admittedly call himself stupid without a gun held up to his head.”

“Just open the fucking door, Sarah!” I shout.

“That’s more like it,” she replies. “I was getting scared there for a minute.”

“I’ve been scared for hours,” one of the hens whines. Chelsea? I can’t be sure without seeing them, since they all sound similar.

“Hurry up, Sarah!” That’s the unmistakable shriek of Kelly. “I have to make sure the boys are alright.”

“You mean you have to thank them with your womanly charms,” a girl, that sounds like Marissa, retorts. Scuffling ensues, most likely a tussle between the girls since a man is involved, and they are no longer in an alliance.

“Girls, that’s enough,” Whitney’s chastising voice orders and the scuffling stops, proving my theory to be correct. “Now, help us move this stuff, so that we can get out of here.”

I hear furniture being slid out of the way, as I pace for what seems like forever; when it’s probably only several minutes, before the door finally creaks open. Sarah bounds out first and I crush her into a hug. She may be a PITA, but she’s still my baby sister, and I couldn’t fathom life without her. Seeing her safe and sound, the final tension that was left over from the battle, releases in a rush that has me stumbling with exhaustion. Sarah laughs as she rights me on my tired feet.

“I think someone needs a nap,” she remarks as she pulls back with an awkward grin tugging up at the corner of her mouth. The lack of a confident smile is testament to how worried she truly was. That’s especially the case, when Sarah tries for the tough cookie act; one where she scrunches up her nose to cover the look of horror that her eyes reveal, as she looks me over. I’m covered in my own blood, the blood of fallen foes, sweat and grime.

“Bath first, and then sleep,” drill sergeant Sarah revises. I mock a salute before replying.

“Sir, yes sir.”

“It’s ma’am, you jackass,” Sarah says.

“Whatever,” I huff. “Just stay away from the hall.” I turn to encompass the other four females with my next statement. “It’s a mess, and I don’t want any of you girls to see it, until it’s cleaned up.”

“What about Olivia?” Chelsea asks. “She’s a girl.”

“No, she’s a dyke,” Kelly retorts.

“She is not,” Sarah snaps. “And I’d like to see you say that to her face. Or are you too scared?” Kelly is visibly terrified and shouldn’t even try denying it, but because Kelly is who she is, she gives it a go anyway.

“That bitch don’t scare me,” Kelly says and crosses her shaking arms.

“I wouldn’t let her hear you say that,” John warns from behind me. “We’ll be down another member if she does.” The fuck?

“Another?”

I spin away from the trivial nonsense that is Kelly’s game, to face John. In response, he waves for me and Whitney to follow him out into the hallway where the battle took place. John points to the corner where there are a cluster of the fighters gathered around the fallen member. I can’t stop myself from stopping to peering around the room to see where Olivia is, so I find that she’s over near the window and sitting on Cory’s lap. Seeing that she’s having a little powwow with him, I turn my attention back to whoever was injured, before I give into the childish urge to go and kick the legs of their chair out.

Jogging through the bodies on the floor, I shove a few people out of the way for Whitney to get through. That’s when I see Akio leaning over Mike’s prone form. Whitney takes up her husband’s hand in her own with teary eyes. His shirt has been cut open, and Akio is probing a gunshot in Mike’s lower abdomen with gloved hands, and a set of tweezers. There’s a small stream of blood flowing from the wound, but I don’t see any more holes. Mike’s conscious, and while he’s in obvious pain, I figure that must be a good sign.

“How you doing there, Mike?” I ask. Mike’s eyes look huge behind the thick lenses of his glasses, when they meet mine.

“It hurts like hell, but I’ll live,” he replies. I nod and look to Akio for confirmation.

“He’s lucky. It didn’t hit anything vital,” Akio confirms as he pulls a bullet out with the tweezers. “I’m more worried about the possibility of an infection, without the proper sterile equipment.”

“Dump some Jack on it,” I hear Olivia offer. I glance over in the direction of her voice, finding her now standing behind John and holding Cory’s hand. “That’s what I always use if I’m out of rubbing alcohol.”

“We’re fresh out of Jack,” I say dryly.

“Well, why didn’t you say anything?” Olivia inquires with false cheer. “I happen to have several bottles in my backpack.”

With that, she releases Cory’s hand, and runs into the condo. I see Cory’s eyes follow her every move, like he thinks that she’s going to disappear if he doesn’t keep an eye on her. Is that what happened before? Did they get separated because Cory let his guard down? How long ago was it? And is that why he always kept tabs on Sarah?

I’ll have to get the story from him later, because Olivia returns holding her pack in her hand. Kicking the holey coffee table over so that it’s right side up, she puts her bag down and rummages through. Her gloved hands come out with three bottles of Jack Daniels, one of which is opened and missing about half of the liquid. I’m guessing from tending her own wounds, because I haven’t smelt any evidence of alcohol on her. Just fresh apples, and a hint of mint.

Not that I’ll be smelling her anymore, thanks to her asshole fiancé’s miraculous reappearance. Yes, I’m bitter, get the fuck over it. I wanted to take her for a spin, just like every other red-blooded male in the room, and now I won’t be able to.

I wonder how Cory will react to his girl being used as fresh material to jack off with in mental fantasies? He’ll probably kill anyone who even looked at her wrong. Or, maybe they would just leave? They’re both survivors, and experts at their trade. So, what do they need us for? Fuck! They don’t need us.

“You aren’t leaving,” the words rush out of my mouth before they consult my brain for permission.

Obviously, Olivia was right yet again, because I am more of a Mouth than a Sloth. I mean, I basically just shrieked that like a clingy ex-girlfriend dragging herself after her rapidly escaping boyfriend and screaming, ‘Don’t leave me!’ What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve never felt this needy before. I learned a long time ago to depend on myself, since my dad proved to be more interested in his job, than his family. My mom was his complete opposite, but it’s different since I’m a dude; and the man who should have showed me the ropes, didn’t give a damn. I can honestly say that I learned more from John’s father, than my own, but that’s all in the past. My dad is gone, my mom is gone, John and Judy Moure are gone, and they aren’t coming back. Besides, I’m doing just fine without dear old Dad anyway.

“Huh?” Olivia asks from across the room near Akio. She’s given him the bottles of alcohol, and is now looking at me with that weird animal head tilt thing. Taking a deep breath, I try to make up for my blunder.

“I mean,” I begin. “I hope you aren’t leaving now. We need you.”

“I am leaving,” she replies. “Not right this second, but soon. I have shit to do.”

Looking at Cory, her eyes get pained, and he reaches for her hand. Olivia’s gloved fingers grip his and she doesn’t show a single flinch of discomfort, or anger at the touch. That simple gesture makes my chest burn in raw envy. And I’m never the jealous type. Never have been, not even once in my life, and now this pint sized Tomb Raider makes me want what I can’t have. What Cory has. He has her trust, but I don’t, and I never will. Maybe they should leave? Yeah, that would be for the best. Then I could finally be free of my DIC, and the urge to steal another man’s woman. That was a big ‘no-no’ in Mr. Moure’s book, and I refuse to disrespect the dead.

I turn away from the display of affection in front of me, and walk over to help John. He’s trying to move Mike into the condo, so I carefully grab Mike’s feet and lift. We make our way through the bodies with minimal jostling, and continue on toward the hospital room. Whitney and Akio stay in the room to tend to Mike’s injury, while John and I go back to start clean up.

Tommy and Danny are searching through the bodies for anything that we can use. They retrieve guns, knives, bats, clubs, and axes that were used during battle; and can be reused again. They then organize the stockpile of weapons on the bullet ridden dining table. Both are filthy, Danny with a black eye and a busted nose, which might be from me, but I’m not positive; and Tommy with a cut across his cheek, but they’re no worse for wear.

Carlos and Oscar are on the other half of the foyer, piling bodies in the corner. I’m not sure what to do with them. If we take them outside, they’ll attract the wheezers right to our doorstep; but if we leave them in here, it’ll reek. Oh well, at least we’re leaving soon, so I go over to give them a hand moving the corpses. As I’m dragging the sixth body, I notice that the twins did that freaky, identical shit again. On Carlos’s right, and Oscar’s left arms, are matching gauze patches wrapped over wounds. Carlos notices and looks at me questioningly, so I point to his arm.

“What hit you?”

“Knife,” Carlos answers.

“And you?” I ask Oscar.

“Same,” he replies.

“You two are freaky as shit, you know that?” I inquire and they laugh in unison.

That creeps me out even more, so I get back to the task of clearing out the hallway. A ton of bodies are missing parts. Dismembered arms, legs and heads, are all scattered away from their owners. My guess is that those bastards had the great pleasure of meeting Olivia’s machete. Most are riddled with bullets, same as the walls, tables and couches; but others have bashed skulls or knives sticking out of various areas in the corpses that John and Tommy haven’t gotten to yet.

My count of the pile is at forty-two when the others walk over to observe the gruesome mound. Danny looks like he may puke, the twins glare at the pile as if the corpses might rise from the dead and try to attack again, Tommy doesn’t look like he gives a fuck about anything but sleep, and John looks impassive. I glance around the room to find Olivia and Cory, but don’t find them.

I’m internally cursing them to eternal damnation in a fiery hell for leaving without so much as a word, when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Tensing in preparation of another attack, I pull out my hunting knife and whip the door open. Finding Cory carrying an unconscious body, I step aside and let him and Olivia through. Cory drops the guy on the ground and that’s when I notice that the raider is missing most of his right arm.

“Looky what we found!” Olivia exclaims excitedly, like she’s just been given a brand new set of leathers.

“A cripple?” John asks and scratches his stubble.

“Not just any cripple,” she corrects him, but doesn’t lose any of her exuberance. “This bastard was a raider. We found him covered in some slimy blue stuff, with his arm stuck underneath the washer.”

“I fucking knew it would work,” John boasts as he punches Cory in the arm, who scowls, but John ignores it. “Now, what do we do with him?”

“You don’t ‘do’ anything with him,” Olivia says with a now cold voice. “I found the prick, that makes him mine.”

“But I caught him,” John counters and steps back when Olivia moves forward a step. “I mean, where do you want him, Olivia?”

“I want him tied and tossed in a closet, like the other bitch,” she replies. “I’ll get answers out of them, even if I have to rip them out of him piece by piece.” I look to see how the fiancé is taking this display of crazy, but Cory looks like he may hold the body still for her to do as she pleases. Fuck, the asshole’s perfect for her.

“Can’t we just kill them already, and end this shit?” Tommy asks while releasing a loud yawn.

“Oh, we’ll kill them,” Olivia agrees. “But not before I get what I need out of them.”

“And what is that?” Oscar asks.

“A location,” she answers. When everyone looks for her to lengthen the vague answer, she just shakes her head and her face shuts down. “Never mind, that’s for me to deal with.”

“And me,” Cory adds with a steeled tone, and she nods.

“Any who,” Olivia says with faked indifference. “Cory was telling me that you were having some trouble convincing the majority of your group to move on.” I glare at Cory for sharing my inability to lead this group.

“We were,” he says nonchalantly.

That doesn’t mean I want Olivia knowing about my inaptitude. I already feel like shit for endangering the group, getting Mike shot, and dragging Olivia into my mess; I don’t need to be judged on top of all that. Because making me feel worthless, would just add any layer of shit on top of my pile, which I certainly do not need any more of.

“I have a solution,” Olivia says, interrupting my mental sob fest. This time when everyone looks at her, she answers. “How about a little story time?”

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

Chapter Fifteen:

Following Olivia’s instructions, we gather the entire group in the great room. Since there’s no longer any furniture, they’re all sitting on the rug like kindergarteners waiting for, well, for a story like Olivia’s planning to tell. How some fictional story is going to convince the group to move without a fight, has yet to be seen.

I would also like to know how the hell she got them all to stay quiet. The last time I called a meeting, they wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Maybe they’re more afraid of the miniature badass because of her run in with Kelly? Or maybe it’s the large amount of blood, which is still drenching her attire, that’s putting people off?

She didn’t even have to hog tie them like Red or the amputee raider. Our captives are still bound and gagged, but we dragged them into the kitchen so that we could keep an eye on them. As long as the girls don’t go in there, they won’t see the prisoners on the other side of the island and freak out. Once everyone has popped a squat in front of her, except for Cory, who’s standing by her side like her personal body guard, Olivia begins.

“I’m sure many of you are curious as to what exactly happened today, well, yesterday and earlier this morning; so, I wanted to gather you all together and explain.” Pausing to look over the group, she continues. “You took in a woman recently, her supposed name is Victoria, but it could just be an alias, I’m not sure. What I am sure of, is that she played a major part in what is called ‘The Screamer.’ The Screamer is a scam used by hostile raiders. A lone woman is placed near an area where there are known survivors. There, they stage an attack of wheezers, and have the woman scream to attract help.” Looking at me, she holds my eyes for a second before continuing.

“As Jared can attest to, he heard a scream, and responded. When he arrived, there was only one wheezer responsible for the hysterics, so, he dispatched it and approached the woman that you all know as Victoria.”

Multiple heads turn in my direction with questions in their eyes, as if to see if Olivia’s telling the truth. She is, though I have no fucking clue how; since I didn’t tell anyone about it, so I nod to confirm it and we all turn our focus back to Olivia. Me especially, because I want to see what else she recants.

“After saving her from the ‘monster,’” Olivia spits out the word like a curse. “Victoria threw herself into Jared’s arms like he was her personal Hercules, begging for him to help her. She gave him some bull shit excuse as to why she was alone. Her group got overrun, supplies were gone, her cousin’s sister’s boyfriend’s brother kicked her out for being useless. Whatever the fuck it was, it made him pity her, and want to help out.”

Pausing for breath, Olivia continues. “Victoria worked her way into the safe house, targeting the leader,” again Olivia meets my eyes. “She focused her attention completely on him in hopes of winning his favor, and to gain his confidence. She pretended like she was really interested in learning how you’ve all survived, but really she was finding out all of your secrets. Defenses, what you have for supplies, and whatever else that she and the others could have taken during the raid.”

“Once Victoria learned what she needed, she faked being a lazy drain of resources. But really, the bitch was sneaking out of the condo-plex and passing on the information to her fellow raiders. Since this group is small, they didn’t wait for more than a week to try and take it over.” Clenching her tiny fists, Olivia proceeds. “If they succeeded, they would have taken the women.” Angrily swiping at her eye, her voice is hard. “And killed all the men, before stealing the supplies.” Turning away, she finishes with a statement. “So, we didn’t give them mercy, since they sure as hell wouldn’t have shown any to you.”

“How do you know what would have happened?” Chelsea asks with an awed expression, as if all she needs is a bowl of popcorn to watch the apocalypse’s version of reality TV. Olivia turns back to answer the question.

“Let’s just say that I’ve seen it a few times,” she answers with a sardonic grin as she absently rubs her leather-covered wrist.

“And you didn’t help out?” Kelly’s voice accuses.

Kelly looks like she’s relishing the fact that Olivia might have a flaw and wants to drag it into the light, maybe to gain supporters in favor of tossing Olivia out like a lynch mob. Too bad I won’t let that happen, never mind Cory who looks like he wants to strangle the blonde for daring to insult his woman. Before either of us can defend Olivia like she’s some hapless female, she takes up her own offense.

“I helped you didn’t I?” Olivia counters. Her entire body is stiff until Cory walks over and massages her shoulders, as he whispers something in her ear. Olivia nods to whatever it is, and exhales a breath.

“But we wouldn’t have needed help if it weren’t for Jared,” Kelly replies with a smirk pointed at me. I don’t say anything, as much as I want to, because it was my fault. But I’m shocked as hell when I hear someone other than Sarah, who I thought would have jumped all over the chance to rip into Kelly, come to my defense.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Olivia hisses through her teeth, and shrugs off Cory’s grip to step forward. “Those sick fucks appeal to human nature. They prey upon human emotions to get you to act in their favor. Any man worth his salt, would have intervened if they heard a woman in trouble.” Looking back at me, she adds. “His only fault is caring too much.” Olivia then turns back around to glare at Kelly. “Because if he didn’t care so damn much, the group would have had the great benefit of never having had to deal with you.”

“Fuck you,” Kelly snarls.

“No, fuck you,” Olivia retorts and points a furious finger at the outspoken blonde. “How dare you insult the man who saved your ass from being eaten alive?” Kelly looks away and crosses her arms. “That’s right, you should be ashamed of yourself. Now, get out my sight before I assign you to clean up after the bastards who would have done a hell of a lot worse than eat you, if we didn’t kill them.”

Kelly leaves the great room and slams a door down the hall. Rubbing her temples, Olivia turns away from the group and walks out of the room in the opposite direction as Kelly, with Cory in tow. I have the great urge to tag along, and make a move to do so in order to see if she’s alright, when I feel a hand grab my arm to stop my forward progress. Following the hand, I find John, who shakes his head at me.

“What?” I ask. “I just want to check on her.”

“She’s fine,” he replies and jerks his chin at the door Olivia left the room from. “She has Cory.”

Don’t I know it? Shaking off his grip, I force my feet away from the carnage in the hallway where Olivia headed. I guess she would rather keep the company of the dead, then stay in here a minute longer. Dragging my feet the whole way, I enter my parent’s old bedroom; and avoid looking at anything in the room that belonged to them, as I make my way to the balcony. Sliding the door open, I step outside and grab a bucket.

Filling the bucket to the rim, I leave the balcony and walk through the bedroom to the master bath to start filling the tub. Because of the storm yesterday, the humidity is gone, leaving the rain barrels filled with the coldest water that we have had in days since the delayed heat wave began. I don’t mind the cold water after over a year of having no plumbing; especially on days like these, where every muscle in my body aches.

After the tub’s filled, I lock the door, strip and sink into the deep soaker. Letting my mind wander, I think back to when I first encountered Victoria. I never told Olivia about it, only that I heard a scream and ran to help, but she was spot on. I heard a scream, ran in to save her from the one wheezer within five blocks of her. Saved her, and then the bitch dove at me, begging for my help. She even used the having, ‘lost her group to a pack of monsters,’ as an excuse, just like Olivia assumed.

Every single thing that Olivia recanted in her story was based on truth. So, how much more was? Did Olivia really sit by and let other groups be slaughtered, without at least warning them? I don’t think that’s the case, because the Olivia that I know, would have run in and kicked ass. Just like she did with John and I back in the sporting goods store, or out front with her whistle. She would not have sat back and watched if she could have helped. So, that begs the question; was she a victim of a raid who escaped, or something more?

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

Finished with my bath, I pull the plug and watch the swirly brownish-red tinted liquid drain from the tub. Quickly pulling a towel over my hips, I exit the bathroom. I’m rubbing a hand towel through my hair when I hear a squeak, and have to use cat like reflexes to catch my towel before I’m bare assed.

“Holy shit!” I exclaim and turn to find the source of the sound with my heart pounding a mile a minute. Seeing Olivia standing by the bed, and looking anywhere but at me, I kinda wish that I was bare assed to see if she would blush or not.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Moving quickly, she starts for the door. “This was a horrible idea, I thought you would be dressed and we could talk, I don’t know what I was thinking...” She’s rambling all the way, and it’s adorable. Walking over to intercept her, I hold my arm out three feet in front of her; that way, there’s no physical contact.

“Don’t leave, I’ll get dressed.”

I’m proud that my voice doesn’t sound the least bit husky, even with my dick rapidly inflating, because he’s currently thinking it’s party time on account of half the work being done already. All it would take would be a quick strip down of my Tomb Raider, and we’d be good for business. Too bad Olivia’s not on board with my penis’s genius plan, since she’s shaking her head as she goes to move around my arm, but I just move with her.

“Please, I’d like to hear what you had to say.” And try to convince you to abandon Cory and get naked with me.

Thinking it over, she glances at me quickly and starts shaking like a Chihuahua, literally. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing, but I’d say bad; when I see the vacant look in her eyes. There goes my boner. Stepping back from her as quickly as possible, I hold up my free hand, to show her that I’m not going to stop her from leaving.

“I’ll meet you in the great room to talk,” I revise. “And you can bring Cory if you want.” That seems to calm her a little. Her grey eyes look a little clearer, and more lifelike than they were a few seconds ago. I’ll deal with the friggin fiancé if I must, to get her to say whatever it was she came here for.

“A-alright,” her voice still trembles a bit when she answers. “I’ll m-meet you in a f-few minutes.” She runs like the hounds of hell are nipping at her heels, only to stop at the master bedroom door and scramble with the knob. She begins pulling on it and rattling it almost off the hinges. “Fucking door! Open!”

“I guess you fell to the great and powerful opponent called a doorknob,” I quip and see her movements relax a little. “Next time, remember your can.”

“It’s the first time I forgot it,” she mutters and rubs her wrist.

Just like she did in the parlor earlier. I open my mouth to ask her if she sprained it or something, when she finally defeats the door knob, and slips out. I hear her talking to Cory outside, he’s asking if she’s alright, and why she was screaming. I don’t hear her reply, but I assume that she satisfied his questions, because he didn’t barge in here looking to kill me.

I exit the master and go down to the next door, which is mine, to get dressed. After pulling on some sweats, I close up my room and head toward the great room. I glance around the bare room, finding Olivia sitting with Cory on the window’s bench seat. Spotting me, she pats Cory’s hand and whispers something to him, which he agrees to.

Gently holding the back of her head, Cory pulls her head toward him. I really don’t want to watch their PDA; since it’s stirring unidentifiable emotions in me, but I force myself to pay attention in hopes that witnessing their love for each other will cure me of my DIC; allowing me to take the moral high road. I watch as Olivia closes her eyes and Cory leans, but instead of kissing her full lips like I expected him to; since that’s what I would have done, he plants a firm kiss on her forehead.

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.”

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

Chapter Sixteen:

“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.”

“Hit the sack, I’ll take over.” John shakes his head.

“You took watch at Olivia’s, and you’re going on fewer hours than I am,” he refuses. Seeing that he’s grumpy, I try for a compromise.

“How about we both keep watch?” I propose. “There are two of them, and Olivia would be pissed if they escaped.”

“Alright, but only because I like my fingers,” he relents. I watch as John gets that mischievous twinkle in his eye, the same one that I’ve seen any time his dirty man-brain makes its presence known. “I find that I have many pleasurable uses for these babies, and would rather keep them attached.” He wiggles said fingers at me, before continuing. “So, you can have your way, and keep watch with me, but know that it’s not because I think that I couldn’t handle it on my own.”

“As long as those fingers don’t perform any of those ‘pleasurable uses’ in my presence, you won’t have to worry about losing them,” I tell John and he laughs. “Speaking of missing fingers.” I look over his shoulder to see Victoria’s glaring eyes staring up at me from her position on the tile floor, underneath John’s ass, since he’s still sitting on top of her. “Thanks for the tip offs, but we didn’t need them you, deceitful skank.” I hear some type of growling behind the duct tape. “What was that? I can’t hear you sweetheart, you’ll have to speak up.” I hold up a hand to my ear and am satisfied to hear no more growls. Then I look at the raider with the missing arm. He’s now conscious and look, we have yet another pissed off captive.

“Welcome back, sir,” I say with mock politeness. “Did you enjoy your meet and greet with our washer? The damn thing was so excited to make your acquaintance, that it just couldn’t help itself from rushing down to greet you.” I look at the now wrapped stump on his left arm. “I hope you liked your souvenir, it’s one of a kind.”

“I wonder how he’ll like Lara Croft’s version of an introduction,” John comments.

“I’m guessing that he won’t like it, since he doesn’t seem to have enjoyed meeting Mr. Washie,” I reply.

“That’s a damn shame,” John says mournfully. “Washie gave his life for you, you cold bastard.”

Muffled words are shouted through the duct tape and dirty sock that we used as a gag, not that we could understand what he’s saying. Most likely he’s just cursing us for foiling their raid, and capturing him. I bet it’s something like, ‘And I would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for you meddling kids!’

Shut up, I freaking love Scooby Doo. And you should know by now that all men are kids at heart, so we never truly grow up; no matter how old our bodies might say that we are. We keep our immaturity for life. For example, it doesn’t matter how old we are, most of our conversations have, and always will, revolve around our penises, sex, video games, sex games, sports, different sex positions, work, hot women at work, women we want to fuck, and the women we do fuck. I’m sure you get the picture by now.

I’m pulled out of my own mental fantasy, one where I’m bending a certain and very willing raven haired goddess over a couch and burying myself eight inches deep, all because of the fucker that’s still mumbling through the duct tape. I kick the dream murdering asshole from my position on the stool, and he finally shuts up. Too bad I won’t have the honor of unmasking this douchebag, but Olivia sure as hell will. And who cares about this asshole raider, or his problems anyway? Not me, that’s for damn sure. I’m positive that once she gets some rest after a few days of sleepless hell, Olivia will be able to pry some answers out of him for whatever it is that she needed a location of.

Speaking of which, I tell John the necessary things that Olivia relayed to me. Nothing personal, because even if John is my best friend and can keep secrets, that doesn’t give me the right to spread her story that she told to me in confidence. It isn’t my place to explain why she is who she is, not only because she shouldn’t have to explain herself to anyone, but I don’t know the entire story myself; and because I don’t want her to regret sharing anything with me. Which she will, if she heard that her personal business got spread like common gossip all because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, and then she would never seek me out or share more of her past with me.

So, all of these things keep me sticking to the bare minimum. Which are that Olivia knows a safe place for us to travel toward, and she’s planning on sharing her proposal with the group tomorrow. No mention of her fiancé being, as Cory put it ‘gone,’ her mom being a volunteer, or that she knows more than she’s said about the raiders. But no one needs to know these things anyway. If Olivia decides to share her story someday, then that’s on her. I’ll be there to listen to anything she wants to talk about, but I won’t force her. As shown earlier, she’ll reveal more if she isn’t pressured. Maybe someday I’ll even have her trust like Cory or Travis.

And if that day were to come, I know that I’ll be one lucky bastard.

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

Chapter Seventeen:

It’s mid-morning before John and I are relieved of guard duty. Olivia claimed that she couldn’t sleep; and I guess that she didn’t, since she only went out into the hallway at five, and is already back before 9 A.M. Cory’s with her, but looks a tiny bit more rested. While Olivia’s eyes show her lack of sleep with the whites of her eyes being bloodshot and dark purple bags underneath, Cory looks tense; as if he just sat down, and had to get back up again before he was ready.

Leaving them to it, with promises that she’ll hold off on interrogating the prisoners, John and I hit the sack. I refuse to go into my bed, so I take up Sarah’s now empty one. She’s already joined anyone else that was awake, and is trying to follow the normal morning routine without the same exuberance as previous days. This is mostly because of the close call last night, along with the glaring reminder this morning with the room being empty because of that very threat. It’s not a very inviting environment with no furniture to sit on, having to step over tied captives while preparing breakfast, and dead bodies being stacked only a couple hundred feet away.

But I leave them to sort it all out, while I catch a few badly needed Z’s in order for me to function properly. Taking a quote from The Shining and tweaking it a bit, ‘All work and no sleep make Jared a rabid dog.’ As soon my head hits Sarah’s pillow, I’m conked out.

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

“Jared,” a female voice says softly. I ignore it since I want more sleep. “Jared.” The voice sounds a little annoyed this time, but I just snuggle down deeper into the quilt. “Jared, get the fuck up, or you aren’t getting any coffee.”

I spring upright and stare at Olivia with expectant eyes. Glancing around, I don’t see any of the promised sustenance. I turn my most ferocious glare at the raven haired beauty who dared to lie me about the love of my life. Her large grey eyes just stare right back with a hint of amusement hidden in their irises. She thinks I can’t see it, but I can, and it pisses me right the fuck off. You don’t fuck with me about my coffee.

“Before you try and attack me like you did John the other day, let me just remind you that I can, and will kill you, if you do,” she warns. “So, if you would like some coffee, get your lazy ass up, and get it yourself in the kitchen.” She points toward the door. “Because it’s almost gone.”

I’m already up and running before she says ‘gone.’ Nearly tripping on my sweats; they have since become loose due to food rations being stretched to accommodate more people than we were equipped to handle, I skid into the kitchen and find it empty. But people aren’t my goal, the fragrant smell that’s suffocating the air with deliciousness is. Using my bloodhound nose, I sniff it out; quickly finding it under the sink and hidden behind the cleaning products, and still remarkably warm. I don’t add anything to the pot or pour it into a mug, oh no, that would be a waste of time. Instead, I tip the whole container upside down, and chug like it’s a beer keg in college frat house.

“You weren’t kidding,” Olivia’s amused voice comments from somewhere behind me. “He’s like the freaking Cookie Monster of coffee.”

“And it’s the only way to get him out of bed willingly,” John replies.

“You should have seen him when we ran out a few weeks back,” Cory adds. “I thought I was going to have to put him out of his misery.” Turning to face the trio, who have since ganged up on me, I snarl at them. Which really loses its effect, when I have some liquid running down my chin like a kid high on laughing gas.

“If you recall correctly,” I hiss. “I told you to pick up some more.”

“It’s not like I can go pick it up at the corner store,” Cory retorts. “But seriously, Jared, you were having a man period over your lack of caffeine; it was just pathetic.” I flip them all off when they laugh. Having finished my gallon of coffee, which isn’t nearly enough to deal with this shit at, I look at my watch, two in the afternoon. Hold up, two in the mother fucking afternoon.

“Why didn’t you fucks wake me?” I demand and swap my gaze around to encompass them all. “I should have been up hours ago.”

“Sleeping Beauty needed his rest,” Olivia answers.

I’m finally awake enough to look at her. She has dark smudges under her eyes, and her face is filthy with a mixture of dirt and blood; not to mention she’s wearing the same leather attire as yesterday, minus the helmet. John and Cory are in similar states, while I’m fresh and clean, making me the odd man out.

“Besides, it’s not like you could have done anything today anyway,” she continues. “Mike is resting, and you haven’t convinced the group to live nomadic for a month, so what’s the big deal? I’m the one who had plans today.”

“And those plans are?” I ask and cross my arms because there is no way in hell that I’m just going to twiddle my thumbs, while she gets to have all the fun doing whatever the fuck it is she has planned.

“Interrogating the witness,” she says. “But you can’t come.”

“The fuck I can’t!”

“Now, hold up, Jared,” John interrupts. “We already talked, and we think that Olivia would work better alone.”

“No,” I bark. “She isn’t being locked in with some murderer.”

“Sorry to point out the obvious here,” says the woman in question. “But I am in fact a killer myself, and I have dealt with a hell of a lot worse.”

“Like what?” I inquire before thinking. I want to punch myself in the face when she gets this haunted look in her eyes. John glares at me, and Cory pulls her in for a hug, that she wouldn’t have required if my dumb ass would have kept his fucking mouth shut.

“Never mind, do whatever it was that you agreed on,” I revise. “I should have gotten up earlier, if I wanted to be included.” Olivia shakes her head.

“No, you’re right,” she says as she steps away from Cory’s embrace. “This is your house, your group, and I’m just a temporary guest. If you want to come in, then I won’t stop you, but you better not stop me either.” Her gaze captures mine and holds it to make her point clear. I nod and she continues. “Then let’s go interrogate our perp.”

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

Olivia said she needed something out of her bag, so I’m waiting for her in the living room. When she comes back, she points at the door. It’s only when Olivia walks down the hall, that I notice she’s changed, and isn’t wearing most of her leather gear.

She has a pair of jeans on that actually fit her height, another turtleneck, a sweat-shirt that’s loose and must belong to Cory since it almost reaches her knees, sneakers, and her leather gloves in place. Her face is also clean and her braid is freshly done; I’m guessing it’s to try and make herself seem more approachable, or less threatening, when she questions her captives. That whole ‘you catch more bees with honey’ act, but I’ll have to wait and see, since she’s on a mission and I promised not to interfere.

Walking to the back staircase of our condo’s foyer, Olivia opens it and motions for me to pass before shutting the door behind us. She then leads me a flight upstairs to the next floor’s condo unit. Knocking on the door, Carlos answers a few seconds later, and ushers us inside.

“Thanks, Carlos,” she says. “We have it from here.”

How the fuck did she tell them apart? I only knew because of the arm patch on the right arm, and I’ve known them a hell of a lot longer than she has. I’ll have to ask later, because after Carlos nods, he leaves the condo with a silent click of the door indicating it latching in place.

In the middle of the room are two chairs, both of which the captives have been tied to. Their hands are bound to the arm rests, and their mouths are still duct taped. I avoid looking at Victoria before I trip my gag reflex, and observe the amputee at her left. The raider’s ski mask is already off, so I can finally see his face.

He’s one ugly mother fucker, with his beady eyes that are way too close together, a hooked nose that’s been broken multiple times; meaning it’s slanted at an unnatural angle. I can’t see his mouth due to the gag, but there’s a scruffy beard that’s unsuccessfully trying to hide his weak chin. My mother always said to never trust a man with a weak chin, and seeing that this guy has one that’s almost nonexistent, I think that she was right. I’m guessing him to be in his late thirties or early forties due to the amount of grey in his more salt than pepper hair, but he could just be prematurely grey since he doesn’t have the lines that usually develop with age.

Pulling a knife from somewhere on her person, Olivia steps forward. I’m thinking she might start cutting first, and ask questions later, but she just cuts a hole in the duct tape and pulls the sock through to remove it; enabling it so that he can talk.

“Hello there, my name’s Olivia, and this is Jared,” she introduces with an upbeat voice and waves a hand at me. “And welcome to our home. I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay with us thus far.” Olivia taps her chin as she observes the red head who’s currently glaring at her. “I don’t think your friend, Icky Vicky, has enjoyed her visit, but she was a bit, shall we say, difficult? But I do so hope that you’ll be a more accommodating guest.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” the guy snarls at Olivia.

“Now, that wasn’t very nice,” Olivia says as she taps her index fingers together in a ‘naughty-naughty’ gesture. “I guess I’m going to have to teach you some manners.” Taking a few steps forward, Olivia grips one of the guy’s fingers on the remaining left hand, and pulls up. An audible crack reveals that she broke it, but the guy doesn’t utter a peep, or grunt in pain.

“That the best you got?” Raider man taunts. Olivia smiles, it’s not one of her enchanting ones, this one promises pain.

“Oh no,” she replies with a wave. “That was just seeing if you have a pain tolerance. I’m guessing that yours is pretty high, macho man that you are, so I’ll have to try something else.” Olivia walks over to the corner and returns with a club; which she taps against her palm. “You see, I’m a big fan of Kathy Bates, most especially her role in Misery. As you might have guessed, I’ve always wanted to try and reenact the scene where Annie breaks Paul’s ankles.” Olivia smiles at the raider, who visibly pales, and I see his Adam’s apple bobs with a gulp.

“But I bet you’d like to avoid that, now wouldn’t you?” Olivia asks, and her captive’s nods his head adamantly. “Then I’m going to give you two choices here, Frank,” she begins and the raider’s eyes widen a little at her usage of the name. “And yes I know that you’re Frank.” She leans in close. “But do you remember who I am?” The guy just stares at her. “Let me give you a hint.”

Olivia pulls up her shirt sleeves and methodically removes the gloves that go up to her forearms. On both wrists are raised scars that mar the creamy skin. About three inches thick, they both encircle her tiny wrists like grotesque permanent bracelets, that piss me right the fuck off. Who the hell did that to her, and is he still alive so that I can have the great pleasure of killing him?

“Li-Livi?” Frank asks with disbelief. “He said you were dead.”

“I’m sure he did,” she mocks. Standing to her full 5’2”, she holds up her arms. “But here I am, alive and very much well, thanks so much for asking.” Covering her scars immediately back up with jerky movements, she doesn’t speak until her gloves and sleeves are back in order. Then she claps her hands. “So, Frank, are you going to choose the easy way, and tell me what I want to know? Or, are you going to end up like Paul, or the red headed slut sitting next to you, who’s missing three of her fingers?”

“I-I’ll talk,” he replies nervously with a glance at Victoria. “Wha-What do you w-want to know?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Olivia says easily.

“You w-want to k-know where he is?” Frank asks and Olivia gives a stiff nod. “I-I’m not sure.” Olivia picks up the club and pulls it back to prepare for a swing at his knee caps. “WAIT!” Lowering the club slightly, Olivia waits for him to continue. “I don’t know where he is as of right this second, but I know where he was yesterday. Will that work?”

“Depends,” she answers. “I want locations, numbers of men, and how many prisoners he’s keeping. If you satisfy all of my requirements, and tell me the truth, I’ll let you live.” Nodding vigorously, Frank agrees.

“Absolutely,” he says. “I will absolutely tell you everything that I know right now. He was in Somerville last night with a hundred men, and about a ten prisoners.”

“Only ten?” Olivia demands.

“Yes, only ten,” Frank repeats. “He got bored a few weeks back.”

“He tends to do so often,” she remarks.

“Not when you were there,” he retorts. Olivia’s eyes flash to steel and she grips Frank the throat.

“What did you say?” Olivia asks, her voice is filled with deadly intent.

“I-I said th-that...” Frank doesn’t finish.

“You said what!” Olivia bellows and shakes him by his neck.

“That he’s going to love the new you, you cunt,” the bastard finishes with the sneer, ditching the mumbling, defenseless act altogether. “He so did like the way you...”

Olivia doesn’t let him finish, she swipes her dagger across his jugular, ending whatever he was about to say. Blood sprays out in an arch, then pours from the wound like a waterfall. Frank gasps for air like a fish out of water for a few minutes, before slumping forward. Stumbling back a few steps, Olivia drops her bloody weapon and lifts her blood covered hands to cover her ears. She may be a tough badass, but judging by her reaction, she sure as hell doesn’t enjoy it.

“Olivia?” I ask softly.

She either ignores me or didn’t hear, because she walks all the way to the corner before sliding to the floor and wrapping her arms around her knees; it’s as if she’s trying to hold herself together. Her already small stature shrinks to the size of a toddler, as she ducks her head down to bury it in her knees like a personal cocoon.

Taking a few cautious steps in her direction, I hear her mumbling something. When I’m about five feet away, I say her name again and her tear filled eyes meet mine. That wreaks havoc inside my chest and makes me want to do something that I’ve only done out of obligation before, which is to comfort a woman.

Slowly, as if I were approaching a wounded animal, I stick out my hand in her direction. I’ve seen her accept similar gestures from Sarah, Whitney and Cory, so I’m waiting with baited breath that she trusts me enough to accept mine.

Her gaze moves from my hand to my eyes a few times, and just when I’m about to admit defeat and get Cory, Olivia reaches out with a trembling hand to meet mine. I don’t apply any pressure, or curl my fingers over hers, until Olivia’s move first. Her tiny fingers grip mine softly, but as she gains confidence, they pick up in strength. I don’t pull her toward me like I want to, I just hold her hand in a loose grip for a few minutes. When her eyes don’t spill any more tears, I think that it’s safe to try and coax her out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask and she shakes her head rapidly. Holding up my free hand, I nod. “Okay, we don’t have to. Just know that I’m here, and would listen anytime you feel comfortable sharing. I don’t care if you think it’s silly or not, I want to hear it.” Olivia stares at me for what seems like twenty minutes, when it’s probably only twenty seconds before nodding.

“Thank you,” she whispers quietly. And this time, instead of walking out like a dick, I reply.

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s get out of here.” Olivia glances at Victoria. “She’s not going anywhere, let’s go downstairs and we’ll come back in a little while. I’m hungry, and maybe you could take a bath? I wasn’t going to say anything, but you’ve had this odor coming off you, and it’s making me tear up.”

Olivia laughs like I hoped she would, before I cautiously help her to her feet. Honestly, I just want to get the asshole’s blood off of her, before she has another anxiety attack. There’s a smeared spray that goes across the grey fabric of the sweatshirt on her chest, up to her face, and obviously on her gloved hand that delivered the killing blow, that is currently holding mine.

“I think I could definitely use a bath,” she agrees with a wrinkle of her adorable nose. “The last time I seen one, was when I made you fill it.”

“I could help you again,” I offer.

“That would be nice,” she says. “But I’m cooking tonight as payment. Deal?”

“Deal.”

I’m still holding her hand as we walk toward the door to the 4th floor’s condo, but I don’t think she realizes it, because she hasn’t pulled away. I actually like it, and I’m shocked. I’m not the cuddling type, and I haven’t made a point of holding hands with women, but this is different. Maybe it’s because I’m trying to comfort her, or maybe it’s because it shows that Olivia is starting to trust me a little. Whatever the reason, I like it and hope that we can build off of this, since I’m sure that Olivia could be a great friend if she let her guard down around me a little more.

It’s at the stairs that I regrettably have to break contact with her to walk. Her small reach isn’t capable of walking downstairs safely while holding on to me, so I release her hand and head down first. As soon as my tread reaches our level, the door springs open to reveal John and Cory. They go to open their mouths, but a quick shake of my head silences them. Olivia keeps her head faced slightly downward, like she’s ashamed of herself. Clenching my jaw, because she has nothing to be ashamed of, I restrain myself from saying something that could cause backlash.

“Call a meeting, John,” I say as I lead Olivia toward our condo. “I’m going to help Olivia fill a bath, so that she can cook for us tonight.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” John exclaims and runs ahead of us with excitement blatantly evident at the prospect of one of Olivia’s creations.

Following his exuberant footsteps at a more somber pace, Olivia trails in my stead, with Cory right behind her. After telling Cory her destination, he leaves us in the great room while I lead Olivia to the master. Knowing her aversion to door knobs, I leave this door open a crack and see her smile a little when she thinks I’m not watching.

Walking over to the slider, I grab the bucket and set to filling the tub. It takes several trips, but it’s worth it to see Olivia’s grey eyes bright and happy over the idea of a bath. The water temperature is much warmer today with the August sun beating down on the rain barrel all day, so there was no need to warm it this time. Which is a good thing, since we don’t have a real fireplace; only one of those electric ones that are now useless.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I show Olivia where the variety of soaps, shampoos, conditioners, disposable razors and teeth supplies are before handing her a few towels and leaving her to it. I exit the master, again remembering not to close it all the way, and make my way to the great room.

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

John’s already called the meeting to order, so everyone except Oscar; who’s on watch, is in the room. Including Mike, who is sitting on a chair brought in from the office. Seeing him able to make the trip out here shows that his recovery is imminent, so long as he doesn’t get an infection as Akio feared.

Looking around to make sure that the remaining thirteen members are present or accounted for, I begin the meeting. Before I propose Olivia’s option of going to the military compound, I refresh their minds with the dangers of staying here. Citing Olivia’s recount of ‘The Screamer’ incident, and the possibility of retaliation by the remaining raiders, I then inform them of the wheezer packs becoming more and more common. With the risks now firmly in their minds, I present Olivia’s solution. There are concerns raised, same as the last meeting, but they are voiced in a much more orderly fashion this time around.

Giving everyone a turn to ask their questions, either John, Cory or myself field the responses to the best of our abilities. Maybe it’s because they’ve seen the evidence of the raiders, or maybe it’s because they like the idea of a protected compound in the somewhat near future, but for whatever reason; the group agrees to give Olivia’s plan a try before we give in and go south. With the plan agreed upon, the group disperses with the exceptions of Tommy and Carlos, who I’ve asked to stay behind. I wait for them to walk over before speaking.

“Carlos, could relate all the details to the plan to Oscar?”

“No problem,” Carlos answers.

“Make sure he knows when and where we’re going.” Carlos nods and I continue. “And Tommy, I’m going to need help moving a body down from upstairs. Are you willing?”

“Damn, she works fast,” Tommy comments.

“Let’s just say that he pissed her off, and she ended it as soon as she got what she needed,” I reply vaguely.

“Alright, let’s get it done,” Tommy says.

I follow him upstairs and enter the condo. The raider, Frank, is still slumped over and has slightly stiffened in his final resting position, while Victoria’s still strapped to the chair next to him. She glares at us as we enter, but we just ignore her, as we cut away the restraints to the dead man. Making quick work of the duct tape and ropes, Tommy takes the guy’s feet and I take up a grip under his arms. His head lolls back revealing the gash in his throat. The bloody wound has dried up some, but is no less gruesome, so I avoid looking at it directly.

Carrying Frank’s corpse out of the condo, we ignore Victoria’s mumbled words and make it back to our floor. There’s still the pile of bodies from earlier this morning, so we add another to it. We’ll figure out what to do with the rest later. Especially since it smells like death in here. And that honestly cannot be healthy for us to live with.

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

Chapter Eighteen:

Finished with disposing of the body for now, Tommy switches with the twins for watch duty, and the three of us head inside the condo. Immediately smelling something delicious, I follow my nose to the kitchen. A few steps away I hear things being thrown, then see John bounding from the doorway at full speed, with something in his hand.

“John, you greedy bastard!” Olivia’s voice shouts. “Stay the fuck out of my kitchen, or I’ll skin you alive!” Chuckles echo from the room as John holds up his hand to show me his bounty; a steaming slice of bread, with a grin plastered on his face.

“Fucker, give me a piece,” I demand and go to wrestle him to the ground. Before I make contact, John stuffs the entire slice into his mouth. “I hope you fucking choke, so I can refuse to give you the Heimlich, you selfish prick.” John ignores me as he chews his mouthful, swallows and licks his lips with a moan.

“Scrumptious,” he says with an unrepentant grin. Olivia comes from the kitchen with a wooden spoon in her hand. Coming up behind an unaware John, she raises it up and I don’t warn the greedy bastard since he deserves it when she smacks him on the back of the head. John yelps, making me grin evilly, while he spins to face her; rubbing his smarting skull. “What the fuck?”

“Don’t you ‘what the fuck,’ me, mister,” Olivia orders as she waves her spoon at him. It’s fucking hysterical, seeing her chastise a man over a foot taller than her, but I refrain from laughing, or else I’ll undoubtedly get a matching wallop from her weapon of choice. “I said to wait for it to cool a little, but did you? Of course not, and now your tongue is burnt, isn’t it?” John looks away, revealing that she’s right. “That’s what I thought. Now, you won’t be able taste supper.”

“Damn it, I wasn’t thinking,” he replies with his ‘ah shucks’ toe scuffling look. Olivia views it and smirks a little.

“Go wash up, it’ll be done soon.” Olivia moves her gaze to me and shoos me to join him. “You go too, and I’ll give you an extra slice of bread if the two of you come back squeaky clean.”

I’m already shoving John’s lanky form down the hallway when she said ‘extra bread,’ and ignore the laughs that follow behind. Whoever’s laughing obviously hasn’t tasted the heaven which is Olivia’s cooking, so I’ll be having the last laugh later. Right now, I have to get this fucker in front of me clean before I can collect my reward. Shoving John in the master bath, I collect a bucket of rain water from the nearly empty barrel for bathing, run back and hurl the contents at a sputtering John.

“Scrub everything visible, or I’ll take your helpings,” I warn.

John growls at me, but starts scrubbing like I told him to. John is known to act like a muddy toddler refusing a bath, when there’s only cold rain water available for washing; so the growl is expected, and ignored as I grab soap and go back to the balcony to approach the bathing barrel. There’s only about three bucket-fulls left, meaning the others must have used it when I was sleeping, or for cleaning up after the bodies, so I just hop right in.

Fully clothed, I submerge myself in the lukewarm water and rub the soap around to the best of my ability in the cramped space. Rinsing off as much as possible, I hop back out of the barrel and walk back into the master with squeaking boots, and a trail of water in my wake. John steps out of the bathroom and gives a spin for my inspection, which I nod to, before we go back out to the great room.

Walking through the empty living area, we see that the dining room has been set to rights by using a tablecloth to cover the holes in the table. I check out the legs, releasing a sigh of relief when I see that they’re all still intact. Whew, that was a close one. Looking up, I see some mismatched chairs, that weren’t broken during the raid, have been pulled up and are being occupied by everyone in the group except for Tommy since he’s still on watch. Seeing the empty seats near Cory, I look around and don’t see Olivia. Giving Cory a questioning look, he tilts his head at the kitchen where I can clearly see Olivia bustling around and collecting things.

Cory stands to give her a hand, while I sit there gawking like a schoolboy. She’s wearing work worn jeans in a faded blue color, a loose long sleeved turtleneck, that can’t hide her heavily rounded curves, and end in her elbow length leather gloves. Those same damn gloves that she wears to hide her scars as if she’s self-conscious of them. I want to burn them at the thought, but am distracted by her hair.

Her midnight black hair is down again, reaching her lower back and shining in the candlelight that’s illuminating the darkening room. All the same length, she pulled a few strands from the front and braided it like a headband, so that I can see her full red lips as she chews on the bottom one in concentration. What I wouldn’t give to bite that lip myself.

Shaking that ridiculous thought away, I walk over with my squeaky shoes to see if she needs any additional help. Olivia spins to face me with an amused look at my boots. Switching her attention from my feet to my eyes, I can see the mirth dancing in her grey eyes.

“I guess you’re really hungry,” she says. “Because here you are, literally squeaky clean, in under twenty minutes.” Glancing at the table to see John, she smiles, making me see red. Fucking pretty boy attracts women like pigs to shit. “Depending on your sidekick’s state, you’ll get your extra bread.”

The sidekick comment punches the jealousy I felt in the gonads, and makes me puff up. Damn right he’s the sidekick in this duo. Robin to my Batman. Patrick to my SpongeBob. I’m the lead man who gets the girl, while the sidekick looks on in envy.

“Great, now you’ve fried his feeble brain with thoughts of food,” Cory mutters with pointed look at me, showing that he knows my thoughts are about anything other than food, and don’t like it.

Well neither do I, I want to shout. I didn’t ask for my insane attraction to the woman in front of me, nor can I help it. She’s gorgeous, smart, and a survivor. What’s not to like? Sure, she has violent tendencies, and armor a mile thick, but she’s the total package that I would love to unwrap as an early Christmas present.

A punch to my shoulder pulls me out of my internal fantasy of Olivia popping out of a box, wearing nothing but a bow. Rubbing my arm, I remove my stare from Olivia’s beautiful backside, to meet Cory’s furious eyes. Is he jealous? What about her being his brother’s girl? Where’s the loyalty?

Probably the same place my dick’s is, which happens to be pointed at Olivia. Well, step the fuck in line asshole, because if anyone is going to seduce Olivia away from her promise to an absent man, it’s gonna be me. Glaring right back at the slightly taller bastard beside me, he gestures between us to say this isn’t over, which he’s damn right it isn’t. He manages to break eye contact with me before Olivia spins away from the stove with a huge pot in her tiny hands.

“We’ve got this, Jared, but thank you,” Olivia says with small smile.

Olivia hands the pot to Cory, who gives a smile in return to her, while flipping a discreet finger in my direction. I flash a bite me grin of my own to Cory, before grabbing a bottle of wine off the counter on the way out. I plan on getting drunk off my ass with whoever’s wine this is, before I do something stupid. Like compliment Olivia, and end up with a knife in my throat from either her, or Cory’s handiwork.

Fuck, I should have put two and two together when I saw her knife handling skills, especially after having been a student to the knife wielding master myself. I’m no better than that brain dead senior who took my virginity freshman year of high school.

I plop down in my usual chair, and ignore John’s amused smirk at who the fuck knows what, in favor of pouring a healthy glass of wine. Chugging down the dry red liquid, I hardly notice the earthy flavor as it rolls down my throat. I go to pour some more, when a miniscule hand in a black glove, whacks it away. Turning with surprised eyes at Olivia, since she just willingly touched me without freaking out, I find that freaking out is the last thing her pissed off eyes have in mind.

“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.

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

Chapter Nineteen:

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?”

“I don’t think I’m the one to judge,” he answers and looks at me. “What do you think, Jared? You’re the one whose blood used to flow south, whenever she came around.” Flipping him off, I ignore the question.

“I think that she won’t be turning any more heads with that hack job,” John announces.

“Thank you, John,” Olivia says with a quick smile in his direction. “That’s what I was hoping for. Now I just have to remove the tape, and we can talk.” Olivia grips one end of the duct tape, ripping it off in one wicked yank; so this leaves Victoria cursing with a red mark forming on both of her cheeks.

“Fucking cunt!” Victoria shrieks. “I’ll kill you.”

“I believe you tried that already,” Olivia replies dryly.

“This time he won’t stop me,” the red head counters as she grins wickedly.

“You aren’t going to have the chance, and neither will he, which we both know he would do again if you tried.” Red glares at Olivia, but she ignores it. “How about you cut the shit and tell me what I want to know?”

“Screw you,” Victoria says. “He loves me, and he’ll come for me. Just you wait and see.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Olivia spits out. “He only cares about himself.” Victoria cackles like a witch.

“No, he loved you,” Red says. “He loved you all day, ev-ery day.” Olivia digs her gloved fingers into the woman’s cheeks.

“You don’t know what love is, you sick bitch, so don’t you fucking dare to desecrate that word again,” Olivia says in an icy tone. “Am I clear?” Red hair bobs in answer. Olivia shoves Victoria’s head back with so much force, that the chair almost tips over, before it rights itself. “How much of what Frank said is the truth?”

“None. He always was a good little soldier.”

“Don’t insult my friend here,” Olivia tips her head at Cory. “He was an actual soldier, and doesn’t take kindly to those who slander him or his brothers in arms’ profession. Especially those responsible for fucking with one of their own.” Cory cracks his knuckles and the red head pales as much as a ginger can.

“Fucking, alright already, Frank the good little minion that he was, knew better than to tell you anything. So, he pissed you off enough that he could take it with him to the grave.” Victoria smiles at that. “You don’t like talking about our time together, do you?” Olivia pulls her knife out and goes to lunge, but Cory holds her back with an arm around her waist. Whispering in her ear, Cory gets Olivia to nod and settle down before he releases her.

“Enough!” Olivia shouts and bitch smacks the red head. “Frank was a cowardly douchebag and he died one. How about you try to redeem yourself, and tell me where he is?”

“No,” Victoria replies. “It’s much more fun playing with you.” Pausing to lick her lips, she continues. “I bet you wouldn’t like for anyone to know how much of a whore you really are, now would you?” Cory grabs hold of the raging pixie before she strangles the life out of the taunting captive.

“Cory, let me stab this bitch!” Olivia shouts as she struggles to get away from his hold. She’s trying to land head-butts and elbows, but Cory expects them, and is able to evade the majority. “I promise I won’t kill her yet! Just one little slice, and I’ll back off.”

“No way,” Cory replies with a hard tone. “You’ll kill her, just like she wants you to.” Olivia growls, but stops struggling as she listens to him.

“Remember what we did to your boyfriend?” Cory tenses and Olivia pulls out her gun. “Do you remember him, Livi?” Olivia lunges forward and this time Cory doesn’t stop her, so she lands a pistol whip to the red head’s nose. Victoria laughs as blood trails down her lips and into her mouth.

“Funny, I recall doing something similar to him,” Victoria sneers.

“Shut the fuck up,” Olivia growls as she puts the gun to Victoria’s head. “Not another fucking word, do you hear me?”

“What was the name you kept whining about?” Olivia punches Victoria in the jaw, but that doesn’t stop the red head. She just spits more blood out of her mouth, along with a tooth, but keeps talking. “Something with a ‘T.’ Thomas, Terry, Timmy, no those weren’t it.”

“Don’t you fucking say his name,” Olivia hisses through clenched teeth.

“Ah, I remember now, it was Travis,” Victoria continues. Olivia smacks her, but that doesn’t stop Red. “He was the boy wonder, who kept pleading for us to let you go.” Olivia covers her ears and sinks to the floor before curling up into the fetal position. “‘Please, just let her go. Do whatever you want to me, just leave Livi alone.’” Victoria smiles in triumph at Olivia’s distraught form on the floor. “‘She’s carrying our baby.’”

I’m sick to stomach and want to choke the life from the bitch, so I couldn’t even begin to imagine how Olivia’s feeling right now. I look down at her curled form that’s shaking on the floor as she starts singing something softly to cover up the noise getting through her gloved hands. Whatever the song is, it sounds just as mournful as she looks.

“But what did Cole do?” Victoria continues. “He kicked that precious baby right on out of you because he wasn’t going to share you with a bastard.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Cory roars before he kicks Victoria’s chair over. Stomping over to Olivia, he stoops down to scoop her up and carries her out the condo with Victoria’s cackle echoing behind them.

“John, grab the duct tape so we can gag this bitch,” I say and glance over at him. John looks like he wants to snuff the life out of the red headed skank himself, but grabs the duct tape from the floor.

“Are you sure you want to gag me, Jared?” Victoria taunts. “Then you wouldn’t hear about your new whore Livi’s time with us.”

“Shut your fucking mouth,” John snarls at her. Victoria ignores him and keeps talking from her position on the floor.

“That slut lured Cole away from me,” she spits out. “Flaunting her dark hair, huge tits and red lips. That whore forced Cole to abandon my bed, and go to hers. Every. Single. Night.” The crazed red head starts crying at this point. “For months he ignored me, until I just couldn’t take it anymore. So, what did I do? I snuck in one day while she was alone and chained up in the basement. First, I cut off all of hair.” Red sniffles a little before spitting on the floor. “Even then the cunt was beautiful, so I stabbed her a few times to make her hurt like she hurt me. But she didn’t so much as squeak.” I try covering her mouth, but Victoria bites my hand.

“The slut just stared at me with those dead eyes of hers, as if she didn’t even care one bit that she was ruining my life. Like stealing my man was no big deal. And that’s when I pulled my knife out, and held it to her throat, before I started carving.” Victoria’s now heaving out her words through her tears.

“But I didn’t get to finish. Cole found me and tore me off of her. ‘The bitch is mine, and no one touches her without my permission.’” Another bark of insane laughter bubbles from her throat. “If he only knew how many of his men were touching her without his precious permission. She’s nothing but a no good slut.”

I want to puke. I didn’t think that I had such a weak stomach, but hearing this tiny tidbit makes Olivia’s delicious rabbit stew curdle up in my stomach like spoiled milk. My mouth is even watering with that pre-vomit excess saliva, to the extent that I have to force myself to swallow hard in an attempt to keep the bile from climbing up my throat.

“Jared, just let me kill her,” John pleads. “She’s not going to tell us anything, and it isn’t right to make Olivia relive this shit. Once was more than enough.”

“No, as much as I would love to kill her myself, Olivia deserves the honor of it. This insane bitch can wait until she decides what to do with her.”

Motioning him forward, I lift the chair back up and grip what’s left of the red hair to keep her head place. Victoria starts struggling and screaming out curses at Olivia, but we just stuff a dirty sock in her mouth, and wrap a roll’s worth of tape over her mouth. Once it’s secure, I release my hold and back far away from the deranged woman who tormented Olivia out of twisted jealousy. And that’s what it was, since it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Olivia wasn’t a willing participant in whatever that sick fuck named Cole did to her.

He kept her chained in a basement like an animal for months. That’s where those scars on her wrists came from, and I want to find the bastard so that I can do some chaining of my own. There’s no telling how many other scars are hidden beneath her leather armor. Because that’s exactly what it is, armor to protect herself from humans and wheezers alike. I feel nauseous and furious all at the same time. Nauseous from hearing about a small portion of Olivia’s past, and pissed because of what happened to her.

She watched her fiancé plead for the life of her and their baby with his last breath, lost said baby moments before losing the love of her life, was kidnapped by her family’s murderers, chained in a basement, and tortured for months. Who knows what happened in that basement, but it could have only gotten worse from there. There’s no wonder now as to why Olivia is the way she is. She’s suffered the worst of mankind, and is still breathing to live through more.

Not anymore. I’ll kill anyone who so much as sneers in her direction.

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

Chapter Twenty:

After we finish tying her up, John and I leave the red head upstairs for some much deserved solitary confinement. As much as I would love to gut her, it isn’t my place to seek revenge when nothing actually happened to me. Olivia prevented the raid, and has suffered much worse at the hands of the true psycho upstairs.

Walking into our condo, I see a room full of wide eyed people, all of which are staring down the hall. That’s when I hear the keening wail coming from somewhere down there. Pushing past Marissa, Chelsea and the twins, I move down the hall. Whitney, Danny and Sarah are standing at the door to the office. I don’t bother trying the door, since I know I’ll find it locked.

“What’s going on?” Sarah asks with a worried frown on her face.

I shake my head at her, no way in hell am I sharing anything that Victoria screamed out. Olivia suffered enough, she doesn’t need pity; even as much as it is deserved, to be thrown at her from every angle. I shoo them away from the door before I try knocking. It’s ignored, maybe because they can’t hear it over Olivia’s crying. I try it again before I pull out my keys and let myself in. Quickly locking it back up behind me, I turn to find Cory curled behind Olivia, and holding her on the twin mattress. Hysterical is putting it lightly.

The room has been torn apart; things thrown about and furniture tipped over, but I couldn’t care less about things, when I’m witnessing the break of a strong woman. Olivia is still making a dying animal noise from somewhere in her throat, is it from having it carved up? Or is that natural for the amount of pain she feels, after having an emotional wound being torn wide open?

I’m not sure I want to know, but I do want to make it stop, since it sounds painful for her to be doing. Stepping toward the bed, I squat down and cautiously reach my hand out. Ignoring Cory’s warning glare, I slowly place a hand on Olivia’s head and move it to pat down her hair. It’s what my mom used to do when we were upset, so I’m hoping her mom did something similar.

Olivia stops making that noise as teary eyes peak up from their hiding place in her forearms. She stares at me for a few seconds, but doesn’t stop me from soothing her. I keep my hand sliding in slow movements from the crown of her head to her neck until her breathing evens out. She hiccups a few times and clings to Cory’s arm, which is wrapped securely around her waist, like it’s a lifeline. Rubbing her face with her sleeve, I look discreetly at her turtleneck. I’m wondering how it looks to live through having your throat carved by a psycho, but she must catch me.

“You know?” Olivia whispers and I nod. “How much?”

“Not much, she just admit trying to kill you. And I want you to tell me anything you want to, but only when you’re ready.” Olivia nods. I clear my throat and ask as quietly as possible, “Can I see?”

In answer, she pulls the cuff on her turtleneck down a few inches. I raise my hand and ask with my eyes to touch them, to which Olivia gives a small nod, before I do. She holds her breath as I gently trace the scars with one finger. There are multiple deep grooves etched into her skin. Some are jagged and begin just under her chin and end somewhere beneath the shirt. Many are dark pink, and some are a faded white. More are crisscrossed on the sides of her neck, making it appear as if Victoria was trying to behead her with a dull knife. The dullness of the knife, is most likely what saved Olivia’s life.

“Not so pretty anymore, huh?” Olivia asks. She doesn’t sound like herself at all, it’s like she’s used up all the strength her throat can handle. I shake my head as I remove my hand and glare at her.

“You are beautiful regardless of what that psycho did to you,” I answer her. “Don’t you ever let her win.”

“Trust me, I plan on winning against that bitch,” she says with a rasping voice. She starts coughing, so I walk over and grab her some bottled water from the cooler in the corner. Taking it with a small grateful smile, she sits up and takes a drink.

“What do you want to do with her?” I ask. Olivia’s smile turns cruel.

“I want to gut her, strangle her with her innards, and string her to the front of the building; but that would be too nice an end for her,” Olivia replies, and she sounds a tiny bit clearer as she taps her chin with a finger. “I have an idea, but I’ll need some help.”

“I’m willing to offer you a hand.”

“You sure?” Cory asks me. “Because I can handle it without you, if you have a weak stomach.”

“My stomach’s cast iron, no need to worry about me,” I counter and Cory grins.

“Good, because my twisted little sister here, has a plan.”

My eyes widen at the ‘little sister’ comment, since I thought that Cory had completely different feelings when it came to Olivia. Maybe his anger earlier wasn’t jealousy, like I assumed it was, but overprotection of a sibling? I can understand that if it’s the case, with a sister myself, and that protection is nowhere near enough when it comes to Olivia. She’s been through much more in her twenty years, than most do in their entire lives.

“What’s the plan?” I inquire. I’m game for anything. I don’t care if it’s to the drag the bitch through the streets by her red hair, all the while ringing a dinner bell for the wheezers to come and get it; I’ll do it with a smile.

“How much more rope and tape do you have?” Olivia asks.

“A lot,” I answer and look at her quizzically. “Why?”

“You’ll see why tomorrow,” she says with a mischievous smile.

Olivia then relates her plan for the next day. She wants to use the dead bodies as bait to lure the wheezers away with easy prey, rather than chasing after the live form, meaning us. It’s similar to the pigeon trick that Cory used, so I figure it’ll probably work, or at least slow them down a bit. Olivia doesn’t share what she’s going to do with Victoria, but wants to get the bodies moved and ready for tomorrow. She goes to stand, but I stay her with a look, and Cory with a hand.

“You’ve done enough today,” I reply. Olivia goes to argue, but I give her a stern look. “If you go out there now, everyone’s going to start asking questions.” Her eyes go distant. “But if you stay in here, you have a lock on the door that can keep everyone out.”

“It didn’t keep you out,” she points out.

“I’m special,” I say as I grin at her.

“That you are,” Olivia says dryly and taps the side of her head. “Right in here.” I laugh at that. “Alright, I’ll stay in here to avoid the inquisition, or else I may have to kill someone.” Olivia holds up Cory’s hand for me to see. “But you take Cory and have him help you supervise. He knows what I want, and you like to boss people around, so I know between the two of you, that the job will get done.”

“Livs, are you sure?” Cory asks and stares at Olivia for confirmation, which she gives in the form of a nod. “You scream for me, and I’ll come running.”

“No,” Olivia refuses with a violent shake of her head. “Even if you hear me screaming, never come running.” She grabs Cory by the shirt and pulls him toward her by it. “Ever. You hear me?”

“Fuck, that came out wrong,” he says as he backtracks. “If you need me, have someone come and get me, okay?”

“That’s better,” she says and hugs him. “Thank you, Cory, I love you.”

“Love you too, Livs,” he replies.

“Good, now go move some bodies,” Olivia orders and wrinkles her nose. “I can smell them reeking from here.” Laughing, Cory pulls back from the hug and kisses her forehead.

“Yes ma’am,” he says with his slight southern accent amped up for the country boy act.

“Get your lazy hillbilly ass moving,” I demand. “I want to be done sometime tonight.” Cory flips me off while he whispers something to Olivia, she nods before he follows me out the door.

“You’re a dick,” Cory begins when we’ve walked down the hallway a good twenty feet. “But you can be charming when you want to be.” I glance at him from the corner of my eye.

“Thanks, I think.”

“Just don’t fuck with her,” he warns. “She’s been through more than enough already, she doesn’t need any more shit to add onto the pile.”

“I know,” I agree. “And I won’t hurt her.” Cory gives me a hard look.

“You better not, or I’ll kill you myself,” he says. I nod at the threat, since I gave Danny a similar one, so I know the repercussions.

“I just want to be her friend, that’s all.” Cory barks out a laugh. “What?”

“Oh man,” he says as he wipes his eyes. “Now I know what she’s talking about.”

“What are you talking about? What did she say? Was it good? Bad?” Cory just keeps laughing as he walks away. What the fuck? I want to know, and am about to chase him down and pin him for answers, but John stops me.

“What is it this time?” I ask and rub my forehead to stave an oncoming headache. “Chelsea choked Kelly to death, and is now inconsolable? God, I hope so. Or is it that Whitney needs more thread for sewing? Or maybe Sarah’s cat finally ran away? Because if it did, good riddance. The thing was an evil prick, anyway.” John shakes his head with a slight smirk.

“No, to all of the above,” he replies. “Regrettably, Morris is still hiding around her somewhere, the asshole scratched me about an hour ago and ran before I could skin him. But it does have to do with Sarah.” I motion at him to continue. “She punched Kelly in the mouth when she was ranting out here again about the ‘crazy whore’ who won’t stop screaming down the hall.”

“Good,” I say. “Then the bitch deserved it.”

Internally, I’m wishing that I could hit a woman just this once, and not feel bad about it after the deed is done. Because I would take the free pass to punch two distinct women in ovaries, doing the world a great favor by preventing them from reproducing their hell spawn. But since I was raised to never strike a female, I can’t disrespect my deceased mother like that.

“True,” he agrees. “But Sarah broke a finger, and Akio needs to get in the room so that he can use better supplies to wrap it.”

“Fuck, stay here and I’ll grab what he needs,” I say and John nods. Jogging back to the office, I knock and wait for Olivia to open it.

“Jared?”

“It’s me,” I tell her as confirmation. “Can you pass out a finger splint and some medical tape?” She whips the door open and glances at my undamaged hands.

“What did you break?” Olivia asks as she starts checking my fingers with her hands. As much as I like that she’s willingly touching me, I shake it off along with my head.

“Not me, Sarah.” Olivia goes to move around me, so I hold my arm out to stop her. “I’ll send her to you, questions remember?” She nods her head and backs away from the door a good five feet. “Can you help her wrap them, or do you want me to do it?”

“I can do it,” she replies. “Just send her down.”

“Thanks.”

“No thanks necessary,” she says and points at the door. “Now, go get Sarah so that I can ask which bastard broke her finger and I’ll kill him.” I just grin as I walk away.

Kelly better pray that Sarah doesn’t drop her name, or she’ll be added to the body count that will be used for bait.

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

Chapter Twenty-One:

As soon as I enter the hallway, I can tell that some of the bodies have been removed. Not only has the smell been decreased, but the mound is smaller than it was just a few hours ago. Cory’s helping Tommy, and Danny’s with John, so that leaves Carlos and Oscar with each other, naturally. I spot Lenny, the sly old bastard, keeping watch at the post while the others are doing work. Walking over to him, I cross my arms and tap my foot.

“What?” Leonard asks innocently.

“You know exactly what,” I reply. “You were told to rest, not keep watch.”

“I’m fine, you miserable bastard,” he huffs. “Besides, how can you get those rotting corpses out, and keep watch at the same time?”

“We’ll manage,” I say and hike a thumb over my shoulder. “Why don’t you go see if Akio needs any help in there? Lots of injuries are piling up, and he may need a hand.”

“Hell no!” Leonard shouts and then looks around before lowering his voice. “Don’t tell that demanding prick I’m out here. He’s been on a power trip ever since he found something that his background is actually good for.”

“So, you’re telling me that you deliberately went against doctor’s orders, and are out here, keeping watch?” I inquire and Leonard nods.

“Hey, wait a damn minute,” he revises. “Akio didn’t say nothin’ about me taking a rest by the window, and getting a bit of fresh air. Actually, he said fresh air is just the ticket I needed for a full recovery.”

“And you just happen to be holding a rifle while doing it?”

“That’s right,” Leonard agrees. “This here rifle just happened to fall into my lap when I stopped here to rest my aching feet. My rheumatoid flared up in this very spot, and as I was working the kinks out, this trusty rifle found its way into my hand.”

“You cheeky bastard,” I say and he grins unrepentantly. “Alright, but don’t overdo it. We’re leaving tomorrow, and we can’t stop unless Olivia says it’s safe.” Leonard smiles at her name.

“That girl’s one of a kind,” he says with a dreamy sigh. “Beautiful, smart, tongue of a viper; she reminds me a lot of my Hilda.” He gets this far off expression for a few seconds, before staring at me intently. “Don’t be a moron and screw this one up.”

“Hey, not only did I not really want the last one, I found her in my bed without an invitation,” I counter. “But I didn’t ask for this one either. She’s just a friend who’s helping us out, before we go our separate ways.”

“Then you don’t deserve her,” Leonard says with a shake of his head. “Young people these days. Don’t know gold when they see it, and when they do finally open their eyes, it’s gone. Good thing I’m old, since I can see her for the treasure that she is.” Looking at Tommy, he continues. “And I could always teach my grandson how to win her over and gain her for a granddaughter.”

Red haze filling my vision, I clench my fists and jaw to keep from exploding. Tommy will not be going within twenty feet of Olivia without my say so. That goes for any other unattached male in the group, which is really everyone except Mike, but he adores his wife so I don’t have to worry about him. It’s not jealousy, nope not me, I don’t get jealous; I just don’t want people fucking with the traumatized girl.

I ignore Leonard’s amused chuckle and take out my frustration on the dead raiders. Grabbing two arms from different raiders, I drag them to the stairs and kick the bodies down after I make sure no one’s climbing up. No need to play bowling, and push back our move even more due to yet another injury.

Turning back, I keep dragging more smelly corpses from the pile, and shoving them down the stairwell. When the room is cleared, I head down and push the ones that the others haven’t moved out of the way yet. In the courtyard, the bodies are once again piled high.

Already there are a few wheezers reaching through the gate. I’m wondering if we’re going to cut the chain and run, or just leave it locked for them to break through on their own. I’ll make sure to ask Olivia before we leave in the morning.

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

After we’ve finished stacking the dead, the six of us climb back upstairs. Now that the hallway is cleared out, the destruction that was hidden underneath can be seen. The walls are smeared with blood and bullet holes, while the carpet is stained with dark patches of brownish-red. It’s a mess that shows only a small portion of the carnage that took place here, one of which I will not feel sorry to be leaving behind.

Yeah, it was my home for seventeen of my twenty-three years, but those times have long since passed. Any trace of the little boy who ran excitedly through the two thousand square feet of space, has been buried for nearly two years. Any remnant of my mother’s perfume that might have been left behind, has since been covered by the scent of the current inhabitants. Whitney’s soft rose scented soap, Chelsea’s cherry lip gloss, Marissa’s hairspray, Kelly’s acidic perfume, Mike’s cigar, Tommy’s pine scent, Leonard’s vapor rub, Akio’s disinfectant, the twin’s gun residue, Danny’s Axe, Sarah’s lilies, John’s citrus, and my own sandalwood soap. A variety of smells all mixed in an interesting way to make a new smell equivalent to the word ‘home.’

But that combined smell is being masked by day old rot from the corpses, so it’s time to start anew. Something that all of the others have done, but not Sarah, John or I. Sure, we had to learn how to get things to survive from the outside world, but in here? In here it was still the same as before. The same furniture that is now ruined, the same rooms that we grew up; which are less welcoming without a mother’s touch, and the overall dreary moral of the group is making the house cold and uninviting.

Shaking off the chill that my old home now gives me, I leave the men to sort out who will take first watch, and head down to Sarah’s room to see if she’s patched up. Knocking on her door, I wait for Sarah to poke her head out. She peers up at me with childish eyes, like she knows she’s in trouble. As if, I’m just coming to congratulate her. In a rare display of physical affection, I grab a shocked Sarah and give her a bear hug. She awkwardly pats my back like I’ve lost it, but eventually returns the hug just as tightly.

“Thanks Sarah,” I say with a smile when I pull back. She looks at me curiously, so I explain. “You saved me from breaking my promise to Mom about not hitting a woman.”

Sarah bursts out giggling. She’s clutching her stomach and wiping tears away from laughing so hard. It’s a nice bonus, because I haven’t seen Sarah so happy in a while. When she’s calmed down a little, she stands straight to her 5’7” height and meets my eyes.

“I think that Mom would have forgiven you for hitting this particular woman.” She holds up her hand to stop me from voicing my argument, that it would never be right for me to hit a woman. “Trust me, she deserved much worse than she got.”

“Oh, I believe it,” I agree. I take up her right hand and check the pointer finger with the splint. “Are you alright?”

“Puh-leaze, I’ve never been better,” she answers with a smile. “This is just a sprain, small price for the pleasure I got out of it.”

“Alright, Ali, simmer down,” I order as I smirk and she cocks her head.

“Who’s Ali?” Sarah asks.

I shake my head, kids these days. I pat Sarah’s head like she’s simple, before walking away. She continues asking, so I wave her off and hear her door slam shut when she gets that I’m not going to answer.

Continuing past the pit of hell that was my room, I approach the office door. I knock and wait to see if she’ll answer, hoping that whatever ground I’ve made with her, is still there. It’s quiet for a few seconds before I hear footsteps approach. I’m guessing it’s Cory coming to get the door, since Olivia’s footsteps are always silent. And I’m proved right when the door unlocks and a brown eye peers out at me.

Cory looks back toward the corner where the bed is, but I can’t see it from this angle. Once he’s satisfied, he steps out into the hallway and pulls the door shut quietly to the point that it holds, but isn’t latched. Cory points for us to take a seat against the wall opposite the door, so I do, and he follows. Once we’re settled, he remains silent for a few seconds, which I know from experience is to collect his thoughts. Cory doesn’t mince words, he thinks them through and analyzes them before opening his mouth to speak, just like now.

“How much did she tell you?” Cory asks. I look at him to see which one he’s referring to. “The red head.”

“Enough that I want to kill her myself,” I answer and he nods.

“So, you know about her throat?” Cory confirms and I nod again. “I noticed that she sounded different when I saw her after the raid, so she showed me the scars and said that some psycho cut her up.”

“That about sums it up,” I agree and Cory glares at me.

“I want to know what else the bitch told you,” he snaps. “What did she say about Liv? What happened to her after she disappeared? I know there’s more she won’t tell me about, but what I do know makes me sick.” Cory rubs a hand over his face. “She even screams about it when she sleeps.”

“When she sleeps?”

“Yeah, they’re called night terrors,” he replies. “I’ve seen guys suffer from them after bad days in the field.” I nod. “She’s always screaming for someone to stop touching her.”

I clench my fists and reply through clenched teeth. “Would his name happen to be Cole, by any chance?”

Cory’s head snaps in my direction. “That bastard is one in the same, so, what do you know about him?”

“I know that he’s the leader of the raiders from last night, and he kept Olivia chained in a basement,” I answer and Cory abruptly stands.

He paces a few steps before pulling back his fist and planting it into the wall. Cory repeatedly assaults the plaster until his hand is bloody and sinks to the floor, burying his head in his hands. I hear him start muttering something, so I scoot a few feet down to make it out.

“It’s all my fault,” he whispers and whacks himself on the head. “If I didn’t leave, none of this would have happened.”

“Hey, it isn’t your fault,” I say and awkwardly pat him on the back. Cory whips his head in my direction to glare at me.

“It is my fault,” he hisses before looking at the carpet. “I was pissed at them both. They found out Olivia was pregnant and didn’t tell me for weeks. The day that they finally told me, they were so freaking excited. Travis was walking around with his chest puffed up like a cocky rooster, and Olivia? I swear she was glowing.” He meets my eyes before continuing.

“You see, Olivia always dreamed of being one thing, ever since she was a little kid. Most girls want to be a firefighter, or an astronaut, or a doctor, but not Livi. She’d wheel her little wagon over to our house next door, filled to the fucking rim with dolls. And I’d ask her, ‘Hey Livi, what’re ya doing today?’ She always answered, ‘I’m being a mommy, ‘cuz it’s the bestest job in the whole wide world!’”

“So, what do I do when Olivia finally finds out she’s going to be a mommy?” Cory’s voice is bitter with self-hatred. “Me being the asshole that I am, freaked the fuck out. How the hell were we going to take care of a baby in this shit?” Cory flings his arm out referring to the hell that we currently live in. “So, I left them at our house, that way I could go cool down. I ran for miles before I finally got tired, and wound up in front of a baby boutique. I took it as a sign that everything was going to be alright in the end, so, knowing that we were going to need stuff, I ran in and filled a carriage full of diapers, formula, clothes, and as much baby stuff that I could fit inside.” He smiles a little. “They even had this tiny little onesie that said, ‘My mom is hotter than yours.’” Cory laughs and wipes his eyes. “Travis would have loved it.” He shakes his head at the memory.

“It was getting dark out, so I took my carriage full of goods and started wheeling it home. As soon as I got within three blocks, I knew something was wrong. Call it gut instincts, intuition, or whatever the fuck you want, but for some reason; I abandoned the carriage, and booked it home. There were a pack of wheezers eating something out front, so I ran around back and jumped the fence to get in.” Cory’s tone hardens.

“The inside was trashed. Livi always made sure our house was immaculate, so you can see why I started sprinting around the house like a madman, searching them out. I kicked open every door, before running to the roof to see if they were hanging up there like they usually did.” He swallows hard.

“That’s where I found two large pools of blood. They were still wet, one had teeth and fingers in it. The other looked like someone had just bled out.” Cory swipes at his eyes. “I guess it just so happened to be my niece or nephew I was looking at, but I didn’t know it, until that bitch told us upstairs. The same niece or nephew that I didn’t know how much I wanted until that moment. The same one that would be here in Livi’s arms, with Travis beside her, if it weren’t for me.” Cory grips his hair and pulls before he continues in a cold tone. “I don’t know what made me look, but I did. I followed the blood trail and looked over the side of the roof. The wheezers were eating my dead brother.”

“I ran downstairs with an ax and went to town,” he says. “They were all distracted, so I chopped off their fucking heads, before they even noticed me.” Cory chokes on a sob. “He was missing half his stomach, but that wasn’t what killed him.” Cory motions to his throat. “Travis’s dead eyes were open, his throat was slit and he had a gunshot to the forehead. I looked around for Livi, but I didn’t find her. What I did find were tire treads, and her bloody shoe on the sidewalk.” Cory wipes his jacket sleeve across his face.

“I waited at the house for a month,” he continues. “Just hoping for a clue to help me find where Livi, and my brother’s baby were taken. I did sweeps in a five mile radius around our house. When I didn’t find anything, I spread out further. That’s when I found you and John.” Cory meets my eyes with his bloodshot ones. “At first, I thought you may have known something about Liv’s whereabouts, but when I saw that you were doomed to die, I couldn’t leave without showing you how to survive first. And when I saw Sarah, I couldn’t leave at all. She reminded me of Livi so much. All bark and no bite, and I just couldn’t let whatever happened to Livs, happen to Sarah too.”

“Thanks for that,” I reply and he waves me off. “We were pretty clueless without you.” Cory barks out a sharp laugh at that understatement. “So, how long did you look for her?”

“Two months before I met up with you, and a year since that,” he answers. “But it looks like she got tired of waiting for my sorry ass to show up, and saved herself.”

“I didn’t think you would come for me at all,” a raspy voice says for me behind me. Cory’s head snaps in her direction. “After all, I killed Travis, so, why would you want me?” Cory stomps over and shakes her.

“Don’t you ever say that again,” he hisses at Olivia. “You didn’t kill Travis.” Tears starts trailing down her cheeks as she nods furiously.

“I did,” she repeats. “I told him to bring her in. She sounded so scared, and he wanted to help; so I told him that I’d be fine, and for him to go and get her.” Olivia wipes her face with her elbow. “But she wasn’t alone at all. They kicked in the door, and dragged Travis inside. Ten men, and four women who I can’t wash from mind.” Olivia grips her hair by the roots and tugs. “One of which is upstairs right now, the same bitch who carved me up, and knocked Travis’s teeth out. And I can’t fucking look at her without wanting to stab her, or cry.” Olivia notices me and startles.

“Olivia, take it from someone who fell for the same trap,” I remind her. “They knew what they were doing, and we just acted according to our instincts. It’s not your fault.”

“No, you were different,” she counters. “When you were attacked, you defended. When I was attacked, I froze. I froze and it killed Travis and our baby.”

Olivia clutches her stomach and starts sobbing heavily. I want to run over and hug her, but Cory gets there first. I look away to let them share their grief, something long overdue and they never had the chance to do before. It’s just another thing that was stolen from her, and I’m beginning to wonder what else was left for them to take? When Olivia’s sobbing hiccups come to a close, Cory and her start whispering back and forth for a few minutes, and they nod before separating.

“Cory and I will guide your group halfway,” Olivia announces with an emotionless tone, probably in an attempt to distract me from the red blotches on her face. It doesn’t work, but I pretend not to notice them so that she won’t feel uncomfortable. “I’ll draw you a map for the rest of the way with a key for safe houses, and any hot spots to avoid.”

“But after that, you’re on your own,” Cory finishes.

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

Chapter Twenty-Two:

“The fuck we are!” I shout. “We need you.”

I look imploringly at the stubborn couple in front of me. Olivia’s chin is raised, and Cory’s jaw is clenched. Game on, because they don’t call me a stubborn, sullen bastard for nothing. I cross my arms over my chest, and deliver a blow.

“Fine, then you may as well sign fourteen death warrants right now.” I see my first hit strike its mark, when Olivia’s mouth drops open, and Cory glares at me. “That’s right. You abandoning us, is the same as killing us yourselves.”

“Fuck you, Jared,” Olivia hisses. “I’ve saved your ass more times than not.”

“My point exactly,” I say with a grin. Olivia growls, while Cory cracks his bloody knuckles in preparation of kicking my ass, which he probably could; not that I would ever admit it, but I just shrug and continue. “Who taught us how to defend ourselves?” Cory looks away and fists his hands. One down, one to go. “Who saved John and me from the pack of wheezers at Hal’s?” Olivia flips me off. “And who prepared and lead us through an attack by raiders?”

“Fine, just shut the fuck up already,” Olivia orders and rubs her temples. “We’ll stick to the plan and leave tomorrow.” Meeting my eyes with her icy ones, she continues. “But as soon as your group is safely inside the compound, we’re gone.”

I just nod and smile. No need to tell them that they’ve acquired a third person to their party, whether I’m invited or not. No way in hell am I about to let the girl I’m starting to care too much about, to go gallivanting across the northeast without me. Besides, a month is plenty of time to convince her that she needs me. I cross my fingers across my back, I hope.

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

The next morning, I wake up on my own in the hallway. John swapped watch with me at two, but I slept out here to avoid my bed. What once was my personal haven is now my own hell, so I chose a square of carpet that wasn’t blood stained, instead of braving the room of nightmares.

Once I stretch out all the kinks, I hurry inside to pack. In my room, I stuff as many clothes and essentials in as I can fit into my backpack, and get the fuck out in under thirty seconds. Jogging down to my parents’ room, I notice the door propped open with a soda can. I smile as I reach up and slide the can out. It only crunches a little, before I push the door open. Sweeping the room with my eyes, I’m disappointed when I don’t spot Olivia. I brush it away with faked indifference, and focus on what I came here to do.

Approaching my mother’s bureau, I take in all of her trinkets on top. John may have switched out the mattress, and emptied drawers to make room for his own stuff, but he left my mom’s dresser top alone. It’s like a shrine. Her silver handled brush and mirror are both covered in a layer of dust, a pad of paper with a pen beside it are still untouched, same with her perfume bottles.

I pause to take a quick whiff from the bottle for old time’s sake, and I feel warmth when the long lost smell of sunflowers reaches my nose. Setting the bottle back down, I snatch up my goal of a photo album. Inside are family photos, singles and groups from vacations or parties. I know that Sarah and John will appreciate it. John especially, since he has nothing from before but a torn, wallet sized photo of his parents.

Spotting a favorite of my mom’s next to the now empty spot, I pick up the frame and swipe the glass free of dust with my rain slicker’s sleeve. In the photo, I’m about six years old, and holding my very pregnant mother’s hand. I remember it like it was yesterday, since it was the day we found out that she would be having a little girl. I was so excited about being a big brother, and was telling my mom how I might even share the baby with my Ninja Turtles sometimes. My dad had taken a rare day off from work, so he’s the one that took the photo.

In the picture, we’re standing out front of Brigham and Women’s hospital. I’m looking up at my mom, and she’s looking down at me, but we’re smiling at each other instead of the camera. I once asked her why it was her favorite, and my mom replied that it was because ‘it showed real affection and true emotion, as opposed to faking smiles to capture the moment.’ I didn’t get it then, but I do now.

“You look like her,” a voice says near my shoulder. I jump about four feet, and the picture slips from my fingers. Olivia, using her ninja reflexes, rescues the frame before it hits the ground and hugs it to her chest for protection.

“Jesus Christ!” I shout and put a hand over my pounding heart. “I’m going to make you wear a bell like Morris.” Olivia just laughs and moves to hand me back the photo. “No, you can look.” Olivia checks my eyes, maybe to see if I’m telling the truth, but then she nods and looks at it.

“You have her aqua eyes and smile,” she says with a slight smile of her own. “And of course the hair.” Olivia reaches up on tiptoe and tousles my black-brown hair. Remembering herself, Olivia quickly pulls her shaking hand away. Not wanting to feed into her fear, I ignore her reaction, and go for something innocuous.

“Sarah takes after our dad,” I comment and she nods. “Next stop, maybe you want to look through this?” I hold up the album and she bobs her head excitedly. I laugh and she scowls. “What is it with women and pictures?”

“I’d say that some men have a soft spot for them too,” Olivia says with a pointed look at me. “But I guess it’s because we can pull up a piece of paper, and recall exactly how we felt in that moment with a single glance. We can remember the smell, the location and the feelings all at once. Be that something happy, like this one, sad like a natural disaster, or sometimes to just remember a person who’s no longer with us.” She hands back the photo carefully, like it’s a priceless artifact. “Cherish it, since you may lose it someday, and not have it when you need it most.”

“I will,” I whisper after her retreating form.

Wrapping a shirt around the frame, I place it carefully inside the front pocket of my pack. The photo album is sturdier, so that gets stuffed in the main compartment. Walking over to the balcony, I see that jugs of water have been filled, and are stacked alongside the rain barrels. Three of the four drinking barrels are now empty, so I fill my own canteen from the last one, and attach it to my bag with its clip. Grabbing a few jugs of water, I carry them with me when I exit. Someone else will grab the rest, but I’ll carry these ones in my duffel with the food.

I see Whitney organizing food into neat little rows in the two duffel bags on the counter, so I place the gallons next to it for her to add in. It’s only four and we plan on leaving at six, so only a handful of the group are up and moving.

John, Tommy and the twins are checking weapons to decide who gets what. Danny and Sarah are now carrying the gallons of water into the room. I give them a nod of approval and go to check on Mike. He’s my main concern about moving, so I have to see how he’s faring, and make sure that he has everything he needs.

Since Olivia took over the hospital, I proceed to the game room, where I find Akio, Mike and Leonard. Leonard is being his grouchy self, and refusing whatever the Doc’s advising; while Mike rolls his eyes at me to say that this is what he has been putting up with for who knows how long. I walk over and cross my arms, just waiting for Leonard to deny another order.

“I already told you, you puffed up peacock,” Leonard retorts. “I don’t need no cane. I’m as fit as a new recruit for the marines.”

“Then drop and give me fifty, you old crow,” I order. Leonard stutters trying to come up with some bull shit retort, so I cut him off. “If you’re as fit as a man in his twenties, I want to see it.” Lenny stands on wobbly feet and glares at me with his age worn eyes.

“I can still kick your miserable ass from here to Tokyo,” he replies with a ‘come get me,’ curl of his hands.

“I’m glad to hear it,” I say and see him smile. “But take the cane just in case Mike needs it.” I exchange a glance with the wounded man, who nods. “He was shot after all.”

“You’re right, Jared,” Mike speaks up. “I may require a little assistance if I get tired.”

“Oh, alright,” Leonard replies with a wave. “I’ll carry it in case you need it, Mike. But not because the Doc ordered it.” Lenny sticks his tongue out at Akio, who just stares back. “See, I told you he’s on a power trip.”

“Yup, I see it alright,” I agree and roll my eyes at the unmovable doctor. “We’ll just ignore his orders, and do as we please.”

“Amen to that,” Leonard says with a vigorous nod before leaving the room. As soon as the door’s shut, I look to Akio.

“He seems fine,” Akio answers. “I just think that the cane could remove some of the strain from his chest.” I nod and point to Mike. “Mike’s a much more agreeable patient.” I stifle a laugh at that, Mike’s a newborn lamb compared to Lenny. “His gun shot is healing nicely, so I guess we have to thank the barbarian for that.” I scowl at that remark. “She is a barbarian. Chopping off fingers, and breaking noses to get answers. What else would you call it?”

“I’d call it surviving,” I sneer. “Don’t let me hear another word against her again, or I’ll be breaking a few noses of my own.” Akio’s eyes widen at that. “And just to let your self-important ass know, a couple of fingers and a busted nose, is not even a scratch on side of what that red headed bitch personally did to Olivia. Next time get all the facts before choosing sides, and making your judgments known on something you don’t know jack shit about.”

Leaving a sputtering doctor behind with a smiling Mike, I exit the room. My adrenaline is running high and looking for a release, so I’m glad to see that the rest of the group is up and ready when I walk into the kitchen. Marissa and Chelsea are wearing designer jeans, colorful blouses and sneakers with their hair pulled back in ponytails. It’s a drastic change from the shorts and sandals, with free flowing hair they had just a few hours ago, but these girls have also been outside; so they should know what to expect. They’re equipped with bats and wearing backpacks stuffed with goods.

Kelly looks ridiculous with her nearly white blonde hair left down and curled with a shit ton of hairspray, I’m guessing she stole it from Marissa since the brunette is usually the one killing the ozone layer with the stuff. If the wild hair all over the place wasn’t enough, she’s wearing freaking short shorts, a spaghetti strapped top, and an overly padded bra that’s stuffed with tissue. I know that it’s tissue, since I can see it popping out, but she likes playing make believe when it comes to her nonexistent chest. She also has a on a stupid pair of strappy sandals. If she trips, I’m booking it and leaving her ass behind in the dirt.

Carlos and Oscar are in much more practical attire. They’re each wearing different ball caps over their shorn heads, Carlos has a Patriots one and Oscar a Red Sox, both are wearing khaki pants similar to those they wore as cops, and black combat boots. They have their standard issued handguns, hunting rifles strapped to their backpacks; all of which are loaded with stuff we picked off the raiders, along with knives and clubs. The duo is prepared for any and all things that might be thrown their way.

Tommy is wearing Carhartt overalls and steel toed boots from his ironworker days. His brown hair is cut short so that he can see without blind spots. He’s packing his own gun, sniper and a club, but no knives since he and John suck at throwing them. Tommy’s also carrying a duffel, but his is filled with extra weapons, guns and ammo.

Danny has learned from his fashion faux paus, thank God, because he’s wearing cargo pants like mine and his hair slicked back so that he doesn’t look like the pansy pop star. Now, he looks like the pasty blood sucking douche from that stupid ass movie with the whiny chick that Sarah loved the books to. Whatever, at last he can see and move now, so it’s an improvement. He’s also equipped with a gun, knives and a club.

John is wearing his standard jeans, t-shirt with the rain coat thrown over top, and boots that he wears anytime we’ve gone hunting or gathering. He has his gun, a club, hunting knife and crossbow attached to various places on his body. He’s also carrying a duffel of food and water like me.

Sarah’s wearing the mesh cat carrier with her prick of a tabby named Morris meowing his protest from inside of it on her shoulder, a pair of jeans, a long sleeved leather jacket that I recognize from our mom’s closet, her softball cleats, a helmet with a metal cage for a face mask, and is holding a bat. I can only smile, since I know exactly who dressed my baby sister. I walk over to take a closer look at her outfit.

“Look at you,” I say with a grin and motion for her to spin. Sarah giggles, but spins as she does it. “My very own slugger. Who, may I ask, dressed you?”

“That would be me,” Olivia says from my left. I glance at her and see that she’s worrying her bottom lip. She’s wearing her leather armor, but the visor to the motor cycle helmet is up. “I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds. I mean, I’ve already made her violent, and now I’m dressing her...” I hold up my hand to stop her from rambling, when what I really want to do is kiss those abused full lips. No way in hell is that happening anytime soon, no matter how much I want to.

“She looks perfect,” I say and meet Olivia’s eyes to show her that I’m serious. “I trust you.”

Olivia bites back the smile that tries to break through, but I catch it in her quirking lip and shimmering grey eyes. How that bitch could say that they were dead is ridiculous. Olivia’s eyes can be storm grey or an icy steel when she’s pissed, showcase blue flecks when she’s happy, or bleed their color to a cool grey when she’s remembering something unpleasant. The unpleasant one is the only one I don’t like seeing, that’s when I want to shield her behind me and punch anyone that so much as thinks of looking in her direction.

Thinking about the lying whore upstairs, I recall that Olivia had a plan which we were supposed to carry out today. I motion for Olivia to follow me out of the apartment. She must get the idea, since she waves Cory to come with us before following me out. John must have seen the exchange, since his face turns hard and he stubbornly joins, regardless of the lack of invite.

Olivia and Cory jog up the stairs ahead of us, so I follow Cory’s booted feet up to the fourth floor with John trailing behind me. Olivia left the door wide open, so we can see her as soon as we reach the door. She’s holding Victoria by the roots of her hacked red hair while doing something to her throat. Her gloved hand is squeezing it, while Victoria thrashes her head around.

“I thought you were going to make her suffer?” John asks somewhat disappointedly. He wanted Olivia to take some much deserved vengeance out on the red head.

“Oh, she will,” Olivia replies cryptically. “I’m just not going to kill her.” John and I look at her in confusion, so she explains. “I just crushed her voice box. That’s step one. Step two is to drag her down to the courtyard, and chain her up. I know for a fact that waiting for the inevitable, while chained helplessly to something, is a fate worse than death.” Olivia glares at Victoria. “I hope you like a taste of your master’s medicine, you cunt.”

After Olivia wraps another layer of rope and tape around the chair, she motions for Cory to come and pick up Victoria. John and I give him a hand with moving the awkward shape and weight through the stairwell. It takes us about ten minutes to reach the bottom of the stairs and carry the captive into the courtyard. Dropping the chair without care, the now mute woman strapped down, doesn’t so much as squeak. That reminds me of what Victoria said about Olivia when she had her throat carved. Any guilt or pity that I should have felt for the red head, vanishes with that one memory.

Picking up a chain from the ground, Olivia wraps it around Victoria’s waist, the arms of the chair and Victoria’s legs, before attaching it to a padlock on the metal gate. Gripping the chain, Olivia places her foot on the chair and pulls to make sure that even Houdini himself couldn’t break free. Satisfied, she then leans into the red head’s furious eyes.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again in Hell,” Olivia sneers. “Be sure to say hello to Frank, Kale, Kenneth, Terrence and Mark for me when you get there.”

She points above her, so I follow Olivia’s finger and find several bodies chained by their necks to the exterior wall of our condo; which I didn’t even notice were there until she pointed them out. Why the hell are they up there, how the fuck did she do it, and when was this? Where was I when she was strapping corpses to my house? All questions to wait, and even then, I may never get the answers.

“Oh, and my Aunt Crystal too. Can’t forget about her, and that greedy bitch must have croaked by now.” Olivia pats the girl’s cheek. “But I have a feeling I’ll be joining you all soon, and with a few others in tow, so don’t start without me. Or our guest of honor, Cole. I’ll make sure he gets an extra special kiss goodbye from me.” Red starts struggling, but Olivia just laughs. “We’ll have ourselves a nice little reunion for old time’s sake.”

Over my dead body. I’ll drag her out myself if I have to, but my pint sized Tomb Raider will not be joining the fuckers who tormented her. Cory and John look ready to tear the world apart too, so I’m positive that Olivia won’t be joining any the bastards she takes down. And who the fuck is Aunt Crystal?

I don’t say anything, because there’s no point to arguing with someone dead set on a plan. I’ll just have to prevent Olivia from her suicide mission if need be. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.

And Olivia’s lack of care for what happens to her own life, has just become my personal enemy.

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

Chapter Twenty-Three:

“What the fuck, Livs?” Cory hisses as John locks the entry door behind us. Olivia tries to walk upstairs, but Cory grabs hold of her hand. She looks at him with those vacant eyes. “I just got you back, and you already want to leave me? I can’t lose you again. I just can’t.” Cory’s voice cracks as he chokes on a sob. “You’re all have left.”

Olivia shakes her head as she jumps to wrap her arms around his neck in a fierce hug, and Cory returns it with equal fervor. Her feet aren’t even on the ground, but Cory keeps her lifted and safely wrapped in his arms without even so much as hunching with her added weight.

“I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. I’m not going anywhere, you hear me, my big teddy bear?” Cory nods, but doesn’t let her go. “Good, because I have plenty more ass kicking to finish, and I’ll need your help.”

“You know you’ve had us Prescott boys wrapped around your little finger ever since you were able to curl it at us,” he says. Olivia laughs as she wipes tears from both of their faces with one arm sleeve, and holds on with the other hooked around his neck.

“That went double for you,” she says. Cory laughs and sets her down, but doesn’t unwrap his arms from her waist. “Don’t even try to deny it. All I had to do was say your name, point, and whatever I wanted you to do, would be done like that.” Olivia snaps her fingers together.

“That’s ‘cause I was a man,” Cory boasts as he puffs out his chest. The pose is eerily similar to the cocky rooster he accused his brother of being. I wonder how much he resembles Travis, and if it’s painful for her to look at Cory if he does?

“You were only eleven,” she counters with a grin. “And you were taking orders, well before then.”

“Fine, you had me at the first gummy smile, alright?” Cory huffs with what I swear are blushing cheeks, but she just nods her head in agreement.

“Much better,” she says and pulls back from her hug from the giant.

Cory has a good foot in height on her, but you can obviously see that he’d follow her to the end of the world if he had to. I’m guessing Travis was equally enraptured by her, and maybe that’s why I’m infatuated with her. Maybe it’s her pheromones that attracts men like bees to honey, or maybe it’s just Olivia, but whatever it is, I know that I want more of it.

I want the easy camaraderie she has with Cory. I want to be able to hold her hand or hug her whenever the impulse arises, instead of having to fight the urge to do so. I want to be able to joke around with her and kiss her forehead, like he’s doing right now. I’ve never envied a man so much in my life, and he only treats her as a sister. I would have probably had a coronary if I had to witness Travis’s affection for her.

“What the fuck are we?” John demands with his arms crossed and a smirk upon his face. “Chopped liver?”

Olivia turns to face him. Slowly raising her trembling arms, she waits for John to hug her with a forced smile on her beautiful lips. John takes a step forward and shakes her hand. Olivia frowns at his offending appendage before pulling him to her. He stumbles at the unexpected action, but rights himself to accept her embrace. Olivia whispers something up to him, and John nods before pulling back.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” John replies and turns to glare at Cory. “Come here, you asshole. ‘I have no one left.’ Again, what the fuck are we?”

“A pain in my ass,” Cory answers and John lunges at him.

They start wrestling to gain dominance, but a small tug on my coat has me turning my attention to the pixie next to me. She’s fiddling with her leather jacket sleeve and won’t make eye contact for a few seconds. Clearing her throat, she still sounds a little raspy with her shaking voice.

“Th-thank you for t-taking care of h-him,” Olivia says and finally looks up to meet my eyes.

“No thanks necessary,” I reply with her words. “He took care of us really.” She shakes her head.

“No, he may have shown you how to survive,” she counters. “But you made him live. Humans are social creatures and it’s not healthy to be alone.” Olivia raises her trembling arms to present herself as an example.

“You are perfectly normal,” I say and she just gives me a single brow lift. I ignore it and press on. “How long were you alone?”

“Really alone, or felt alone?”

“Both,” I answer.

“I’ve been alone for, what month is it again?”

“End of August,” I say and she nods.

“Then I’ve been alone for about four months.” My eyes bulge at the answer that she said so casually, like it’s normal to be by yourself for four months, and not give a shit. “But I’ve felt alone for fifteen.”

“When did you lose Travis and Cory?” I ask and hold my breath in hopes that I’m not pushing her.

“Fifteen months ago,” she says. “That bad day I was referring to was Travis’s anniversary.” I nod and she continues. “I went to the nearest liquor store, locked myself in, and drank two bottles of Jack by myself. Spent the next two days sleeping or hurling my guts out, but I felt numb by the end.” Olivia gives me a sardonic grin. “Still think I’m normal?”

“Absolutely,” I agree. “You were grieving.”

“Was I grieving when I sat on a ledge of the John Hancock building, and tried to convince myself that there was still something left to live for?”

“Yes,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “You were still fucking grieving.” She shakes her head at me.

“Don’t care about me, Jared,” Olivia says with a pat to my arm. “It’ll only get you killed in the end. Just ask Travis.” She taps her face. “Oh that’s right, you can’t because I’m the fucking black widow.”

Olivia runs upstairs before I can argue with the ridiculous things she was spouting off. Cory shoves past me and chases after her. Even John punches my shoulder and glares at me. What the fuck did I do?

“What?”

“You know exactly what,” John answers. “You pissed her off.”

“She pissed me off first,” I retort and his eyes widen with interest. “She was saying some bull shit about being crazy and a black widow, so I was simply saying that she wasn’t, that she was only grieving. Then she accuses me of caring about her. As fucking if. I don’t care about women, unless they’re related by blood.” John’s laughing by the end, and I really want to punch him, but I restrain the urge and cross my arms in wait of him sobering.

“You are so screwed,” John says and grips my shoulder, before meeting my eyes. “But I gotta say, that you have excellent taste. That’s one hell of a woman, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I don’t,” I snarl. “Because I don’t fucking want her as anything more than a friend.”

“Thank you, Jesus!” John shouts with a fist bump to the sky. “‘Cause I have no problem plowing past the friend zone. I’ll even become faithfully monogamous for the first time ever in my young life.”

Clenching my jaw to the point of pain, I shove my supposed best friend out of my way, and stomp upstairs. Fucking bastard. Accuse me of having feelings for a woman. Who the hell does he think I am, some lovesick schoolboy? Hell to the no, I won’t go. Olivia may be a special woman, but she isn’t for me. Nuh-uh. No siree.

Then why does the just the thought of John’s hand touching hers, make me see red? Why does the thought of any man, that isn’t me, touching Olivia; make me want to go into a jealous rage and kill the mother fucker?

Jesus Christ, the bastard was right. I fucking care about Olivia. I’m scared spitless, so I react in the only way I can think off. Turning slightly, I land a low blow to the asshole behind me. John falls forward and cups his injured balls with a grunt of pain, and a muttered curse.

That’s what you get, you prick. Make me aware of feelings better left hidden. Like in a caged treasure chest buried at the bottom of the ocean, with a freaking ton of sharks protecting it. He just unleashed earth shattering shit, that there’s no possible way that I can rebury or ignore. Fucking John.

And goddamn that beautifully damaged woman for making me care about her.

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

As soon as I enter the lobby for our floor, I see the group packed and waiting to go. I check my watch, and its six o’clock on the dot. Olivia’s organizing how she wants the people to be in line. She split the twins, Oscar in front with Sarah and Danny, and Carlos in the back with Tommy. She ordered Leonard, who’s holding his cane, to be up front near her with Mike and Whitney. Akio, Marissa and Chelsea are right behind them, and Kelly’s in the way back near John and I.

No wonder there, out of sight, out of mind. The only person she wants directly next to her is Cory. Big shocker there, but they are our strongest members and she trusts him completely; so as much as it pisses me off to be in the back, I can understand her line up.

“Alright, look to your left and right, because you are to stay with the person next to you. I don’t care if you have to drag them along, you stay with goddamn your partner.” Olivia stares everyone down until they nod their consent.

“Good, now I’m just going to show you a few simple cues that you better learn and remember, or you’re dead.” She holds her hand up in a fist. “This means stop in your tracks, and wait for me to signal that it’s okay for you to move.” She flicks her wrist and points her middle and index fingers forward. “That means to move your ass quickly.” Olivia puts her hand out and chops it vertically. “That means to shut the fuck up.” She bends her arm down. “That means slow down.” Olivia crosses a fisted right hand across her chest and uppercuts in front of it with her left arm. “What does that mean?”

“A universal sign for fuck you?” John asks.

“Exactly,” Olivia says with a smile. “Thanks for paying attention, John.”

“You’re most welcome,” he replies a dazzling smile of his own. I elbow him in the ribs, but John just uses Olivia’s last cue pointed at me, the kiss ass.

“Anyone have any questions, before we get going?” Olivia looks around, but no one speaks out, so she prepares to move.

Olivia decided to use the fire escape, since it’s the only exit that doesn’t lead directly into a street. Obeying her cues, the group follows her to the office and through the window. She slides it open and checks the ground below before motioning more to come through. Once everyone is accounted for on the fire escape, Olivia starts climbing down. The fire escape is mostly metal stairs, like most of the others, so multiple people can safely go down at the same time. When we reach the first floor, I hear the creaking of the ladder rolling down.

I glance down to see Olivia and Cory watching the alley while more people descend the ladder. It takes about twenty minutes for everyone to reach the bottom with me coming down last. I count sixteen including myself, and give Olivia a thumbs up. She nods before jogging along the condo-plex’s wall to the end of the alley way. Her helmeted head slowly turns left and right, before signing for forward movement. When the group meets up with her, Olivia whispers something to Cory and he nods as she slips out of the alley.

I don’t know what she went to do, until I hear wheezers screeching in pain a few seconds later. It’s confirmed when I follow Cory’s cues to run to the opposite street. A glance to the right shows that Olivia has her mask up, is blowing her whistle, and chopping heads off of distracted victims. Most are nothing more than emaciated bodies, with pieces of flesh ripped off so that you see bone. Some have their clothing torn, or it’s weathered to the point that there are just mere stitches keeping it in place, while some are naked and wear their bites and scratches on gaunt frames. Others are a little more preserved, less flesh missing and are still standing on their feet with their hands covering their ears, as Olivia swoops in the finish them off.

Eyes dripping with green slime stare at Olivia, as she lifts her machete and splits their skulls like they’re firewood. She pulls her machete free with a wicked yank and moves on to the next, before the corpse even hits the ground. She does this all while blowing her whistle, so I have no clue how she’s able to breathe; awesome cardio would be my guess. I’m itching to help her, since the pack is about twenty strong, but then I recall what happened the last time that someone interfered with her plans; so I stick to Cory’s lead as much as it pains me to do so. Not that I don’t trust Cory’s lead, because I absolutely do, it’s that I don’t like Olivia fighting wheezers by herself.

About a dozen more screeches are cut off, before a blood covered blade of a machete appear along with Olivia. Her helmet visor is back in place and she jerks her chin at Cory to keep moving as she runs up to meet him. With her back on point, the pace uppens a bit. We cover eight blocks quickly, before Olivia stops for a count. All sixteen are still there, so she keeps moving. We’re passing abandoned grocery markets, corner stores and warehouses that I’ve raided along with our other gatherers, so I know the area. I haven’t seen that many wheezers, and those that we do see, Olivia or Cory take out with knives before moving on.

As we’re coming up on the same grocery store that John and I looted a few days ago, I get an idea of where Olivia’s headed. It’s confirmed at noon, when we reach Hal’s House. The storefront is now smashed in from the wheezer ambush when we were tripped the alarm, so even from our position across the street; I can see the dead bodies still scattered across the floor. There’s also movement from something inside.

I’m busy trying to make out what it is, when John elbows me and jerks his chin at the front. Switching my attention from the thing moving around inside, to Olivia waving me over, I jog forward and crouch down next to her.

“What’s up?” I whisper and my eyes swerve back to the store.

“You see it then?” Olivia asks and I nod. “Alright, well I was planning on getting a few helmets or hats for the girls, but we can’t take them in, until it’s cleared. So, are you up for some hunting?” My head swerves right back to the girl throwing me a bone, and I nod excitedly. She huffs out a breath, before continuing. “Leave John, I’m leaving Cory, since they’ll need to watch the group while we do a full sweep.”

“Alright, a full sweep it is,” I agree. “We still weren’t expecting someone to be hiding like a creeper in the back room.”

“You jackass,” she hisses. “I wasn’t hiding, I was using my brain, unlike you boneheads. Now, let’s move before I leave your pouting ass behind.”

Olivia doesn’t wait for me to reply, she just jogs across the street without making a sound. How the hell does she do that? My guess would be that it’s because she’s miniscule, but what do I know? I surpassed that size by the time I was ten, so I haven’t much experience with any of the possible advantages that come with being small.

“I do not pout,” I mutter and ignore Cory’s chuckle.

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

Chapter Twenty-Four:

I look both ways, before I step into the street. Seeing nothing, I try to lighten my running steps as much as possible to follow after Olivia. Reaching the storefront, she holds up her hand for me to wait. After a few seconds of listening, she holds up four fingers, and twists her hand to indicate how many she thinks are inside.

I nod and follow after Olivia when she slips inside. I motion that I’ll take the right, and she nods before splitting off to the left. I walk softly all the way to the end of the store, and start at the last aisle. Spotting no wheezers there, I continue on to the next. Same story for the next two, but on the fourth aisle, I spot one chowing down on the fallen wheezer on the ground’s innards like it’s a free for all buffet of spaghetti.

Pulling my crossbow up to aim, I walk a few steps forward to get a better shot. About ten feet away, I take a breath and squeeze the trigger on the release. The arrow spears through one side of the feasting wheezer’s head, and the pointed end comes out the other side, before the body collapses on top of its meal. Leaving the arrow for now, I load another as I walk to the next aisle.

Another empty, so I move on until I find my next target. This one is chomping on an arm like it’s a chicken leg, but when it spots me, it bares it’s bloody teeth before hopping to its feet like a dude from MMA. That’s when he starts sprinting.

Whipping the crossbow around, so it’s hanging behind me from its strap on my back, I come up with my hunting knife and brace for the full frontal assault. I don’t wait long, the bastard’s smell hits me like a freight train, a mixture of raw sewage and piss that makes me gag. I ignore the sensation and dodge a swipe from the stinky fuck. Ducking under the swinging arms, I sweep my leg to knock him to the ground as I sink my knife through its jaw, and up into the brain. I follow the body down so that it lands softly with my knife still embedded in its skull. After I stand, I leave that knife where it is and swing the already loaded crossbow back around to catch in my hands.

I’m just about to turn into the next aisle, when I spot something on top of a shelf. It’s crouched and I know it’s alive, but even in his dim lighting; I can see it’s covered in hair. I’m thinking I’m going crazy, until it leaps from one aisle to the next like a freaking squirrel. Jogging to a better position, I aim and fire an arrow at the leaping bastard. It hits the thing in the side, before it tumbles to the ground, and knocks an aisle down with it. Running fast, I scan aisles as I approach where I saw the thing go down, but see nothing, so I keep moving. I finally find the thing limping on its turned inward foot, obviously broken since the bone is popping through the ripped pant suit, and it’s heading toward the back of the store while ignoring it’s injuries. I reload my bow so that I can take him down.

Aiming quickly, I pull the trigger and see it sink inside the back of the hairy skull. When it hits the ground, black blood forms a puddle next to the creature’s head. Not a pretty sight, but I still want to check it out up closer once it’s safe. He’s obviously one of the mutations that Olivia was talking about, and I want to get a better picture of what we could be dealing with more in the future.

Glancing around to make sure the coast is clear, I approach the fallen wheezer, and I shove it with my foot to over to make sure it’s dead. There’s no question about it, when I see greenish-brown ooze dripping out of the wound in his eye, where the arrow tip is sticking out. The man’s business suit is ripped to no more than tatters, but that isn’t what catches my attention. It’s the amount of hair covering every inch of his exposed skin.

His hands and arms are like someone glued a carpet’s worth of fake hair to them. His exposed chest is the same story. And his face? It’s fucking is grotesque. It reminds me of a really bad B-movie version of a werewolf, but it’s features are off. The mutation is missing a nose, most likely torn off by another wheezer, it’s one remaining eye is the same as others I’ve seen, with the red tint of the iris and the green pus it weeps. The main difference is in the mouth. Instead of being presented on a relaxed jaw, his lower lip is thrust forward, making it look like he has a permanent pout. Either this guy was an ugly, hairy bastard with a severe under bite to begin with, or the ape DNA that was coursing through its veins, changed his anatomy.

After my examination of the new wheezer, I leave the aisle and do another sweep on my side. Seeing nothing else but downed bodies, I jog to the back of the store. That’s where I find Olivia.

“About time,” Olivia replies with a bored tone muffled by her helmet. “I left the mutation for you, since you didn’t seem believe me.”

“Thanks for that,” I say. “Though I already did believe you, it’s nice to see the proof with your own eyes.” She nods. “The fucking thing was leaping.”

“Wait ‘til you see them climb,” she comments. “If they’re barefoot, they even use their feet.”

“That sounds lovely,” I say without concealing my sarcasm. “But I’d much rather shoot the fucking thing, before it has a chance to turn me ape.”

“True enough,” she agrees. Olivia glances around the wrecked store before flipping her visor up. “How about we just grab what we need so we don’t upset the females’ delicate dispositions?”

“You do know you’re a woman, right?” I ask.

“Are you sure?” Olivia asks with an astonished face. “I thought I had a penis.” I laugh at that.

“No, you have balls, but no penis, sorry,” I answer and she laughs. I ignore the warm sensation that the sound causes the rush through me, and glance around at the carnage. “I can see what you mean about them walking in here. Sarah hasn’t left the condo in almost two years, so I don’t know how she’d react. Whitney, Marissa and Chelsea might be able handle it, since they’ve seen this before. As for Kelly?” We both make a face, Olivia’s lip curling like she smelt something awful, making me laugh.

“Okay, grab as many helmets or hats as you can carry, and let’s get the fuck out of here. It smells like shit and piss, mixed with a little bit of puke for good measure.” I grimace at her description, but it’s spot on. “Sorry, I didn’t know that you had a vagina, I’ll refrain from using vulgar words for now on. How about it smells like pee pee and poo poo, with a little bit of spew, is that better?”

“You’re a real character, you know that?” I inquire with a grin, and she smiles back a crooked one. It’s just a tug to one side without flashing any teeth, but it looks adorable on her.

“Thanks, I try,” she says. “Now, let’s get the shi-stuff and get out of here.”

“Fine,” I say. “But for future reference, I like it better when you curse. It’s pretty funny to see a pissed off Tinkerbell.” I run from the baseball mitt being hurled at my head, laughing all the way .

“You are a bastard, Jared Matthew Benson!” Olivia shouts. Fucking PITA, sharing full names for Olivia to shout out like an angry mother. I’ll get Sarah back, by sharing a story of her in a diaper with Danny. That ought to show her.

I jog my way down to the headgear section of the baseball aisle. I spot rows with hundreds of hats from almost every team in the major league, but I stick true to my heritage and grab the stack of B’s, along with all five of the helmets. Only the softball ones have face masks on them, and you can barely tell the difference between the helmets otherwise; aside from the ponytail hole, so someone else can use the remaining one if they wanted to.

I shove the hats inside the pack, then tie the helmets with some rope from the shelf to attach them to my backpack straps, so that it leaves my hands free. Next, I run to each aisle to retrieve my arrows and hunting knife. I give them each a quick swipe on a NYY towel since it’s trash anyway, before tucking them back in their holders. Sox fan all the way, even if the league is dead. Once I’ve set my gear to rights, I go looking for Olivia. She’s back at the display case where it all started, fiddling with a lock on the bottom.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” I ask. My eyes scan the area, while my body tense in preparation of the wheezers that came sprinting the last time I was in this spot, doing this very thing.

“I’m positive,” Olivia answers as she continues her movements. “The alarm is cut, I did it myself.” She glances over her shoulder at me. “Unlike a couple of meat heads, who don’t like to take an extra second to read.”

“You’re never going to let us live that down, are you?”

“Hell no,” she replies and pops the lock open. “Success.”

Olivia places her tools off to the side and slides the door of the cabinet open. I step closer to see what’s inside, and almost clap my hands in excitement over the amount of boxed ammo in the case. There are stacks of it piled for the rifles that we took last time, varying sizes of handgun ammo, knives and arrows galore.

“How the fuck did you know that was in there?” I ask and go down on my knees beside her. She scoots away, I’m not sure if it was because I was encroaching on her personal space and making her uncomfortable, or if she wants me to carry the extra weight; so I glance at her. Olivia holds her hand out for me to go ahead, so I start stuffing my already bursting backpack, and my duffel bag with the new supplies.

“I didn’t,” she answers with a shrug. “But I was hoping there was some in here, since it wasn’t in the office.” That reminds me of the last time.

“Why did you really help us? Obviously, you don’t need us, so why’d you do it?”

“Honestly?” Olivia asks and I nod. “I was scared out of my freaking mind, when I heard male voices out here.” I give her a doubtful look, but she continues. “Believe me, I was fucking terrified. When you guys set the alarm off, I was planning on just escaping while the wheezers were busy with you.” She points to the corner John and I held out in our last stand. I notice that it’s only a few feet away from the now open office door.

“But then I heard you saying your very macho versions of ‘I love yous,’ and felt kind of bad. ‘Cuz here I am, hiding out like a coward, when I could be out there saving a couple of boneheaded survivors. So, I shoved my way out the door; which wasn’t very hard since they were trying to eat your asses more than mine, and grabbed a crossbow before hopping on top of a shelf.” Olivia gives me a pointed look.

“Sometimes it pays to be Tink. We weigh less, and can fit in smaller places, as you can attest to since it saved your life.” I nod and she presses on. “Then I saw John. I don’t know why, maybe it was the blonde hair, but all I could think about is; what if that were Cory about to being eaten alive, and some asshole sat by and watched? So, I shot that fucker, before he had to chance to sink his teeth into John’s neck. I didn’t even see you until you walked over after it was done.” Way to kick a man when he’s down. Jesus. If I were a dog, I’d be cowering in the corner with my tail would be between my legs.

“But, when I turned around and seen these big blue eyes looking back at me, I was fucking pissed,” Olivia continues with a glare at my somehow offensive blue eyes. Ordinarily, I’m complimented for them for their strange blue-green color, but Olivia is far from ordinary. And I get it, once she explains.

“I mean, not only do I have to deal with a Cory flashback, but then I have to deal with your blue eyes? Someone upstairs is definitely a sick fuck to make me go for months without seeing a single human, only to find one that makes me think of Cory, and the other with eyes like Travis.” She shakes her head. “When John mentioned something about safety in numbers, I immediately thought that you were part of the raider’s group. That’s why I was a tad excited to go with you.”

“Just a tad?” I ask dryly and she flips me off.

“A tad,” she confirms. “I was planning on following you back to your headquarters, arming the women, and staging a revolt with the weapons you brought back. Only when I got there, I found that you assholes treat your women as equals, instead of slaves.”

“Wow, we really are a bunch of douchebags,” I comment and she grins. “I mean, how dare we let our women fight each other over Don Juan, move as they please, and do whatever the fuck they want.”

“I know!” Olivia exclaims with a smirk. “Waste of my goddamn time. I was so looking forward to training an army, too.”

“You could always train us,” I propose. “The girls would love it, well not Kelly, but she’s a bitch; so she don’t count.” Olivia laughs a little at that. “But I know John wanted you to show him that flip thing you did to him, remember?”

“I could do that,” she agrees. “As soon as we get to the safe house, I’ll set up a room for training. Anyone who wants to can come.”

I nod to say that’s a good idea, when I see Olivia bite her bottom lip on a thought. It’s an innocent action, but it still gets my demented blood flowing. I will not be affected, I will not be affected. Fuck you, DIC! I ignore it, as if it isn’t making my cargos increasingly tighter by the second. Olivia most certainly doesn’t need to see this unfortunate sign of male attraction, especially when all she’s trying to do is think.

What the fuck is wrong with me? The poor girl has been tortured and traumatized, but does my dick care? Hell, no! The deranged fucker only cares about himself, but my head upstairs is currently in charge, and flips Junior off. I applaud the confident bastard for a job well done, when Olivia finally states what she was thinking.

“I was thinking we could go to the same house I took you to the last time. Would that be alright? I don’t think that Leonard or Mike could handle anymore today. They were sharing the cane as it was already.”

“Sounds perfect,” I reply. “Now, let’s get going.” Before Junior overthrows my willpower, and tries to ravage you.

Olivia nods and shoves the rest of what my bags couldn’t fit, into her own pack. Heaving it onto her back, she picks up her machete, lowers the visor, and jogs down the aisle. Following behind, I force myself to keep my focus attached to the straps of her backpack, and not her ass. No need to sport another woody for the duration of the trip to Olivia’s brick row house. I stop when we reach the group and untie the rope that’s holding the helmets. I pass one to Whitney, Chelsea and Marissa; who immediately pull them over their heads, before I hold one out to Kelly.

“I’m not wearing that,” she sneers. “I’m not a dyke, and won’t dress like one.” I spot the bruise on her cheek from Sarah, and wish that it were bigger.

“I really don’t give a fuck, Olivia thinks you should wear one.”

“Fuck her,” Kelly hisses. “I don’t want it, it’ll ruin my hair.” Raising my eyes to the sky to beg for patience that I’m sorely missing, I take a deep breath.

“Just forget it, Jared,” Olivia says. “If the bitch wants her pretty face to be chomped on, then that’s her problem. Give the other two to whoever wants them.”

Ignoring Kelly’s reaching hands, I give one to Danny whose hand was raised, and the other to Oscar. They both strap them into place and test the weight with a head shake.

“Now I can protect my handsome face,” Oscar says with a grin. “Which is a good thing, since I’m the pretty twin.” Olivia laughs at that and smacks his helmet.

“You sure are handsome, Oscar,” she comments. “And while you do have excellent taste in head attire, I believe that the two of you are identical, so there is no pretty twin.”

“You’re damn right he isn’t,” Carlos announces from in front of me. “But I am.” His twin ignores him.

“You wait and see, mamá poco,” Oscar says with a wink aimed at Olivia.

“No good flirt,” Olivia says as she waves him away. “Get your ass back in line.”

Oscar laughs all the way to his spot next to Sarah and Danny. The bastard. Who the fuck does he think he is, flirting with her? John’s elbow makes contact with my ribs, so I glare at him, and curl my hands into fists. The group moves, but I’m stomping along the whole way. Another elbow, and I look over at him.

“What?” I bark.

“Calm the fuck down,” John whispers. “He’s not doing anything new, he always flirts, so what’s the big deal?”

“There isn’t one,” I retort. “I just don’t like him messing with Olivia. She has enough to deal with it as it is, without adding that on top of it all.”

“Sure, it’s only for Olivia’s sake that your eyes have turned green, and you’re practically going Hulk,” John replies with a laugh. “Just admit it already. You like her, it’s not the end of the world for you to care about someone.”

“Fine,” I spit out. “I like her, alright? Are you happy now?”

“Fucking ecstatic,” John says as he grins. “My, how the mighty have fallen.”

I flip him off and pick up my pace. Noticing that I’m making a lot of noise, I make a concentrated effort to lighten my steps. It’s then, that I hear the scuffling behind us, and coming up fast.

“Move,” I order.

Pushing John out of the way, I draw my hunting knife out as the wheezer lunges forward. Holding the handle of my knife like Norman Bates in Psycho, I stab the wheezer lady in her red eye. Kicking the dead body in the stomach to knock her off my blade, I look for any more that may be in the area. I see two more coming out of a storefront, so I stuff my knife in my thigh holster and grab my crossbow. John shoots the one on the left while I take out the one on the right. As soon as they drop, a group of wheezers pounce on the bodies.

“Fuck!” I exclaim, as a few more spot our slow moving group, and start charging. “Olivia, blow the fucking whistle!”

I hear screaming behind me, that doesn’t belong to the wheezer’s since the pitch and length are unmistakably Kelly’s; as I reload my bow and shoot the next wheezer in the throat. The shot is extremely similar to the way that I wish I were able to do to the bitch behind me. Wheezer man goes down, so I think the arrow might have severed its spine. Grabbing a throwing knife from my thigh with my left hand, I hurl it at another creature just as it goes to block out the sound. The knife reaches the wheezer’s eye, before its hands are able to cover the thing’s ears.

More screeches rent the air, but now that they’re no longer charging at us, I switch up my weapons. I spin the cross bow out of the way so that I can pull out my hunting knife for my right hand, and another throwing one for my left. Running forward, I stab the temples of three wheezers that are still standing, and whip knives at several of the ones that face planted on the street. Both John and Carlos are clubbing them to death, so there are only a few left when I see three knives go whizzing past me in perfect synchronicity to drop them.

Turning to face the knife wielding master, I find both Cory and Olivia standing there. Cory’s hands are still lowering from the double throw and Olivia’s left hand is now empty from her throw, while her machete is still firmly in her right.

“Nice throws,” I mutter. “But we had it.”

“We know, and we would have helped sooner, if I didn’t have to gag Kelly first,” Olivia replies, confirming my suspicions of that screaming bitch being responsible. “Not only that, but we only have two more blocks, and I didn’t want a tail.” She looks at Cory with a smirk. “Plus, I wanted to see if Cory still had his magic touch.”

“As if it could have gone anywhere,” Cory retorts. “Besides, it’s you that had the terrible aim.” Olivia glares at him, but he just grins.

“I’ll ask about that as soon as we get inside, for now, keep moving before we have more smelly bastards following us without an invitation.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Olivia says with a salute and marches to the front.

“Smartass,” Cory says under his breath and jogs after her.

My sentiments exactly, but I don’t say it. Instead, I collect my expensive knives and the arrows, before jogging after the group. They’ve only gotten ahead by one block, so I reach them quickly and slow my pace to the crawl they’re traveling at. How the fuck are we going to travel for a month like this? It’s dangerous since we have so many, but then we have elderly, injured and plain unprepared people thrown into the mix. A journey that should have taken four hours max, is now approaching seven. If Olivia estimated a month before witnessing our slow pace, what’s her estimate now?

I’ll ask her later, since I can see her place up ahead.

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

Chapter Twenty-Five:

Olivia ushers everyone through the gate, before pulling out four bike locks. She attaches them all methodically and tugs each one to make sure they’re all secure. Once satisfied, she brushes her gloved hands off, straightens and pushes her way to the door. I can’t see her with so many taller bodies, but I do see the door open a few seconds later and the crowd move forward.

I’m the last through the door, so I triple lock it, before Olivia approaches to do it. She still checks them herself, as if it’s an extremely complicated design; which it isn’t, but I don’t say anything. If she feels more comfortable with checking them out, then I won’t stop her.

“We have to talk,” she whispers. I nod, and she motions for me to follow her. Olivia walks into the living room where everyone’s standing around, before clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright everyone, have a seat and relax. We’re staying here for the night, so settle in, and get some rest. We leave early tomorrow morning.”

Groans emit from a few people, but I don’t know exactly who; nor does Olivia seem to care, since she gets Cory and John’s attention, and we leave the group to their complaints. With us trailing behind her, she jogs upstairs, down the hallway,  and to the roof I found her last time. Motioning us to go first, she pulls out her soda can, and shoves it into the door jam. Once it’s in place, she follows us up to the witch’s walk.

“I think it’s obvious that if we walk the rest of the way to the compound, we’ll all be older than Lenny when we finally get there,” Olivia says bluntly. “That, or we die before we get within 100 miles of it.”

“So, what do you suggest?” I ask.

“We drive,” she states. Three sets of eyes peer at her. “You know, get in car, and go vroom-vroom?”

“We know what you’re talking about, you smartass,” Cory says and Olivia grins. “We’re wondering where you’re getting enough cars and gas to get us where we’re going.”

“Don’t you worry about it,” Olivia replies. “I’ve got it covered.” She points downstairs and looks at Cory with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Did you happen to recognize whose house we’re in?”

“Your old bitch of an aunt’s,” Cory answers and she nods. He thinks a second and grins. “Holy fuck, I call dibs on the Jag.”

“That’s fine with me,” Olivia says with a shrug. “I’m taking the Beemer for a spin.” She adopts a Jamaican accent and starts singing Beenie Man’s “Who am I?” John hops in and they start swapping verses back and forth. When they finish, I get bring them back to the matter at hand.

“Alright Beenie Men,” I say and they laugh. “So, you have a Jaguar and a BMW.” Olivia nods. “How exactly are we stuffing sixteen people in two cars? Do the trunks have rooms for bodies?”

“They do,” she confirms. “But alas, we cannot stuff Kelly in it, since we regrettably have another vehicle.”

“A Ferrari?” John asks excitedly.

“Sorry, but no,” Olivia says with a smirk and looks at me. “You get the bingo van.”

“Van?” I ask horrified at the prospect, and she nods. “Fuck. That. I’m not a freaking soccer mom.”

“Believe me, that is no vehicle for a soccer mom to drive,” Cory counters. “It’s a fucking beast. Equipped with TVs, a DVD player, full surround sound, and captain chairs throughout. Plus, it seats twelve.”

“I’m in!” John exclaims. “But I’m picking the movie.”

“Damn, I knew I should have brought my complete set of Rambo DVDs,” I mutter and John laughs. “Fine, I’ll drive the van. We can swap drivers if we get tired.”

“Who’s riding with you two?” John asks.

“I’ll take Tommy,” Cory replies. “He doesn’t piss me off, and knows how to handle machinery with his background, so I know he won’t drive us off the road.”

“And I’ll take Leonard,” Olivia says with a smile. “I have a feeling he’s one of the few that won’t make me want to stab them, so he and I will get along great.”

“But you can’t switch to rest,” I point out. She waves me off.

“Rest, shmest,” she counters. “Who needs it, when I need to lead to troops?” Cory gives me a look, and then I remember her night terrors.

“Are we still stopping along the way?” John asks and Olivia nods.

“Yeah, we can’t sleep in the cars,” she answers. “And we’re taking the back-est of back roads, so it’s still gonna take a while to get there.” Olivia taps her chin. “We’ll have to stop for gas, most likely siphoning it with hoses from dead ones, since electric pumps won’t work. Even with the back roads, some streets are blocked, so we’ll have to ditch the cars and walk, or clear the way. But we’ll figure it out when we get there.” She rubs her hands together and looks at the three of us. “So, who’s up for a road trip?”

“Finally, someone that agrees with me,” John says with a smile. Olivia tips her head in question. “I suggested the same thing, but all I got we’re a bunch of complaining douches.”

“You just have to use the right touch.” Olivia replies. “And a bit of intimidation never hurts.”

“I’ll remember that next time,” he says with a nod.

“Great, so it’s settled,” she says. “After I cook dinner, we’ll pack the cars so we can leave tomorrow.”

“Have I told you how much I’ve missed you lately?” Cory asks as he grins.

“Please, you missed my cooking,” she counters, but she smiles back at him. “Always did know how to clear a plate.”

“I’m a growing boy,” Cory says and she laughs.

They continue talking quietly as they walk down ahead of John and I. Olivia pauses to remove the can, and stuffs it into her bag, before pulling the door the rest of the way open. We follow her and Cory down to the main living area, where she heads to the kitchen, and the three of us join the others.

Sarah and Danny are sitting on the loveseat flipping through some huge book. The twins are plopped on each end of a three seater, resting their heads on the arm rests. Tommy’s sitting on the floor cleaning weapons, and reloading guns with the new ammo, along with his grandfather. Akio is checking Mike’s gunshot, as he sits next to Whitney on the last couch. Chelsea and Marissa have found some old magazines and have them spread out on the floor, admiring fashion that’s long since been outdated. The new style is whatever is required for survival, protective clothing with weapon holsters as accessories, paired with boots or sneakers. Not Jimmy Choo heels, and afghan knit wraps. Don’t ask, I have a sister.

I don’t spot Kelly, until I’m walking toward the kitchen; where music is coming from, but I notice her observing some silver cutlery, and antique china that’s locked in a hutch in the dining room. I hear her mutter about something ‘being worth a small fortune,’ so she’s probably figuring out how much she could have hocked it before no one cared for that kind of stuff.

Continuing on, I finally find the source of the music coming from a phonograph on the counter. The woman sounds French, but what catches my attention is Olivia singing along fluently in her husky voice. I know that if she sees me, she’ll stop, so I stay where I am and lean against the doorway, crossing my arms as I listen.

“‘La Vie En Rose,’” a voice says to my right. “It’s one of her favorites.” I look over at Cory, who’s assumed a similar position as me, and is watching Olivia with a smile.

“So, she always sings in French?”

“No, she’ll sing just about anything,” he answers. “Edith Piaf,” Cory nods at her to say that Olivia’s current selection is by that particular woman. “Nirvana, Joan Jett, Eminem, Five Finger Death Punch, Elvis, Lady Gaga.” Cory laughs at that reference. “Doesn’t matter, Livs loves it all.” I nod. “She even passed up a full ride for her singing and dancing, when she found out that her mom was sick.”

“It might have saved her life in the end,” I point out and he nods. New York suffered significantly with their high congestion. “But she sounds beautiful.” I motion to my throat. “She still sound the same?”

“Pretty much,” Cory confirms. “She’s always had a hint of the bluesy rasp, but it’s a little huskier now.”

I nod and look back at Olivia. She still hasn’t noticed that she has an audience, and is now singing whatever was next on the record. It’s the same woman singing, but the song sounds a little more powerful. More higher verses that shift to lower runs. Olivia finishes with a strong note in French.

“‘God, reunite those who love each other,’” Cory translates, as Olivia pulls the record off, and wipes her eyes. She doesn’t put in another one, but finally catches us in the corner.

“Fucking onions,” Olivia says and wipes her tears with the backs of her uncovered hands. Her sleeves are pulled up, so her scarred wrists are visible, but I refuse to stare at them. She’s self-conscious enough as it is; besides all it will do is piss me off.

“Would you like some help with those damn onions?” I ask. “I can chop them into submission.” Olivia smiles a little, but waves me off.

“No, I can handle the bastards,” she says. Olivia points at the casserole dish on the counter. “It’s almost ready to toss in the oven anyway.”

“You don’t need any water for me to drag in or anything?” I ask.

Olivia laughs as she walks over to the sink, lifts the handle, and water comes rushing out. My eyes just about pop out of my head, but she isn’t done yet. Olivia then walks over to a light switch and flips it on. It’s still daytime, but I can see the light bulb shining in the pot lit ceiling.

“What the fuck?” I exclaim but she makes a cutting motion for me to shut up and come closer. Forgetting about her fear of physical touch, I sprint forward and skid to a stop when Cory just about chokes me by grabbing my collar. That’s when I see Olivia pressed against the cabinets with a knife pointed out in front of her.

“Sorry,” I say and hold up my hands. “I just got a tad excited.” Olivia gives me a shaky smile, but lowers her knife.

“I-it’s fine,” she says. Taking a deep breath, she continues. “My aunt didn’t like paying the city for her utilities, so she came up with a solution. She had very own pipe connection to the river, a septic system put in and a solar powered generator out back. It cost her a fortune, but she said that she was spending it on a good investment, herself.”

“She was a greedy old hag,” I comment. Olivia gives me a sad smile along with a shake of her head.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she says as she flips the light switch off, as well as the faucet. Once everything is set back to rights, Olivia glances toward the parlor, before looking back at me and talks in a lowered voice. “I think that it’s self-explanatory as to why we aren’t telling the others about the electricity.” I nod my agreement, those fuckers would never leave if they knew. “You can tell them about the water. Let them shower and smell clean or else you’ll be dealing with twelve different body odors all at once in the confined van.”

“Absolutely,” I agree. Then I think of something. “Why did you make John and I drag koi pond water in, boil it and lug it upstairs if we didn’t need to?”

“To tire you out,” she answers with a smirk. “No way in hell was I locking myself in with two giants who could bench press four of me.” Cory laughs at that. “Plus, I was seeing how trustworthy you were. If you didn’t follow my orders to a ‘T,’ I probably would have left you as soon as you passed out.” I shrug, she had to do what she felt comfortable with. No blaming her after what she’s been through.

“You could have done worse,” I admit remembering Frank and Victoria. Olivia nods in agreement, like she knows where my mind wandered. “I’ll go tell the others to hit the showers.”

“Good idea,” Cory says. “I’m using Auntie Scrooge’s Egyptian cotton towels to dry my ‘hick’ ass.”

“You only spent the summers in Texas,” Olivia counters.

“And the first two years of my life, missy,” Cory revises with a crooked grin.

“Get your country ass out of my kitchen,” she orders and tosses an oven mitt at a laughing Cory’s retreating back. “And don’t come back now, ya hear?” Olivia looks at me. “You too, you suburban bum.”

“Hey now,” I say with mocked offense. “Suburban jungles are pretty dangerous too, you city slicker.”

“But I got better views,” she says as she smiles. “Fenway Park less than three blocks away. Me and my dad used to watch the games with the television on mute, and listen to it live from the window.”

“Lucky,” I mutter.

“I was,” Olivia agrees and shakes her head. “But those times are long gone. Now, I enjoy the comforts that I was denied.” She twirls a finger around to indicate the house we’re staying in. I’ll get the story of that later, for now, I start walking to the door. Before I exit, I look back over my shoulder.

“Hey, Olivia,” I call and she peers at me. “I didn’t know you spoke French.” I swear I see her sun kissed skin flush. “And you have a really beautiful voice.”

I get moving before she can say anything, or throw something, about the compliment. Entering the parlor, I see that a few people must have followed Cory’s lead and hit the showers. Leonard and Tommy are still cleaning guns on the floor, Carlos is now sprawled across the sofa and snoring, Chelsea’s popping bubble gum as she and Marissa continue consulting over the magazines, and Sarah is alone on the loveseat leafing through the same huge book. Walking over, I plop myself down next to Sarah.

“Where’re the others?” I ask.

“Akio was setting up a new sick room, so Mike and Whitney went with him,” she answers without looking up. “Oscar, Cory and John went to shower somewhere upstairs. And Kelly went to score a bed, since she says that she isn’t sharing with anyone.”

“And Danny?” Because he’s usually attached to her hip. Maybe she’s finally broken up with him?

“Setting up a room downstairs for Olivia to train us in,” she replies. Damn, one could only hope.

“How’d you know about that?”

“Cory mentioned it,” Sarah says and finally looks up with a grin. “Did you see her today? I want to be able do that.”

“Olivia’s been doing this a long time,” I say. “So, I don’t want you thinking that a little bit of tutoring makes you an expert.”

“I don’t want to be an expert,” she snaps. “I want to be able to kill those things.”

“That’s not what she’s teaching.”

“Then what is she teaching?” Sarah asks.

“How to defend yourself.”

“Yeah,” she agrees like I’m simple. “By teaching us how to kill the monsters that ate Mom and Dad.”

I glance around to make sure Olivia didn’t hear her before lowering my voice. It’s times like these that I realize just how young my sister is. And how completely unprepared she was to leave the safety net that was our childhood home. I’m hoping to rectify that by sharing a smidge of Olivia’s past, and I’m praying that it won’t come back to bite me in the ass.

“Olivia’s mom was a volunteer, and I don’t think that she’d appreciate you insulting her.” Sarah’s eyes widen, but I shush her and continue. “She doesn’t like killing anything, it’s for her own protection and she’s teaching you for yours. Not vengeance. It doesn’t matter what killed Mom and Dad. The wheezers were sick and couldn’t help it, so running around angry at the world isn’t going to bring them back. It’ll just get you killed.” I give her a quick hug. “I need my PITA of a little sister around, so please take your training seriously, and remember that the best offense is a good defense.”

“You did not just use a football reference,” Sarah says and I nod but give her a stern look. “Fine, I’ll take it seriously, alright?”

“Alright, now go shower,” I order and point to the door. The guys are coming back, so some of them must be open now. “Because you stink.”

“You shouldn’t talk,” she counters with a wrinkled nose. “You smell like a men’s bathroom at a sold out concert.”

Sarah runs away before I can ask my sixteen year old sister what the hell she was doing in a men’s bathroom, never mind a concert, when she would have been two years younger at the time. Sarah’s followed by Chelsea and Marissa who sprint after her calling out dibs before Tommy, Leonard or Carlos can do the honors.

Tommy and Leonard shrug like they couldn’t care less when they go in, they’re used to cold rain water, so any chance for a warm shower is worth the wait. Carlos is still buzzing wood and could not possibly care less about what’s going on in the room. John plops down beside me and picks up the book that Sarah was looking through. Glancing over his shoulder, I see that isn’t a book at all, but a photo album.

“You want to get stabbed?” I hiss. “Olivia will be pissed if you touch her shit.”

“I won’t stab you,” says the devil herself. “After all, it would be rather hypocritical of me to do so, when you said you would show me yours.”

Olivia waves my album in her hand at me, before plopping down onto the floor in front of us. Cory takes the other side of John and leans back against the cushion with damp hair. I guess he doesn’t care about ruining the furniture, so I peak at Olivia to see how she’s taking it, but she just looks at me expectantly.

“Well, go on,” Olivia orders and motions at the album. “Check out embarrassing photos, so that I can laugh at yours.”

“I want to see the gummy smile that knocked Cory on his ass,” John says and Cory laughs. Olivia flashes the adult version of said smile that punches me in the lungs. Is it any wonder I like her? She’s sweet and spice all wrapped in one delicious package.

John opens the album, so I turn my focus from Olivia’s present form to that of the girl buried underneath. Turns out, Olivia did not rock the leathers since the cradle. She wore tiny conservative dresses with huge matching bows in her short black hair. Even when there were only a few needles on top, there was a bow somehow miraculously held in place.

Most pictures are of Olivia’s toothless smile by herself, but there are others sprinkled in. Some of a short Italian woman that looks identical to Olivia with the exception of blue eyes, so it’s obvious that she’s Olivia’s mom. Others have a tall man, who must be her dad, holding an even tinier Olivia. He has brown hair, a friendly crooked smile and Olivia’s grey eyes. There are several pages of Olivia from infancy and up, all singles of her or with her parents, so she must have been an only child.

And that’s when two new faces start making repeat appearances. A blonde haired boy with brown eyes is holding baby Olivia as they smile at each other. One with jack o’ lantern teeth; which has to be a six-ish Cory, and one toothless terror, which is self-explanatory. Another has Olivia sitting next to a boy with blonde hair and the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen on a guy. He’s probably only a year or two older than Olivia, so this must be Travis. They’re both in diapers, shirtless and sitting on the sand with sun hats strapped to their heads. The next page has Olivia pulling a wagon full of dolls, just like Cory said she did. Then there’s a picture of Cory trailing after a tiny raven-haired girl with her finger pointed at a tree. The following shows the same raven-haired girl kissing the cast of his broken arm.

“What happened here, tough guy?” John elbows Cory. “Did you get a boo boo and make Olivia kiss it better?”

“Actually, asshole,” Cory counters. “I climbed a tree to rescue Liv’s kite, but the branch broke and I got a nice compound fracture for my troubles.”

“But he made sure to grab the kite on the way down,” Olivia says as she smiles and points at the kite behind Cory in the picture. “You always were a softie, Cory Benjamin Prescott.” She goes up on her knees and kisses his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” Cory says and waves her off, but he’s smiling. “Turn to the next one, it’s my favorite.”

John dutifully turns to the next page and waits for Cory to point out the one he was referring to. As soon as I see it, I burst out laughing. It’s Olivia with pigtails, holding an electric guitar and wearing a leather jacket that is much too big for her. She’s probably ten at most, but you could see she was extremely serious in that get up.

“Look at you rocking the leathers even back then,” John says.

“I was a fan of Joan Jett,” she says with a shrug. “She was the ultimate badass.”

“Coming from the girl who sang Lady Gaga’s ‘Poker face’ to me when I turned twenty-three,” Cory mutters and Olivia laughs.

“You loved it and you know it,” she replies with a grin.

“So didn’t the guys watching you on the big screen,” Cory counters.

“You were in the middle of your second tour, and every time you talked to us, you looked miserable,” Olivia says with what appears to be an innocent look, but her eyes are filled with mischief. “I was just trying to make you smile.”

“Believe me, they were all smiling after that.”

“Do you have a picture of this?” John asks with a hopeful expression. “I wanna smile.”

“Turn another page and you’ll see exactly what they were smiling it,” Cory replies with a scowl marring his features.

Flipping the page so fast it almost tears from the book, John searches with frantic eyes. I know he’s found it when his eyes widen, and he gulps. Snatching the album from his hands, John’s dazed expression becomes my own. Olivia is wearing her hair pin straight and down past her shoulders, a skin tight leather dress with spikes on the shoulders and reaches to mid-thigh. She paired it with stiletto heeled, thigh-high leather boots that separate from the bottom of the dress by mere inches to flash a peek at the creamy skin of her thigh. Her overly generous breasts are nearly spilling from the top, so obviously she now hides her natural assets instead of showcasing them. I don’t notice the guy holding her, until I see his arms wrapped around her tiny waist.

When I do, I nearly growl. I follow the offending appendages to find the owner’s chin resting on top of her head. His blonde hair, straight white teeth and huge blue eyes identify him as Travis. The deceased fiancé that had the great pleasure of calling Olivia his. The same one that has her heart. The same one who gave his life selflessly in hopes of saving hers. And he was one handsome bastard.

I might as well throw in the towel, because you can read their obvious love for each other in their eyes. It was the kind that lasts a lifetime, and not one that I could ever hope of competing with. But I’m no quitter, and I’m a gambling man no matter the odds, so I refuse to give in to a ghost. So, sorry Travis, I respect the hell out of you, but I’m going to have to make a play for your girl.

She’s much too sad down here and I plan on making the radiant girl in the picture come back to life.

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

Chapter Twenty-Six:

“So, do you still have the outfit?” John asks. “‘Cuz my birthday’s in a few weeks, and I happen to love Gaga.” I punch him in the shoulder, making him grin at me, the fucker.

“Sorry, John,” Olivia replies. “But that was a one time performance.”

“Bull,” Cory counters. “I recall you jumping out of a cake for Grandpa Ben.”

“That was fun,” she says with a crooked smile.

“Picture?” John asks and they shake their heads in unison.

“It was only a few weeks before the outbreak, so they weren’t developed,” Olivia answers.

“I just got back on leave, and the three of us flew down to the ranch with my parents,” Cory says. “Grandpa Ben was turning 75, so we wanted to do something special. He was complaining about being too old to do anything.”

“So Travis suggested we take him casket shopping,” Olivia adds. John and I laugh.

“But Olivia, being the gambling woman she is, decides to make a friendly wager,” Cory continues. “If Grandpa Ben could outrun her in a 100yd race, she’ll pop out of his birthday cake, wearing a Marilyn Monroe outfit; complete with wig, and sing to him at his party.”

“I’m guessing he won, since you said she popped out a cake,” John points out.

“I let him win,” Olivia revises. “He needed a little push to show that he still had some gumption left, so long as he chose to use it.”

“And what better way to motivate him, than to use his favorite pin-up model against him,” Cory says with a smile. “Livs was always good at getting what she wanted.” She sticks her tongue out at him.

“So, that’s how I ended up in a cake, wearing Marilyn’s iconic white dress and a blonde wig,” Olivia finishes.

“And almost gave the senior male guests heart attacks,” Cory adds as he smirks. They both laugh at the memory, when something starts beeping in the kitchen and Olivia pops onto her feet.

“Come on, lazy bones,” she orders and pulls Cory to his feet. “You can help serve dinner.” Cory dutifully rises and allows the pint-sized sergeant to drag him toward the kitchen.

“He looks just like him,” John comments from my left.

I glance at what he’s referring to and see a picture of Cory, Travis and Olivia. Cory’s in his fatigues with an arm wrapped around Olivia’s shoulders, while Travis is on her right with an arm around her waist. The resemblance is uncanny. Both have strong jaws, dark blonde hair, straight noses and perfect white teeth with a dimple on the left side. The only difference is in the eyes. Where Cory’s are brown and have a hardness that comes with life experience, Travis’s are a clear blue that screams friendliness.

“I don’t know how she can look at him,” I reply. “I mean, if I had to look at a near replica of a passed loved one every day, I’d probably go nuts.”

“Or, maybe it’s a comfort,” he counters. “She’s known Cory just as long, and loves him just as much. All you have to do is look at them together. Sure, it’s a different kind of love, but it surrounds them in a bubble where Olivia can be the girl she hides beneath all that armor.”

“Listen to you, all wise and shit,” I say and he grins. “But I know what you mean. Ever since she saw Cory, I’ve seen more emotions out of her then I thought her capable of.”

“That just begs the question, what else is she hiding, and can it come out again with the right push?” John asks.

I contemplate that as we walk into the dining room. Olivia is obviously a complicated woman. She was a bubbly, easygoing girl who loved effortlessly. Now, she’s a hardass who doesn’t smile unless she wants to, doesn’t like physical contact unless she initiates it, and has avoided people for months; but she took a chance on John and me. That chance reconnected her to Cory. What else could she reconnect with if she let her guard down a little more? I’d say the opportunities are endless. Now, I just have to convince her that it’s alright to let a few more into her circle.

Even if I have to use a crowbar, torch and chainsaw to get there.

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

Dinner goes off without a hitch. Olivia prepared another delicious dish, this one a squirrel casserole. Don’t knock it until you’ve had to eat plain uncooked oatmeal for three months straight. You tend to acquire a new set of taste buds that are appreciative of any and all pleasant flavors, regardless of what is responsible for creating them.

Whitney, Marissa and Chelsea insisted on doing the dishes, leaving Olivia free to start packing the cars. She pulls the twins, Cory, John and I aside to carry everyone’s packs to the attached garage through the back. She unlocks three doors to get there, and uses a flashlight to see since it’s now dusk and we refuse to use the electricity.

Olivia’s carrying her own pack and a bat in her hand, maybe for her own protection with so many guys near her, or maybe just in case someone broke into Fort Knox without leaving any evidence to prove it. Whatever the reason, she’s being extremely cautious until we make it through to the garage without any hiccups.

Walking over to a dust cover on a vehicle, she grabs an end and yanks the tarp off. Revealed is a gorgeous black, 2013 Jaguar XK with a convertible top and leather seats, which is in pristine condition. Cory immediately goes over and runs a hand from the hood to the trunk with reverent eyes. I’m guessing that he’s been dying to take this for a spin for a while, and now he finally has the chance to do so.

Olivia approaches the next covered vehicle and pulls the tarp off of a cherry red, 2013 BMW 335i coupe with black leather interior and a moon roof. It’s a pretty car; not one that I would have personally chosen for myself, but I would definitely drive it. Especially with the pickup that has to be under the hood.

Finally, Olivia walks over to the uncovered beast that I will be driving. She didn’t say that the thing was a monster truck sized Mercedes. It’s also black with bucket seats throughout to seat twelve passengers as Cory said earlier. The TVs are located in each headrest so everyone has their own. What the fuck would someone need all this shit for if they only planned to drive it to and from bingo? Seems like a waste of cake to me. But Olivia did call her a greedy bitch, so I guess this is just more evidence to add to the pile.

“Hey, Jared,” Olivia calls out. I look in time to see a set of keys being hurled in my direction. I snatch them with my right hand, before I get assaulted by them. “Start her up to see if she purrs. I’m pretty sure that they’re in perfect condition, since Aunt Crystal had them detailed and tuned every month. Plus, she had a chauffeur, so they’ve only had one driver each.”

I walk around to the driver’s side and hop in. It’s pretty high off the ground, but I don’t need to use the boards to climb since I’m taller, but most of our group will have to use them to climb in. Closing the door behind me, I put the key and give it a twist. The engine starts immediately, and doesn’t as much as purr because it’s so silent. I check the gas gage and the dash for any lights, but the tank is full, and everything looks alright otherwise. Satisfied, I kill the engine and hop out.

“Works fine,” I tell her. Olivia nods as she leans into the opened door of the BMW. As soon as the engine starts, the radio blasts and wouldn’t you know it, but it’s Beenie Man’s “Who Am I.” Olivia barks out a laugh.

“Fucking Juan,” she says with a fond smile. “Always did like to piss the old bird off.” Olivia turns the music down, but not off. She just sits in the seat, taps her fingers to the beat on the wheel and mouths the words.

John must have heard it, because I hear him shouting out the chorus from near the Jaguar. Olivia’s in her own little world, with her eyes closed, she starts dancing in her seat and actually singing the words. I see two identical pairs of startled eyes turn and stare at the tiny Tomb Raider singing and dancing to reggae in the BMW. Their look says it all. It’s the ‘this white girl is fucking nuts’ look. Cory did say that she likes all kinds of music, and he wasn’t kidding. It’s a schizophrenic mix of classic, rock, pop, reggae and anything else that reaches her ears.

When the song’s over, she opens her eyes and looks around the silent room. Noticing that she’s attracted an audience, her face burns and she sinks into her seat, before ducking her head to use the collar of her jacket to reach her ears. Carlos and Oscar just start laughing. I frown, since I thought it was cute.

“Don’t be shy now,” Carlos says.

“Yeah, you’ve shown you got flavor,” Oscar adds. “What else you got?”

Peeking out slightly, Olivia observes them to see if their serious. Once she stares them down and sees that they are, she reaches into the glove box and starts digging. Olivia pulls out several cd cases and reads them off.

“A few mixed CDs, Otis Redding, Freddy Fender, Selena, Elvis and Cutty Ranks,” she answers.

“Put Cutty in,” Oscar says and Carlos nods.

Olivia shrugs and switches the discs. She presses a few buttons before a song I’ve never heard comes through the speakers. Olivia hops out and starts stuffing bags in her trunk as she sings another song. From what I pick up, it’s talking about getting a hacksaw to take out a tongue and chop limbs off one at a time. Not the most pleasant lyrics, but she seems to like it. She’s even doing motions with the words. But when Olivia sings a line about cutting out eyes if a guy tries something, we all get back to work.

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

It takes about half an hour to get everything packed in the trunks. The group’s backpacks are in the van, first aid kits in all cars, duffels, gas tanks and hoses for siphoning are also packed. After checking for spare tires, we also put in a tool kit, jack, tire iron, extra oil and fluids to be prepared for anything that may come our way.

Olivia lets us keep the keys since I’ll be driving, but she warned that anyone who loses them will have to hitchhike since she doesn’t have a spare and she ‘sure as fuck’ wasn’t giving up her spot. After that comment, I immediately placed the keys back into the ignition and left them there. Locking up the few doors behind us, Olivia walks into the living room where there are only a few people still lounging about.

“Anyone who wants to learn something, come meet me downstairs,” she says and leaves the room.

Chelsea and Marissa look up from their magazines, glance at each other, shrug and continue what they were doing. Sarah hops up and follows Olivia with Danny trailing after her. The only person left is Tommy and he does ‘sure whatever’ shrug, but follows along. The twins join John, Cory and I downstairs. We head toward the area with voices, and find a finished basement that’s carpeted and completely empty. I don’t know if it was empty to begin with or if Danny cleared it out when he was down here. Whatever it was, now it’s a training area for a day.

“Okay,” Olivia says as she glances at the eight of us. “I know that the majority of you can shoot. Some can throw knives, and others have a variety of skills due to their backgrounds. What I plan on teaching you are a few basic defensive maneuvers for hand to hand combat.” She motions for John to come forward. “You wanted me to show you how I took you down in Hal’s, right?”

“Fuck yeah!” John exclaims excitedly. “It was freaking awesome.”

“Alright, I want you to try and grab me like when you went for my gun.”

John peers at her since it goes directly against her no touching policy, but she stares him down until he shakes his head and reaches for her. Before John can lay a finger on her, Olivia grabs his wrist, twists her body and flips him over her back. John lands with an ‘oof’ on the ground as Olivia holds him down with a knee on his chest. Standing quickly, she dusts her gloved hands off and looks at the wide eyed troops.

“What?”

“How the hell did you do that?” Danny asks. “John has at least sixty pounds on you, not to mention over a foot in height.”

“Leverage,” she answers simply. “I used his weight against him.” After Olivia shoos John back in line, she motions for Cory to come up next to her. “I’ll do it again, but slower this time.”

Olivia turns to face Cory and he reaches forward without waiting for her. She grabs his wrist same as she did with John and turns to place her back to his front. Pausing so that everyone can see, she shows how she holds Cory’s wrist with her right hand and pulls it across her chest before gripping his forearm with her left hand. Bending forward, she tugs Cory’s arm down and he flips over due to his own weight being unbalanced. He hits the ground like John did, but pops right back up since she didn’t hold him down.

“Pair off so that you can try and I’ll adjust anyone who needs a little help,” she orders.

Sarah pairs with Danny, the twins with each other, Tommy with Cory, and John with me. I know, real shocker with these pairings, but it’s what we do. I let John try to flip me first, since he’s pretty much bouncing on his toes with excitement. Waiting for his signal, I reach forward to grab his arm, but he follows Olivia’s example. Grabbing hold of my arm, John turns and nearly pulls my shoulder out of its socket when he tugs me over his back. Landing with air rushing out of my lungs and staring at the ceiling, I stay where I am for a minute to catch my breath.

“That was so not cool, you asshole,” I mutter and John laughs. Pushing to my feet, I decide it’s my turn. Using the same amount of force he did, I grab his wrist, twist and pull him over to land on the ground with a bounce.

“Too much force!” Olivia shouts as she jogs over. “You’re trying to take him down, not rip his arm off.” She reaches down and tugs John to his feet, actually Olivia just pulls until he stands since he still outweighs her regardless of her ability of using leverage. “You too, John. Use your opponent’s weight against them, not your strength. You’ll tire too quickly and won’t be able to finish.” Without warning, she grabs my wrist and flips me before I blink. Kneeing on my chest, she swipes a hand across my throat. Meeting my eyes, she continues. “Take him down and finish with a weapon. It uses much less energy and still gets the job done.”

Olivia climbs off me quickly, and I don’t even register most of what she’s said. My feeble brain fried upon the up close and personal physical contact with the gorgeous woman who both mentally and physically downed me. All blood has flown south, so I remain on the floor with my eyes closed and trying to get the fluids rushing to go in reverse. I’m still unsuccessfully trying, when I feel a foot tap my leg.

“You alright?” Olivia’s concerned voice asks. I just nod with my eyes still closed. If I look at her now, I’ll never settle down and that would be not only embarrassing to me, but rather traumatizing to an abuse victim. “Jared?”

“I’m fine,” I answer and open my eyes to meet hers. “Just a little headache. I’ll be alright in a second.”

“Maybe you should call it a day?” Olivia proposes and worries her bottom lip, which is so not helping my predicament. “I don’t think you got much sleep last night. Don’t worry about watch, we can handle it.”

“No, no,” I refuse and sit up. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think so,” she counters. “You’re flushed and sweating. Go to bed, and that’s an order.” Olivia crosses her arms and taps her foot as she waits for me to comply with her demand.

“Really, I’m fine,” I insist. I hear John start laughing, the bastard is obviously enjoying this.

“Cut it out,” Olivia says and glares at John. “He has a headache.”

“I’m sure he does,” John mutters, but I hear it and discreetly flip him off.

“Fine, if you insist that I need to call it a day and take the night off, who am I to turn down such a simple request?” I ask and hear John groan. “Just make sure John takes my shift.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she says. “Go shower and sleep. We’ll handle the rest.” Olivia cocks her head to the side. “You didn’t drink any coffee this morning. Maybe you’re detoxing.” The guys all start laughing, but Sarah looks as lost as Olivia and if Cory had laser vision, I’m sure I would be no more than a pair of melted boots.

“I’ll make sure you get a pot in the morning,” Olivia adds. “Now, off to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I run out as fast as a guy can with a third appendage in his pants.

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

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

After a shower, complete with two handies for some much needed release, I fell into a fitful sleep. My dreams were filled with an unaware, raven-haired seductress, so you can see why I woke up in the same state I went to sleep in. Morning wood, on top of vivid fantasies, tends to do that to even the best of men. And I’m now convinced that I’m one of the worst. I mean, how sick am I that a mere brush with Olivia’s beautifully damaged body has me hard for hours? Extremely sick, that’s how much.

So, here I am, pissed, aroused, and disgusted with myself when John busts in the door without knocking. Fucker’s lucky I wasn’t angrily jacking off like I was planning to. But seeing his ugly mug works just as well as an effective boner killer.

“Look at you, up already,” John comments with a smirk. “I guess Olivia was right, all you needed was a nice cold shower and some sleep to cure you of your headache.”

“Fuck you,” I retort.

“Who knew you were so kinky?” John continues. “All she did was take you down, and you went up.” He cocks his head much the way Olivia does. “So, does that mean you like being dominated? If it does, Olivia’s the perfect dominatrix. Abso-fucking-lutely sexy, she has the attitude and the outfit already. All she needs is the whip, and you’re good to go.”

“You’re a demented bastard, you know that?”

“Thanks, I try,” he replies with an unabashed grin. John wipes the smile away and gets serious. “You know she’s not normal, right?” I scowl and never have I wanted to punch my best friend more in my life. Said man I’m contemplating forcibly removing from the post, holds up his hand and closes the door tightly. His voice is much lower than it was a few seconds ago when he speaks.

“What I mean is that she’s fragile,” he revises. “You saw what happened when you touched her at the condo. It sent her into a freaking panic attack.”

“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that she was abused,” I hiss and he nods.

“I know,” John agrees. “All I’m trying to say is that you can’t expect her to jump when you say to, like every girl has since high school, alright? Ease her into it. Make her comfortable around you.” He stares at me intently with hard eyes. “And don’t you fucking dare do or try anything unless you’re serious about her. She has enough trust issues, she doesn’t need any more proof to steel her walls with.”

“I don’t want to want her,” I say and run a hand through my hair. “But I do, so I guess I’m fucked either way.” John glares at me. “That was so not what I meant, you sick fuck, get your mind out of the gutter.” He curls his hand for me to explain. “What I meant is that I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t, you know?”

“Better,” he allows. “But I don’t see how loving a beautiful woman would be damning yourself.”

“Hold it right the fuck there,” I order harshly. “Who the hell said anything about love? I like her and I’m insanely attracted to the pint sized ninja, but I do not, nor will I ever love her.” John laughs at that, but I ignore him. “Nor will she ever love me. She loves Travis, I mean, how can I compete with a ghost?”

“Who said you have to compete?” John asks.

John leaves me with that, while singing Percy Sledge’s “When a Man Loves a Woman” the whole way down the hall with his ear drum piercing voice. I hear several deep laughs and giggles, but I ignore it in favor of getting dressed. Pulling on clean smelling cargos over my boxers, I slip on a t-shirt and boots.

I use the functioning bathroom, God, how I’ve missed having plumbing, nothing compares to the ease of a flush. Without plumbing, it was as if we were on a permanent camping trip from hell. Using buckets and dumping the contents down the condo’s trash chute was fucking disgusting and I would rather fight off infected while shitting in the woods, than revert back to that ever again.

Washing my hands with warm water, again the beauty of plumbing, I brush my teeth without bottled rainwater for the first time in almost two years, and step out. Grabbing my holsters for my knives, gun and crossbow, I slip them on as I trudge downstairs. Following the sound of voices, I find a good portion of people already in the dining room, munching away on toast with some kind of jelly on it. I snatch a slice off the dish and continue on in search of coffee. The jelly is fucking awesome, so I’m licking the remains off my fingers as I walk into the kitchen and find Olivia pouring a mug of steaming deliciousness.

“I was just about to bring this up,” she says without looking. “John said you were awake, but I wanted to see if you were feeling better.” This time she glances up to meet my eyes. “Are you, or should someone else drive?”

I feel like the worst sort of prick there is. Here she is, checking up on me as if I really suffered an ailment of the upper head, when in reality it was mere discomfort of the lower region that sent me running for cover in order to save face. Like a goddamn coward. I don’t even deserve to breathe the same air of the beautiful pixie looking at me with concerned eyes, never mind force unwanted advances on her.

“I’m perfectly fine,” I answer. “Turns out, sleep is just what I needed, so thanks for the tip.”

“Good,” she says with a bright smile that makes me feel even more of a bastard. “My mom used to have migraines, but sleep in a quiet room without any lights on worked wonders for her.” Could the floor open and swallow me? Because I couldn’t possibly get any lower.

“Your mom’s trick works great, thanks for sharing it with me.”

“You’re welcome,” Olivia says as she walks over. “Now drink this before you have another detox, we don’t have time.”

Taking the mug and nodding my thanks, I sprint out of the room before I spill my sins at her feet and beg for forgiveness. I pass through the dining room and avoid looking directly at the smirking bastard, or the glare from Cory, on my way to the garage. The doors are already open, so I continue on and find the rest of the group inside. The twins are doing final checks on the gear, Tommy is under hoods checking fluids, and Akio is assisting Mike along with Whitney into the van. I walk over to the last group.

“How you feeling?” I ask. I’m still feeling guilty for putting him in a position to be shot in the first place, so I’ve avoided him and Whit like the plague.

“Never better,” he mutters. Mike winces a bit as Whitney gets him strapped in, and he looks a little pale. I look to Akio for the verdict.

“A little bit of swelling,” Akio says. “It’s to be expected after the strain that it’s been put through.” He gives me a pointed look, like I had every other option than to move the group to safety. We didn’t, so he’ll just have to get over it.

“Then I guess that it’s a good thing we’re driving,” I retort.

“Indeed it is,” Olivia says from behind me. “Since certain people, who couldn’t find their way out of a paper bag with a road map, think that they know better than everyone since they have a fancy degree that doesn’t mean shit anymore.” Akio looks offended, but Olivia doesn’t appear to care. “I saw what you did. It was your fault Mike got shot in the first place, so don’t you dare try to push the blame on Jared.”

“What I did?” Akio questions with a glare at Olivia. “What did I do?”

“It’s what you didn’t do,” she replies. “A raider went to attack you, you refused to strike back, so Mike pushed you out of the way and took the shot himself.”

“I refused to attack,” he says with a raised chin. “Because I would have rather died than hurt an innocent.” Olivia’s eyes flash.

“So, you still think that they were innocent?” Olivia asks in a casual tone that I know is anything but.

“Absolutely,” Akio confirms. “You tortured that innocent girl and forced false answers to get what you wanted. Then you murdered dozens of men for no reason whatsoever.”

“Let me ask you something, doctor,” Olivia spits the word at him as she unzips her coat and points to her exposed throat. “What do you think happened here?” Akio’s mouth is gaping. “I’ll tell you what. That ‘innocent,’ which you keep foolishly defending, happened to be responsible for my permanent necklace. Would you like to know why?” She doesn’t wait for Akio to answer, since he’s sputtering like a fish out of water as he stares at her mutilated neck.

“She decided to try and slit my throat because she was a demented bitch that got off on inflicting pain. So don’t you fucking dare accuse me of hurting an innocent again, or you’ll be the ‘innocent’ I hurt. Got it?” Akio nods his head and takes a step back, but his eyes are still trained on her neck. Olivia must feel uncomfortable because she tips her chin down and glares back, all the while her body is shaking.

“Would you like to take a picture and publish it in a medical journal?” Olivia asks with a cold tone. “Because I’m pretty sure no one is around to care about your new discovery, and you won’t be getting a goddamn medal from me.”

“I-I just don’t know how you’re alive,” he whispers as he shakes his head. “Your jugular looks like it was slit pretty deeply.” Akio steps forward with his hand outstretched as if to touch her, so she takes several steps back.

“I’m not a fucking science experiment,” she hisses and covers what little she can with a gloved hand. “It took a while, but I can talk and breathe with only occasionally having trouble swallowing, so I just pretend it isn’t there.” Olivia stares down the three wide eyed persons still looking intently at her scars. “And so won’t you.”

“Of course,” Whitney says with a shake to remove the cobwebs.

Mike and Akio nod their agreement, before Olivia spins away and walks over to the BMW. Opening the door, she climbs in and slams the door behind her. I see her grip the steering wheel with both gloved fists, so I decide to check on her. I hear the car start up as I approach it and a few seconds later can feel the bass of a kick ass sound system vibrating across the floor. Heavy guitar and drums are unmistakable, but I can’t make out the band yet.

Knocking on the glass, Olivia must hear me because she rolls the window down and holds up a finger to wait, but doesn’t stop bobbing her head and singing System of a Down’s “Chop Suey.” I’m guessing she picked this track on purpose because of the lyrics her raspy voice sings out about covering scars and being forsaken. When the song is finally over, she turns the radio off and looks at me expectantly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell her and she nods.

“I did,” she says. “It was either shock him stupid, or kill his judgmental ass.”

“Well, I’m glad that you didn’t kill him,” I say. “But you didn’t have to share anything you’re not comfortable with.” Olivia gives me a sardonic smile.

“They would have seen it eventually, so I might as well flaunt it,” Olivia says. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some ass kicking music to listen to.”

Without waiting, she turns the radio back to full blast and I feel the bass of Nirvana’s “Heart Shaped Box" as she rolls the window up. Shaking my head and grinning at her schizoid music personality, I look around to see who else has shown up. The hens are already strapped into the back of the van, the twins are fighting with John over the choice of movie, while Sarah and Danny are enjoying the show. There may be two of them, but John is the ultimate negotiator, and in the end comes out on top with The Hangover. Cory’s leaning against the Jag while Tommy and Leonard talk to Olivia.

“Lenny’s with me, but be warned, you will be listening to eardrum splitting, rock goodness until I’m no longer pissed,” Olivia says. “Then maybe we can listen to a little Otis if we have time. Sound good?”

“My ear drums are already shot to hell, so why not?” Leonard agrees with a smile. “Besides, I get to ride with a beautiful woman and try to convince her to be my future wife.” Olivia laughs and pats the seat for him to hop in.

“Don’t worry Tommy,” she says. “I’m an excellent driver. And I’ll have him home by ten o’clock sharp, or you can come after me with your shotgun and the sheriff.” Tommy laughs before hopping in the Jaguar. Olivia looks at Cory and me.

“Alright, tanks are full so we should be good for a while. Flash your lights if you need to stop for any reason, and I’ll pull over as soon as it’s safe. Don’t pay any mind to the road signs, speed limits or any stoplights that happen to be working; pay attention to my whip and stay close.” She glances to make sure Cory and I get all that before continuing. “If you’re set, I’ll pop the door and I want you stay in the middle, Jared.” I nod and Cory sticks his thumb out to say he’s good.

“Bon voyage, boys.”

Cory and Olivia hop in their cars, so I jog over to the van. Climbing into the driver’s seat, I adjust my mirrors, strap in and fix the angle of the chair before starting it up. Olivia honks her horn and then the garage door opens. I’m crossing my fingers, hoping this is turns out to be a pleasant ride and not the road trip from hell.

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

Part Two:

Road Trip

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

We’ve been on the road for about two hours, before we hit a snag. Olivia’s been taking us back roads the whole way to wherever it is that we’re headed, but there’s a detour sign indicating a closed bridge. I see her hit the hazards and hop out of the car, before running back to the van, so I roll the window down in time for her to arrive.

“We’ll have to make a U-turn and go back three blocks, to get around the bridge,” she says without preamble. “Can you handle it in this beast?” I raise my eyebrows at her in show of being insulted.

“I’m a guy, of course I can handle it,” I answer and Olivia rolls her eyes.

“Fine, Mr. Macho,” she says. “I’ll leave you to it, while I kick that fucker’s ass.”

I look around to see who she’s talking about, and spot a wheezer coming up the hill from the woods, running upright at full speed. Olivia slips her machete from the holster and dashes straight for it. She doesn’t even have her freaking helmet on, but does that stop her? Hell no. She just sprints straight toward it, with her braid bouncing behind her. When she’s about three feet away, she pulls her machete up to the right like a bat, and swings. The indistinguishable gendered wheezer takes a direct hit to the head, it splits in half at an angle; dropping a portion of its left eye and forehead one way and the body the other. Not a pretty kill, but it does the job.

“Move the fucking van, Jared!” Olivia shouts.

I’m about to yell back why she’s rushing me, when I see the pack emerging from the tree line. I flip the van in reverse and attempt a three point turn on the narrow road. It’s raised in the middle, with ditches on both sides that lead to woods; so it’s a little nerve wrecking to maneuver this monster, all the while worrying about my tiny Tomb Raider. My concentration is split, and that’s probably why I punch the DVD screen that John’s watching, in order to get his attention.

“Watch Olivia,” I demand and he cocks his head.

“Huh?”

“She’s fighting off a real pack, while you’re in here pretending to be part of a fictional wolf pack, you asshole,” I snap and flip the van in reverse. “Do something, before we wind up in a ditch.” John’s head swishes to the window and he whistles.

“Don’t worry about her,” he says. My heart starts pounding.

“What the fuck do you mean don’t worry about her!” I shout and slam the van’s brakes. “Get the fuck out, and help her!”

“Calm the fuck down!” John shouts back. “She’s perfectly fine, now concentrate on your driving.”

“Actually, she looks like she’s having fun,” Carlos answers wryly from behind me.

“She’s even singing,” Oscar adds.

“Disturbed’s ‘Let the Bodies Hit the Floor’ to be exact,” John says and they laugh. “Here, listen.” John flips the DVD off and I hear groans from the back but ignore them in favor of listening for Olivia.

“Lenny, turn that shit up!” Olivia orders. My heart rate slows at the sound of her husky voice and the music immediately raises another ten notches. “There we go, now we’re talking.” Olivia continues swapping back and forth between using lyrics and cursing at the wheezers. For example, it goes lyric, then ‘Take that you bastard,’ lyric, ‘Die you prick,’ lyric, ‘Fucker broke my nail,’ etc. It’s actually pretty damn funny, until I hear a comment from the back.

“There’s plenty wrong with her,” some bitch, I’ll let you guess, says from the trunk.

“There must be, since she allowed us to take you,” Sarah retorts. John picks up the chorus and starts head banging in the passenger seat.

“She’s the freaking Terminator,” I hear Danny say, as I finally get the van turned around.

With us safely reversed, I stick my head out the window to check out how Olivia’s doing. There are about fifteen bodies that have hit the floor, but she’s still going. I prepare to hop out and go assist her, deciding against it when she kicks a wheezer in the balls. Surprisingly, it went down, so they must have some pain receptors left after all. While that one’s down for a different reason, Olivia hurls a knife with her left hand at another wheezer, and swings with her right hand to bring the machete onto the wounded one; who was rolling around in a disturbingly human male reaction.

“That was just cruel,” I hear a male voice say.

It was one of the twins, but they sound so similar it’s hard to tell sometimes. My attention is still glued onto Olivia, so I see her spear a wheezer in the stomach, before bending to flip a runner over her back. The wheezer doesn’t have a chance to get up, since she stabs it in the temple with a knife, and then uses that same knife to pierce the eye of the one still reaching from the other end of her machete. Using her foot, Olivia boots the body from her weapon, pulls out her whistle, and blows. The remaining two stop abruptly and face plant, when they move to block their ears. Skipping over, Olivia stabs the back of their heads with the tip of her machete.

The song changes as she collects her weapons. It’s another one I recognize of Disturbed’s called “Down With the Sickness.” Bobbing her head to the drums, she begins air guitaring her machete, as she steps through the carnage. Olivia continues singing all the way to the car, where she pauses to look over to the right. “Start that bitch up, Cory, so we can move on.”

“Are you sure?” Cory calls back. “I was enjoying the concert.”

Olivia smiles and curtsies, before holding up her thumb. I hear Cory’s laugh at the same time I spot Leonard’s head start bobbing with the music. The BMW starts up and flips direction with ease, due to the coupe’s small body. As they pass, I hear the music pouring out of the open window, and see Leonard’s head banging in unison with Olivia’s. It’s too ridiculous to not laugh. I mean, Leonard is in his late seventies, but there he is, rocking away with a twenty year old girl after she’s single handedly kicked wheezer ass.

Suffice to say, they get along just fine.

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

“I think I’m in the wrong car,” John says beside me.

We’ve driven four extremely slow miles in pretty much silence. Even with the DVD player turned back on, it’s a monotonous drone of background noise, that no one’s really paying attention to. I guess that it loses its draw when the world ends, and we no longer are attached to technology. I mean, if someone were to hand me a fully functional iPhone right now, I’d probably scratch my head and ask ‘what good does playing an app do for me, if it doesn’t involve killing a wheezer?’

Instead, focus is centralized on the sights passing by the windows. Those awed expressions belong to those who have been cooped up, namely Sarah and the girls. Or they’re sleeping like Mike, and the narcoleptic twin called Carlos. So long as he’s sitting down, Carlos can fall asleep within seconds of just about anywhere.

“Why do you think that?” I ask John. “You got to pick your movie.”

“Screw the movie,” he replies. “Olivia looks to be a hell of a lot more entertaining.” John points at the BMW swerving side to side in order to whack the wheezers with her car door, while Leonard laughs his ass off beside her. “I could be playing Whack A Wheezer, but no. I’m stuck with you miserable lot.” He crosses his arms and pouts like a toddler told he couldn’t have a cookie before dinner.

“Quit your bitching,” I say. “Olivia knows what she’s doing.” Even if it happens to give me a heart attack every time she opens the damn door. What if she fell out? Or got pulled out by one them? I’d probably monster truck over any bastard who tried, but it’s still scary as fuck. “Besides, you’d probably wind up a speed bump if you tried.”

“Fuck you,” he retorts. “I’m a freaking champ at every sport I’ve tried.”

I ignore the cocky bastard boasting beside me, and keep my eyes peeled on the car in front of me. It’s pretty easy to do since we’re only going about twenty miles an hour on this dusty country road. Other abandoned cars were left back in the city, but we’re in a more rural part of Massachusetts now. Not exactly sure which town, since Olivia wasn’t lying about using the back-est of back roads. Both sides of the road are covered in thick tree lines, which haven’t been trimmed back in years, so the only wheezers visible are the ones walking in the street.

Like the one wearing a hat that Olivia’s coming up on. I see her door open and this time, instead of whacking the guy like I expected, she climbs out while the car is still rolling at the decreased speed of ten miles per hour. Jogging back, Olivia hurls a knife at the guy to take him down, but she’s still not done. Ignoring the wheezers who start upping their pace from a pitiful crawl, to a steady walk, Olivia goes and spits on the body’s hat.

“Fucking Yankee,” she hisses. “Should have stayed in New York, instead of leaf peeping up here, you asshole.” Giving the corpse one last kick for good measure, Olivia runs back to the car that’s still rolling down the road. Popping the door open, she jumps in, and the BMW starts picking up a little more speed.

“I’m in love,” John mutters with goo-goo eyes. I elbow the fucker daring to break our number one rule, ‘don’t fuck with each other’s girl.’ Fine, she isn’t my girl, but I sure as hell want her to be; so that counts and I’ll remind John later if I see him look at her that way again.

“I take it she’s a Red Sox fan?” Oscar comments wryly.

“You better not be in love, Jonathan Moure!” Kelly shrieks from the back. “You’re mine, and I won’t share you with that crazy, home wrecking slut!”

“The fuck I am!” John roars back. “I told you, we’re done. And I warned you not to say another fucking word against her!”

“Fuck her!” Kelly shouts. “She’s nothing but a dyke!”

“Kinda hard to be both a ‘home wrecking slut’ and a ‘dyke,’” I point out. “But I can assure you that she is neither, so I’d advise that keep your goddamn mouth shut, you stupid bitch.”

“I’m sure you’ve had first-hand experience with her,” Kelly spits out. “Haven’t you, Jared? She suck you off like a lollipop, or is she just that good of a fuck, that you’ve no sense left?”

I slam the brakes on, and nearly collide face first with the steering wheel. Several bodies hit the floor since they weren’t buckled, but I don’t pay them any mind. My attention is fully set upon the cunt in the trunk.

“Get the fuck out,” I order. My voice is calm, but my tone is unmistakable for the burning fury I feel.

“You get the fuck out,” she hisses. “Go see your whore, that’s all you’re good for.”

“I won’t say it again,” I warn. “Get the fuck out now, or I’ll toss your ass out myself.”

“Then come and get me,” Kelly says with a smirk. “Because I’m not going anywhere and you can’t make me.”

“Though I’m sure he could,” Olivia says through the opened back slider. I didn’t even notice it move, and from the pissed off expression on her face, she’s been there long enough to hear the shit being spouted about her. “I can absolutely guarantee that I sure the fuck can and will remove you.”

“Go ahead and try then, you psychotic skank,” Kelly sneers.

“With pleasure,” Olivia replies as she bounds through the door.

Before anyone can so much a blink, Olivia has her target by the hair, and is dragging Kelly from the van. Kelly starts screaming and thrashing from side to side. Olivia pulls out a knife and presses it against the other woman’s throat. She stills instantly before Olivia speaks.

“Scream again, and I’ll slit your fucking throat,” she hisses. “You hear me?” Kelly’s blonde head bobs once. “Good, now go to sleep.”

Kelly opens her mouth to say something, most likely she would have regret, but we’ll never know since Olivia knocks her out with a well-placed blow to the neck. She goes down like a ton of bricks, and Olivia drags her body toward the BMW.

“Pop the trunk, Lenny, I caught us a live one,” Olivia calls out. “A bit of a bitch, but I’m sure she’ll learn to watch her tongue when she comes back around.”

“Atta girl, Livia,” Leonard responds and pops the trunk. ‘Livia?’ Now he has a freaking nickname for her? I need to abandon this ship A.S.A.P., a fucking grandpa is making more headway than I am.

“Need a hand?” I shout out the window.

“Nah, she may be heavy,” Olivia replies as she stuffs half of Kelly’s unconscious, barely clothed body into her trunk. “But she’s full of piss and vinegar, so it’s just a shit ton of water weight.”

Lenny’s laugh echoes back to us after Olivia slams the trunk shut to Kelly’s VIP seat. I glance quickly to see if there are any wheezers, but only find downed ones strewn around in pieces. I’m guessing Olivia took care of them, while I was busy keeping myself from throttling the bitch who insulted her.

My temper still hasn’t cooled completely, but it’s enough to be set on the back burner for now, in favor of concentrating on navigating the winding roads ahead. The yellow signs look like someone gave a kid a crayon, and told them to scribble away. Corkscrews and pin head turns galore, are what we have to look forward to for the next however many miles.

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

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

After two hours of treacherous turns on dirt roads, it’s nearing dusk when Olivia finally pulls down a side road that is covered in trees. As I drive the van, there are pinging and scratching noises as the branches scrape against the metal sides. There are also no signs of what little civilization remains.

No useless power lines, signs for fast food restaurants, or indicators as to where we are or where we’re headed. It’s only when the BMW’s taillights flash, that I see the cabin in the clearing, being illuminated by the sunset a hundred feet away. I drive up as close as possible, and put the van in park. Hopping out of the van, I stretch my legs while listening Olivia sing Puddle of Mudd’s “Psycho.” Olivia dances over and pops open the trunk to point at Kelly, who’s still unconscious, as she sings the next verse about someone being a schizophrenic psycho.

“Great fucking song,” John says with a huge smile at Olivia when she’s finished.

“I know, right?” Olivia confirms with a smile of her own. She turns her attention back to the body in the trunk. “We should just leave her for the night, but then she’ll piss inside my car, and it will smell; then I’d have to torch it, so it might be best to wake her.” She looks over at us to see what we think.

“Don’t wake her,” I reply. “Someone will just have to carry her in.” I see every male take a good step back. “Thanks guys.”

“You’re welcome,” they all chorus in unison. I flip them off and approach the trunk like a viper is going to pop out and sink its teeth into my neck. Pretty freaking likely with this bitch, so caution is necessary.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Olivia mutters. She shoves me out of the way, opens a bottle of water from her bag and flings the contents on Kelly. “Get up!”

Kelly bolts upright and starts sputtering as the water trails makeup down her face. Who the fuck where’s makeup after the apocalypse? Kelly starts snapping her head around to see where she is, and when she notices that she’s in a trunk, the screaming starts.

“Why the fuck am I in a trunk!” Kelly shrieks. “Who the hell did this? I’m going to kick their ass!”

“Good luck with that,” Olivia replies. “Now shut the fuck up, and get the hell out of my car, before I kick yours; since I’m the only one who has a logical reason to do so.”

“Fuck you!” Kelly shouts and lunges at Olivia. Olivia steps back and laughs at the girl who missed, and is currently bent over with her skirt flipped over and flashing her thong to everyone. Kelly stumbles up onto her high heels, where the fuck she got this outfit, I’ll never know. Or maybe I will, since Olivia makes a comment about it.

“Nice outfit,” Olivia says with a disgusted look on her face. “My aunt Crystal looked just as much of a slut as you do in it, so you can keep ‘em, not that you asked or anything.” Kelly tries to go for Olivia again, but she just steps out of reach again. “That’s twice, I won’t let you try for a third.”

“Then stay the fuck still, so I can kick your psychotic slut ass!” Kelly orders.

“Perhaps you missed the memo,” Olivia says with a casual tone. “But I think that it’s been established that you’re the one who’s psycho.” Olivia taps her chin. “Oh, damn. You were still napping, and missed my song dedication to you.”

“What fucking song is that?” Kelly snaps. “It sounds like something you made up.”

“I should have known you’d have no taste,” Olivia says and rubs her temples. “Tacky from the tips of her toes, to her hair colored with what I can only assume is actual bleach.” She turns and points to John. “Hey, you would know. Does the carpet match the drapes?”

John shakes his head, and is clutching his stomach from laughing so hard. There are others in the bunch who’ve also started laughing, namely Lenny, the twins, Sarah and Cory, but I’m so fucking tired and have had enough of this bull shit.

“Olivia, sweetheart, please allow us entrance into your home, before I fall asleep in the driveway,” I plead and rub my tired eyes. “I’m hungry, and if I have to listen to a certain voice grinding on my ear drums for one more second, then I strongly believe that my ears might actually start bleeding.”

“Absolutely, darling,” Olivia hisses. She starts stomping toward the house as she mutters under her breath. “Make fun of my fucking voice, the asshole. I’ve only had my freaking throat slit, you fucking prick.” Fuck! I run to catch up with her and reach out to grab her arm, winding up on my back with an extremely pissed off pixie on top of me, and pinning my arms with her knees for my troubles. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“I was only going to point out that I wasn’t making fun of you,” I say carefully. “I was referring to a shrill that belongs to Kelly.” Olivia peers at me with eyes frowning in concentration.

“So, you weren’t referring to this?” Olivia asks as she points to her throat and rasping voice. She must have strained it today with all of the singing.

“No, how could you possibly think that?” Olivia shakes her head and removes her knees from my arms, and herself from my chest.

“Never mind,” she says. “Sorry for flipping you, but you grabbed me and....” I nod in understanding.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” I reply and she bobs her head.

“It’s fine,” Olivia says, but I know it’s not. I fucking hate that I can’t touch her without her literally giving me permission, or having her initiate the contact first, but I can’t blame her. She went through god knows what, and this is how she copes.

“Hey, Olivia,” Marissa calls out from behind. “Can you show us how to do that?” Olivia turns to face her and Chelsea with a look of mistrust.

“Do what?” Olivia asks.

“What you did to Jared,” Marissa explains and Chelsea nods emphatically.

“It was sooo cool!” Chelsea exclaims with a snap of her gum, as she bounces on her toes.

“Well, I did teach that last night,” Olivia replies and their faces fall. “But I guess that I could do a makeup class, just this once. And only if you’re both serious.” They nod in unison. “Okay, I’ll set up a room for after dinner.”

When Chelsea and Marissa bound forward to give her a hug in thanks, Olivia literally sprints backwards a dozen steps, and turns to dash up the stairs. The girls look at me curiously, so I just shrug. What can I say? Olivia’s damaged, and then she’ll break my face for talking about things I only know minimal details about; and most of it was through other people or observation. No thank you. I rather like how my face is arranged already.

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

“That’s perfect, Marissa,” Olivia says with the smile of a parent teaching their kid how to ride a bike. “Now let Chelsea try.”

For tonight’s lesson, Olivia slid all the couches in the living room against the walls. The cabin is pretty small, but it is a cabin after all, so it’s expected. There are only two bedrooms and one bathroom. Since this place was so out of civilization to begin with, it has a generator out back that we had to jump start like a lawn mower to have lights and plumbing. It’s one of those fancy no dig septic grinder things that people use to put in a new bathroom without paying thousands of dollars. You have to flush twice, still, it’s better than having no plumbing at all.

So, here we are, everyone with the exceptions of Whitney, Mike, Akio and Kelly have joined the group for training. Even Lenny’s here, but I think he’s here more for the company, than a lesson. Olivia and him have been hanging out together since we arrived here. They even cooked dinner side by side, while singing oldies in the kitchen. The saying, ‘too many cooks in the kitchen’ didn’t come up once with them working so in sync.

After Olivia shows us a new technique to practice, which is pinning someone’s arms down like she did to me out front; she walks over to join Leonard on the couch. The two then observe us and point out mistakes someone might be making like a pair of boxing trainers, and Olivia goes to correct them.

I’m fine with Leonard being bosom friends with Olivia. It’s actually an extremely positive thing for Olivia to click with someone other than Cory, but that old bastard better not be trying to do what I suspect. Like right now, he’s discreetly motioning toward Tommy as he talks to her, like he’s trying to push her toward his grandson in favor of gaining her as a granddaughter; just as he threatened to do back at the condo. I don’t fucking think so.

I break away from sparring with John and jog over to my water bottle, which is conveniently located within two feet of where the pair is sitting. I didn’t do it on purpose, honest. Alright, I might have placed my bottle there after I seen them sitting together on this very couch, but how was I supposed to know that it would allow for easy eavesdropping? So here I am, taking slow, tiny sips of water to replenish my sweating body; while paying close attention to their exchange.

“I’m all he has left,” Leonard says.

“I know how that feels,” she replies. “I don’t know what I’d do without Cory.”

“Then you can see why I’m worried about him,” he says. “I’m getting old and won’t be around forever, so what’s going to become of him if he doesn’t open up more? He’s going to wind up alone, and angry at the world. It’s not healthy.”

“Hey,” Olivia says with an offensive hand on her chest. “You got a problem with how I live?”

“You know what I mean,” Leonard says as he waves his hand at her and Olivia nods.

The old coot is trying to set her up with his grandson. The sly bastard better up his game since I’m willing to go head to head for her. Bring it on old man, bring it on.

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

Chapter Thirty:

I’ve been upstairs for three hours. I’m sitting uncomfortably on the chair in one of the two bedrooms, since John the Jock Strap and I flipped for the bed, meaning I lost. Maybe that’s why I can’t sleep, but since I can’t, I give up on sitting up here in the dark. Stepping over Danny’s sleeping form, no way in hell was he getting anywhere near Sarah on my watch, I leave the bedroom and go downstairs. The couches are filled with sleeping people, so I tiptoe quietly toward the kitchen to scrounge up some coffee.

While waiting for it to brew in the percolator, I feel a draft and look for the source. Following the breeze, I find a door propped open with a can, I’ll let you connect the dots as to who put it there. Once the coffee’s done brewing, I grab two mugs, sugar and the pot before approaching the door. Juggling the contents in my arms, I manage to free a hand to grab the can and slip through.

I make sure to replace the soda can to where it was, then walk down the creaky stairs. There’s no missing my arrival, so I don’t even bother trying to lighten my steps. When I reach the bottom, I see a light coming from the back left corner. Walking around the row of shelving that divides the unfinished area, I find Olivia lining up her sights with an apple.

“You shouldn’t be down here,” she warns. I set the coffee down on a crate in the corner, before turning to face her.

“Why not?” I inquire.

“Because you should be sleeping,” she answers.

“So should you.”

“Tell that to my brain,” Olivia mutters. “You see Mouth, my brain’s a lot like you. I keep telling the ugly bastard to shut up, but does he listen? Of course not.”

“Ouch,” I say and raise my hand in mock offense. “I’m ugly, and I don’t shut up, whatever will you do with me?”

She mutters something like ‘I haven’t a fucking clue,’ but it’s lost with the sound of the gunshot. I look back in the direction of the apple, expecting to find nothing left but blasted skin, except it’s completely whole. I look at the wall behind it and see that it too is in the same condition.

“Where the hell did it go?” I ask.

“You’re guess is as good as mine,” she says with a shrug.

Images pop into my head. At the sporting goods store, she had a gun and refused to use it because it ‘made too much noise.’ During the raid, she again refused to use her gun, saying she could defend better with her knives and machete. I’ve never once seen her fire her gun. And then there was that comment Cory made about her aim. He wasn’t referring to her knife throwing, that’s for damn sure.

“You can’t shoot,” I blurt out. Her eyes snap to mine as she lowers the gun and flicks the safety. She rechecks it twice, before finally setting it down.

“The fuck I can’t,” Olivia replies and raises her chin.

“Let me rephrase that,” I say. “You can pull a trigger, but you can’t hit the target.”

“Wanna try, and find out?” Olivia asks and raises her gun at me. I’m not falling for her false bravado, and I just seen her obsessively lock the gun, so I’m safe.

“Sure,” I answer and her eyes widen. “I’ll just go stand over there by the apple, hold it up, and you can try to shoot it.” I walk over with a severely casual gait, pick up her strange target, and hold it with my extended right hand. “Go on.”

Olivia’s biting her lip in a sign exposing her nerves. Grabbing the gun, she unlocks the safety, sets her stance and aims. I wait with bated breath as she takes a deep breath of her own, exhales, and lowers the weapon. Again with the obsessive locking, she places the gun back on the table with extreme caution.

“I-I can’t shoot,” she admits in a shaky tone. “I tried and tried, but I could never get it.” Gripping her hair, she gives it a tug. “I can’t fucking do it. Even after everything, I still can’t fucking do it!”

She’s shouting by the end and near tears. Setting the apple down on the table, I walk over to her slowly and raise my hands slowly to her shoulders. I give her plenty of time to stop me, but she doesn’t, so my hands make contact with the leather jacket on her shoulders.

“It’s alright,” I say in a calm voice. She shakes her head violently.

“It’s not fucking alright,” she snaps. “I need to be able to shoot.” Olivia reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a single bullet. “I need to be able to shoot this bullet, into his fucking head.”

I glance at the bullet with the sole purpose of killing someone, and want to know why it was chosen; since it obviously was, if she carries it around like that. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but it means something to her, and I can finally help her with something. And you know I’m going to jump all the fuck over that opportunity.

“I can teach you.”

“You can’t,” Olivia replies. She gives a slight shake of her head and puts the bullet back into her pocket with a reverence that I still don’t understand. “I’m unteachable.”

“No you’re not,” I disagree. “Everyone can learn with a good teacher.”

“Well, that ship has sailed,” she says. “I had two teachers, and neither was able to get me to shoot within three feet of a target with four months of training.”

“Well, they weren’t me,” I counter. “I could do it.”

“What makes you so confident?” Olivia asks with doubtful eyes.

“I’m Mouth, remember?” I ask. “He had confidence in spades, and never shuts the fuck up; so if you don’t say yes, I’ll just keep pestering you until you give in.” Olivia laughs, but I know that she’s softening.

“I always did have a thing for Mouth,” she mutters with a smirk.

“I thought you said I’m ugly,” I say and she laughs.

“Fucking hideous, is more like it,” she revises. “I mean, aqua eyes? Puh-leaze, it is so overplayed, it’s ridiculous. That hair that can’t decide if it wants to be black or brown? Has it ever seen a brush? It looks like you roll out of bed, say ‘good enough,’ and leave it. You’re square jaw. When’s the last time it was shaved? There’s over a week’s worth of scruff growing there, you lazy douche. And then there’s that mouth that you’re so good at using. It’s way too full for a guy. So, fugget about it, you’re the ugliest bastard I’ve ever seen.”

I can’t help but grin at that. She finds me attractive. It’s not much, but it’s certainly a start. Attraction is definitely going to be a factor that works in my favor. And if that attraction is anywhere near the obsessive level that mine is for her, then I may be able to lure her into trusting me faster, hence physical contact being possible. Because the first thing I’m going to do, is kiss those lips the way they were meant to be. I shake my head and get back in the game. There won’t be any kissing until the groundwork is laid, so step one commences.

“So, are you going to learn how to shoot or what?” Olivia peers at me with her grey eyes for several seconds, before placing her shaking hand out in front of her. I give it a quick, but firm shake, and release it.

“When do we start?” Olivia asks, and I cast a quick glance around the basement. This room could definitely work, and I don’t think I could sleep with my heart racing with excitement, so why not?

“Now, if you want to,” I propose. I can see that’s the answer she wanted to hear, when her face lights up.

“If that’s alright with you, it’s fine with me,” she says to be polite. But I know that if I were to beg off right now, she’d probably knock me on my ass, and drag me to do her will. And I’d most definitely be doing whatever she wanted, without the need of a threat as an incentive.

“It is, now show me what you know.”

Olivia takes a breath, before approaching the table. Picking up the gun, she checks the safety, lifts it, and sets her stance while saying the steps aloud like a mantra. “Shoulders relaxed, arms extended, lock your elbows. Feet shoulder length apart, stare down your target, deep breath in, and squeeze the trigger on the exhale.”

I check her position, it’s good, but needs some adjustment and that presents the first hurdle. I need to touch her in order to fix it. Taking a breath of my own, I release it, square my shoulders and face the firing squad.

“Olivia, I’m going to have to adjust your stance slightly,” I say and she nods. I don’t think she gets it, so I explain. “I’m going to have to touch you.” She spins so fast, that I almost get dizzy for her, and lifts her eyes to glare at me.

“Of fucking course!” Olivia exclaims. “I should have known, just another asshole looking to cop a feel. Fuck this, and fuck you!” She goes to push past me, but I hold up my hands and give her a glare of my own. That either surprises, or scares her, because her eyes widen and she takes a step back.

“I do not want to cop a fucking feel,” I grit out through clenched teeth. “I can’t believe you could even think that.” I shake my head in disgust. Not at her, at the fuckers who made her this way. “Your shoulders were tense, and it was causing your aim to be off. Then there’s the fact that your feet weren’t shoulder length apart, and your hands on the grip weren’t lined up right. So, excuse the fuck out of me for actually trying to teach.”

Spinning away from her, I start stalking out of the basement. Fuck this. If the first mention of me placing a finger on her makes her defensive, how the fuck am I supposed to teach her? Never mind win her over. I’m still fuming as I stomp away, so I almost miss Olivia say something.

“J-Jared,” her voice wobbles. “I’m s-sorry. Please come b-b-back.”

When I don’t immediately respond, because I’m busy trying to fight off the urge to fist pump, I hear her quiet steps darting around the shelving. I turn in time to see her come to a halt and start fidgeting with her gloved hands on her sleeve. She takes a deep breath, but won’t meet my eyes.

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” she says quietly. “I’m a little sketchy when it comes to strangers.”

“Ya think?” I ask and she bites her lip. She’s trying, so I’ll meet her halfway. “I think that everyone is sketchy of strangers.”

“Not you,” Olivia counters. She finally looks up and points her finger at the stairs. “You’ve brought in a group full of people, what do I have?” She shakes her head. “Don’t answer that. I know what I have, even I don’t like it, but it is what it is.”

“You have Cory,” I reply. “It’s obvious that you guys love each other.” Olivia smiles at that. “And Leonard seems fond of you.” Her smile turns shy.

“I’m rather fond of him myself,” she whispers.

“He tends to grow on you,” I agree. “Like mold, but it’s still there.” She laughs a little. “And I think that you and I are more than strangers. I mean you’ve been with us for days, so you must feel a little bit comfortable, right?” She nods. “Good, it’s a start.”

“So, you’ll still teach me?” Olivia asks, and I swear I see her hold her breath.

“Of course,” I answer. “Now, get your lazy ass over there, and shut the hell up. I’m beginning to think that you’re the real Mouth here.” Olivia salutes at me, but I catch her smile, before she skips back to the corner. I keep my steps deliberately loud so that she knows when I come up behind her. “Set your stance.” She does and I wait for her to settle before continuing. “I’m going to have to touch your shoulders and feet, nothing else, alright?”

“O-okay,” she says with a stiff nod. I raise my hands slowly and place them gently on her shoulders. I feel her stiffen.

“You need to relax, tense shoulders are a big problem.” Taking a deep breath, she releases it and the tension in her shoulders lessens significantly. “Good, now I’m going to adjust your feet.” Removing my hands from her, I use my boot to tap her feet apart more. They were already spread a little, but they needed to be about three more inches apart. “Alright, your stance is set. Memorize it, because next time I want you to get in this position without needing me to adjust it.” Olivia nods. “Okay, drop the stance.”

“Why would I drop it?” Olivia asks curiously.

“Because I want you to reset it.” She takes a few seconds, maybe to get a better feel for the position, but she does lower her gun and shake out her shoulders. “Turn to show me how you grip the handle.”

Olivia spins slowly with the locked gun aimed at the floor. Still holding it aimed down, she places first her right, and then her left hand on the grip. Looking up at me, she gives me a questioning look. It’s almost right, just a minor tweak to line up the heel of her hand, and she has it.

“I have to fix your hands, may I?” I ask and she nods once. Without taking either hand off the gun, I turn her hands at a slight angle before stepping back. “All set. Turn back around, and show me your stance.” Olivia turns and takes a step back toward the table to the target. She sets her stance exactly how I adjusted her to be.

“Perfect,” I say. “You can flick the safety and try a shot now.”

Raising her gun, she flips the lock off, resets her stance, breathes in, and pulls on the exhale. That’s the problem right there. I don’t even need to see where the bullet went, because I know for a fact it’s nowhere near the target. Just as she pulled the trigger, her shoulders tensed, and she squinted her eyes.

“You’re afraid of the gun,” I comment and she flashes a surprised look at me from over her shoulder. “Lock it up and come take a break.” Olivia nods before switching the safety on, once again checking it twice before placing it on the table. Taking a seat on the crate, I hold up her mug of now lukewarm coffee. It still tastes alright, so I drink it and so doesn’t Olivia without so much as a grimace at the temperature.

“How’d you know I’m afraid of it?” Olivia asks as she sets her mug on her leg.

“It could have been when you tensed before squeezing the trigger, or the flinch of your hands before the recoil, or that you nearly closed your eyes,” I answer and she laughs.

“Or it could have been that I threw the gun at your head, because I have a better chance of that hitting you, than the bullet,” she retorts with a smirk.

“So, why are you afraid of it?” Olivia’s eyebrows scrunch together a little as she thinks.

“Well, there’s the fact that you can kill someone with it,” she states and I give her a pointed look. Olivia rolls her eyes. “That’s different. If I were to pick up my machete and swing, I know for a fact that I’m going to hurt something. If I were to pick up a gun, I could accidentally fire it, incidentally killing someone that I didn’t intend to. You get much more control with up close and personal shots, than you do with the longer range.”

“That’s true,” I agree with a nod. “But the same could be said for knives, and I’ve seen you hurl those with deadly accuracy.”

“I don’t like the noise,” she says haltingly, like she didn’t want to admit it, but she did. Olivia looks up to meet my eyes. “Remember when I told you about my mom?” I nod, how could I forget? “Well, what I didn’t say is that I was still there when they gave the execution order.” My eyes widen without permission, so she explains.

“When I went to visit her, it was like in a prison. You know, with the glass separation, and the phones?” I nod, and she continues. “I was still visiting her, when a group of men dressed in black suits, came in with guns to line up all of the volunteers. We didn’t think anything of it, since they always got lined up before they went back to their rooms, so my mom and I said our goodbyes before she went and joined in with the other 56. As soon as they were in line, they opened fire.” Olivia wipes her eye angrily. “They shot them like criminals, while I watched. I just sat there frozen, as my mom was turned into Swiss cheese.” Her gloved hands clench her mug. “I ran like hell after that. I knew if they knew that I stayed behind, like I always did so that I could wave at my mom before she disappeared through the door, they would have killed me and added me with the rest to the bon fire.”

“That’s fucking sick,” I say and she nods.

“So, that’s why I don’t like the sound of guns,” she finishes.

“We’ll figure something out,” I promise. “For now, just practice your stance with the safety on.”

“Yes, Coach,” Olivia replies and does a salute.

“Smartass,” I mutter. “Go to bed.”

“As if,” she says. “If I were to sleep, no one else would be able to.” Almost as if she understands what she revealed, her eyes widen and Olivia slaps a hand over her mouth.

“What was that?” I ask mildly. No way am I letting her get out of this one. Cory may have told me about it, but I want to hear it from her.

“Nothing,” she says and shakes her head. I stare her down and watch her squirm. “Fucking fine! I can’t sleep.”

“For how long?”

“...months,” Olivia answers under her breath.

“Say that again, I didn’t understand your mumbling.”

“Fifteen months,” she snaps. “Happy?”

“No, I’m not happy,” I retort. “It’s fucking horrible.”

“Tell me about it,” she mutters. “As if living through it once wasn’t enough, I get to relive that and others over and over again.” Olivia looks up to meet my eyes. “Have you ever had a song that you despise get stuck in your head and just won’t go away?” I nod. “How would you like having some god awful memories, that just won’t leave you the fuck alone; be set of replay any time you close your eyes? It’s like a freaking slideshow of shit that keeps being hurled at me, so anytime I do get ten minutes of sleep, I wake up covered in sweat and can’t stop shaking for hours.” Olivia shakes her head. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this.”

“I don’t mind,” I say and she rolls her eyes. “I don’t. I like talking to you.”

“Well, I kinda like talking to you too,” she replies. Olivia gives me a curious look. “I’m not sure why, but you’re easy to talk to. It’s like you reach into my head and pull out things better left buried with those piercing eyes.”

“My mom used to do the same thing with hers,” I say and she smiles a little. Most likely Olivia prefers it when she’s not the only one sharing. “Anything, and I mean anything I was hiding, she could get me to spill after a few seconds of eye contact. It was like a freaking magic trick.”

“So, you understand how it is for me to want to talk about this shit, when even I don’t want to know it, and I lived through it?” Olivia inquires and I nod. “Good, because I’m friggin crazy enough.”

“You are not crazy.”

“I’m not normal,” she counters.

“What the fuck is normal?” I ask and wave my arm around. “Having to bunk in some cabin in the middle of fucking nowhere, to hide from infected who want to eat you; and raiders that want to kill you for sport? I don’t think so. No one can be classified as ‘normal’ before, or after the end, because it is subject to personal opinion.”

“Were you a psych major?” Olivia asks and I laugh.

“No, I didn’t go to college yet,” I answer. “John and I decided that we would be lazy bums and live off of our parents for a few years, then follow through with the life sucking monotony that is a law career.”

“‘Life sucking monotony,’” she repeats. “I like it.”

“We came up with it when our dads did nothing but work themselves to the ground, day in and out, ever since we were born.”

“I can see how that is life sucking,” she agrees. “So, you were both closer to your moms?”

“Me so more than John, but yeah, you could say that.”

“My dad was a trust fund baby,” she says. “So, he could take time off from his office any time he wanted. We’d go to the aquarium, walk down to Yawkey Way and grab tickets to a game, go shop at Faneuil Hall, whatever we wanted to do that day.”

“I thought that you were poor,” I blurt out and slap a hand over my mouth. Olivia laughs.

“No, Mouth, we weren’t poor,” she explains. “Well, not until after my dad; before that, we lived upper middle class. After his death, Dad’s life insurance only covered the mortgage to our house, and his trust reverted back to my grandparents due to a stipulation.” I look at her to continue. “My grandparents did not like my mom. She was ‘trash’ because she wasn’t a freaking Vanderbilt, you know?” I nod in understanding. “So, my grandparents added a stipulation to his trust that he could have it so long as he lived, but if he died; it would go to his approved of second wife, or revert back to them.”

“And it reverted back to them,” I finish and she nods. “Therefore, your aunt Crystal got it when they died.”

“Yup,” she confirms. “That greedy bitch wouldn’t give me a cent if I was homeless and starving, so my mom made me get legally emancipated from her at sixteen. Her reasoning was that if something happened to her, she wouldn’t want me to go to Crystal or the state.”

“That was smart of her,” I say and she nods.

“But when my mom found out that she was sick, I sucked up my pride and went to beg for help,” Olivia says. “That bitch said that my mother wasn’t worth the effort of saving, and she wouldn’t help pay a dime toward the mandatory surgery. Our insurance was outrageous with their premiums, leaving experimental treatments to be the better option. Or so we thought.”

“Gene K,” I supply unnecessarily. I know where this headed before she nods to confirm it. “Your aunt could have prevented it, if she coughed up a little cash.”

“She could have, but she didn’t,” Olivia spits out. “So, I hope she died a painful death and burns in hell for eternity; along with my Dad’s parents since their prejudiced views are responsible for setting that ball in motion.”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” I say with a smirk and she laughs.

“Don’t worry,” she says and pats my hand. I’m shocked that she willingly touched me, but don’t show it. “I have much bigger fish to fry than you.”

“Cole?” I ask and her easy going mood disappears in a flash of grey steel in her eyes.

“How do you know about Cole?” Olivia asks with an icy tone.

“You mentioned him when you were talking to Victoria,” I say carefully. No way am I mentioning that I heard a hell of a lot about him from the red head. “Something about an ‘extra special kiss.’” Her grin is pure evil.

“That’s right,” she replies. “Nothing but the best, for that deranged fuck.”

“Is he the person who kidnapped you?” I ask. I know that I’ve overstepped when her eyes harden and she glares at me.

“How the fuck do you know I was kidnapped?” Olivia questions.

“Observation,” I answer and point to her wrists. “You would never willingly be restrained, and you knew what the raiders would do, because it happened to you.”

“You don’t know shit,” she hisses. I know I’m in for it when she leans forward and continues. “They didn’t just take me. Those bastards tortured Travis. Chopped off every one of his fingers, knocked his teeth out and beat him to the point that he couldn’t move or breathe. If that weren’t enough, they took turns raping me in front of him and then beat our baby out of my body. But that was all before they slit his throat, then mercifully put a bullet in his head, and pushed him off the roof. So, don’t you fucking dare say that I was only kidnapped.”

Olivia hurls her mug at the wall and I hear it smash as she runs out of the basement; leaving me sitting there shocked as hell. I knew that she was traumatized, and suspected that she was sexually assaulted due to her severe aversion to physical contact of any kind, but assuming and hearing are completely different. It makes a horrid thought, a devastating reality. Feeling a rush of warm bile swim up my throat, I find a bucket in time to unleash my stomach contents into it.

I guess my granny was right, assuming is for assholes.

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

Chapter Thirty-One:

Four days. Four miserable days of driving, reversing direction due to blocked roads, and silence. Well, not silence since there are still fourteen other people talking and making noise; especially Chelsea and her friggin gum snapping, but not the one voice that I want to hear.

Make that ten other people not talking, since Cory, John, Leonard and now even Tommy; refuse to speak to me. The final silent bastard has been getting on my nerves the most. While the others ignore, or glare at me; which he does too, Tommy’s been switching back and forth with his grandfather to ride in the BMW with Olivia. And why is it that I’m being treated like I’m one of the infected? That would be because they know I’m the one responsible for Olivia’s current state.

How they know, is still a mystery to me. I mean, no one was there to eye witness our exchange, so how did they put it together? Fine, I admit it, I’m a little hard to get along with, but does that immediately condemn me to being the leper to avoid? Shut up, I’m well aware of the fact that I am indeed the one responsible, but that doesn’t mean I have to like how everyone knows I fucked up. I feel bad enough, without adding them on top of the shit pile I’ve buried myself under.

And then there is Olivia. She hasn’t so much as glanced in my direction. There’s no singing, games of Whack the Wheezer, training sessions, or worst of all: her lack of cooking. It’s like she’s isolated herself from the group in every way that she previously instilled herself in the first place. Instead of letting me apologize for being an assumptive prick, she’s locked herself in a room of any place that we’ve spent the night at, and only occasionally let Cory inside. So it’s no surprise when he waylaid me the first morning, demanding to know what I did. I expected no less. If someone upset my sister, I’d be on the bastard like white on rice.

But that ends today. Enough of this shit. Olivia is going to talk to me, whether she wants to or not. I’ll take the broken nose, it’s well deserved, but I will get her to talk to me by the end of the day. And I’ve decided this well before John elbows me to get my attention, for the third time in the last two minutes.

“What?” I snap.

“Fix it, you fucker,” John hisses from the passenger seat. “I want Livia back.”

“Who the fuck is ‘Livia’?” I ask, but I know exactly who he’s referring to. ‘Olivia’ is the badass who doesn’t take shit from anyone. ‘Livia’ is the girl that peeks out from behind her helmet, and yes she’s been wearing the fucking helmet again. She’s fun, spontaneous, and dare I say carefree? I’m guessing that ‘Livia’ is similar to the ‘Livi’ she was before Travis and all of the other shit that happened to her. They’re all just pieces of the complicated puzzle that is Olivia.

“Don’t play stupid with me,” he spits out. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, so fix it.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” I say and glance at the fuming giant next to me. “I was already planning on talking to her when we reach wherever it is we’re staying tonight.”

“You better,” John warns. When I nod, he relaxes. “Good, because I didn’t want to have to beat some sense into you.”

I flip him off, since we both know I would have kicked his ass sideways if he tried, and he wouldn’t have. Never once in almost twenty years of friendship, have we ever come to blows. Exchanged heated words and threats, yes, thrown fists, no.

“We both know who would win that fight, so fuck off,” I say and John laughs. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Be sure you do,” he warns. “‘Cause I’m sure Cory was planning on snuffing you with a pillow tonight, if you didn’t.”

“Thanks for the warning, but it isn’t necessary. I’ve got this.” I hope.

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

An hour later and we’re pulling up into another one of Olivia’s safe houses. So far we’ve stayed at her aunt’s brick one, the cabin, a townhouse in the burbs, some hunting lodge without utilities, and now it looks like a cottage near a lake. Make that on a lake, since I can now see the sun’s rays shining off of the water out back. I park the van as close as possible, before hopping out. I hear the slider open and the rest of the group talking as they unload in a seemingly endless parade.

Olivia, with her goddamn helmet on, walks up the front steps and opens the door. I already know that she’s heading to the nearest room which has a lock to hole up in, so I run after her. I can’t hear anything since she’s a fucking silent ninja, but I catch a hint of black disappear around the corner, and give chase like a predator scenting prey.

Sprinting around the corner, I feel something trip me up, and wind up face planting like a wheezer does when Olivia blasts its ears. I look up in time to see her boots, which were responsible for the trip up, slip into a room down the hall. Picking myself up, I walk down to the door and knock. I receive no answer, not that I expected one, so I try for talking.

“Olivia, please open the door.” Not so much as a curse. Time for the sullen bastard. “Open the damn door.”

“Fuck off,” I hear her order. Grinning at the response, I try for more.

“Open the freaking door, right now,” I demand. “Or I’ll kick it in.”

“You dare,” Olivia warns. “And you’ll be one sorry mother fucker.”

“Then talk to me.”

“We are talking,” comes her reply.

“I like to see the eyes of who I’m talking to.”

“Then you’re shit outta luck,” she says. “Because I don’t want to see you.”

“Come on, Olivia, just open the door so we can talk.”

“Jared, please just go away,” Olivia pleads. It’s because she said ‘please’ that I give her space. For now. Because I’ll definitely be talking to her before another day passes.

“How’d it go?” John asks.

I’m walking into the living room, so I just shake my head. I don’t need any more push to do something that should have been done the day it happened, but I was too chicken shit to do it. There was that, and the fact that I was still a little queasy any time I thought of what Olivia said happened. Not only did she watch the love of her life be beaten and tortured to death, she herself was brutalized in front of him.

My fingers clench as my imagination supplies mental visuals of what it thinks it might have looked like to an observer. Olivia being held down by several men, as they take turns having their way with her, while the father of her baby lies dying just a few feet away. It’s no wonder that she can’t sleep with that image running on repeat. I can barely sleep, and all I did was hear about a small tidbit of what she experienced. I may be pissy because of the hand I’ve been dealt, losing my parents, raising a teenage girl, and leading a group of ragtag strangers I didn’t ask for; but that’s all kitten shit compared to the mountain that Olivia is buried under.

I haven’t told anyone what Olivia recanted. Not Cory, who demanded to know what I said to upset her. Not Leonard, who keeps asking why his ‘new bestest friend in the whole wide world;’ that was Sarah’s words by the way, is hiding from him. Not John, who glanced between the silent Olivia and me with questioning eyes. And certainly not fucking Tommy.

That asshole can just go straight to hell since he’s spent more time with her lately, than anyone else has been allowed to do in days. Fine, it’s because Olivia asked him to that he hops into the car with her, but still, the fucker listens. I’ve seen him talk to Olivia more in that car than I’ve seen him talk to anyone, other than his grandpa, in the eight months that we’ve known him. It’s a good thing that he’s opening up a little more. I admit it, and I would even be happy for him if it were anyone other than Olivia that he was connecting with.

Call me a selfish prick all you want, but I want to be the one who Olivia clicks with. But I want more than friendship with her, and there lies the problem. Who knows if Olivia will ever want, or be able, to have another healthy relationship again? If she wants to expose her true self to someone else intimately? I’m not talking specifically about the physicality aspect of an intimate relationship, though that could be a major hindrance, I’m talking about her being mentally open. She’s about as willing to come out of her shell, as a bull going into a pen. You basically have to prod her into spilling anything. That, or compromise with a bit of tit for tat.

I just have to get her alone and make her talk. And I will. Once everyone goes to bed, I’ll sneak off and find wherever it is she wanders for tonight’s midnight rendezvous. Since I’ve been having trouble sleeping, I know that she’s been sneaking out of whatever room she holed up in, after the others have gone off to sleep, because I’ve heard her. So tonight, instead of wondering where she goes, I’ll just find out first hand.

I’m pulled out of my scheme by John’s body plopping down on the other end of sofa. I raise my eyebrows to see what the hell he wants, since he obviously wants something.

“What has you sitting over here, looking like a villain?” John asks. “All you need is to connect your fingers in front of your face, an evil cackle, and you’re good to go.”

“Where do you come up with this shit?” I inquire and he laughs. “I was coming up with a game plan, if you must know.” John looks at me expectantly. “Don’t you worry about it, I know what I’m doing.”

“If you knew what you were doing, you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place,” he comments. I flip him off. “It’s the truth.”

“I made a stupid assumption, that’s all,” I say vaguely. “It won’t happen again.”

“‘Assumptions are for assholes,’” John repeats. “Didn’t your Gran teach you anything?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know already. Now shut the fuck up, and go cook.” John looks horrified at the possibility of having to cook, so I revise my order. “I’ll help, maybe we can even persuade Lenny that he’s needed?”

“Get my girl back, and I’ll do whatever you want,” Leonard says from behind us. I look over and see him leaning against the door frame, with his arms crossed.

“I’ll get her back,” I promise and he nods. “Will you help?”

“Just this once,” he answers. “I want my head chef back.”

“You and me both,” John replies, and I silently add my own concurrence.

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

Chapter Thirty-Two:

It’s nearing midnight when everyone decides to call it a day. We’ve had early starts every morning since this road trip started, except for the last few days, since we’ve been getting held up by one particular nuisance. And while it usually would have been me that they had to use a crowbar to pry out of bed, my recent poor sleeping patterns haven’t been a problem; though a certain blonde certainly has been.

At every new safe house, Kelly’s been staking claims to her own bedroom; even if there is only one, by pushing her way to the front. Had Olivia stuck around after unlocking the door and holing up, I’m sure that Kelly would have gone along with whatever the plan was for the sleeping arrangements. But since Olivia has checked out for the last several days, Kelly has been celebrating the reprieve. And I mean literally celebrating.

Just before Carlos carried her unconscious body out, Kelly was tipping back Olivia’s Jack Daniels, like it was water. From there, she started singing in a slurred shriek that was ten times worse than her speaking voice, ‘ding dong, the bitch is dead.’ There was even some drunken swaying thrown in for an attempt at dancing. That was her downfall. Before I could drag her intoxicated ass out of the room, she toppled over her stilettos, and went ass over applesauce to knock herself out on the coffee table. That was priceless, and it’ll hurt in the morning, so that makes it even better.

After Kelly’s stylish departure, the rest of the group trickled off to their respective sleeping spots, leaving only me and John in the room. John has the first watch, so I leave him to it, and wait for Olivia’s escape. It only takes about twenty minutes for the door she’s locked herself in, to creak open and I see her slip out. I give her a head start of ten minutes, before trailing after her.

It’s pretty easy to follow where she went, all I had to do was spot her aluminum can holding the back screen door open. Removing the can, I slip outside before replacing it. I sweep the backyard with my eyes, and see her sitting by the lake. She’s taking off her boots, and her leather jacket is already beside her on the ground. Wanting to make myself known before she undresses further, because as much as I would love to see more; it would only end with her in a panic attack, or kicking my ass.

“Olivia, what are you doing out here?” I ask, just as she’s about to remove her turtleneck. Her head snaps around and her owlish eyes stare at me. Her hand, which was frozen gripping the bottom of her shirt, immediately comes back to life as she pulls it away in a balled fist. I shrug my shoulders.

“If you have to, kick my ass; I don’t give a fuck, but you will talk to me.” Olivia’s eyes widen a little more, if that were possible. “You haven’t spoken to anyone other than Tommy in days, and you won’t even look at me. I’m sorry that I was an assumptive asshole, I didn’t mean it. I was just talking, and if I offended you, once again I apologize; but this has to stop. I miss talking to you. I miss hearing you sing and laugh, or curse out anyone who pisses you off.” Her mouth is gaping at me, but I keep going. “This meek girl who hides behind a locked door, is not the Olivia I know, and I want her back.”

“I wasn’t mad at you,” she says quietly. “I was mad at myself.” I look at her in confusion, so she explains. “Come on, Jared, here you are trying to teach me something, and how do I repay you for your troubles? By unloading shit onto you, that no one wants to acknowledge exists; like you were some pompous, overpaid psychiatrist.” Olivia twists her finger at her head. “But my crazy ass just dumps it onto your shoulders, as if you don’t have enough to deal with already.” She breaks eye contact and toes her socked foot in the sand as she mutters, “Damn your eyes.”

“So, you aren’t pissed at me?” I ask for confirmation, and her head snaps up with a puzzled expression. “You haven’t spoken, or looked at me in four days.”

“Jesus Christ, men are clueless,” Olivia replies with a shake of her head. “I was embarrassed. Here I am, trying to have a normal conversation with someone, and

I start spilling shit that’s better left inside.”

“I didn’t mind. It’s better to get that stuff off your chest. It’s poisonous to keep inside, like a cancer eating away at your soul.”

“Trust me, no one wants to crack this skull open,” Olivia says with a self-conscious grin, and a knock to her head. “Believe me, the shit that would come pouring out, would drown a village with nightmares for eternity.”

“That’s all the more reason to start sharing it,” I insist and wave a hand at her. “I mean, you may be a badass, but you’re freaking pint sized.” Olivia scowls at me, but I continue. “I’m serious, that tiny frame will eventually crush under the weight. So, will you take those nightmares, and whip that shit into shape; making yourself stronger, or let them rule you and win?”

“Fuck that,” Olivia spits out. “Those fuckers have taken enough from me.”

“Good, now let’s beat those assholes into submission.”

“Later,” she says. I give her a look for stalling, but she rolls her eyes and holds up three fingers. “I, Olivia Ann Prescott, do solemnly swear to follow Jared’s nightmare kicking techniques, in order to make myself stronger and avoid having my pint sized body from being crushed internally.” She looks at me expectantly, but my mind is a little preoccupied with her announcing herself with Cory’s last name; which is Travis’s, so it takes me a minute to respond.

“That’s good, now why are we not starting now?” Olivia points to her bare feet.

“I was planning on going for a swim,” she answers. “But you tend to find me whenever I’m trying to have some relaxing ‘ME’ time.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But how the hell is swimming out here alone, while watching out for wheezers; who want to bite your ass off, relaxing?”

“Trust me, the only thing out here that will be taking a bite out of my ass, is the freaking asshole mosquitoes,” Olivia replies. “Now, either join me, or go away.” With that, she begins stripping. I’m tongue tied as the layers start coming off at a rapid pace, but I manage one question.

“How do you know that we aren’t going to be ambushed by wheezers?” I ask in a strangled tone, that I’m hoping she takes for fear; instead of what it is. Olivia pauses to throw a look over her shoulder.

“They don’t like water,” she answers. “And they drown if they try to come in.”

I nod and she goes back to removing clothes. I’ve already seen her leather jacket, a turtleneck, three t-shirts, and two sports bras come off. How the hell she’s been wearing all of that, and still has more on, while in this heat and hasn’t stroked out; is a miracle all in its own. When she’s down to her last shirt, she glances over at me in my boxers and bites her lip.

“C-can you turn around so I can c-change?”

“Of course,” I say and quickly turn my back to her. “I don’t know how many more clothes you could possibly have on. It looks like you’re wearing your entire wardrobe.”

“It’s required,” she says.

“For what?” I ask. “Lighter pack to carry?”

“Protection.”

“I think the leather’s strong enough to protect you from wheezer teeth,” I reply.

“It’s not the wheezers I’m worried about,” she whispers. I don’t say anything to that, because what could I say? ‘I’ll protect you,’ and then have a shoe thrown at my head? Besides, I’m sure that Travis or Cory have said things similar in the past, and she still wound up like this.

“You can turn now.” I turn to find her wearing boys basketball shorts; never have I found bare ankles and calves so sexy, but I move on before my boxers start tenting, to find a loose Rolling Stones t-shirt with their iconic lips on her chest.

“Great band,” I say and she smiles. “There’s the Livia we were all missing.”

“Really?” Olivia asks with a hopeful expression as she walks into the lake.

“Yeah,” I answer with a wave to say, ‘are you kidding?’ “John was ready to kick my ass for making him miss his favorite new show called Whack the Wheezer.” Olivia laughs, so I continue to lighten her up. “Cory’s been growling at anyone who so much as says your name. Leonard has been threatening to go on strike if he didn’t get his ‘bestest friend’ back. And Tommy, the selfish bastard, is the only one you’ve paid any attention to.”

“You leave Tommy alone,” she says with the fierce expression of a momma bear protecting her cub. Okay then, so she’s made an attachment, and it’s not me. Not a big deal, really. It just makes my chest burn, and my jaw clench, but it’s alright.

“I wasn’t saying anything bad about him,” I say, but internally, I’m cursing him to hell. “I was just merely stating that the only person you’ve acknowledged as alive in the last few days, is him.”

“Well, I like him,” she says simply. So simply, that it’s equivalent to stabbing me in the heart region, with one of her daggers. “And he’s very smart.”

“Smart?” I ask and she nods. “I wouldn’t know that, on account of him barely speaking.”

“That’s because he’s shy,” Olivia replies. “He and I are actually a lot alike.” I look at her dubiously, so she explains. “We are. Tommy suffers from social anxiety, which causes him to stutter. He’s been teased and bullied for it his whole life, so he tends to avoid people and only speak when he feels comfortable. And only then in short, well thought out sentences.”

“I always thought he was just a man of few words,” I say and feel like an ass.

“No, he’s just afraid that he’ll stumble on his words, and you’ll all laugh at him,” she says. “For instance, did you know that he has a crush on Marissa a mile long, and is too afraid to do something about it?” I shake my head. “That’s right, he can’t work up the courage to talk to her, so he observes from afar, while John uses her as nothing more than a plaything.”

“I’ll talk to him,” I say and she shakes her head rapidly with wide eyes.

“Are you crazy?” Olivia exclaims. “You don’t confront someone with social anxiety.”

“Not him, John,” I explain and she nods her head. “John may be a player, but he’s a good guy. If someone else truly wants the girl, he’ll step aside.”

“Good, because Tommy deserves a little happiness.”

“And what about you?” I hold my breath, since she doesn’t like Tommy that way, I may still be able to convince Olivia that I’m the guy for her.

“I’m plenty happy,” she replies. “Now, get your ugly ass in here, before I decide to drown you, Mouth.” I laugh as I walk in.

“Sure thing, LC,” I say. Olivia looks at me curiously. “You know, Lara Croft in Tomb Raider?” Olivia starts chuckling at that.

“Oh my god, I dressed up as her for Halloween,” she gasps between laughs. My eyes must show some interest, since I’m fucking tap dancing in my head with anticipation of the details, so she continues. “Junior year, I wanted to be something different. All the girls went with the stereotypical angel, devil, French maid or other bull shit; but I didn’t want that. There I was, digging through my closet to get ideas, when I find the box with my old PlayStation. Wouldn’t you know what game was still inside the console? And the kickass heroine just happened to be perfect, so I grabbed a wife beater, a pair of tan shorts, a belt, and borrowed Cory’s shoulder holsters for my fake pistols.”

“Do you happen to have a picture of this?” I ask and try not to swallow my tongue. “For curiosity’s sake, and comparison I mean.” Olivia squints her eyes at me in confusion, but shrugs as she answers.

“I think Cory has a copy in his wallet.” I’m stealing that as soon as possible. “Wait until you see who he dressed as.”

“Who?” I inquire, because as freaking excited at the possibility of seeing my fantasy come to life, I’m mildly curious about what Mr. Serious would wear.

“Patience is a virtue,” she replies with a smirk.

“Why couldn’t ‘hurry the fuck up’ be a virtue?” I ask.

Olivia laughs as she starts unbraiding her hair. Now, I’ve only witnessed her hair down twice, so you’ll have to forgive me for blatantly staring at it for a good three minutes. It’s a beautiful, glossy shade of black that contrasts with her pale skin and shimmers in the moonlight like satin. I want to go over and run my fingers through it to see if it feels as soft as it looks, so congratulate me on my self-control. It’s slightly curled from her braid, but it still reaches to her lower back when unbound. My mouth moves before my brain gives it permission.

“Beautiful.”

“Huh?” Olivia asks with her cute little nose scrunched up. Thinking on my toes, I throw an arm out in hopes of inspiration. The wetness dripping off of my arm, answers it.

“The lake,” I say and clear my husky throat. “The lake is beautiful.”

“Oh, yeah. I loved coming out here as a kid,” she says and takes in the moonlit view. “We used to come up to the cabin in the summertime, spend a week sun bathing on the dock, or tubing.”

“So, the cottage is...” I trail off and wait for her to answer.

“My mom’s inheritance from her parents. They were awesome, but they had three kids to split the will, so she got this; while they got other properties, and now this is mine.”

“Thanks for sharing your home with us,” I say and she laughs.

“Just because this one belongs legally to me doesn’t mean that the rest aren’t mine.” I look at her to explain. “I have keys for about thirty homes.” My eyes widen at that, but she just shrugs. “You’d be surprised how many people leave their spares in plain sight. Like under a doormat, in those stupid fake rocks, or a potted plant. You just have to look, and wel-la, you’ve got yourself a mansion, a cabin in the woods, or a million dollar condo with a view. The possibilities are endless.”

“Why, you little thief,” I say and she grins mischievously.

“You should see me pick a lock, or hot wire a ‘vette.”

“Can you teach me?” I ask excitedly. Olivia’s eyes shine those blue flecks when she nods. “Speaking of teaching, do you still want to learn how to shoot?”

“You still want to teach me?” Olivia asks carefully, like she can’t believe I would willingly spend more time with her. Please, I’m practically begging for more time with her.

“Hell yes I do,” I say and just to make it seem that I’m not so ecstatic, I add more. “Obviously, I can’t allow you to lead us, if you can’t even shoot your way out of a paper bag.” Olivia splashes me for that, but she’s fighting a smile. “Oh, it is so on.”

Splashing her back in retaliation, a war is waged. Olivia uses her tiny arm to swipe the surface of lake water at me, so I show her how it’s really done; with two massive waves created from my bulkier arms. Her husky laugh warms something in my chest, but I ignore it. I won’t allow whatever that is, to ruin my Livia moment, so I embrace her weak splashes with a smile plastered so big on my face; I’m worried it might not return to normal so long as she’s around to put it there. Ignoring that ridiculous thought as well, I finish the splash fight by lying on my back, and kicking my feet at her.

When I stand back up, Olivia’s hair is dripping and she’s clutching her arms across her Rolling Stones t-shirt to try and contain her laughter. It’s slightly raspy, maybe from laughing so hard, but it doesn’t seem to bother her; so I don’t mention it. I take her in from the top of her drenched head, to her soaked white t-shirt. Hold up, white t-shirt. I know what you think I’m looking at, and those bound beauties did get a glance; guy here remember, but those aren’t what capture my attention.

What does capture my attention is located below the breasts; that I finally see the cause of their disappearance of them being what has to be seven bras and an ace bandage, but I’ll ask about their constriction later. Right now, my fists are balled at the sight of the scars on her stomach and ribs. There are a variety of them, some that look to be puncture wounds, others are burns, and some I don’t recognize are all scattered around without an obvious pattern. Olivia must see me looking, because she starts clutching her stomach for a totally different reason.

“I want you to tell me about those when you’re ready, alright?” I ask and she nods. “Good, let’s go get dried off, my ass has officially become a buffet.”

Olivia gives me a quick nod, before scurrying out of the lake. I follow behind and nearly bite a hole in my lip when I see her back covered in even worse scarring than the front. Glancing away before I have to punch something, I pull my sweats back over my wet boxers and tug my shirt on. Instead of getting redressed, she just grabbed her mountain of clothes, and started jogging toward the woods.

“Olivia?” I ask and she shushes me. I’m tense and preparing for a wheezer to come popping out, but she starts making smoochie noises at the trees.

“Come on, Mori,” she says. And wouldn’t you know it, but Sarah’s prick of a black and white tabby, comes prancing out to her as soon as she called him. Olivia couches low enough to scoop him up with her free hand and snuggles his fur as she walks. “Did you have a nice hunt, baby? Lots of mice?” I can hear the purring from here, the asshole.

“When did he sneak out?”

“He didn’t sneak out,” Olivia answers as she opens the door. “He came with me to help keep watch.” I snort at that, since that cat is as lazy as they come, but Olivia just puts him down on the floor gently. “Go see Sarah, boy.” Morris rubs against her leg one more time, hisses at me, and bounces down the hallway.

“That cat is evil,” I say when he disappears. Olivia shoots me a disapproving look.

“Mori’s not evil, he’s misunderstood,” Olivia says and lifts her chin to meet my eyes. “You don’t like him, so was it you or John, that stomped on his tail earlier in revenge for a scratch?”

“Huh?” I ask.

“Earlier, I heard what sounded like someone was strangling a cat, so was it you or John who was abusing poor Mori?” I get it, so I start laughing, until I see her scowl.

“No one was doing anything to Morris,” I reply once my ability to speak returns. Olivia relaxes now that she knows no animal abuse was committed, but looks at me to explain. “That dying cat sound you heard, happened to be the extremely talented Kelly. You mean to say that you didn’t like it?”

“Fuck no!” Olivia exclaims. “I was preparing to come kill the mother fucker responsible, but it stopped before I had the chance.”

“That must have been when Kelly took her drunken tumble.” Olivia’s soft grey eyes turn to steel.

“Drunk?” Olivia asks in a raspy hiss.

“Yeah, she’s been getting drunk every night since you’ve locked yourself in solitary confinement.”

“My Jack?” Olivia growls and I nod. “That’s only for medical uses and occasionally numbing pain.” Liking the way that fire emerges in her eyes, I toss in some fuel to ignite anything that remains of the meek girl who was hiding herself from me.

“It was like she was celebrating or something,” I add and nearly smile when Olivia’s face flushes with pure anger. She’s fucking gorgeous any time you look at her, but furious? Olivia is a fire goddess, her black hair offsets the dagger throwing eyes; making them pop, so that’s why I throw in one last splash of lighter fluid. “Kelly was dancing and singing, ‘ding dong, the bitch is dead.’”

“Oh the bitch is alive and kicking alright,” Olivia says and clenches her fists before looking at me. “Is her hangover what’s responsible for tying us over the last few mornings?” I nod and she smiles with what can only be anticipation. “Don’t you worry about her, I’ll handle it.”

“What are you gonna do?” I ask.

“Don’t worry, as much as I may want to kill her, I don’t harm innocents. Even if they are obnoxious bitches, who rupture the ear drums of unfortunate bystanders.”

“Damn,” I mutter and hear her laugh echo back to me, as she turns the corner.

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

Chapter Thirty-Three:

I wake up the next morning to the smell of coffee. Knowing immediately what that means, I’m dressed and running to the kitchen to prove myself right. When I see Olivia singing at the stove, whipping up pancakes, and wearing an apron over her leather; I can’t help but smile.

“Morning, Jared,” Olivia says over her shoulder. “Coffee’s ready on the counter. Pour yourself a mug and sit, pancakes in five.”

“Morning, Livia,” I say and hop up on the counter with my mug already in hand. I set the second one aside for her to add whatever she likes to it. Next time I’ll know how she takes it, and make it for her myself. She glances at me and raises a single eyebrow.

“What? You said to pour a mug and sit.” I point to my mug and the counter I’m sitting on. “As you can plainly see, I am in fact doing both.”

“You’re a real smartass, you know that, Mouth?” Olivia asks, but I can see the blue flecks in her eyes that reveal her mirth.

“I believe that being a smartass comes with the territory of being Mouth,” I counter and she laughs. “Just like you wouldn’t be Lara without the attitude.”

“Or I could be Joan Jett,” Olivia proposes. “We both love our leathers, have black hair, and will kick ass when we need to.”

“Fine,” I huff, but she’s still my pocket sized Tomb Raider. “But you forgot the part about singing.”

“Duh, that’s a given.”

To prove her point, Olivia walks over and flicks a button on a battery operated radio. Drums and guitar pour out, before she starts singing Joan Jett and the Blackhearts’ “Do you wanna touch?” Two words, fuck yes. Especially when Olivia begins dancing and singing into her spatula, while shaking her braided head. Beautifully rounded hips are still swaying, when John and Cory walk into the kitchen. John’s eyes are rounded as he takes in the gorgeous woman dancing and singing her way around the kitchen, while Cory just smiles with what appears to be relief. Olivia finishes the pancakes and dances her way over with the platter, nodding her head at the duo standing in the doorway. When the song is over, she flips the stereo off and carries it with her to the table. When John asks why, she said she has need of it, so we shrug and dig in.

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

“Those were delicious, Livs,” Cory says and pats his stomach. Olivia wasn’t kidding when she said he knew how to clear a plate, he finished four stacks of pancakes to my two.

“Are you sure?” Olivia asks with dancing eyes. “You hardly ate.” Cory and I laugh, but John’s too busy consuming his weight in carbs to join us. “I swear that I would kill to have your metabolism. I mean, if I were to eat that many pancakes, you’d have to roll me on out of here.”

“Please,” I say and wave a hand at her. “What could you possibly weigh, 90 pounds soaking wet?”

“One thirty-seven actually,” Olivia replies matter of factly. “If Akio were to break out his chart, that would be considered mildly obese for my height. So, don’t any of you tell him, or I’ll break your freaking fingers.”

“Obese?” I ask and she nods. “Who the fuck came up with that shit?”

“Anorexic Annie, that’s who,” she answers.

“Well, I think you look fan-flipping-tastic, so Annie can go to hell,” John comments as he pushes his chair back to accommodate his full stomach.

“Puh-lease,” she says. “You’re only saying that because you want more of my cooking.”

“Am I really that transparent?” John asks and we nod. “In all seriousness, Livia, you are fucking gorgeous, so feel free to stab anyone who tells you any different.”

She laughs at that, but pats John’s hand with her ungloved one. I look at it curiously, and see her engagement ring on it, but what I really want to see is her other one for a wedding ring. As if she can read my thoughts, she folds her hands on the table. Aha, no wedding ring, so she must just go by Travis’s name out of respect.

But then I remember what happened the last time I assumed something, and make note to ask later. Not that it matters really. Either way she is grieving for the love of her life, regardless if she gained the widow status or not. And even widows could care for another with time. That’s all I really need. I already care about her, so it would be nice if it were somewhat reciprocated.

“Speaking of people I should stab,” Olivia says and pulls her gloves on. Once they’re tucked inside her sleeves, she stands with her radio.

Walking over to her bag, she starts digging around, and comes out with a zippered case. Setting the case on the floor, she opens it and reveals pages of CDs. Olivia starts flipping through the pages until she finds the one she wants, and swaps it out with the Joan Jett disc. Hearing a guitar riff come blasting out of the speakers, she stands and air guitars her way down the hallway, singing some song I’ve never heard.

“I have to see this,” John says with a smile and chases after her.

Cory and I follow after him, and hear Olivia start singing something about a drunken whore and her party being over. Olivia continues singing as she dances her way to Kelly’s room, and kicks the locked door in on the chorus. Olivia goes over to the bed and flips Kelly’s snoring ass off of it, as she starts singing quietly. When Kelly’s still sleeping, even after being thrown off of the bed, Olivia starts screaming the end of the song.

“What the FUCK!” Kelly shrieks and sits up abruptly, to see Olivia grinning above her.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Olivia exclaims and smiles even bigger, when Kelly winces. “I heard that you’ve been having a little too much to drink, would you like to tell me why?”

“I don’t have to answer to you,” Kelly spits out. “You aren’t my mother.”

“Thank Jesus for that,” Olivia replies as she crosses herself. “Now, answer me.”

“Because I fucking felt like it, alright bitch?” Kelly asks.

“I feel like bitch smacking you right now, but as you can see, I’m not,” Olivia says with a shrug. Moving faster than I expected, she gets directly in Kelly’s face, who flinches back. “But the next time you want to get drunk off your ass, you get your own fucking booze, or I’ll drown you in mine. Understand?”

“W-what if I don’t w-want t-to?” Kelly asks in an attempt at false bravado.

“Want to what?” Olivia inquires.

“G-get my own,” she answers and gulps.

“Don’t test me,” Olivia hisses. “Because I’ve had enough of your shit, or do you need to spend another day in my trunk?”

“No, no I don’t want that,” Kelly replies as she shakes her head vigorously.

“Good, now get the fuck up, and be the first person in the van, or you will be riding with me; via my spacious trunk, where no one has to listen to you.”

“O-okay,” Kelly says and stands up. She makes no move to get dressed, just runs out of the room in her nightie with an armful of clothing. Olivia flashes us a smile.

“See, that’s all you had to do,” she says.

“Sing, shove her out of bed, and threaten her?” John asks and Olivia nods. “I’ll remember that. What was the song? I’ve never heard it.”

“Papa Roach’s ‘Hollywood Whore,’” Olivia responds. “Isn’t it perfect for her?”

“Absolutely,” I agree.

“I have one for Tommy too, but he’ll get to hear that later,” she says with a smile.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Theory of a Dead Man’s ‘Gentleman,’” she answers and I laugh.

“Tommy likes guys?” John asks in a bewildered tone, that makes me laugh even harder. “What?”

“Oh, John, you are so goddamn clueless,” Olivia says and pats his arm on the way by. “Isn’t it a wonderful morning, Cory?”

“Every morning with you is wonderful, Livs,” he replies as she kisses his cheek.

“You just love me for my cooking,” she whispers and he laughs. Olivia leaves us in the room, so they immediately look to me.

“What’d you do?” Cory demands.

“Apologized and had a splash fight,” I answer with an ‘it was nothing’ shrug.

“A splash fight?” John asks incredulously, so I nod. He shakes his head and mutters, “Freaking pansy,” as he leaves. Cory’s not so easily convinced, so he crosses his arms, and stares me down in wait of answers.

“Fine,” I huff. “We talked, I said I was sorry. She said she wasn’t mad, she was embarrassed.” Cory holds up his hand.

“Embarrassed? Why would she be embarrassed?”

“She thought that she unloaded too much shit on me, which is ridiculous because if she was keeping that in, what the fuck else is hidden in there?” I ask.

“What’d she unload on you?” Cory looks like he may beat the answer out of me, so I give him a tidbit.

“It was about her being kidnapped,” I reply. Cory’s face hardens, but he motions for me to continue. “I can’t, man. You’ll have to ask her yourself, because if I tell you, then she’ll be pissed and stop talking at all.”

“You’re a fucking prick, but you’re right,” he says and rubs a hand down his face. “I don’t know why she’s telling you anything, when she has me.” Cory looks so forlorn, that I have to give him something.

“Olivia said that I’m easy to talk to,” I answer and he snaps his focus back to me. “She did. Maybe it’s because I’m more of a stranger to her than you, and that makes it easier to unload on? Or maybe it’s because it would be embarrassing to talking about this shit with someone she treats as a sibling? Who knows?” He nods to show that I have a point. “There’s also something she said about my eyes. Like they ‘reach into her head and pull out things that are better left buried.’”

“So, your freaky ass eyes are what make her talk?” Cory asks and I shrug. “I’ll talk to her, I may not have whatever the fuck kind of chameleon eyes you have, but I’ve got history with her.”

“Speaking of history,” I say. “Do you happen to have a picture in your wallet? Olivia wanted to show me it.”

“What picture?” Cory inquires with a tilt to his head.

“Halloween,” I answer. “She wanted to show me what you dressed as.”

“Yeah, I have it,” he replies in a mistrustful tone. “I’ll go give it to her right now.” Fuck! I follow after him like a kid in trouble, who’s trying to talk his way out of being punished.

“You don’t have to do it this second,” I protest. “She’s busy getting ready to leave.”

“No, that’s alright. If Livs wants to see the picture, then she’ll see the damn picture.”

Damn Cory, and his ultimate loyalty to the woman I care about. I trail after his steps, until we find Olivia in the kitchen talking to Leonard and Tommy. Well, Tommy’s standing there and nodding to what they’re saying, but you get the picture.

“Hey, Livs,” Cory calls out. He waits for her to look over before continuing. “Jared said you wanted to see a picture?”

“Huh?” Olivia asks and cocks her head the same way he did.

“Halloween,” I repeat and she nods in a way that says, ‘gotcha.’

“You know the one Cory,” she replies.

“No, I don’t know which one,” he answers. “I have Tinkerbell, Elvira, Joan Jett, Cleopatra and Lara Croft.”

“Lara Croft,” she clarifies.

Cory nods and pulls out his wallet. Sure enough, there are dozens of pictures inside. Most of them are of him, Travis and Olivia, or singles with the two of them, and other people sprinkled in. He pulls out a pocket that holds several plastic wrapped pictures, all of which are the Halloween ones he was naming off. Olivia as Tinkerbell, but much hotter than Tink ever was, Elvira with her gorgeous black hair and red lips showcased along with her bust, Joan Jett in leathers similar to what she wears now, Cleopatra with her black hair pin straight and eyes made up in greens and blues that make her own blue flecks pop, and finally the one I’ve been fantasizing over.

My very own Tomb Raider. Olivia’s wearing the iconic tight white tank top with her own rack that rivals the original’s, the tan short shorts that show off her toned legs, gun holsters on both her shoulders and thighs, and her hair pulled back in a ponytail. The only difference is that my Tomb Raider is a sexy woman, while the character was only animated fantasy. I’m drooling over the picture and about to make a run for it, when I feel someone come and stand by my shoulder.

“So, what’d you think?” Olivia asks.

“You looked so fucking hot,” I blurt out and she laughs.

“Not me, Mouth,” she says. “Cory.”

I glance at the picture and see both Cory and Travis beside her, like every other picture, their handsome mugs have to be in the background. Cory’s wearing his hair brushed back with a black bandana tied around it, and dressed in a long sleeved grey under armor top; with a black vest over it, black gloves, gray cargos tucked into boots and armed with guns and grenades. Any fan of Metal Gear would recognize him instantly as Snake. Travis is wearing his dark blonde hair parted off to the side, a black t-shirt with shoulder holsters, black cargos and fingerless gloves. A fan of Resident Evil would know him as Leon.

“You were a bunch of gamer geeks,” I say and she scowls. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that. As you can tell, I too was one, since I recognized every outfit without having to ask.” I point to them as I name them. “Cory’s Snake and Travis is Leon. What I would like to know is why the fuck you people had so many gun holsters and weapons hanging around, before the wheezers?” Cory and Olivia laugh.

“I’m from the freaking South, of course we were armed to the teeth,” Cory replies.

“You don’t even have an accent, unless you force it,” I retort.

“It fades,” he says with a shrug. “Plus I only lived there for two years and summers, so get over it.”

“Jesus Christ, Olivia!” John exclaims. “Are you trying to make Jared revert back to wet dreams?” Olivia stares at him with huge eyes that look a mixture of terrified, or shocked, either way I’m so nut punching the bastard as soon as we get in the van. “He’s been man-crushing on Lara Croft for freaking years, and here you are, literally showing him you as her. And I have to say, you are far hotter than she ever was.”

Olivia’s face is burning as she crosses her arms under her chest and ducks her chin. Cory punches John in the shoulder, and scowls at him for good measure, as he takes Olivia by the shoulders and walks her out. As soon as they’re out of range, I punch John’s other arm.

“What the fuck did I do?” John asks as he rubs both of his shoulders.

“Oh, I don’t know, why don’t you tell me?” I retort. “Could it be for when you told Olivia that she was going to give me spanking material? Or was it when you embarrassed her, you dick?”

“It was a joke,” he says defensively.

“A friggin awful one,” I hiss. “Or did you happen to forget what Red said?” I point to my wrists, and give him a pointed look.

“Fuck!” John shouts.

Several shocked eyes look at him for shouting, since they have no idea what the fuck went on, but we ignore them, as I shove John toward the door. I don’t need to shove him for long, since he starts running on his own. I jog after him and stop dead in my tracks when I see Olivia and Cory laughing out front. I thought that I was going to have to calm her from an anxiety attack, not a freaking laugh fest. Walking over cautiously, because I don’t trust this scene at all, I see that they’re still laughing.

“You owe me, Cory,” Olivia says and sticks her hand out to him. Cory mutters something about ‘women and their freaky voodoo shit,’ as he hands her a piece of paper. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“You made a wager?” I ask with a confused tone and Olivia nods with a smile firmly on her face. “On what terms?”

“I said that my good friend Mouth, and his partner in crime, would come running within two minutes to see if my fragile state finally cracked for good,” she answers smugly. “Cory said that it would take five minutes, but you were here in less than one.”

“What’d you bet?” John asks.

“Blackmail,” she says and holds up the blank side of a picture. “He’s been keeping this tucked away for years and I’ve finally won it, so really, I should be thanking you, Cassie and Mouth.”

“Cassie?” John asks with a frown.

“Short for Casanova,” Olivia explains. “Leonard likes to call you the ‘Counterfeit Casanova,’ but I thought that was too much of a mouthful, so I shortened it. Or did you happen to forget that you have quite the set of girls who are at your beck and call?” John blushes at that. What the fuck? He never blushes, but I’ll ask about that later, right now I want to know about this ‘bet.’

“Hold, on a second,” I say and hold up my hand. “You really bet that we would come and check on you?” They nod. “That’s freaking sick.”

Cory and Olivia just laugh at that, so I snatch the picture out her hand, while she’s distracted. She stops laughing and starts jumping for the picture I’m holding above my head. Her tiny size will never be able to reach, so I leave it there and take a look at this ‘blackmail.’ Olivia’s probably eleven or twelve, and so freaking adorable in her yellow leotard with a black belt across the middle. Travis is standing next to her wearing an open black leather coat, a white t-shirt underneath, sunglasses and a fedora. I don’t see what’s so embarrassing about it, so I hand it back.

“I don’t get it,” I say. Olivia scowls and stomps on my foot, but Cory laughs at something; so I stare at him and ignore my smarting toes. These damn boots are definitely not steel toe, the false advertising mother fuckers.

“You would get it if you knew why she was wearing that outfit,” Cory replies as he attempts to wipe the mirth from his eyes. “Livs was being teased for her body, so Travis thought that they should do something for the talent show.”

“It’s Sir Mix-A-Lot’s video,” John comments as he looks at the picture. “You know, ‘I Like Big Butts’?” I want to start laughing now that I get it, but I know that Olivia would probably kick me in the balls, so I fight it back.

“Those bitches were just jealous,” John adds.

“Thanks, John,” she says with a smile. “And I was the one laughing when their boyfriends broke up with them, to ask me out.”

“Travis wasn’t laughing,” Cory adds.

“No, he certainly wasn’t,” Olivia says with a fond smile. “He was my self-appointed, always scowling, bodyguard until high school. Then he growled at them like a rabid dog.”

“I take it you two started dating in high school,” John assumes and she nods.

“Fifteen and he just turned seventeen,” she answers. “Said he wanted to wait for me to grow up a little, but when I got asked to prom by a senior, he said I was grown enough and took me himself.”

“Smart man,” I mutter, but she hears it and looks at me curiously. “He snatched you up before he lost his chance.”

“No, you misunderstood me,” Olivia revises. “He said I was too young, but I was already in love with him since we were kids.” She looks at Cory. “How old was I when I said that I would marry Travis?”

“Four,” he answers and they share a smile. “Our moms said that four was a little young, and to ask again when you were thirty.”

“We still didn’t wait that long,” she says with a shake of her head.

“So, you did get married then?” I ask and hope that I’m not pushing her down a dark path.

“Not officially, but we had Cory do it,” Olivia replies.

“They were married in every sense that counts,” Cory confirms and wraps an arm around her shoulders. She’s so tiny that he could wrap it almost completely around her body, and still have more to spare. Olivia leans into the embrace, as if she’s taking strength from it. “The license is just piece a paper. What matters most is how you treat, and feel about each other.”

“And we had the best unlicensed minister in the northeast to officiate it,” she says and kisses Cory’s cheek.

“Damn straight,” Cory says. “Now, let’s get this show on the road. Kelly looks like she may die of heat stroke in that stifling van.” We all glance over and see a red-faced, sweat covered Kelly fanning herself in the baking van, before bursting into laughter.

The bitch has been tamed.

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

Chapter Thirty-Four:

Or not.

We’ve been driving for three hours and Kelly has not shut the fuck up. It’s ‘Olivia this’ or ‘that fucking psychotic whore that.’ I’d think it’s safe to say that about half the car wants to strangle the fuck out of her, most especially me; but slamming the brakes on right now in order to do so, would endanger the entire car. That would be because of the packs of wheezers, who are currently chasing after our cars like relentless door to door salesmen.

Why you ask, are the so many? That would be because we had to cut through a city. A city freaking infested with the wheezing bastards. Sure, we’re on a highway. It just so happens to be littered with hundreds of dead cars, and trash that you have to swerve around to avoid, all while going sixty miles an hour. Pretty friggin nerve wrecking already, but then I have that fucking bitch screeching in my ears.

“I told you that crazy Jezebel would kill us all!” Kelly shrieks. “But did you listen to me? No, you didn’t! You followed your dick straight into her web!”

“Someone gag that bitch!” John shouts.

I don’t think anyone can hear him over Kelly’s screaming, the growling of the wheezers, or the pounding of their own hearts. And they must be pounding, since mine feels like it’s going burst out of my chest like that alien in the movie. I’m running with equal measures of fear and adrenaline coursing through my veins. Adrenaline from the will to survive, and fear for the group.

Not only those who look like scared bunny rabbits in the back, but Cory and Leonard who are in even more in danger being the last car. Cory’s car is being rocked by the wheezers who are running straight into the sides to the point that I think if any more of them hit it, it’s going to flip. And then there’s Olivia’s car with her and Tommy in it, but I can’t even see the cherry red BMW through the mayhem. The only thing keeping me from panicking, is that the wheezers haven’t veered off course for the easier prey, so I know that both of their cars are still moving; and not crashed in a ditch right now.

But what is going to make me flip my shit, is the bitch in the back who won’t shut the fuck up. I remove one hand from white knuckling the steering wheel, to whack John.

“Get back there, and knock her out if you have to,” I hiss. “Just get her to shut her fucking mouth, or we’re gonna crash!”

John immediately unbuckles his seat belt and climbs to the back, leaving me to grip the steering wheel like my life depends on it. And it does, along with at least eleven other people’s lives; including my baby sister and best friend. Kelly won’t have to wait for the wheezers to eat her if we wind up in a ditch, because I’ll go out strangling that bitch with my last breath.

“Stay the hell away from me, Jonathan!” Kelly shrieks. I don’t hear his response, but I sure as hell hear hers. “So, she’s charmed you too? Fucking dick sucking w....”

Her tirade is muffled by whatever John’s doing to her. Whatever it is, it brings me blessed silence that allows me to concentrate. I don’t even look in the mirror, because a single glance away from the road could prove  fatal. It isn’t necessary to look anyway, I can still see and feel more wheezers running into the sides of the van.

No, they can’t run that fast. Those ones are the new additions running from somewhere beyond the breakdown lane. I can see them out of my peripheral vision, hopping cars and scrambling to join the chase. I’ve seen at least a dozen of the new mutations. They’re easy to spot with their hairy faces, running on all fours, and climbing cars to jump from roof to roof like a bizarre game of hop scotch.

Like this fucker, who’s now clinging to the side view mirror. His ugly mug is dripping drool on the driver’s side window, so I swerve to try and shake him. The hairy bastard screeches louder than Kelly, but clings on, and gives the window a punch with his blood covered fist. Several screams ring out from the back. Trying one more time, I give a quick jerk of the wheel, before righting it. A flash of black is all I see when he falls off, but I’m breathing a little easier now that the clingy asshole is off my damn van.

My relief is short lived when some hairless naked chick, at least I think it’s a chick from this angle, dives on top of my windshield. How that didn’t kill her when I’m going sixty miles an hour, is a mystery to me. The ugly bitch pounds her gnarly knuckles on the windshield; luckily she’s on the right side, or we’d be fucked right now. I try the same method of jerking the wheel to try and knock her ass off. No luck there, she’s clinging to the windshield wiper. Since that’s her lifeline, I flip those on high. Her gnarly fingers follow the blade, smearing blood across the glass.

“Fuck!” I shout.

My visibility is now limited to the left side. There are people shouting and screaming in the back, but I pay them no mind as I try one last maneuver to shake the bitch. Swerving left, then right, I see her falter and recover before slamming back down on the windshield. The glass cracks with a long split, and a couple of hairline fractures crisscrossing in a spider web pattern. More screams pour from the back, and I’m freaking the fuck out. If this bitch breaks through, or cracks the glass anymore, then we are so fucked. There’s no fucking way that I can navigate through this shit, bump off grabby wheezers, and kill those that get in, all at the same time.

“Someone get the fuck up here!”

One of the twins’ shorn heads pops through to separation in the front, and bounces on the seat. Judging by the knives in his hand, I know it’s Carlos, because Oscar prefers clubs. Carlos, the crazy bastard, is wearing the softball helmet I gave Oscar from Hal’s, gloves, and his bomber jacket. I’ve never seen him wear such an outfit, but I can see why, when he rolls the window down half way; stabs two wheezers that are close, and leans out. I keep the car steady as Carlos’s gloved hand grabs the wheezer bitch by the arm, and rips her off. As soon as she’s bouncing down the highway, he climbs back in, stabs another wheezer; whose arm follows him inside in an attempt at pulling him out, and he closes the window. The whole thing probably took thirty seconds at most, but it felt as if it were played in slow motion to me.

I flip the wipers back on and give it a squirt of fluid to clear away some blood. It does a decent job considering half of the blades are gone, but my visibility is still limited to the left. The right side is still blood smeared, some of it is even leaking onto the dash through the cracked glass. I ignore it, but it makes me painfully aware of our vulnerability.

“Carlos, you are one crazy bastard,” I mutter and he laughs. “And a ballsy fuck, hanging your ass out there to tease them like it’s a T-bone steak.”

“Hey, it worked,” he replies and I nod.

And it continues to work. No more get to cling on with Carlos there to knock them off, but it’s still another three miles of congested driving, before we’re cleared to tear up our engines. A quick glance in the rearview mirror shows Cory’s Jaguar is battered, but moving ahead of the disappearing crowd left in our dust. With the final car’s safety ensured, I look ahead to what should have been our least affected car, but am proved dead wrong. Olivia’s car has a bloody bullet hole out the back window, with a wheezer hanging halfway out of the moon roof. I can’t see inside, but it doesn’t appear to be alive, so the bullet must have taken care of it. Still doesn’t ease the utter panic I’m feeling.

Neither does it seem appease Cory, since I see him swerve around me, and gun it to ride alongside Olivia’s car. Whatever he sees, he doesn’t like, because Leonard motions for them to pull over. In response, Olivia revs her engine and speeds off the next exit ramp. Seeing her immediate response, my heart beat triples to the point that I fear I might go into cardiac arrest and crash this bitch, therefore killing us all.

I’m going a hundred-ten and have to screech off the exit at sixty, to keep up with the Jaguar. We’re pretty far from the city before our caravan of cars slows down, and I see the cherry red BMW swerve off the road. I’m already running before I see Olivia jump out, and run toward the trunk of her car. Digging through, she tosses bags left and right, before slamming the trunk shut and abandoning it to run in my direction.

Cory, Leonard and Tommy; all unharmed, are chasing after her, but she keeps running by the Jaguar and straight past me. Olivia rips the trunk open with her left hand, and that’s when I see her holding her neck with the right. There’s blood streaming through her fingers and down the front of her jacket, but that doesn’t stop her from ripping apart the van’s trunk.

“She’s fucking infected!” Kelly screams.

“She’s n-not fucking inf-fected,” Tommy snaps. His fists are balled and he’s glaring at the bleached bimbo, who is gaping over the head rest from her position in the back seat.

I think that his panic over Olivia’s injury overcame any anxiety he had about his stutter, because he doesn’t even flinch when he does it. Tommy’s attention is completely on the blood gushing from Olivia. Me, completely forgetting about her no touching rule, grab the hand holding pressure, and pull it away from her neck so that I can see her wound. Please don’t be a bite, please don’t a bite, I repeat it like a mantra as I pull back the collar of her jacket to get a better look. She’s rasping out short breaths, and I don’t know it’s from being touched, or the huge fucking piece of glass that’s sticking out of the ridges in her turtleneck.

“Akio, get the fuck out here!” I shout through my panic, and wrap my hand carefully around the glass. Olivia slaps her free hand over my mouth, and darts panicked eyes at the woods. I grip her hand and give her palm a reassuring kiss, before removing it to talk. “Twins, watch the woods.” I see two bodies climb out of the van before Olivia calms a little.

“Livs?” Cory’s voice asks and it cracks with worry. Olivia removes her hand from mine, to grab Cory’s, but keeps her terrified eyes locked with me. The blood is still flowing heavily through my fingers, when I feel someone grab my wrist. I growl at whoever the fuck it is.

“Jared, move your fucking hand,” John orders. “The Doc needs to see it.”

Gently prying my sticky fingers away, I step to Olivia’s other side and grab hold of her bloody hand with my own. You can tell how stressed she is, when instead of ripping hers away, she threads her fingers through mine and squeezes.

Akio adjusts his glasses and peeks at the injury. Making a tsking noise, he orders for his backpack. Someone hands the pack through the slider, but I don’t care to look who, since I’m busy watching Akio rummage through his supplies. He pulls out a modified first aid kit. I call it modified, because instead of things to treat minor wounds; he replaced children’s character band-aids with stitching materials, Tylenol with prescription grade painkillers, and added IVs along with ace bandages.

Akio snaps a pair of blue gloves on, before threading up a needle for stitches. Olivia waves off the shot of morphine, so Akio shrugs and gets to work. Or tries to, because Olivia breaks contact with both Cory and I, shoves Akio away, and dives back for the trunk.

“Olivia, what the fuck are you doing?” I demand and go back to stop her from rummaging through the bags. She slaps my hands away from her arms, and just about bares her teeth at me as she continues searching, even while there’s blood trickling down her coat front. I look to Cory to see if he understands her refusal.

“Livs, what are you looking for?” Cory asks, and even he looks baffled. In answer, Olivia comes out with a first aid kit and digs inside. “We already have one.”

Olivia shakes her head and pulls out her own sewing kit before running over to the passenger side mirror. Lifting her shaking hands, she begins tearing her turtleneck, and I think I understand her problem. She doesn’t want anyone touching her, regardless of her injury. But that’s fucking nuts, she could bleed out by the time she tends to her own wound.

“Olivia, please let us help you.” I’m not above begging at this point, because the amount of blood that’s already streamed from the wound; along with the puddle that’s forming at her feet, is pretty damn alarming. Olivia looks at me with panicked eyes and shakes a finger at Akio. “Why don’t you want his help? I know he’s an asshole, but he’s still a doctor.” Olivia visibly flinches at the word ‘doctor.’ Okay then, she has a fear of doctors, just great.

“Fine, let me do it,” Cory orders.

Olivia immediately hands over her equipment to Cory. So, it’s not that she doesn’t want help at all; it’s just that she doesn’t want Akio’s. I know there’s a reason behind it, and I’ll have to figure it out later, because obviously Cory’s going to need help on account of his hands being pretty shaky too. Stepping forward, I see that Cory’s already cut the rest of the turtleneck away, and is observing the glass. The fucker went in at a vertical angle on the right side of her neck, so I wouldn’t know how the fuck to remove it without causing more damage; and from his worried frown, neither does Cory.

“We’re wasting time,” I snap and look at Olivia. “You have to let Akio help, or you’re gonna bleed to death.” Her whole body starts shaking. “I know that you don’t want him touching you, but Cory’s right here, and he won’t let anything happen to you. Do you trust him?” She gives me an offended look that screams, ‘Are you for real?’ “Good, then trust me too, because I won’t let anyone hurt you, alright?” Olivia nods slightly and winces when it shifts the glass. “Let’s do this, Doc.”

Akio steps forward with his own kit. He was observing the scene with a blank face, but I could tell that he was offended by her refusal to allow him to treat her, since there’s a tick in his cheek. Setting the kit on the driver’s seat, since I never closed the door when I bailed from the car, he digs through his tackle box of equipment and pulls out his already prepared stitching materials.

Stepping toward Olivia, I see her flinch with each step he makes in her direction. I take hold of her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. In response, she gives me one that almost has me screaming ‘Mercy!’ But I refrain from the acknowledging the pain, since she obviously needs something to brace herself on. Lifting his still gloved hands to the torn area of the turtleneck, I see Olivia give Akio a deathly glare, of warning maybe? I don’t know, but the Doc ignores it as he continues toward the glass. Olivia’s whole body tenses when his gloved fingers make contact with the flesh around the glass, and grips it.

“It’s alright,” I try to reassure her.

Olivia gives my hand another strong squeeze, maybe to tell me to shut the fuck up with the generic bull shit, or maybe in thanks? I’m hoping the latter, but I’m guessing that it was the former. Watching Akio work diligently, I see the glass make a slow exit from the wound. The pointed shard is about three inches deep, and half an inch wide, so more blood than I thought possible comes streaming out when it’s finally loose of her skin. Olivia starts stumbling, so Cory wraps an arm around her waist when I’m about to. Pissed that he got there first, but more worried about the beautiful girl fighting to stay conscious, I let it slide.

“Why’s she passing out?” John’s worried voice asks.

“Most likely from blood loss,” Akio answers with his doctor tone and doesn’t stop working. He’s currently cleaning the area with a sterile wipe in prep for stitches. “This is pretty deep, but I’m more worried about what this means on top of the scarring.”

“And what is that?” Cory demands. “She can’t breathe? Talk? What the fuck does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Akio says with a shrug as he digs the first stitch into her skin.

Olivia doesn’t make even the slightest flinch from the pain, and I don’t know if it’s from her high pain threshold, or her semi-unconscious state. A glance at Cory shows that he looks to be prepared to beat the fuck out of the doctor, unless he gets some answers that he likes. Knowing that Olivia would be the one calming him if she were able to, I step in.

“Cory, she’s going to be fine,” I say and force myself to believe it too.

“How the fuck do you know?” Cory hisses. Knowing that his fear is coming off as anger, I keep my tone as calm and confident as possible.

“Because she’s Olivia,” I reply simply. “She’s been to hell and back, but still returns running to kick ass. One tiny piece of glass isn’t going to take her down.”

“Sorry to interrupt you, Jared,” Danny says from his front row seat, next to a wide eyed Sarah. “But that ain’t no ‘tiny piece of glass.’ It’s freaking huge.”

“Shut up, Danny,” John says and smacks him on the back of the head.

“Is she gonna die?” Kelly asks, and doesn’t the bitch sound downright giddy at the possibility. Cory goes to lunge at the car, so I distract him.

“Cory, I think she may be coming around,” I say. When Cory looks down to check out the unconscious Olivia in his arms, I mouth for John to ‘gag the bitch.’

“Livi?” Cory whispers as he strokes her cheek. Olivia swats at him, but her eyes are closed when she speaks.

“Don’t touch me.” It’s nothing more than a rasp, but Cory hears it clearly, and is taken aback.

“Livi, it’s just me,” Cory tries again. Olivia thrashes when his hand brushes hair away from her face.

“I said not to fucking touch me,” she snarls and swats his hand away again.

“Quit fucking calling her ‘Livi,’” I say. “She’s obviously not all there, or she would have recognized you.”

“Fuck you,” Cory fumes. “She’s fine.”

“I didn’t mean that she’s crazy,” I revise. “I meant that she’s in shock, and doesn’t recognize her surroundings. Talk to her. Tell her that she’s alright, that she’s safe. Just don’t fucking call her ‘Livi.’” Cory nods before giving it a try.

“Olivia, it’s Cory,” he begins. “You’re gonna be fine. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.”

“No!” Olivia shouts, and her thrashing picks up double time. “He’ll get you too! Run, Cory! Run before he comes back!” Cory looks a cross between devastated and pissed. I shove him aside and take his place.

“Cory’s fine,” I say and she stops fighting of Akio, who has sweat beading down his face. “He’s with John, you remember him?”

“The sidekick,” she answers and I laugh when John scowls.

“That’s right. Cory’s with my sidekick, and the twins, and Tommy.”

“And Travis?” Doesn’t something burn in my chest when I have to lie to her?

“Travis is fine,” I whisper. That was the wrong thing to say, because she starts shaking head rapidly.

“No he’s not!” Olivia screams and starts crying. “He killed him.” She curls herself into a ball, and repeats the same thing over and over again as she rocks. “He killed them both.” Then she’s making that awful noise which sounds like a dying animal, as she did back at the condo.

“You’re going to have to hold her down, so I can sedate her,” Akio demands and looks at me. I start shaking my head, no way in hell am I holding her down for any reason. “I can’t stitch the wound properly, if she isn’t still.”

“I can’t,” I say helplessly. I glance over at her hysterical form, and then the real shaking begins. Her whole body seizes, and shakes violently. “What the fuck?” I look to Akio for answers.

“She’s seizing,” he replies unnecessarily.

“No shit, Sherlock,” I hiss. “Why the fuck is she seizing?” Cory grabs her up in a bear hug and tilts her chin. I can hear her struggling to breathe, and it’s making me panic ten times worse.

“It could be from a combination of factors,” Akio answers in that goddamn Dr. Calm voice. “Shock, lack of sleep, epilepsy, stress, head trauma, pregnancy, diabetes...”

“Shut the fuck up with the Web M.D. shit, and help her!” Cory shouts. Olivia’s now foaming a mixture of blood and drool from her mouth. It has to be the scariest thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some scary shit.

“I can’t,” Akio says and adjusts his glasses after taking an elbow thrown by Olivia’s seizing body. “It has to run its course.”

“It won’t run its fucking course if she chokes to death, you pompous prick,” Cory snarls. He turns his furious eyes away from the doctor, to look down helplessly at Olivia. He turns her body slightly to the side, so that the discharge from her mouth has somewhere to go, rather than trickling back down her throat.

“Come on, babe, breathe.” Cory strokes her hair with his free hand and whispers in her ear. I don’t know if it’s doing any good, but at least her body’s stopped it’s violent seizing. It’s now more of a twitch every few seconds.

“Jared!” Carlos shouts.

I tear my eyes away from Olivia to see what he needs. A few wheezers emerging from the woods is the answer to that question. Can this day get any worse? Standing up, I pull out my knife and jog over to help, since I’m useless when it comes to medical situations.

“Take the left two, I’ll get the right,” I tell the twins.

They nod before Carlos pulls out his own knife while Oscar readies his club and the three of us run over to handle the infected. Reaching the fat bastard on the right, I dodge his bloated swing and sweep his leg out. I hear a crunch that is nauseating, but I fight back the urge to puke and kick his head to the side to expose his temple. Smelly, fat bastard tries to take a bite from my boot, so I kick him again before sinking my knife into his skull to finish it off. I scan the woods to see if any more are coming out, seeing none I look over to see the twins deliver killing blows. Knowing that we’re sitting ducks out here, I jog over to the group.

“Cory, climb in the van with Olivia.” He glances up from her to look at me. “We’re just asking to be eaten if we stay here. So, climb in and someone else can drive the cars. I’ll find us a place to stay.”

“Alright,” he says and gathers Olivia up in his arms.

Sarah and Danny slide back to the seats the twins were in to let Cory inside through the slider. Once I have them both strapped into one seatbelt, since there’s no way in hell I’m prying her away from Cory right now, I shove Akio in the seat next to them. I toss the kit in on the floor so that it’s close by.

“Is she alright?” Whitney asks with a worried frown.

“She’s fine,” I reply. If I say it enough, maybe I’ll begin to believe it. “Just help as much as you can, alright?”

“Of course,” Whitney says readily.

Whitney climbs up to a seat closer to Cory and Akio so that she’s on hand if necessary. Marissa and Chelsea look ready to cry, I don’t know if they’re scared that Olivia’s infected, or if they think she’s going to die regardless of infection to suffocation. Either way is a hell of a lot better than the look on Kelly’s face. It’s pure delight. I’ve never wished death on someone so much in my life. I point at her and glare.

“Wipe that smug look off your face,” I snarl. “Or I’ll tie your ass to a tree and put a bell on you.” Kelly’s mouth drops open, but no words come out, so I ignore it and slam the slider shut. Leonard hops into the passenger seat so the van is now full. I motion for a frozen Tommy to follow me and John over to the twins.

“Someone’s going to have to drive the cars,” I say without preamble.

“I’ll guess I’ll have to take the Jag,” Oscar says with a sigh, like it’s a real hardship to drive a luxury car.

“I got the Beemer,” Carlos adds.

“Alright, Tommy, pick one to ride with and John take the other,” I say. “Carlos I want you in the middle and I’ll mow over any mother fucker that gets in my way.”

“Where we going?” Oscar inquires.

“No fucking clue,” I answer.

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

Chapter Thirty-Five:

From the road signs, I’ve learned that we’re now in Maine. My guess is that last busy place that we were chased in wasn’t a city at all, but the town of Portsmouth, NH. True to word, I’ve run over every wheezer that gets in my way. Only two, but I wasn’t taking the chance of swerving around them, and having them dive in Carlos’s exposed moon roof.

We’ve been driving for about a half hour, but every minute that Olivia is unresponsive, is raging hell on my nerves. I’ve never been this stressed or panicked in my life, and at this rate, I’ll be grey within a month.

Seeing that the houses are becoming more sporadic, I pull up to the next one. It’s a small ranch style that’s surrounded by woods on three sides, but it looks untouched by the infected, so it’s worth a shot. I park the van, and order everyone to stay inside, before climbing out. I hear the other doors shut as I walk to the back of the van. I pick my crossbow from the pile of weapons, and make sure both my hunting and throwing knives are in place, then step aside for John to equip himself. Tommy and the twins already had their weapons strapped to them, but John and I only kept our guns on our person, so they’re waiting on us.

A nod to show that we’re set, and the five of us approach the house. Taking point, I move quickly to the front door, and take a page from Olivia by checking the mat. It’s empty, but the neglected plant in the pot has a key hidden underneath. Using it to unlock the door, I give it a push, and call out. No answer, rotten smell, or noise from anywhere inside is a good sign, but we still intend to do a sweep.

John, Oscar, and Tommy take the left side while Carlos and I take the right. We walk down the hallway, and open every door we pass along the way. It’s a three bedroom, one bathroom setup with a dining-living room combo, so we’ll be able to squeeze in for however long we need to. Best of all, are the barred windows in the bedrooms; most likely installed to put off burglars, but should protect against wheezers.

After making sure all of the rooms are empty, we check for an attic and basement. There are one of each, the attic is no more than a crawl space, and the basement is just your standard unfinished laundry room; so, Carlos and I jog back upstairs to give the all clear for our side. We find that John, Tommy and Oscar are already done, and waiting by the front door when we cut back through the living room.

“Anything?” I ask.

“Nah, it’s clean,” John answers.

“Good, let’s bring ‘em in,” I say and they nod. “Tommy, can you go prepare a room for Olivia?”

Tommy gives me a silent nod, but hurries to get a room ready. Jogging back to the van, I pull the slider open, and help Cory get Olivia out of the car. Once I have her in my arms, I hug her tight to my chest like I’ve been wanting to do for days, and ignore Cory’s waiting arms. He scowls, so I scowl right back, and walk toward the house with my precious cargo. Maneuvering the stairs slowly so I don’t trip and injure her more, I continue down the hallway, and call out for Tommy. He picked the first door on the left, so I enter and gently set Olivia down on the queen sized bed, while Tommy slips out of the room silently.

Cory climbs on the bed, and wraps himself around her. They look kind of ridiculous, since he’s over a foot taller. Or maybe it’s because I’m jealous of the ease he could do so, that makes me see it as King Kong holding the tiny lady on the skyscraper? I grab a chair and slide it closer to the bed before grabbing hold of her hand. Cory glares at me, but I ignore him and slide Olivia’s hair out of the way so I can see her beautiful face. Her usually sun kissed skin is a sickly pale, but it just makes her full red lips stick out like Snow White’s. Those damn fairytale fuckers had it all wrong. A measly kiss will not cure an ailing woman, the lying bastards.

Someone knocks on the door, so I tell them to come in. It’s Akio with Whitney behind him. He motions for me and Cory to leave, I shake my head. No way in hell am I leaving. Akio looks to the ceiling with what I can only guess is a prayer of patience.

“I need you two to leave the room so that I can undress the patient,” Akio says.

“No fucking way,” Cory retorts at the same time as my, “Fuck no!”

“I’m a doctor,” he counters.

“This isn’t a fucking hospital,” I hiss.

“What if I undressed her?” Whitney proposes. She must see that there’s no other way that Cory or I am leaving Akio alone with her.

“Olivia wouldn’t want to be naked,” Cory warns.

“I’ll dress her in something that doesn’t cover the wound,” she answers. “Then you can come back in, alright?”

We mutter our consent and each grab an arm to drag Akio along with us before closing the door. It takes several minutes of scuffling noises and drawers opening or closing until Whitney calls us back in. I nearly push Cory to the ground to get in first and hear Whitney’s stifled laugh. I don’t care; I’m more concerned with checking Olivia. When I look over and see her wearing a skimpy nighty, I nearly swallow my tongue. Cory shoves me out of the way before pulling a quilt up to her chin. Once he’s satisfied with how she’s covered, he takes my seat and reconnects with her hand. Finding my feet, I walk in a few more steps and stand at the foot of the bed.

“It’s no wonder the poor girl couldn’t breathe,” Whitney comments and we look at her in question. “I had to cut away twelve sports bras, six t-shirts, a turtleneck and her leather coat. I’m surprised she hasn’t died of heat stroke.”

“Twelve sports bras?” Akio asks with raised eyebrows. Whitney shrugs in response to say she doesn’t understand it.

“Never mind that,” I say. I already knew that she’s been flattening her chest, and that will be addressed later. Right now, I want her fixed and on the road to recovery. “Stitch her up and do whatever it is you do.”

“Thanks for permission to see to my patient, Dr. Jared,” Akio replies snidely.

I flip him off, but he’s too busy pulling new gloves on and readying his equipment to notice it. A new sterilized needle is threaded and his tweezers are dipped in rubbing alcohol before he pulls back the blanket. I avoid looking at her unbound breasts, which are currently pushing out of the too small nighty, in favor of watching Akio work.

The gash has already reopened the few stitches that he did earlier, most likely due to her thrashing, so it’s bleeding again. Using an alcohol soaked cotton ball, he cleans the area as much as possible and dries it with a gauze pad. Setting the needle to the skin, Olivia stiffens for a minute, but otherwise is unresponsive. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but seeing how many stitches he has to dig into her skin, I’d say it was a good thing she was out for the duration.

“How many?” I ask when Akio ties off his last stitch.

“Twenty-two,” he answers as he wraps the wound up with gauze and medical tape. “Eight internal, and fourteen on the skin. It’ll leave a scar.” I raise my eyebrows. “Another scar then.”

“I think that scars are the least of her problems,” Cory remarks. “What’s the damage?”

“From what I can see,” Akio begins. “She’s lucky. It missed the carotid artery by a mere fraction of an inch, which could have been fatal.” My lungs freeze at that. “I won’t be able to tell how much damage was done internally, we’ll just have to wait and see.” He leans closer to her throat and runs a finger along the old scarring. I don’t want him touching her at all, but he’s the doctor, so I’ll give him another thirty seconds before I break his freaking hand. “These scars are strange. Some of them look deep enough to have cut open her larynx and esophagus, so the fact that she can breathe and talk with little difficulty is rather remarkable.”

“The psycho had a dull knife,” Cory retorts.

“If the bitch wanted to kill her, she would have used something sharper,” I add. “This was done out of spite and to inflict pain.”

“And you know this because?” Akio asks.

“Victoria told me herself,” I answer and his eyes widen. “I told you she wasn’t innocent. So I think you owe Olivia an apology.”

“She’ll get one if she wakes up,” he replies with a nod.

“If? What the fuck do you mean ‘if’?” Cory demands and sits closer.

“She’s in a fragile state,” Akio explains. “Losing a lot of blood, shock, stress, there are a lot of different factors that play a part. I don’t have all the necessary equipment to handle this. And then there’s her mental state.”

“What’s wrong with her mental state?” I question with balled fists. “There’s nothing wrong with her.”

“I didn’t say anything was ‘wrong’ with her,” he counters. “But she is dealing with something internally and that’s taking a toll on her. Or did you not witness the panic attack that contributed to causing the seizure?” I don’t answer, because there’s no way that I’m sharing any part of Olivia’s shit with anyone in this room. Not even Cory, if he pisses me off.

“So, what do we do?” Cory asks, and you can read the pleading in his eyes. “I can’t lose her.”

“Rest and fluids are your best bet,” Akio recommends as he stands. “No bites?”

“No bites,” Whitney confirms.

“Then make sure that her wound stays clean, and the rest is up to her.” With that cheery outlook, Akio leaves the room.

“She’ll be fine,” Whitney says and gives my back a reassuring pat. “Olivia’s a fighter.”

Whitney walks over and pats Cory’s shoulder, and squeezes Olivia’s hand, before closing the door after herself. I rub a hand down my face in a weary helplessness. Patience is definitely not a strong suit of mine, but I know that the wait for her recovery will be worth it as soon as she pulls through. And I know she will. Olivia has too much fight in her to go down without finishing the bastards who took everything from her first.

And then I’ll be there to save her from herself.

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

“You really don’t have to sit here,” Cory comments from the bed.

“I really do,” I insist.

We’ve been at this for the last six hours. Olivia’s still unconscious, and hasn’t shown any signs of waking, but I’m not going anywhere. My ass may be numb, but a quick pace around the ten by ten room gets the blood flowing. Like I’m doing now. I feel like a caged animal, but I’m not leaving, because then I’ll miss seeing her beautiful grey eyes open for the first time in nearing nine hours. Cory and I both ignored calls for lunch and dinner, so Whitney demanded entry and ordered us to eat dinner. And she didn’t leave until we cleared our plates.

That was two hours ago. Now, most of the people have either gone to bed, or are keeping watch, because it’s practically silent in this small ranch with the paper thin walls. Which I know for a fact are paper thin by the grunting, screaming and creaking noises coming from a room down the hall. I recognize those nightmare inducing noises from back at the condo, belonging to none other than John and Marissa. This reminds me, I still have to talk to that fucker about releasing one of his harem. He’ll get over it eventually, besides, he still has Chelsea.

“Really, Jared,” Cory repeats from the bed. He doesn’t bother removing his eyes from Olivia, as he strokes her hair. It’s like he thinks he’ll miss her if his attention is diverted. “Livs will be fine, go to sleep.”

“Then you go to sleep,” I retort and he ignores me.

“She’s all I got left,” he says. “I need her more than he does, so Travis can wait his fucking turn.”

“You’ve said that before,” I say. “But she isn’t all you have left.” This time Cory meets my eyes with his haunted ones.

“Lose Sarah and John, then come talk to me,” he replies before returning to look at Olivia. There is so much longing in that look, that it makes me look away. It isn’t the same longing that I feel for her. It’s the longing of someone that he loves like family and would crush him if he were to lose for a second time.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone,” I respond. “I had to listen to my parents and John’s being eaten.”

“How about watch them being eaten?” Cory counters. “Because I watched my parents get torn to pieces and what was left of Travis’s corpse being desecrated. I had to burn his body. Do you think that you could have handled that if it were John or Sarah?” I shake my head, I can’t even begin to imagine life without them. “Never mind coming home to find that not only is your brother dead, but your sister’s been stolen like she was nothing more than a piece of worthless property.”

“I’d burn the world to the ground until I found her,” I say and he nods.

“Then you can guess how I feel that when I finally find her, she’s scarred and tormented by nightmares,” he replies. “It makes me want to strangle anyone who even looks at her.” Cory gives me a pointed look. “Don’t think I can’t see you watching her all the damn time.”

“It’s not like that,” I say.

“It is like that,” he hisses. “You stare at her like she’s a piece of meat and you want to take a bite.”

“Fuck you,” I snarl. “I have much more respect for her than that.”

“Then you don’t find her attractive?” Cory demands. “She may be like a sister to me, but I know the effect she has on men. We’d be walking in the mall when she was only twelve, but since she unfortunately has the body of a sexpot, every guy from thirteen to sixty would crane their head to check her out.” He clenches his fists and hisses the rest through his teeth. “She’s been unwittingly attracting creeps for years. Now, those sick fucks just take what they want, instead of watching from afar.”

“I am not a sick fuck,” I snap. “I like Olivia, yes. I find her attractive, just like any other straight male, but I would never force myself on her. I like talking to her, and enjoy her company. That’s all.”

“That’s not all,” he counters. “You want what she can’t give.”

“And what is that?” I ask and cross my arms.

“What Travis has,” Cory answers. “You want what Travis took to his grave and that’s her heart. She’ll never give it away again, so don’t even try.”

“Are you telling me, that if Olivia tries to move on, you’ll stop her?” I ask incredulously. Cory glares at me for that.

“What the fuck do you think I am, a monster?” Cory spits at me. “If Olivia heals, and I do mean if, she heals enough to want to try starting over, I’ll support her one hundred percent. I’ll give the guy the third degree and kill him if he isn’t up to my standards, but I won’t stop her from trying to find happiness.” He looks down and cups her cheek. “If anyone truly deserves happiness in this world, it would have to be her.”

“So I’m not good enough, is that it?”

“No,” he answers and shakes his head. “Until you can admit to yourself what you want, you won’t be good enough.”

“I want to be her friend,” I say. Cory raises his eyebrows at that. “I do.”

“Like I said, if you can’t admit it to yourself, you’re wasting your time and hers,” he replies. “Just leave her alone, Jared. She deserves more.”

“I think you just want to keep her for yourself,” I say like a sullen child. I might as well call him a, ‘big fat meanie,’ while I’m at it.

“That’s right, I want to lock Olivia away for the rest of her life,” Cory replies sarcastically. “And then she’ll kick my ass sideways after chewing her way through the walls to escape.”

“Sounds like something you would do,” I say and cross my arms. He bares his teeth in a bite me grin. “Sorry, don’t roll that way.”

“No kidding,” he mutters. “I mean, you were just rolling around with Olivia’s tormentor, why not collect the set?”

“Fuck you,” I say between clenched teeth. “If I’d known she was a psychotic, deceitful bitch, I wouldn’t have brought her home in the first place.”

“You sure?” Cory asks. “Because you’ve known Kelly’s a bitch for months, and now she’s fucking with Olivia, so how’s she any different from the red head?”

“Kelly doesn’t kill people or carve them like pumpkins,” I retort. “She may have a big mouth and an obnoxious voice, but she wouldn’t harm a fly.”

“I don’t trust her,” he replies. My eyes snap to his. “Have you noticed anything different about her lately?”

“What do you mean?” I ask with tension creeping up my back.

“She’s off her fucking rocker,” Cory answers. “Spouting religious horse shit, singling out Olivia in every tirade, and just downright bitchy.”

“She’s always bitchy,” I remark dryly.

“But it’s gone from whining to accusations,” he counters. “I’m waiting for her to grab a torch and start a lynch mob.”

“Ain’t fucking happening,” I spit out, getting more pissed off as he points out his observations.

“Some people break under pressure, and I think that Barbie has finally cracked.”

“Then we’ll keep a close eye on her,” I propose. “First sign of her searching for matches, and we tie her up.”

“She won’t be getting anywhere near matches on my watch,” Cory says. “And that bitch better not say anything about, or get within three feet of Livs or I swear on all that’s holy, that I will not be responsible for my actions when I strangle the life out of her.”

“I’m not gonna stop you,” I say with a shrug. “I was contemplating doing it myself earlier when she wouldn’t shut the fuck up. And then there was that look in the car.”

“What look?” Cory says on full alert.

“Kelly was downright giddy when she thought that Olivia might die,” I answer and hear what can only be described as a growl come from the bed.

“I revise my statement,” he says in a low tone. “If that psychotic slut even looks at my sister, I’ll fucking kill her.”

“Then I hope that Kelly gets a rapid case of blindness for her sake,” I reply. “Because it’s going to be impossible for her not to look at Olivia in such confined spaces.” Cory scowls at me, so I hold up my hands. “What? I’m just stating the truth.”

“And being a smartass about it too,” he hisses.

“He has to be a smartass,” a rasp says. “He’s Mouth, it comes with the territory.”

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

Chapter Thirty-Six:

“Olivia?” I ask excitedly and sprint for the bed.

Cory’s whispering to her, as if it were her ears are what were injured, but fuck that. I’m much too wound up for that shit. What I really want to do is bounce onto the bed, hug, and kiss every inch of her. Definitely can’t happen, so I resume my seat and stare at her like a creeper.

“What happened?” Her voice is nothing more than a scratchy whisper. “Where’s Tommy, is he alright?”

“Don’t talk, Livs,” Cory orders. “Tommy’s fine, and I don’t want you straining yourself.” Olivia opens her mouth to deny it, so I hold up my hand.

“Hold that thought, I have an idea.”

I leave them looking at me curiously as I race out of the room. Sliding to a stop in the kitchen, I rip open every drawer until I find a pen and scrap paper. At least it’s scrap now. I mean, who needs a deed to the house anymore? And who the fuck leaves it in a kitchen drawer? Someone can steal it.

Taking my quarry with me, I jog back to the room to find Olivia clutching the blanket to her chest. When Olivia sees me with my goods, she waves me over with her eyes flashing steel. Approaching the bed quickly, because I’m sure if I don’t, she’ll start screaming and really damage her throat. As soon as I’m within range, she snatches the writing materials out of my hand and starts scribbling furiously. It only takes about ten seconds for her to stab the pen on the paper a dozen times and spin it around.

“What the fuck am I wearing!!!” That couldn’t have been any clearer, even if she had screamed it.

“Your clothes were covered in blood,” I reply and see Olivia grip her throat, so I nod. “That’s right, you were injured, and we had to take off your clothes to get at the wound.” Her eyes widen with fright, and she pulls the blanket tighter.

“Not us, Livs,” Cory revises with a glare thrown my way. “Whitney did it. You remember her?” Olivia shots him an ‘are you alright?’ look. “So you remember her, my excuses, but you didn’t recognize me.”

“She was in shock, you bitchy bastard.”

Cory ignores me in favor of being coddled, and that’s only what it can be called. Olivia has his head tucked to her chest and is patting his hair back like he’s an injured child. What she doesn’t realize is that by abandoning her modesty to baby Cory, the blanket is now around her waist and giving me one hell of an eyeful.

Not wanting to have to retreat with a woody that’s currently growing in my suddenly tight cargos, I dig through the drawers. This lady had one hell of a lingerie selection, but I eventually find a drawer that doesn’t contain corsets, thongs or garters. Pulling out a sweatshirt that says PINK on it, I walk over to the bed and wait for Olivia to look up at me.

“Can I put this on you?” I ask and damn my voice for sounding husky.

Cory turns his head to show me the murder in his eyes, but come on. Don’t hold it against me, I’m battling a generous amount of cleavage from this angle. There’s no way to avoid seeing it, but I keep my eyes trained on hers, even though my dick wants me to focus with my peripheral vision on those natural melons that would more than fill my large hands if I were to cup them.

Watching her jerk her chin in a single nod of consent, I see Olivia hold her breath before I even begin. I keep my eyes locked with hers and my movements slow and precise as I drape it over her shoulder. She tenses a bit, but manages to slide her arm through when I hold it out. Olivia pulls it closed under her chin because she can’t zip it while Cory’s busy using her bountiful chest as a pillow. I so want my head on that chest right now, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be used as a head rest.

Need to abort erection stat! Dead puppies, Gran’s bowel movements, wheezer buffets, Olivia’s haunted eyes. That last one popped a hole in my inflating penis. There’s no fucking way that I want to be the cause of that look ever, so Junior tucks himself away immediately. This then allows me to look back at Olivia without fear of her seeing me with a circus tent my pants and freaking the fuck out.

Olivia rests her pen and paper on Cory’s shoulder so she can write. I know it’s a thank you before I read it, but it still warms me to see it. I acknowledge it with a nod before she turns it back over and writes again. It takes her a few seconds to finish, but immediately holds it up for me to read.

“What happened?”

“You got glass stuck in your throat,” I answer and she shakes her head. She turns the paper back around and writes.

“No, I remember the glass. A wheezer came through the roof and Tommy shot it. He took control of the wheel, so I could put pressure on the wound. I don’t remember much after that.”

“You passed out,” I reply. “Akio said from blood loss and you’ve been sleeping ever since.” Turning the paper back over, she raises her eyebrow at me and points to the official markings. “Congratulations. You’re proud new owner of this ranch.” I point to the paper. “And legally this time.” Olivia rasps out what I think is a laugh and it’s confirmed a second later.

“Quit making her laugh, asshole,” Cory hisses. “It’s hard enough for her to breathe.” My eyes snap to Olivia, but she shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, I can feel you struggling with each breath.” Her eyes widen and he nods. “What did you think I was doing, taking a nap? No, I’m listening to your heart beat but can’t hear it with the goddamn hitch in your chest, which I can only assume are your lungs fighting for air.”

“I-I’m not s-struggling,” Olivia heaves out in a rasp that reveals the lie exactly for what it is.

“Listen, Stevie,” I begin, and smile when she picks up on the reference to Malcolm in the Middle, with a scowl. “Cory heard it by leaning on your chest, and I just listened to it. So quit arguing, lay back, and use your goddamn deed to write your words.”

Olivia huffs, but lays back against the pillows. Since Cory’s no longer laying on her chest, she starts to zips the sweatshirt. It only goes up halfway, but she keeps jerking it to try and stuff breasts that weren’t made for such small fabric, to fit inside. She’s near hyperventilation when Cory takes her hands away and covers her with the quilt.

“Cheap bastards,” he mutters. “Couldn’t spend an extra penny for an inch more fabric.” I’m guessing that they would need more like a yard to cover her double D’s, but don’t say anything, because Olivia smiles at his comment. “No wonder you were always raiding mine or Travie’s closets. Victoria’s secret was that they don’t like real women.”

Olivia starts silently laughing; her eyes shine blue flecks in the candlelight, and her beautiful lips curve upward. I’d think she was faking it if she didn’t start wheezing a few seconds later. Cory rips her forward like a rag doll, pounds a hand on her back and raises Olivia’s arms as if she’s a toddler choking, but it works. Once she starts taking slow, deep breaths, his terrified eyes meet mine and he rubs her back gently.

“She good?” I ask trying to contain my own panic.

“She’s fine,” he says for show.

Cory mouths over Olivia’s back, that’s laid across his lap, for me to ‘get the fucking doctor,’ before returning his attention back to her. I was already planning on dragging his ass here, so I leave the room in search of Akio. Tommy’s on watch, and surprisingly Leonard is still awake with him in the living room. When they see me, both of them stand abruptly and crane their necks to peer down the hall.

“Is she alright?” Leonard asks at the same time Tommy asks, “How’s L-livia?”

“She’s awake,” I answer and hold up my hands to stop their rush down the hallway. “She’s fine, but she needs rest. And I need Akio.”

“Why do you need the Doc if she’s fine?” Leonard asks suspiciously. Tommy crosses his arms and nods as if he too wants to hear the answer to that question.

“She is,” I repeat and force as much confidence into my voice as I can when even I don’t believe it. Obviously, I’m not doing a great job convincing them either, since they scowl and make a motion to move around me. “Alright, she’s having a little difficulty with her stitches. Happy?” They give me a somewhat appeased nod, before I continue. “So, where’s Akio?”

“Did that quack do a half-assed job on my girl?” Leonard demands as his face flushes with anger.

“No, not at all,” I deny. Retracing my steps before Leonard stresses himself anymore and winds up laid out on the bed beside Olivia, or lays an elderly smack down on the Doc, I bull shit a little more. “She’s sore and needs a shot of pain meds, but Cory and I don’t know which one, so we need Akio.”

“Last room on the left,” Leonard says with a wave. “But I want to see Olivia to judge her condition for myself.”

“Tomorrow then,” I agree. “She’ll be up for visitors tomorrow.”

“I want to see her with my own eyes tonight, or I won’t sleep a wink,” Leonard refuses.

“Fine,” I give. “But only if she wants to see you.” Leonard looks offended that I even dared to think that Olivia might not want to see him, so I revise my statement. “If she’s up to it, and Akio says it’s alright.”

“Then go wake the quack,” Leonard says with a shooing motion.

“And you Tommy,” I ask. Now that I know the reason for his solitary nature, I plan on making him open up in little intervals, like singling him out when no one else is around. Besides, Lenny’s here for moral support. “You got any orders for me?”

“N-no,” Tommy answers and flushes a little after he recovers from his shock.

“You don’t want me to say anything to Olivia?” I press. “She was asking for you.”

“I-I’ll s-see her m-myself,” he stumbles out. Tommy clenches his fists, maybe because he’s struggling, or maybe in preparation to punch me if I make fun of him, which I would never do. Not only because I’ve been a victim of bullying myself, but there’s also the fact that Olivia would drag her suffocating self out of bed just to stab me if I did, so I decide that’s enough pushing today.

“I’m sure she’d love to see you,” I say and he relaxes, most likely relieved that I’m not teasing him. “As soon as Akio’s done, I’ll take watch and you can visit, okay?”

Tommy nods, so I leave him with his grandfather to find the doctor. Walking down to the last door on the left, I knock and wait for an answer. A scowling Carlos answers. How can I tell the difference between identical twins, you ask? The scowl is a dead giveaway. Not that Carlos is a perpetual scowler, it only comes out when he’s wakened from a sound sleep. Like right now for instance. I glance at my watch, three a.m., so he doesn’t have to wake up for another hour to take over his guard duty. Tough tits toots, I need the Doc A.S.A.P.

“Akio in there?” I ask. His drowsy countenance turns alert in a blink.

“What’s wrong?” Carlos’s sleep ridden voice is heavily accented with his native tongue. Usually him and Oscar only have a recognizable accent on certain words, since they’ve been in the states for nineteen of their thirty years, but it does come out heavier in intervals or words with double S’es.

“Nothing new,” I reply and he relaxes marginally. “Olivia’s just having a little trouble.”

“What kind of ‘little trouble’ is mi mamita having?”

“I’m not exactly sure, that’s why she needs the doctor,” I answer and frown at the endearment he uses.

“Don’t bull shit me, Jared,” he says and crosses his arms to block me from Akio.

I feel like I just had this conversation, oh that’s right, I did. But Carlos could handle the truth better than Leonard could, so I explain her breathing problem in better detail than I gave the others. Having the information he needs, Carlos disappears into the room and returns seconds later with a half asleep Akio along with him.

Carlos drags the doctor past me and immediately to Olivia’s sick room. Maybe disclosing more information to Carlos was a bad idea. Or maybe not, since he gets Akio to Olivia’s bedside faster than I could have, on account of me having to explain the situation for a third time. Not Carlos, he just said, ‘Livia help now,’ in his caveman dialect and got Akio moving. When we walk into the room, Olivia’s still sprawled out across Cory’s lap. He looks tense, but calmer now that she’s breathing.

Akio barely has his glasses on before Carlos shoves him toward the bed and says, “Fije mi pequeña mamá.” When Akio just stares at him, Carlos gives him another push and repeats it in English. “Fix my little mami.” Nodding his head, Akio addresses the bed.

“Turn her over,” Akio orders and shoves his glasses up to rub his eyes.

Cory moves slowly to help Olivia gently flip onto her back. She grabs the blanket and white knuckles it in order to keep it closed around her shoulders. Once she’s situated, Cory tilts her chin back and the rasping coming from her throat lessens. Akio steps forward and opens his kit that’s still sitting on the nightstand from earlier. Pulling out his gloves, he looks at Olivia as he slides them on.

“What seems to be the problem?” Akio inquires. Cory gives him an ‘are you fucking blind?’ look.

“She’s having trouble breathing,” I answer. The less beating around the bush, the faster Olivia can be treated, therefore decreasing my own blood pressure away from dangerous heights.

“That’s probably just from inflammation,” he replies. “Having foreign objects in your body disrupts the system, it’s to be expected, and takes time to heal. I can’t really do anything.” When Cory throws the Doc a murderous look, Akio changes his unaffected tune. “But there’s no trouble in taking a look, just to be positive.”

“You just go on and do that,” Cory snarls. Akio pulls out his stethoscope and steps forward.

“You’ll have to remove the blanket and sweatshirt,” Akio says. Olivia starts shaking her head and clutching the quilt to her chest. “It’s necessary or I can’t examine you.” Darting her eyes around like a cornered rabbit, Olivia’s rasping increases.

“Carlos and I will leave,” I tell her. “Cory will stay with you, everything will be fine.” Olivia’s frightened eyes meet mine. “Just trust me, okay?”

Olivia clutches Cory’s hand in one of her own, then nods her head at me. Carlos steps out ahead of me and waits for me to close the door before speaking.

“What happened to her?” Carlos asks. I shake my head. “Don’t shake your head at me, I want an answer.”

“A lot of shit, but I don’t know it all and I’m not repeating what I do know, it’s not mine to share.”

“I get that,” he replies. “But you don’t work on the force for ten years and not recognize a vic when you see one.” My eyes snap to his. “Don’t act all surprised, we do more than write tickets and eat doughnuts.” I laugh at that. “Seriously, she’s the mascot for abuse victims. Haunted eyes hidden by anger, she wears more clothes than an Eskimo when it’s 98° outside, and she flinches if someone comes too close to her. Osco and I recognized it the first day she stormed into the condo.”

“How?” I ask. “I didn’t know until Victoria said something.”

“So, she knew Red?” Carlos questions and I can see his cop senses sparking to life, trying to solve the puzzle. Good luck there, buddy, I only know what little I do from being told about it.

“Let’s just say that Red and her didn’t have the best relationship.”

“Mi mamá was a devout Catholic who always said to never trust a red head,” he comments. “‘No confían en una pelirroja, que son el diablo.’ She thought it was a sign of the devil.” Carlos chuckles a little. “She was right, Victoria was just like Judas.”

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna start spouting scripture too,” I plead and he laughs as he shakes his head. “Good, I can’t take any more of that shit.”

“Nah, gave up on that when the world went to shit,” he replies. “So I think I’ll leave the screech- I mean -preaching to Kelly.”

“You had it right the first time,” I say with a smirk. I wipe it off my face to return to the serious matter at hand. “There’s nothing we can really do, so why don’t you hit the sack and come back for watch?”

“You think I can go to sleep when mi ángel de la oscuridad is like that?” Carlos demands and points to the door with a scowl.

“No,” I say and shake my head. “I was just suggesting that you catch a few Z’s before checking in on her later, when Akio’s through.”

“Joder que,” he hisses. “I’ll stay right here and wait with you.”

“Suit yourself,” I reply as I shrug.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” Carlos proposes. “And I’ll stay here. After all, you’ve had less sleep than I have.”

“Fuck that,” I say his same response in English.

“My sentiments exactly,” he says. “I may not like her the same way as you, but I still care about her. She’s part of the group and ella es mi pequeño nigromante.”

“Who says I care about her?” I inquire and Carlos stares at me like I’m dumb. “And what the hell is a nigromante?”

“Kid, I wasn’t born yesterday,” he answers. “And it means she’s ‘my little necromancer,’ brush up on your Spanish.” I flip him off.

“I’m not a freaking kid,” I counter and don’t I sound very kid-like when I say it? “Besides, you’re only like seven years older than me.”

“Still seven years,” he retorts with a smirk. “And if I were seven years younger, I’d be the one with stars in my eyes every time I looked at that girl in the room.” Carlos gives me a pointed look. “Like you do.”

“I do not,” I deny. “She’s just my friend.”

“I’ve never looked at a friend the way you do her,” he says. “The only woman I’ve ever looked at like that divorced me and took all my money.”

“Why’d she do that?”

“Because she said the job would kill me,” Carlos answers and gives me a wry smile while holding out his arms. “I guess the job didn’t get the chance.”

“No kids?”

“No kids,” he confirms. “I fell out of love real quick when I saw her true nature, a oro cava puta. I didn’t want to wind up like my mom, fighting my dad for child support and all that bull shit.”

“See, Bobby Boucher’s momma was right, ‘all women are the devil,’” I remark and Carlos laughs.

“Listen, Waterboy,” he says. “Just because there are a few bad eggs, doesn’t mean you can knock the whole bunch. As you well know, men have their fair share of deadbeats and sickos.” I nod. “You’ve had your rotten one, now you’ve found a gem. Not everyone gets a second chance.”

“Listen, as great as your advice is,” I begin carefully. “It isn’t necessary. Olivia and I are just friends. That’s it.” When Carlos starts laughing, I explain. “I’m serious. I don’t think that she could handle any more, no matter how much I may want it.”

“So, you admit that you want more?” Carlos asks and I roll my eyes, but nod. “Good, the first step in L.A. is admittance.”

“L.A.?”

“Lovers Anonymous,” he states and I punch his arm.

“I do not fucking love her, alright?” Carlos just laughs. “I barely even know her. Not to mention that I don’t love any woman other than blood relations.”

“Admittance, that’s the first step,” he repeats and pats my arm as he stands. “You won’t go any further until you admit it to yourself. If you don’t, I feel sorry for you, since only a jackass wouldn’t want to saddle himself with her. Ella tiene fuego, and only women who have it survive.”

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

Carlos and I have been sitting in silence for thirty minutes, and still haven’t heard a word. I’m beginning to fidget with my panic. What’s taking so long? Is something wrong? There must be if Akio’s still in there and Olivia hasn’t thrown him through the wall. Or maybe she’s unable to toss his ass out in her condition? I’m about to break the door down, and do some tossing of my own, when it finally cracks open to reveal a weary doctor.

“What is it?” I demand and rush over with Carlos on my heels. “Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” Akio answers and rubs a tired hand down his face. “It’s just inflammation, like I suspected. I gave her a shot of pain meds to help her relax.”

“If it was ‘just inflammation,’” Carlos counters. “Then why’d it take half an hour?”

“Let’s just say that there are many monsters in this world, but that girl in there is definitely not one of them.” My whole body tenses at that and Carlos’s eyes snap to Akio’s.

“How do you know?” I demand. “What’d she tell you?”

“Hippo law,” is his answer. “And I wouldn’t even repeat it if I weren’t under oath.” Brushing past Carlos and I, Akio continues down the hallway to bed.

My feet move before my brain catches up and are nearly sprinting toward the bed in seconds. At the last moment, my brain screams to halt and I’m able to restrain myself from lunging at the bed. Olivia’s shaking with blood shot eyes, making me clench my fists.

“What’d he do to her?” I growl out at a fuming Cory. Olivia’s eyes widen and she shakes her head.

“He didn’t do anything,” Cory hisses. “Just an exam.” I point to Olivia’s trembling state in reference.

“He obviously did something,” I reply with barely controlled anger.

“He didn’t do thing,” Cory repeats through clenched teeth. “Just every fucking prick in the commonwealth.” Olivia slaps a still shaking hand over Cory’s mouth and darts her eyes at Carlos standing beside me.

“He already knows,” I say. That earns me a look of severe betrayal and hurt from Olivia, along with a scowl from Cory. I shake my head. “I didn’t tell him anything, he figured it out on his own.”

“Ten years on the Boston P.D.,” Carlos confirms. “Seen a lot of shit, and know how recognize a vic when I see one. Osco too.”

Olivia grabs her pen and paper before writing something down. When she’s done, she holds it up and it’s hard to read it with all the shaking. But when I do finish, I want to hurl the damn thing out the window.

“No,” Carlos responds in a carefully bland tone, but I can hear the fire underneath. “I do not think you are ‘gross,’ and I will not, nor have I ever treated you differently.” When Olivia gives him an unconvinced smile, he continues. “You’re still mi pequeño nigromante.”

Olivia’s smile is genuine as she writes something else down. “Bien, porque yo no quiero tener que patearte el culo súper camas.”

“Hermosa e inteligente,” Carlos says with a grin and Olivia’s smile grows to match. “Una chica a mi corazón.”

“English please,” I mutter. Carlos laughs, and if Olivia could, she would be too.

“Don’t be jealous, Jared,” he says and aims a smirk my way. “Mi ángel oscuro and I were just talking.”

“In a language no one else here speaks,” I reply.

“Actually, Jared,” Cory counters. “You’re the only one that can’t understand it. Must be your suburban upbringing.”

“I thought you were a country bumpkin?” I ask and feel nothing but satisfaction when I see him flip me off in response. “In all seriousness, I probably only understood a handful of those words, something about ‘good ass,’ ‘beautiful,’ and ‘hearts.’ So, you may want to explain before I get the wrong idea.”

“Or the right one,” Carlos says under his breath, but I heard him. He clears his throat and speaks the next part louder. “Olivia was just saying that ‘she’s happy she won’t have to kick my Super Twin ass,’ and I said that ‘she was beautiful and smart.’ Which she is.”

“Thank you, Rosetta Stone,” I reply. “How about we keep things in English, so I can keep up?”

“Fine,” Carlos huffs. “But I’ll talk to her in Spanish when you aren’t around.”

“Bully for you,” I say and hold my thumb out with a sarcastic smile. “Now, let’s go switch with Tommy and Leonard, they wanted to see her.” I look at Olivia. “Is that okay? They were worried about you.” Olivia shakes her head rapidly in the affirmative. “Okay, they’ll be here in a minute. Come on, Carlos.”

Carlos ignores me in favor of going closer to the bed. He whispers something to Olivia and she gives a small nod before holding her arms out slightly. Leaning down, Carlos gives her a brief hug and pulls back. What the fuck? Where’s my hug? I’m still fuming when he stands upright and smiles.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Carlos orders and Olivia bites her lip to keep from laughing. “I’m serious, you almost gave me a heart attack, and I’m much too young for that shit.” Olivia rubs a hand on her chest to say she’s sorry and shrugs like, ‘I couldn’t help it.’ “Just don’t do it again.”

Once Olivia nods her consent, as if she could telekinetically stop glass from embedding itself in her skin, Carlos is satisfied enough to walk out of the room. I’m about to walk out too when Cory’s voice stops me. He jerks his chin at Olivia, so I look over and see her motioning for me to come closer. I keep my pace slow, even though I want to run over and find out what she wants. When I’m close enough, she holds out something she wrote on the paper.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

“It’s alright,” I lie. “You didn’t scare me.” Olivia gives a doubtful look and points at Cory. Fucking tattle tale. “Fine, you scared me a little.” Rolling her eyes, she shoos me away like she can’t stand to look at me anymore. Damn my pride to hell, I crouch down a little and lower my voice to a whisper. “Alright, I was fucking terrified. You nearly scared me to death. Happy now?”

Olivia shakes her head and surprises me by lunging forward for a hug. It’s nothing more than a brief squeeze, but it was enough to make me smile. Once she’s settled, she makes the shooing motion again. I shrug and walk out as if her willingly touching me is no big deal, when my heart is nearly beating out of my chest. Walking on cloud nine, I barely notice Leonard and Tommy sprinting past me as I plop down on the couch next to Carlos.

I even ignore his smartass comment of, “Don’t love her, my ass.”

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

Chapter Thirty-Seven:

We spend the next two days at the ranch. Most of the time, we make Olivia sleep to try and recuperate. Every single time, she wakes up with a silent scream, and doesn’t stop shaking for hours. When Cory or I ask her what they were about, she writes that she can’t remember, but you can see the look in her eyes that says she’ll never forget.

Leonard and Tommy are constant visitors, spending most of their free time at her bedside and kicking Cory and me out for the duration of their visits. Oscar and Carlos are also frequent fliers. Those two speak in Spanish to her and pat her hand, so whenever they visit, I leave the room willingly before I start shouting for a translator. Even Sarah and Danny stopped by a few times.

Olivia gladly accepted Sarah’s offer of leaving Morris, so that prick has been wrapped in her arms, sleeping on her lap, or curled next to her head on the pillow ever since. The furry bastard has even shed all over her, but does she care? Hell no. Olivia says she likes the company, but I suspect she likes to be able to make any amount of physical contact with a living thing, and not have to keep her guard up.

Whitney and Akio make several trips to check out her stitches and look for any signs of bacterial infection. Finding none, they pop a squat along with Mike and talk to her for a little while. I think that Akio has buried whatever hatchet was left after the Victoria fiasco, because I’ve even seen the serious Doc smile at her more than once, and Olivia’s even returned it.

The only people who haven’t visited her are the hens. Marissa said she wasn’t good with blood. Chelsea used the same excuse, but I could see the fear in her eyes. From what, I don’t know. And Kelly hasn’t been allowed inside for obvious reasons.

Right now I’m headed back into the sick room with a tray of broth that Leonard made specifically for Olivia’s sore throat. He said it’s the perfect remedy for getting his girl ‘shipshape’ in no time. I raised my eyebrows at that, but dutifully picked up the bowl of liquid and carried it out. I knock at the door with my free hand and wait for someone to open it. Oscar’s the one who opens the door and ushers me in before closing it behind me.

Cory’s lounging next to Olivia on the bed, Carlos is sitting in a chair that was brought in from the kitchen, John’s telling jokes, and Olivia’s laughing as she rubs Morris’s ears. I see Oscar resume his perch on the empty chair next to John, as I set the tray at the foot of the bed. When Olivia starts wheezing a little, I glare at John.

“Quit making her laugh, asshole,” I snap. Yes, I’ve become the clucking hen who nitpicks everyone’s moves. Go ahead and sue me, I have a lawyer. Well, I did. Anyway, I want her better A.S.A.P. and every strain on her throat postpones that further.

“She’s fine,” John says with a wave at me. “Right, Livia?” Olivia nods and mocks a scowl at me for daring to say otherwise.

“She doesn’t sound fine,” I hiss. Carlos and Oscar whisper something in Spanish to each other behind me before laughing. Olivia looks confused, maybe she doesn’t speak as fluently as I thought, I don’t know. And I don’t care, what I do care about is her throat healing so I can hear her voice again.

“Jared, she’s alright,” Cory says. I relax a little at that, if anyone is as obsessed with her recovery as I am, it’s him. “She was actually just going to share where it is exactly that we’re headed.”

My eyes snap to hers for confirmation. Olivia nods and pulls out her writing goods. She covered the deed with her neat script the first day, so we’ve since found her a pad of paper to use. She uses them now to write out the location. When she holds up her paper seconds later, two words are written.

“Cross Lake.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” I comment. She holds up a finger as she flips the paper around and adds more. It takes a few minutes, but she when she holds it up, I can see she wrote more details.

“It’s in Maine, off of 161. Almost to the Canadian Border. There are four other lakes surrounding it, but it’s in the middle and has a port for seaplanes.”

“Sounds pretty damn far,” John remarks. Olivia nods as she writes more.

“It is. But it’s also safe.” Olivia underlined safe twice to stress the point, and if she thinks the place is safe, then it’s the friggin Taj Mahal of safe havens.

“I think it sounds great,” Carlos says and shoots a look at John, who shrugs in response.

“But why are you telling us now?” Oscar inquires as he squints his eyes a little to observe her.

“Yeah,” John adds. “You were protecting it like the freaking Holy Grail or some shit.” Olivia writes her answer down. When she flips it around, she points to her throat.

“I’m not invincible, and wanted to share it just in case I’m not around to take you there myself.”

“Fuck that!” I exclaim over the rush of blood in my ears. “You’re LC, you can handle anything.” Olivia smiles at little as she writes her reply.

“Thanks, Mouth, but even Lara failed sometimes. I just don’t get to regenerate and try again.” I bite my tongue on the retort, she won’t need to fucking regenerate if she doesn’t go down in the first place. I’ll make sure of it.

“Fine, we get that you’re only human,” I acknowledge and she nods. “So thanks for the information, but we still need our tour guide. Now eat your damn broth and rest up.”

Olivia salutes me before sliding the tray closer. She demanded her bag to be brought to her the first day of confinement, so she’s wearing things that make her comfortable enough to not have to clutch the quilt. Like today she’s wearing a pair of jeans, another turtleneck that isn’t torn or blood stained, and a loose sweatshirt that must be Cory’s since it’s fucking huge. Her leathers have seen their last day, but we haven’t told her yet. She thinks that they’re being washed, and it’ll stay that way until I think she’s healed enough to rant about it.

The room clears out with the twins going in search of a map from one of our packs to look up Cross Lake, and John to hunt for dinner in the woods with Danny. This leaves Cory and me alone with Olivia for the first time in eight hours. Early risers, like Leonard, started visiting at eight o’clock. We were all up, but that’s beside the point, I didn’t want to be up. But Olivia sure as hell did, she woke up three times before refusing to go back to sleep again. Meaning she’s going on two hours of broken sleep. I don’t how she’s functioning right now when my eyes are closing on their own and I had more than five hours.

“Jared, go take a nap,” Cory orders. My straining eyes snap to his as I snarl. “Like I said, go take a nap. You look like a toddler about to fall asleep in his cereal bowl.”

“No,” I refuse and cross my arms. Olivia rolls her eyes at the display before writing something down.

“Go on, Mouth. You’re starting to be Oscar the Grouch instead of the Cookie Monster, and it ain’t cute.” I scowl, so she points at my face and adds more. “Frown lines by twenty-four. Go the fuck the sleep or I’ll put you to sleep.” I bite my lip, I’m picking up her nervous trait, fuck I need to get out of here. Removing my teeth from my abused lip, I stare at her eyes.

“You wake me for anything, alright?” I demand. “I don’t care if it’s a hangnail, I want to be here.” Olivia pats her chest to say she promises and nods as she shoos me with her other hand. I shake my head and she glares. “I want my hug.”

Walking close to the foot of the bed, I hold my arms out, making Olivia roll her eyes, but she crawls forward to give me a quick hug. She may pretend to find it annoying, but ever since I’ve started demanding one or refusing to do what she orders, she always has a small smile when she pulls back. Like right now. Olivia tries to bite it back, and fails since I see the quirk in her cheek and softness in her grey eyes. I back out of the room, but stop at the door look at Cory.

“I’m serious, wake me for anything.”

“Just go already, you pain in the ass,” Cory says and waves me off. I flip him the bird before closing the door behind me.

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

I wake to shouting. That immediately sets my teeth on edge. Dragging my ass out of the warm bed, I pull on my jeans and shirt as I stomp out of the room. Glancing at my watch as I pound down the hallway, I see that it’s nine o’clock and these fuckers should be settling in for the night. It’s the number one rule of the group, quiet time after dusk. Not arguing over who the fuck knows what at the tops of their lungs.

Stopping at Olivia’s room, I glance inside to find a tense Cory, who’s setting up music on Olivia’s portable CD player. It’s one of the older handheld styles that you can use headphones or the tiny speakers attached to listen. He has it with the headset plugged in and I see the earbuds are in a sleeping Olivia’s ears.

“She okay?” I mouth and he nods before pointing at the door.

“Go see what the fuck’s going on,” he demands. “If they wake her, I’m stabbing them all. It’s the longest she’s slept.”

“I’m on it, just stay here.”

Leaving Cory to watch over Olivia, I approach the living room. This is where the screaming match is located. On one side of the room are John, Sarah, Danny, Lenny, Tommy and the twins. Whitney, Mike and Akio are in the middle trying to shush the screechers on the opposite end. It’s no surprise to see Kelly heading up the noise, but Chelsea’s joining in sure the fuck is. I glance around and find Marissa as far away from everyone as possible with wide eyes.

“What the fuck is going on?” I roar over all parties involved. Several people start to answer at once, so I hold up my hands and wait for silence. I get it from everyone except the usual bitch.

“What’s going on is that you’re keeping us locked in with an infected slut,” Kelly shrieks.

“She’s not infected!” Leonard shouts at the same time that Sarah yells, “She is not a slut!” I point at them and they snap their mouths shut before I look at the bimbo on the left.

“Olivia is not a slut,” I say through a tense jaw. “And she is not fucking infected. You’ve already been told this.”

“She is too,” Kelly insists. “I saw the bite myself.” Chelsea nods to say that she saw the supposed bite too.

“You two neurotic ninnies are blind,” I snap. “Olivia was not bitten or scratched. She caught a piece of glass in her throat, that’s all.”

“Then why won’t you let me see her?” Kelly inquires with a smug smile. “If she isn’t a monster, then why are you blocking my entrance.”

“I think it’s pretty fucking obvious why you’ve been barred,” I remark dryly and hear a couple of chuckles from the right.

“I don’t believe you,” Kelly hisses. “You’ve only allowed men in the room.”

“Is Whitney a man? Sarah?” I ask and don’t receive an answer. “I wouldn’t have allowed anyone in the room if she was infected, never mind my own sister. Get a real argument.

“I have a real argument,” the delusional bitch persists.

“Whitney,” I begin. “You’ve seen Olivia’s entire body, does she have any bites or scratches?”

“No, I have not seen evidence of either,” she answers.

“Thank you,” I say and Whitney nods. “Akio, you’ve done an exam on her. Did you see any evidence of infection?”

“No, I haven’t,” he responds. “What I did find evidence for was glass that needed to be extracted and stitched, which only confirms your statement.” I nod at him and point to the twins, John, Danny, Sarah, Mike, Lenny and Tommy.

“All of you have been in to see Olivia,” I say. “Have any of you seen her display symptoms of being infected or becoming a wheezer?” Resounding ‘No’s’ and head shakes pass all around. I point at the evidence as I stare down Kelly, since she’s the instigator here. Chelsea’s just a crazed follower that’s caught up in the hysteria.

“As you can see, everyone here can attest to Olivia’s well-being,” I finish. “So, give it a fucking rest already.”

“This isn’t over, Jared,” Kelly states and glares at me. “All of those liars are just loyal to you and your whore. But I know the truth and I won’t fall victim to the charms of that Jezebel.”

“Why don’t you go take your crazy ass for a walk,” I suggest as I battle the urge to strangle her. “If you still feel that way after you cool off, don’t fucking come back, you delusional skank.”

Kelly balls her hands into fists and stalks out with a, “You’ll all be sorry,” thrown over her shoulder like the psychotic bitch that she is.

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

Chapter Thirty-Eight:

Once Kelly storms out of the house with a slam of the door, Chelsea darts her eyes around the room. She’s never had to make a decision on her own, until now, and I hope she makes the right one. She doesn’t. Casting a pleading look at Marissa, who ignores it, Chelsea turns tail and runs after the current master pulling her strings.

“Good riddance,” Leonard says with a wave of dismissal at the door. “Drain of supplies and a thorn in my backside.” That earns a few chuckles, but some people are still tense.

“Are you in any form of agreement with them?” I ask Marissa. She looks up from biting her nails to meet my eyes.

“Nah, that bitch has lost her shit a while ago and has yet to find it,” Marissa replies with a careless shrug. “Chelsea’s just scared, she’ll come back once she regains her sense.”

I highly doubt that Chelsea has any sense to regain. She’s a fucking ditz that’s several cards short of a deck, and mostly just snaps her gum. I often wonder if John’s exchanged more than fluids with her, but haven’t worked up the courage to ask. Knowing John, he’ll make up some horror story where she was sucking his dick, got gum stuck in his pubes and had to smear peanut butter all over his junk to get it out. So not wanting to hear about that, because then I’ll never be able to look at peanut butter again, or bubble gum for that matter without the urge to retch, I don’t ask.

“And Olivia?” I press. “What’s your opinion on her?”

“She’s pretty wicked when she isn’t hiding,” Marissa says. “But before you jump to her defense, I know she has issues, I was going to graduate school for a degree in Psychology.” My eyes widen at that. Underneath all that hair sprayed brown hair is a brain, what the fuck is she doing with John? It’s as if she reads my mind when she rolls her eyes at me.

“Please, I’m not stupid, I most definitely do not have any expectations out of that pretty boy. It’s just for fun, and I’m a red blooded woman who has needs.” I laugh at that and see Tommy’s face flush with anger or jealousy out of the corner of my eye.

“You’re alright, Marissa,” I say with a genuine smile at the surprisingly pleasant woman. I’ve never really had a conversation before, since I figured that anyone who would willingly spend time with Kelly had to be just like her. Once again, it just goes to show that assumptions can be wrong.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she replies. “Must take a special girl to make your sulky self, charming.”

“What the hell?” I ask. “Do I have a freaking tattoo on my forehead that says, ‘Jared likes Olivia’ or some shit? Because you have to be the fifth person who’s said something like that.”

I don’t get a verbal response, but there sure are a hell of a lot of chuckles. I flip them all the double finger salute, which makes them laugh harder. Giving up on those assholes, I turn around and head toward the kitchen. Not having eaten since breakfast, I’m absolutely ravenous. I contemplate bringing some of the squirrel soup that was made to Cory, but decide against it. He can get his own and maybe then I can have five seconds alone with Olivia if I’m lucky. Odds are most definitely not in my favor.

Having scarfed down a bowl of lukewarm soup, I rinse my bowl with the bottle left on the counter and restack it beside the backpack. The water reminds me that the last time I fully submerged myself in water was at the lake, so I take a whiff of myself and though I don’t smell like roses, I don’t smell like ass either.

To be on the safe side, just in case I do have a minute alone with Olivia and not want to smell like a buffalo, I ask Whitney which of our precious gallons of water I can use to bathe. She points me to the back door, where I find several jugs with funnels on top, a few of which are still half filled with the rain from last night. Grabbing one of the jugs, I walk back into the house and enter the bathroom for a scrub down.

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

I’m just rinsing off my sandalwood soap when I hear crashing outside. Tossing the towel down in my haste, I run out of the bathroom and look toward the living room.

“John?” I call out and don’t hear an answer. “Carlos? Oscar?” With every name I call out and no response, I run around a little faster. “Sarah?”

I start slamming doors in my haste until I reach Olivia’s room. Cory and her are still inside, her sleeping on the bed with her headphones buzzing, and Cory looking outside. I rush over to the window to see what he’s looking at. “Where the fuck is everyone? What’s going on?”

“That,” he answers and points to the group clustered in the moonlight.

“What the fuck?” I ask and he shrugs. “Stay here, and don’t let anyone in.”

“Please, no one is coming through that door without my explicit permission,” Cory says.

I pat his back and he follows me to take guard duty by the door. Once Cory’s situated in his position on the chair, with his gun and knives ready, I run back out of the room. Sprinting out the back door, I continue on to meet the group crowded around something near the woods. I pull out my hunting knife just to be safe, because I have no fucking idea what they’re all doing outside at night, but there must be something wrong for them to be doing so. Reaching the group, I pull Danny by his collar to spin him around.

“What the fuck is going on?” I demand. “Why is everyone outside? Are you all crazy?”

“No, just Kelly,” he answers.

“She’s been crazy,” I counter. Danny shakes his head.

“No, like asylum, needs a strait-jacket crazy,” he says and jerks his chin toward the group. Releasing my hold on him, I shove a few people out of the way to get into the center. That’s where I find Chelsea talking rapidly with her hands all over the place.

“She’s fucking nuts!” Chelsea says and bats her hands around. “I was a little scared that Olivia could be infected, so I followed Kelly, but then she just flipped! Saying that ‘the bitch has to die before she damns us for eternity.’ ‘Stealing all the men from her.’ ‘Tempting us to join the devil.’ All kinds of random shit, she’s lost her freaking marbles!”

“It’s alright,” Whitney replies and starts soothing a hysterical Chelsea. “You came back, and you’re fine now.” There are people talking over each other all around me.

“What the hell are you all doing outside?” I ask once I reach the center. Six people start rambling out answers, so I squeeze the bridge of my nose and point at Oscar to answer.

“We heard this chicka screaming,” he answers and jerks his chin at Chelsea.

“What the fuck? Have we not learned our lesson?” Oscar looks chagrined, as do several others, but I press on. “Fine, you followed your dumbass instincts and came running, then what?”

“We found her raving about the crazy bitch losing it in the woods,” Oscar says.

“Wait,” I order and hold up my hands. “When was this, and where is she now?”

“It was like an hour ago,” Chelsea replies with a sniffle. “When she started saying that she needed to ‘sacrifice the witch to save our souls,’ I ran back here. She’s lost it.”

“Olivia,” Carlos says at the same time I turn around and start toward the ranch.

As soon as I get a glimpse of it, I up my pace. We don’t have a fucking chimney and it’s smoking. Not just little puffs, this shit is blacker than the night sky and coming up thick in huge gusts. I hear screams from behind me, but only the crackling in front of me has my attention. And even that doesn’t stop me from smashing in the nearest window and climbing into the tar like smoke that comes pouring out. I land in a crouch and have to cough to clear my throat a little. Going down further to the tile of the bathroom floor, the air is a little less dense.

“Cory! Olivia?” I shout out and start coughing anew.

I don’t hear anything, so I push forward. Crawling on all fours, I reach for the handle to the door and immediately snatch it back as it comes in contact with the burning hot metal. I ignore the pain and use my sweatshirt to wrap around the handle and turn. More smoke comes pouring in and I see flames climbing up the right side’s walls in the hallway. I stay with my back to the opposite side, sidestepping my way toward the first door where Olivia and Cory were last time I spoke to him, which couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes ago. How the fuck this was set and spread that fast, I don’t know, nor do I care. What I do care about, is getting to that goddamn room to make sure they got out.

Once I’m close enough to see through the smoke, I find that there are flames are engulfing the door, a chair’s blocking the handle from turning, and the smell of gasoline is unmistakable; even through the combined scents of everything burning. Burnt plastic, rubber, hair and wood are amongst the midst. Fighting off my panic, I rip the jammed metal chair away, pull my booted foot back and kick through the flames to hit the door.

It does nothing but catch my pant leg on fire, so I pat it out with my stinging hands and run toward the kitchen. I feel the heat of the flames scorch my face, but I ignore it as I pick up my pace and skid to a stop near the counter. Grabbing as many jugs as I can carry, I run through the raging fire and get back to the bedroom door. Dumping each gallon on the flames, it puts enough of the blaze out for me to be able to kick the door in a little better. On the third kick, the melted hinges finally give way and I burst into the room with a cloud of flames licking up my at face. I brush it away and step over the charred wood to enter.

It’s hard to see with all the smoke filling the air, but I can make out a tall shape by the window. I run over and find that Cory has Olivia on the floor with a blanket over her face, while he’s trying to bash out the window with a club. The glass is smashed all over the floor, but there’s something blocking the way. I can’t tell what exactly, but it looks like burglar bars that I didn’t notice there earlier when I looked out, but vaguely recall them from the first day we came here and thought that they could protect us from wheezers. It looks like it wasn’t the wheezers we had to worry about.

“What the fuck?” I shout, and see Cory snap his eyes at me.

“You tell me,” he retorts and starts coughing.

“Later, let’s get the hell out of here.” When Cory nods his agreement, I get moving. Grabbing the bags on the floor, I sling them over my back before scooping up Olivia. She squirms a bit, but doesn’t fight me off, so I start walking out.

“Cory, get the fuck in front of me,” I demand and see him covering his face with his hoodie as he takes point.

I don’t pause to cover my own face, since I don’t have a hand to do so, and we need to get the hell out now. Cory’s already stumbling his way out, so I follow his lead. The hallway is completely engulfed if we were to use the back door, so we stick to the wall and head toward the living room. There’s fire climbing up the furniture and spreading to the ceiling, making me push Cory to go faster. He’s clumsy on his feet, so I pop Olivia up onto my shoulder in a fireman’s carry and sling an arm around his waist.

“I’m a-alr-right,” Cory coughs out and tries to shove me off.

I ignore him and starts dragging his stubborn ass to the door. As soon as I go to open it, it’s kicked in and I see John, Tommy and Carlos topple in. Three sets of eyes take in the scene and move to intercept. Carlos snatches Olivia from me, John slings his arm around my waist and Tommy assist Cory out of the house. Five pairs of male feet stumble their way down the crowded front steps, where two collapse on the ground at the bottom. I feel John hook his arms under mine, and start to drag me further back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cory getting the same treatment from Tommy, as Carlos jogs away with Olivia.

“Jared!” Sarah screams. John drops his hold from me about a hundred feet away from the flame engulfed house.

“I’m alright!” I call back and start coughing.

John pounds his fist on my back until I stop. I think he did more harm than good, but he was only trying to help, so I won’t kill him. Unless he does it again. Cory’s still hacking away, but he manages to crawl over to Olivia and uncover her face.

Underneath the blanket, she has a bag wrapped loosely in her arms on her chest, so Cory throws it aside. Once it’s out of the way, he starts shaking his head and pressing on her chest with a weak hand. It takes my oxygen deprived brain a minute to figure out why the depraved fuck’s feeling her up, and I’m starting to become more pissed as the seconds tick by with his hand still fondling her. But then it clicks into place, and I get it.

He isn’t copping a feel at all, Olivia’s not fucking breathing.

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

Chapter Thirty-Nine:

“H-help her,” I manage to choke out.

John’s eyes follow mine, and he shouts for Akio, while shoving Cory out of the way. Once it’s cleared, John puts his ear near Olivia’s mouth before tilting her chin back, and taking over Cory’s poor attempt at chest compressions. He counts out thirty before puffing two breaths of air into her mouth. I can see the worry on John’s face as he gets nothing, and starts the process over again. Knowing that John, who as I mentioned earlier was a lifeguard for four years and certified in CPR training for eight, is worried about her condition makes me ten times more panicked. I crawl my own way over to hold her cold hand in mine.

Cold hands equal death, so I immediately start massaging warmth into her fingers. I know somewhere in my faulty brain that this is just fruitless effort if she isn’t breathing, but it calms me a little to do something other than sit there and just watch. Picking up her hand, I see a flash as something hits the ground. Looking down, I find that goddamn bullet which Olivia’s been saving for Cole. Knowing that she would be pissed if she lost it, I stuff into the backpack Cory tossed aside, before squeezing her icy fingers. John continues his compressions until he reaches another thirty count, and puffs a few more breaths into her mouth. Akio reaches Olivia before John begins compressing again. He takes over the third set and lets a weary John take a rest.

Cory’s coughing up black phlegm with tears streaming down his face. I know how wrecked I’ll be if we lose her, and I can only guess that Cory will be destroyed. I don’t say any of that stupid shit that people do to make you feel better. It doesn’t change the fact that your loved one is in severe danger of dying, so I take the other route and offer physical comfort by gripping his shoulder and sharing Olivia’s hand with him.

Cory spares a look at me, before clinging to her hand, and returning his attention to Olivia. Akio’s still performing compressions on her chest to a thirty count. I know that the odds of saving someone lessens by the second, so I’m praying with whatever little faith I have left that whoever the fuck is in charge up there, throws a little help my way for once. I’m an orphan living in the Apocalypse, surely I deserve a little bit of mercy? If not, he can go fuck himself. I won’t ever think about him again.

Akio’s breathing the second breath into her mouth, when Olivia’s beautiful eyes open wide and she turns to heave to the left. Be it divine intervention, or just plain coincidence, I don’t give a fuck; nor do I know who moves faster, me or Cory, but I lunge over to one side and he takes up the other. Both of us immediately start running hands over her hair, face and arms to make sure she’s really alive. When my hands are still on her and she isn’t punching me in the face, I finally glance up to meet her eyes. They’re closed again and I can hear her rasping for breath. Taking up Cory’s method, I pull her onto my lap and tip her chin back to try and open up her air way.

Cory’s still cupping her cheeks and cursing her for scaring him, while I’m trying to keep her breathing. John and Akio’s effort will be for nothing if we can’t keep her lungs functioning. There’s no doubt about it, Olivia’s breathing definitely doesn’t sound healthy, and Akio must agree, since he calls for his kit. How the fuck it survived the fire, I’ll never know, but I don’t care so long as he has something to help her breathe. Oscar passes him the bag and Akio immediately starts rummaging through. Coming up with a scalpel and some tubing, he pushes Cory back and looks at me.

“Hold her still,” Akio orders.

“Why?” I ask uneasily.

“I need to put in a temporary tracheostomy,” he answers.

“A what?” Cory’s ragged voice demands. “You’re going to slit her fucking throat?”

“No,” Akio denies and shakes his head. “I’m going to cut a small hole in the trachea and put this tube in so that she can breathe. She may die otherwise.”

“Then fucking do it already!” Cory shouts and goes into a coughing fit.

Cory starts clutching his hair in both hands, and muttering that ‘he can’t lose her’ in between coughs. Whitney goes over and whispers nonsense to him, and massages his back to try and soothe him. I doubt it’ll work, but it will at least keep him occupied until this is over. How I wish I could be distracted. But then Olivia would be going through this alone and I can’t allow that, so I nut up and shut up.

“I’m serious, Jared,” Akio repeats and shows me his solemn eyes. “If she moves, I’ll cut something that I’m not supposed to, or go too deep.” I nod and lean my head down enough to kiss her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

I feel Olivia’s shaking hand brush my hair back, before she meets my eyes. Hers are frightened, but she nods for me to do whatever I need to. I pull Olivia over to lay completely across my lap, so that her head is resting in the crook of my left arm and tighten my grip around her with my right one to keep her still for the duration of the procedure. Akio cuts another one of her turtlenecks and pulls the soot covered gauze away from the stitches to expose the area he needs.

The Doc runs his fingers about two inches diagonally down from the end of her vertical stitches, and presses slightly before nodding at whatever he finds. Pulling out gloves, he snaps the latex into place, and takes out the rubbing alcohol. He then pours it on some sterile gauze that came fresh out of its paper packaging, and swipes away the debris to clear the skin in prep for the half assed surgery. When he raises the scalpel to make the incision, I stay his hand.

“Aren’t you going to numb it first?” I ask.

“I don’t have anything,” he responds and nods at a different bag from the one he usually carries. “This was the kit in the BMW.”

“No painkillers, booze, nothing?”

When Akio shakes his head, I want to scour the woods, find the bitch responsible and rip her limb from limb. I bite my lip until I taste blood, but ignore the sting as I nod for Akio to get it over with. This better fucking work, is all I can think of as Akio once more puts the scalpel to her skin. The point of the blade is aimed down and held to the area right above where her clavicles meet. This time I don’t stop him as he presses it in and blood starts pooling around it. Olivia’s wheezing picks up, and she tenses, but doesn’t move otherwise. She’s a hell of a lot tougher than I could ever be, because I probably would have started thrashing immediately once I felt the cool metal touch my skin.

Akio doesn’t even so much as look up from his work to see how she’s doing. I don’t know if it’s out of concentration, or if he just wants this done as fast as possible. Whatever the reason, he doesn’t pause his motion of slowly pressing the scalpel further underneath her skin. Once it’s at the depth he wants, he widens the hole a little and uses tweezers to pry the skin apart. It’s fucking disgusting, and I want to puke, but at the same time, I can’t look away.

It’s like before when there was a huge pile up on the highway, as soon as you got to the point in the traffic jam that you could see the accident, your eyes were glued to the window and you nearly rear ended the guy in front of you so that you can catch a peek at the victims. Sick fucks that we are, we like to witness the suffering of others and say, ’sucks to be them.’ We bob our heads to the radio as we open up our engines and tear down the now cleared highway, continuing on with our lives as if we didn’t just witness someone’s spine being scraped off the ground. Come on, you know you’ve done it. Everyone has, and right now is one of those moments.

The woman I love, and yes I finally said the other four letter curse word, so shut the fuck up already. I’ll puzzle it out later, since I happen to be pretty freaking busy right now. Anyway, the woman I love is currently struggling to breathe and in some of the worst pain I could possibly imagine. The only thing that I can think of as to why Olivia’s not turning that scalpel around on Akio or me is that she knows she needs it to survive, so she grits her teeth and is bearing through it. Like I said, she’s much tougher than I am and I’m not afraid to admit it. Not even out loud if I have to. Okay, maybe a little bit out loud, pride and all that bull.

I know, I know, get out of my fucking head, stop being a pussy and get back in the game. Manning up as much as I can when absolutely do not want to, I take a deep breath and look at the horror show that is Olivia’s throat. Akio’s got clamps and tweezers holding flaps of bloody skin back to expose some pulsing thing underneath. Fighting the urge to vomit on his work, I swallow back the bile in an acidic gulp and cling a little tighter to Olivia. It looks like I’m trying to comfort her, but in reality, I’m comforting myself. I’m going to need to snuggle up with her in the bed to fight away my own nightmares after this. I’ll even take a knee to the balls if I have to, but I know I’ll need to be even closer to her than I have been the past three days to ensure that I didn’t lose her.

Giving her one more tight squeeze, I ease up a little and glance back at the hole Akio’s carving out. Not carving, that’s what that cunt did and set this shit in motion, God I hope she’s been eaten by now. Akio is surgically stretching, there that’s better, he’s surgically stretching the hole to get at the pulsing red thing he uncovered. The hole he puts into what can only be the trachea is no bigger than a dime, but already I can feel the rasping Olivia’s back was vibrating against thigh start to ease away. It’s when he pulls out the tube and starts inserting it into the incision that the wheeze becomes something like when I used to blow spit balls through a straw. Which is essentially what Olivia’s doing in reverse. Instead out blowing out, she’s breathing in the precious oxygen that she was being deprived.

The tube’s sticking out by about three inches when Akio pulls out some gauze and medical tape. He carefully swipes some antibacterial cream around the protruding tube before wrapping it with gauze. Taping the edges in place, Akio uses surgical scissors to cut the tube, so now there’s only about an inch of it sticking out. If you’ve ever seen those commercials for quitting cigarettes where the lady has that hole in her throat, that’s pretty much how Olivia looks like right now. Except there’s a pure white background on her creamy skin with a piece of plastic straw sticking out.

But I ignore all that and look at the beautiful woman who sat still and bore it all. Her tiny nose is scrunched up along with her tightly closed eyes and I can see tear trails cascading down her soot covered cheeks and neck. I brush my thumb under her eyes to wipe away her tears. Feeling the new sensation, her eyes open and they’re still filled with unspilled water. I can’t resist the urge to kiss her, so I kiss her forehead instead, since I won’t kiss her lips until she can cooperate or punch me.

“You did great,” I whisper as I pull and her wide eyes meet mine. “Are you alright now? Can you breathe?”

“She can’t talk Jared,” Akio informs me as he packs away his materials.

“As in ever, or until this is better?” I ask without looking away from Olivia. Her eyes are darting all over my face, maybe I’m dirty or something, I don’t know. But she can go ahead and look all she wants, I don’t care since I’m doing the same thing to her.

“I don’t think it’ll be forever,” he answers. “Just until I can remove the tube, that should close up on its own.”

“So, she’ll be okay?” Cory inquires in a strained voice.

It’s most likely a combination of stress and smoke inhalation. Speaking of, I force myself to glance away from Olivia and look at our temporary safe house. Or should I say pile of ashes. The roof has caved in on the left side, when I think of Olivia and Cory being trapped there, I want to howl like a wounded dog. I’m still staring at the wreckage when I feel a hand touch my hairline and flinch. Not from surprise, but because that fucking hurt.

I snap my head to see who touched me and see Olivia’s hand still raised and her eyes trained on the smarting spot with wide eyes. I reach up to feel the area and wince. It goes from the top of my right ear, to my eyebrow and down my neck until it reaches my jaw. My hands, I notice, are also blistered. Olivia’s hand ghosts over the injured skin and scowls at it. Lifting her eyes from my chin, she looks up and points with rage in her eyes.

“What?” I ask. She snaps her hand out flat with the palm up in a, ‘what happened?’ gesture accompanied by her dangerously glittering eyes.

I give her the simple answer, “Kelly.”

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

Part Three:

Choices

“We cannot change the hand we are dealt, just how we play the hand.”

-Randy Pausch

Chapter Forty:

“Jared, we can’t stay here much longer,” John says.

Doesn’t that bring me right back to the beginning? Before that trip the grocery store, before Hal’s, and before Olivia. It makes me laugh, and everyone starts staring at me like I’m the one that’s lost his shit, instead of the group member who fucked us all. Why does it have to be all the women I bring home, that turn out to be psychotic murderesses?

Obviously, Olivia doesn’t count; since she technically found us, and brought John and I to her home before we convinced her to join our ranks. We basically had to beg her to come with us; and this is how we repaid her.

“I know,” I reply with a crazed grin at John. “Is it me, or does this conversation sound like dejá vu to you too?” At that, John gets it and grins. The rest of the group is still scratching their heads, so I shake off the mirth, and concentrate. “I think it’s pretty obvious that we can’t stay here, since there is no longer a ‘here’ to stay.”

Several heads turn to view the smoking pile of rubble in the rising sun. There’s only one charred wall still standing, and I’m sure if I went over and poked it, it would collapse like the rest. The roof caved in portions, and it’s still burning in areas with the higher concentration of gasoline spills. It’s silent for a few minutes as everyone takes it in, but then they turn back with weary expressions. Those defeated faces are another thing that bleached bimbo is responsible for.

“We can all pile into the van,” I propose. “But we have to find another place close by. Olivia can’t be travelling on those bumpy dirt roads in this condition.”

Marissa grimaces, but turns her face away to hide it. Chelsea looks like she may throw up, but she’s caught in that ‘scene of the accident’ curiosity, so she doesn’t stop staring until I glare at her. Carlos and Oscar are stoic, and look like they want to burn the woods down to flush out The Bitch. Tommy and Leonard have come closer, and are now whispering to Olivia; who hasn’t moved from my lap, which is perfectly fine with me. Cory looks tired, tense and pissed, but it’s one of those ‘let’s just get this the fuck over with’ expressions. Sarah and Danny are over near the woods, calling for Morris.

When Olivia hears them, she snaps her head in their direction and winces. Slapping a hand over her throat, which makes her flinch and squeeze her eyes in pain, she takes several deep breaths, before looking at me. Motioning with her hand, she points at her bag a few feet away.

“Tommy,” I say and he looks up. “Grab that bag for Olivia.”

I point to the one she motioned toward, and he nods. After passing the bag to her, Olivia unzips it, and out pops a black and white tabby-faced prick. I may dislike the bastard, but I’m glad he didn’t perish in the fire. Morris hisses at me with his normal enthusiasm, before rubbing his face against Olivia’s cheek. She rubs his ears, and pulls him to her chest.

“Hey, Sarah!” I call out. She and Danny look over, before I continue. “I found your asshole cat.”

Sarah quickly abandons the woods, and sprints over with Danny on her heels. She dives to the ground, and snatches the cat from Olivia’s arms. I’m about to scold her for not only snatching like a selfish brat, but for not being gentle with the cat’s injured savior, when I feel a hand rub my tense arm. Looking down to find the owner of that tiny hand, I meet Olivia’s eyes. She gives me a slight shake of her head. It’s no more than an inch in either direction, but it gets the points across. I take a breath, and sigh it out as I nod.

Once Sarah’s assured that her lazy feline is no worse for wear, she releases her choke hold on him. Morris snaps his hooked tail in agitation at the ordeal he’s been put through, before hissing at me again, and stalking off toward the woods in a tizzy. Real appreciative, you prick. I fight the urge to flip off a four legged asshole, and feel a vibration against my leg.

I begin to panic that the tracheostomy didn’t work, so I snap my focus back to Olivia, and check for any sign of her struggling for breath. What I find, is completely different. Olivia’s eyes are dancing, and the rumbling I felt, was her laughing. Raising my right hand up with both of hers, she bends all my fingers except the middle one, and lifts it to the woods. I can’t help but burst out laughing. Is it any wonder that I fell for this woman? She knows me too well.

“Why the hell are you flipping off my cat?” Sarah demands. “He’s traumatized.”

“Traumatized?” I ask and she nods. “That asshole just snubbed his savior.” I give Sarah a pointed look, and she glances at Olivia.

“Can I hug you?” Sarah whispers. Olivia holds up her thumb to say it’s okay. Moving slowly, Sarah leans down to give Olivia a quick hug as gently as possible. Pulling back she says, “Thanks for keeping Morris safe.”

Olivia pats her chest, and after days of reading her hand signals, I know it’s her way of saying many things that vary from her being okay to understanding; or in this case, saying, ‘you’re welcome.’

“How did you sneak the bastard out?” Olivia picks up the bag, and clutches it to her chest to demonstrate. I lower my voice to ask the next thing. “That’s why you were squirming? Not because I was touching you?”

In answer, Olivia meets my eyes as she raises my hand with her own, that isn’t shaking in the slightest, to brush it across the side of her face. That has to be the best gift I’ve ever been given. Olivia’s trust is finally mine, now I just have to earn the right to keep it.

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

“Jared, let Akio take a look at you.” I glance away from Olivia, to look at John. “You have burns, he needs to look at them, and listen to your chest.” In response, I shake my head, and hold my precious cargo a little tighter.

“Let Cory hold her,” John demands.

“Check him first,” I counter. John smirks as he replies.

“He’s already been checked, and cleared with mild smoke inhalation, and second degree burns,” he says. “Now, pass her off to Cory, before he follows through on his plan to strangle you.” I glance over at the man in question, and see that he indeed may strangle me if I don’t give him a little cuddle time with Olivia. I look down at the girl in my arms, to meet her worried gaze.

“Will you be alright?” I ask. In answer, I receive a scowl, along with a tiny finger pointed at Akio. “Fine, I’ll get checked.”

Carefully assisting Olivia to sit up, I see her grimace in pain the whole way even though she tries to hide it. My tough little cookie may not be feeling better physically, but her mental faculties are just fine judging from her stubbornness. Once I have her sitting upright, I motion for Cory to take up my position behind her back. As I slide out, he slides right in like it was a prized parking spot in front of Boston’s city hall. Believe me, those were damn near impossible to come by any time I needed to make the trip in for my Dad. Settled in, Cory lays her back against his chest, and wraps his gauze covered arms around her waist.

“You sure you’re okay?” I address this at the two of them.

Receiving matching scowls, and a shove from Cory, gets me moving. Akio has his downgraded kit spread across the dead crab grass, so I plop down in front of him. Adjusting his glasses, his eyes scan my face as he picks out supplies. Gauze, tape and ointment are added to a pile closer to me, along with his stethoscope. Once he has everything he needs, Akio slides closer and slips the ear plugs for the stethoscope into place.

“Jacket,” he orders and waves a hand at my charred sweatshirt.

It may be early September, but the chill is coming in at night; and from my skin being burned, it’s a necessity. So, it’s with great reluctance that I slide the smoky fabric off my shoulders, to enable the Doc to get better access. It’s a quick exam, focusing mostly on my lungs. Saying I’m a little raspy from all the smoke, Akio gives me an inhaler and orders me to take a few puffs of antihistamine. I raise my eyebrows at him, but he just rolls his eyes, and says that ‘while it’s not ideal, it’s the best he could do at the moment.’

Satisfied that I’m breathing, if somewhat uncomfortably with burning airways, Akio moves on to addressing the burns. I’m diagnosed with some smoke inhalation, bad first degree burns to the right side of my face, mild second degree ones on my hand, and a minor singe on my right shin; most likely from booting my way through fire without the proper equipment.

All in all, small penance I’d willingly pay again, so long as Olivia and her adopted brother are alright. He may be an overprotective asshole, but I can’t hold against him, because I can be just as bad when it comes to Sarah. Besides, if I’m going to instill myself in Olivia’s life, the bastard will undoubtedly always be there, so I might as play nice. Or attempt to at least, since I plan on snatching her back as soon as the Doc is done wrapping me up.

“You’ll have to take it easy for the next few days,” Akio says as he works.

He’s currently wrapping my hands. The Doc’s already done the leg, head and left hand; so he’s working on the right one that took the brunt of the abuse. First with punching out the window, then the hot door handle, and who the fuck knows what other flames I unwittingly touched. I nod at the order, but how the hell can I take it easy when we’re homeless, injured, and racing against infected? Speaking of, I go to appoint the twins and Tommy to go on watch, only to find they’re already on it. Carlos is near the left side’s woods, Oscar’s on the right, and Tommy’s watching the road.

“That’s not taking it easy,” Akio’s voice hisses. My eyes snap to his, and I see anger in their depths. Look at Doctor Devoid, finally showing some emotion. I don’t know whether to applaud the change, or hunt down the bitch responsible for breaking through the unaffected exterior.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Just a little stressed here. I mean, we’re homeless, Olivia’s breathing through a tube, a good portion of our supplies have been burned...”

“The Jag has been stolen,” John adds and my attention snaps to him. It earns me a cuff to the head from the Doc, but I ignore it.

“The Jag’s gone?” I repeat and see him confirm it with a nod.

“The Jag is gone, along with the map the twins were plotting our route on.”

“Fucking bitch,” I hiss. “She better pray that we don’t make it, or the first thing I’m doing, is flushing her out so I can strangle her to death.”

“Not if Olivia does it first,” John comments and points his chin behind me. Glancing over, I see my fuming pixie clutching Cory’s arms with white knuckles; which are exposed because her gloves have perished in the fire with the rest of her leather gear, and there’s murder in her eyes.

“You get better, and I’ll hold her still for you to strangle, alright?” I propose and see her raise a single thumbs up. Turning back to John, I ask for more. “How the hell did she take it, and what supplies did we lose?”

“From what Danny and I judged,” John begins. “She must have stolen them along with Oscar’s bag, since it’s missing from the van’s trunk. He said he put it there this morning, after he and Carlos finished drawing out a route. The Jag had a bag of weapons. A hunting rifle, a bunch of clubs, bats and knives were all inside.” I curse, we need that shit. “And it had the last duffle of food. The other one was in the house.”

“Fuck!” I exclaim and run a patched hand through what used to be thick hair. Feeling the scaly skin, without so much as peach fuzz on top, I abruptly pull my hand away. I’m pissed enough, no need to be reminded how close we were to losing people that can’t be replaced. Supplies can, sure it takes a little bit effort, but people can never be recovered once they’re gone. Like Olivia said, they don’t regenerate.

“We’ll be okay,” I say in a now calm voice. “We’ve gathered before, we can gather again.” John nods in agreement. “See if we have another map, and look for the nearest town. Once we get Olivia and Cory settled into a new safe house with the others, you and I will go out on a run.”

“The fuck you will,” John counters, and crosses his arms, as he glares at me. “You just ran into a burning building like you’re freaking Superman, and you’re not. Have you looked at yourself lately? You look like you belong in a burn unit, and are waiting for skin grafts, so you aren’t going any-freaking-where but a bed.”

“But,” I begin and stop when John makes a slashing motion like Olivia taught him to say, ‘shut the fuck up.’

“No buts,” he orders. “There are plenty of able bodied people to do what needs to be done.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I demand. “Sit around and be a drain on the group? You know that I’d go stir crazy.”

“No, you’re not going to be a ‘drain on the group.’ You’re going to heal, so if you want to get back to contributing as soon as possible, you rest the fuck up!” John demands and continues with a pointed look at me. “Just like you’ve been nitpicking Olivia to do for the past three days. If anyone will be going stir crazy, it’ll be her.”

I glance over to see Olivia avoiding my eyes, as she picks at her fingernails. Fuck, there goes my big mouth again. Pulling my hands away from Akio, who tosses his own up in the worldly sign of ‘have it your way, I give up,’ I force myself to stumble up onto my tired feet and walk over. She doesn’t pay no mind to me, pretending I’m not there, so I crouch down to her level.

“I’m sorry, my big mouth ran away from me again,” I say quietly. Olivia still doesn’t look at me, so I tilt her chin up gently with my fingers. When she closes her eyes, still refusing to look at me, I try again. “You aren’t a drain, it was poorly said. I just can’t be idle for long. You know that patience isn’t a virtue of mine.” Keeping her eyes hidden, she gives me a slight nod. “Olivia, please look at me.”

Finally her lids lift to reveal tear filled greys. Doesn’t that punch me right in the chest. “Please don’t cry,” I say and brush my bandaged thumb underneath to catch the one escaped droplet. “I’m a thoughtless prick, I shouldn’t have said something like that.” Lifting her hand, she grabs hold of mine that’s still cupping her cheek, and gives her head a slight shake as she points at her throat. “You’re in pain?”

Biting her lip, she gives me a tiny thumbs up. I’ve no doubt that she is in pain, but that’s not all, I can see it in her eyes. There’s something like guilt hidden in her depths, and I wish she could talk so I could demand answers, but that’ll have to wait. As soon as we get to a new safe house, I’ll find her some new writing materials, and make her write out what she’s hiding.

“I’ll find something for you,” I promise. “As soon as we find somewhere to stay tonight, I’ll ask Akio what he needs and get it, alright?” I can tell Olivia wishes that she could argue, but she sighs and holds up a thumb in defeat. “Good, then let’s get you into the van.”

Without further ado, I scoop her out of Cory’s arms, and don’t hear so much as a squeak out of her. Then I remember that she can’t even squeak, and it makes me feel like a dick for hiking her up like a football, so I stop to meet her eyes. They’re currently glaring at me, but I’ll gladly take that over the frightened girl who would have cowered from me after so much physical contact just a few days ago. Pretending I don’t see her pointing to be put down, I wave for the rest of the group to head to the cars, while ignoring the pinch Olivia gives me on my poor abused chest.

Most of the group runs over and packs into the car like a parade of clowns, but my count is off by one. Cory trudges past me, still hacking away. The twins are transferring items from the BMW to the van, with John and Danny helping them. Marissa, Chelsea and Sarah are already seated inside with Whitney, Mike and Akio. Leonard is ordering everyone around like a foreman. So, where the fuck is Tommy?

“Tommy?” I call out. Olivia taps my shoulder and points behind me. I look over to see him carrying a stack of the metal bars that were attached to the windows. “What the fuck are ya going to do with those?”

Olivia pinches me again. I know that she wants me to be easy on him, but I’m a man like Tommy, so I know that he’d rather me be blunt with him; regardless of his anxiety problem. Nothing’s worse than being treated differently for something you can’t help, but Olivia has that whole nature vs. nurture thing going on, so she only sees it as being an ass. I’ll explain the method to my madness to her later, right now; I want to know why the hell he wants to bring the things that almost cost me Olivia.

“Pr-protection,” he stutters. He takes a deep breath and releases it. “I don’t want another a-accident.” Tommy points at the battered BMW as reference.

“So, you want to block the windows to the van?” I ask and he nods. “It’s a good idea, as soon as we can get into a town, we’ll find a hardware shop so that we can get whatever you need.”

“Al-alright,” he replies and scurries past me with his burden.

Following Tommy’s hurried escape, I reach the van, and carefully pass Olivia inside to Cory’s awaiting arms. Once I make sure she’s settled in, and as comfortable as someone with a straw sticking out of them can be, I walk around to the trunk. John scowls at me, and points for me to get in the van, but I ignore that in favor of checking what we have left for supplies. Not much, considering a lot of it went inside the ranch; like personal bags, the duffel of food, and half of our water jugs.

All that survived the blaze and Kelly’s subsequent theft, is the second duffel of weapons; which Tommy meticulously packed with rifles, ammo and knives, my backpack that I never left Olivia long enough to grab, the remaining kit that Akio’s been denoted to, Olivia’s machete which never left the BMW because of her injury, and the three bags that were carried out of the blaze. This means that Cory and Olivia have their stuff; I have mine, and everyone else lost theirs. But that’s okay, things can be replaced, and they will be as soon as we are able to do so. I’m just about to close the van, when I notice something else that’s missing, or should I say something else that was stolen.

“No gas,” I say and point to the empty spot in the trunk, where we previously had a row of full gas tanks strapped down. Now, there’s only the garden hose Olivia chopped in three pieces to siphon gas tanks with, and the empty buckle strap that was attached to the trunk to prevent cargo from rolling around.

“Kelly must have used them as the accelerant,” Oscar replies. “It spread too fast to have been anything else.” I nod, because I remember the distinct smell of gasoline being concentrated around the sick room’s barricaded door.

“But Olivia has a tank in her trunk,” Carlos offers. “Sure, it’ll take longer, but we still have the means to collect it in the first place.”

“We’ll worry about that later,” John adds. “Jared, get the fuck in the van, before I toss your burned ass in myself.” I flip him off, but move to do as he said. Not to listen to him of course, but because I’m dead on my feet. Just as I’m about to climb in, I hear John say something about a jack.

“What do you need a jack for?” I ask.

“Never mind you,” John gives as a non-answer. “We can handle a tiny flat.”

“Tiny flat, my ass,” Carlos mutters.

“Esa maldita puta,” Oscar curses.

“What happened?” I demand and step away from the door. I cross my arms to show that I’m not going anywhere, until I get an answer.

“Kelly stabbed the tire,” John answers. Then he scowls and points at the car. “Now, get the fuck inside the car, and don’t you dare think of driving.”

I growl as I slam the driver’s door closed, and drag myself around to the passenger seat. If I can’t drive, the least I can do is supervise whoever is. No need for us to come all this way, only to wrap around a pole. I feel the van start to tip as they jack the car up, so after strapping myself in, I turn sideways in my seat in order to look into the back.

Most get a cursory look to make sure they’re all accounted for, but I pause to see Sarah kneeling backwards in the last row so that she can order around the guys in the trunk. Leonard looks stressed, which is expected, but also not a good thing for someone with a recent heart condition. Mike is another I pause at, he said he’s recovered from the gunshot, but I’m not taking any unnecessary chances. I know that the rest from the last few days, and another immediate stop, should ensure that he really is fit for the long travel ahead.

Finally, I come to the person I really turned around to see. Cory’s sitting in the chair beside her, holding one of her hands in white knuckled grip, his head resting back on the chair with his eyes closed. That must hurt, but Olivia allows it. I’m guessing that it’s another one of those nurture instincts that she most definitely has. Another one is apparent in the way she’s currently rubbing her cheek against a frightened Morris. He usually rides in his pet carrier, so either it was burned; which I suspect it was, or Olivia chose to comfort him instead of stowing him away.

I’m starting to tolerate the prick because it looks like he gives her as much comfort as she gives him. That was especially the case when she was cooped up the sick room. The fucker didn’t leave her side for more than ten minutes at a time, and even then it was only to eat or go outside. I was almost in danger of envying a cat, now isn’t that sick?

I’m pulled out of my head when Olivia’s grey eyes open and meet mine. Lifting her hand from Morris’s back, she points at the side of my bandaged head. I haven’t looked at it yet, I’m not vain, so I don’t really care what it cost me in the looks department to save the girl that I want to keep, for as long as she’ll have me. And she does have me, if she ordered me to run to Canada and get her favorite chocolate bar right now, I’d scour the entire country until I found it. Yes, it may sound whipped, but if Olivia’s holding the reins, I’ll gladly do it whatever it is with a smile.

“I’m fine,” I answer when she continues to motion at my wounds. She gives me a doubtful look. “Really, it doesn’t even hurt.” Her grey eyes steel, so I know she’s calling bull without her having to say it, or motion for me to cut the shit. “Fine, it stings a little, but it’s nothing I can’t cure with a little bit of rest. What I couldn’t cure, would have been the guilt of you or Cory being murdered by my crew member.”

Olivia scowls at me, before her hands start moving rapidly. I’m starting to get a little dizzy trying to keep up, so I tell her to slow down in order for me to be able to read her signals. In answer, she places Morris gently on her seat as she stands. With her tiny size, she only has to duck her head a bit to be able to do so, but it has to hurt to bend her neck at any angle; so when she ignores the pain in order to reach around the seat and hug me, it makes it better than any words she could have used.

When she pulls back from the awkward angled embrace, I see and understand her motions clearly. A flat hand on her chest, which she bends out as she points to Cory. Obviously, she’s thanking me for helping Cory. I go to tell her it isn’t necessary, but the words die on my lips, when I see her hands make the next motions. First she points at me, then she makes a slashing motion, before pounding a furious fist on her chest. I understand that straight away, and get pissed.

Olivia just told me that I shouldn’t have saved her.

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

Chapter Forty-One:

Pushing my seat belt to its limit, I snatch the furious girl glaring at me, and pull her through the separation of the seats. Sitting her on my lap, I see her eyes have lost the angry glare, in exchange for shock. Too bad, I’m still pissed. Grabbing her by the shoulders, I completely forget about her injury, as I shake her.

“Don’t you dare say something like that again,” I order. “Ever. Do you hear me?”

Olivia holds the side of her throat, but there isn’t pain in her eyes, it’s raw anger. Brushing my hands off of her, she uses one to whack me in the chest, and the other to point at my bandaged skin.

“I’m fine,” I hiss to stress the fact. She makes a slashing motion across my throat. “I didn’t die and if I didn’t help, you would have, so the tiny burns were worth it.”

Olivia presses a hand to her chest, rubs her thumb and forefingers together as she shakes her head; and then places a hand firmly on my chest. Her eyes aren’t angry anymore, they’re sincere and that stabs me better than any knife could. I place my own hand over hers on my chest and cup her cheek with the other.

“You listen to me,” I say and hold her gaze. “You are worth it.” My words are no more than a whisper, but my point couldn’t have been have been clearer. In answer, Olivia lifts her ungloved left hand, and wiggles her ringed finger at me with tears in her eyes. “Travis gave his life to save yours because he loved you. That isn’t a bad thing, it shows how much he cared about you. I respect the hell out of him, because any man that would give his life for yours, is worth more than their weight in gold.”

When Olivia immediately starts shaking her head back and forth, I cup both of her cheeks in my hands and lean in. As soon as my lips make contact with hers, she stills. I don’t know if it’s out of shock or dismay, but I keep my mouth pressed firmly to hers. Relishing the warmth and fullness of those plump lips, my kiss lasts a few seconds longer than I intended it to.

I don’t push for more, since I know that she isn’t ready for it. There’s also the fact that my body’s responding so violently to this small action, and she sure as hell isn’t ready for that. Forcing myself to break contact with Olivia before she feels the growing appendage popping up to say hello; and is further traumatized by it, I meet her shocked eyes. She presses her fingers to her mouth like she can’t believe I kissed her, which makes me want to do it again, but I fight it back before I cave in and lunge forward to ravage that mouth like I really wanted to.

“You are worth it,” I repeat in a tone heavy with emotion. “Now, get your ass in the back seat, before you spend the ride on my lap.”

That catches her attention; she blinks as if coming back to her senses and glances around. The car’s back on all fours, and full of nosy people; who are all staring at us with gaping looks, smug expressions, or satisfied smiles. I ignore them, but Olivia ducks her chin and dives into her seat, startling Morris. She scoops him up and cuddles him close, but really she’s burying her face in his fur to hide her embarrassed expression. It makes me grin to see such a childish reaction out of the badass for once.

My teeny Tomb Raider may have a coating of steel and ice, but underneath that is a soft and loving woman, who uses it as a shield. I’m perfectly fine with the armor, so long as it can be stowed in a closet from time to time when we’re alone. And we will be alone. Her guard dog of a brother has to sleep some time, and I still have gun lessons to teach.

“What are you waiting for, you smug bastard?” I ask a grinning John. “Start this monster up, so we can move on to the next.”

“Sir, yes sir,” he replies with a salute and starts the van. “Where’re we headed?”

“Crazy, wanna come?” When John sends me a ‘come on’ look, I shrug in answer. “Just drive.”

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

And drive we do.

Originally the plan was to stop at a nearby house for a night, but Olivia regained her faculties; meaning her spine of steel, and refused to go in. She stood beside the van, stomped her foot, and pointed at the trees. There were several complaints and grumbles, but when she pulled out her machete from the trunk, ran into the woods, and came back with a wheezer head; everyone shut the fuck up, and dove back in the van. We left a cloud of dust and smoking tire treads in our wake, for the pack of wheezers; that came sprinting out of the woods, to munch on instead our asses.

So, we’ve driven for about two hours, pointing at different places that we could stay at, with Olivia shaking her head at each in disapproval. Finally, throwing his hands up in defeat, John pulls the van over. Putting it in park, John twists in his seat so that he can see Olivia. Her eyes are rapidly scanning the sides of the road, which are covered in thick foliage.

“Do you have a place in mind?” John asks and folds his hands.

I know it’s a sign of anger, but he better not take this shit out on her. She isn’t the one that burnt down our house, his scorned groupie did. Olivia just wants to find us a place that she feels will keep us relatively safe for the night. And I trust her judgment, so if those places didn’t pass her approval, we move on to the next. Olivia points to the map I have spread across the dashboard, so I pass it to her. She holds her hand out in a ‘what’ gesture, and moves her palm over the paper fold out.

“We’re right here,” I answer and point to the street that John pulled over. She nods slightly and scans the surrounding area. Biting her lip, Olivia points to a spot forty miles out west of the direction we were heading.

“That’s going further away from the compound,” John says. Olivia pats her chest in an ‘I know that.’ Then she grabs her backpack, unzips it, and rummages inside for something. It takes a few seconds, but she finally comes out with her chain of keys.

“Another one of your burglar hits,” I say and she scowls, until she sees the smirk on my face. Then she smiles and puts a finger to my mouth. It’s like she remembers where my lips were just a few short hours ago, and goes to snatch it back, but I pretend not to notice, and catch hold of her hand to keep in a loose grip. “Fine, another one of your safe houses. If you think that’s our best option, we’ll have to stop for gas first.”

Olivia nods while staring at my hand still gripping hers. There’s a confused expression on her face that I can’t decipher the meaning of, but she isn’t trying to pull away, so I leave it there and tip her chin. “You okay?” She blinks a few times, then her chin moves up and down slightly. I don’t believe it for a second, but I’ll let it go for now. “Then let’s get moving.”

John starts the van back up before pulling onto the road, while Olivia retreats back to her seat. After making sure she’s re-buckled, I turn to face forward, and direct John to our destination. A few miles pass until I fell a hand on my shoulder. A decidedly masculine hand, that squeezes the side of my unburned neck, as it hands over a plastic case.

“Hurt her, and I’ll kill you,” Cory hisses in my ear. I guess that counts as approval in his book, so I nod, not that I would dare hurt her in the first place. Easing up his grip, he follows his whispered threat with a raised, slightly southern drawl.

“Olivia said to put this in before the silence strangles us,” he announces. I take the CD from his hand, while John glances over.

“How exactly did she manage to say all that?” John inquires with a smirk as he checks the rear view mirror. “She’s been rather quiet lately, is she getting shy on me?” A tiny hand cuffs John from the back and he laughs. “There she is, welcome back Miss Short, Pale and Beautiful.” That earns John an elbow jab from me, which makes him laugh harder.

“Quit being a smartass, and drive,” I order.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says and waves me off. “Put the damn CD in already.”

Flipping open the indistinguishable case, I see that there’s a burned CD inside. Knowing Olivia’s varied taste in music, it could be just about anything. When the Beatles’ “Come Together” starts blasting out of the speakers, immediately followed by Eminem’s “The Way I Am,” I can’t help but smile. I glance back, and see her mouthing the words as she stares out the window.

“It’s Jared’s theme song,” John says. “He isn’t Mr. Friendly, and he can most fucking definitely be a prick.”

I flip him off, which he ignores, and keeps rapping away. Several voices in the back pick up the chorus; including the twins, Danny and Cory. Tommy’s nodding along, and mouthing the words like Olivia, but she’s now gesturing out the part of flipping off the media for blaming violence on music. Ain’t that the damn truth. Music doesn’t kill people, people kill people. Well, ape-like animals, too.

Olivia gets really into the next verse about people asking questions, and getting pissed about it. I guess that she isn’t a fan of questions, and who would be, when you have to answer with the nightmares of your past?

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

Chapter Forty-Two:

With Olivia’s cornucopia of music to entertain us, we go about twenty miles while listening to artists like Run DMC, Beastie Boys, Buddy Holly, Journey, Aerosmith, Sublime, Hollywood Undead, TLC, Papa Roach, Florence + the Machine, and a little bit of Adele thrown in. When I asked her about the random mix, Cory answered that ‘she gets bored easily, so she likes the variety and never knowing what’s going to come on next.’

I was little miffed that he answered for her, but liked the intel; especially when he said that they used to make a game of it on road trips. The game consisted of each passenger taking a guess as to what they thought would come on next. If the person got the artist right, then they could order a person of their choosing to do a task at the next stop, like freezing their ass off in a New England Blizzard to fill the gas tank.

It actually sounded like fun, so we used this method to decide who would get out of the van, and siphon the gas from the abandoned cars along the way. A most dreadful task when you didn’t remove your mouth fast enough, as Marissa learned with a mouthful of gasoline. She was a good sport about it, even though the car still smells like the fumes she consumed.

“Alright, I think it’ll be a Beatles song,” John guesses.

“Nah, she already had one of them on,” Carlos counters. “It’ll be something way out in left field, like Britney Spears.” The look Olivia sends him for daring to suggest she would put that pop tart on her CD, should have killed him on the spot.

“Okay, not Britney then,” Oscar says. “I think it’ll be Elvis.”

“CCR, Creedence Clearwater Revival,” Cory guesses. “It’s one of her favorites.” Olivia smiles at that guess.

“3 Doors Down,” Chelsea suggests with a snap of her gum.

“Evanescence,” Marissa says as she fluffs her hair sprayed hair.

“N-nirvana,” Tommy replies quietly. I see Olivia smile at his participation.

“B2K,” Sarah supplies.

“50 Cent,” Danny says.

“Billy Joel,” Leonard guesses, and Olivia shrugs that it could be a possibility.

“Billy Idol,” I say.

“Don McLean,” Mike thinks.

“Boston,” Akio says.

“Queen,” Whitney finishes. “I think that’s everyone. Go ahead and play it, Jared.”

When I hear a popular song from Fenway Park, I can’t help the laugh that rumbles out. The whole car starts singing The Standells “Dirty Water.” Anyone who’s lived in, or grown up in the state of Massachusetts, knows the words to the song; and if you don’t then you aren’t a true Bostonian. And since most of us are native to the state, we know that famous verse about our dirty water and Boston being our home. As the last strands taper off, I turn to face Akio.

“You were closest,” I say. “Sure, it isn’t the artist or the song; but it’s our anthem, so we’ll count it. Who does the next run?”

“Sorry, Chelsea,” Akio says. “But you’re the last one left, who hasn’t done one yet.”

“No biggie,” she replies with a wave, and pops her bubble gum. I’d like to know where she gets the endless supply. Or maybe it’s not endless, and she’s like the record breaking gum chewer from Willy Wonka? If that’s the case, that’s just nasty. “It’ll be a slice a pie.” Giving Marissa a cursory look, Chelsea grimaces. “Okay, not as easy as a slice a pie, but I can do it.”

‘Slice a pie?’ What the fuck is this ditz talking about? A ‘piece of cake,’ maybe? I don’t get the chance to ask for clarification, because John speaks up.

“Good, because we got us another one coming up,” John says and points at the car on the side of the road up ahead.

It’s less than a mile away, so we reach it within a few seconds. Chelsea pops out of her seat belt, grabbing the gas tank on her way out. Carlos hops out with her to provide backup, while she does the deed. Chelsea bounces ahead of him with her red hair flouncing behind her.

The red hair makes me cringe every time I see it, call me prejudiced if you must, but the color now makes me queasy for obvious reasons. I know that it’s wrong to hold a grudge against the entire race of gingers, but I can’t help it. Maybe I’ll meet another one day that will change my opinion, but until that time, I’m keeping my guard up around the whole lot of them. Hell, that goes for blondes too. I’m still fighting back bile, when I hear Chelsea’s voice call back on instructions of how to get the gas to come out. John has a mischievous smile on his face, as he rolls down the window.

“You know how, babe,” he calls out. “Just suck it nice and hard, like you do for me.”

Chelsea’s face turns as red as her hair, which makes John laugh. Almost every male in the car laughs along with him, which admittedly includes me, but there are a couple of disapproving looks belonging to Whitney and Cory. Why he looks so pissed is a mystery to me, until I see Olivia’s pretended indifference with the situation, making me lose the mirth in half a millisecond. Her face is once again buried in Morris’s fur, who hasn’t left her lap even once since she’s reclaimed her seat; but John, the asshole, made her uncomfortable. I punch his shoulder and give an exaggerated head tilt toward the back. He does a dope slap to his head and mouths his apology, but goes for a different angle with Olivia.

“Hey, Liv? You know any decent fast food eateries around here? I’m fucking starvin.’” John inquires and looks in the rear view mirror. When Olivia’s teary eyes look up to meet his, he mutters ‘dammit, me and my mouth,’ while I climb through the seats and crouch down in front of her.

“He was just kidding,” I say, and want to hit him again when a tear trails down her soot covered cheek. Olivia cocks her head to the side. “John, it was just a bad joke.”

“She isn’t crying over the douchebag’s comment,” Cory replies. I look at Olivia, who nods slightly to confirm it, and points to the speakers. “It was one of her mom’s favorites.” It’s then that I hear Brandi Carlile’s “The Story.”

“Your mom had an interesting taste in music, too?” I ask. Olivia cracks a small smile at that, and nods. “So, you got her hair, her smile and her taste in music; while your dad gave you his eyes and a love of baseball.” Her smile spreads a little more. “I’d say that you hit the parental lottery.” Olivia pats her chest in a way that says she thinks so too.

“So, I’m not in trouble?” John inquires, sounding a little uncertain.

Olivia laughs, it’s silent, but you can see it in her eyes and the slight heaving of her shoulders. Leaning forward, she pats John’s head like a good dog. Pointing at the radio, Olivia passes him a new CD and holds up ten fingers, then five, to indicate which song to put on. John flips to the correct number and a guitar riff, accompanied by drums, blasts from the speakers. When John recognizes it as Poison’s “Talk Dirty To Me,” he starts laughing. Olivia dances in her seat, mouthing words, and air guitaring solos.

Seeing Olivia’s happy, carefree side come out of hiding, Cory loses his pissed off expression, in favor of a smile. He obviously thought John’s comment, that was made in jest, might have had a part in making her upset in addition to the sad memory; so seeing her prove that John’s dirty joke had no effect on her, cleared that right up. Especially with a song choice that is centered around dirty talk, and clandestine meetings for hooking up, it’s obvious that talk of anything sexual doesn’t affect her.

See, my girl’s a tough cookie. It’s only when someone makes a move to act on those aforementioned things, that she ticks; which is perfectly understandable, and I would kick anyone’s ass who even attempted to do them to her without her explicit permission. Including my own libido for even thinking of trying to push her for things that she is nowhere near being ready for. One small brush of lips doesn’t mean to run it in for a touchdown, you stupid prick. I mentally flip off my engorging cock for becoming so affected by her innocent smile and dance. Her having fun, doesn’t mean that he gets to have some too.

“We’re good,” Carlos announces as he arrives at the slider. “Actually, we would have been better if John informed her to stop sucking before she drank a quarter of the gasoline.”

I look behind Olivia, to see Chelsea with her shirt front drenched in fluid, and reeking of fumes. Olivia immediately covers her neck and face with the hood of her sweatshirt. That can’t be safe for her to breathe in, and I should have thought of that when Marissa came back in much the same state. I pull off my own sweatshirt, think better of it when I see scorched areas; and instead instruct John and Carlos to do so, before passing theirs back to the girls.

“Marissa and Chelsea,” I say to get their attention. They pause their two person cry circle, mourning over the loss of precious clothing, to look up front. “Swap your shirts for these.”

“But these are all we have,” Chelsea cries as she clings to her gasoline stained shirt. It was no more than an outdated blouse from times before, and she’s currently clinging to it like a safety blanket. “It’s Oscar’s!”

“That ugly shit ain’t mine,” Oscar replies with a disgusted look at the smelly blouse in question.

“Oscar de la Renta!” Chelsea screams. She starts bawling into the stained fabric like it’s a tissue; it’s no more significant than tissue, so I would guess it works about the same as a Kleenex.

“We’ll find you something new,” I promise in hopes of stopping the hysterics. “For now, just use these so that we can get rid of those. They smell, don’t they, John?” I elbow John, who’s tapping out a beat on the steering wheel to Saliva’s “Click Click Boom.”

“What, oh yeah,” John replies once he catches on where I’m going with this. “Absolutely horrendous. Making my eyes water and everything.”

Chelsea, as expected, tears off her ruined shirt in a flash to preserve vanity; and salvage any chance of warming John’s bed tonight. Olivia’s eyes widen, as the nearly naked woman hurls the smelly scrap of silk by her head, and at me. Chelsea’s only wearing a scrap of worn lace on her small breasts, and Marissa does pretty much the same, leaving her in only a skimpy bra that barely covers her implants. Marissa hands her shirt up, while complaining that ‘not only did she lose her Louies, but now her best Gucci top.’

Women and their freaking designers. Actually, let me rephrase that, since only two of the five women in this car still care about such things. So, it’s the hens and their freaking designers. Sarah wears whatever’s available, Whitney keeps to generic jeans and t-shirts, and Olivia dresses with protection firmly in mind. Speaking of which, I wonder if she’s realized that her leathers and helmet incinerated in the blaze?

Best not to draw attention to it, since she’s battling injuries and her underlying fear; that she tries to hide, but isn’t always successful. Like when Oscar goes to pass Marissa’s shirt around her, she flinches and leans closer to the car’s wall. Olivia tries to make it look like she’s adjusting to be in a more comfortable position, but the tension doesn’t ease from her shoulders until Oscar notices, and quickly backs up to return to his seat. I may be able to touch her now, but I’m positive that if I were to startle her, I’d end up flat on my back with a weapon of some sort held to my throat.

I roll my window down to toss the shirts out, and hear a howl erupt from the back, when we leave them flapping in the breeze. Oh well, they’ll get new stuff and forget about the old eventually. If not, then this world isn’t for them, and they might as well cling to their Prada handbags with their last breaths, as the wheezers chomp them to death.

“Olivia, where’s the nearest town for supplies?” I ask and hold out the map. Unbuckling the seat belt, she crouches between the chairs and points to a spot only five miles away. A bonus is that it’s en route to where we’re headed. “Can the girls get something to wear? I think that they may start crying, if they don’t get something soon.” Olivia raises her eyebrow at that, since the girls are already crying. “Okay, they’ll go into further hysterics, if we don’t get them something designer A.S.A.P.” Olivia nods and points to a different location on the map. This one will add another twenty minutes to the trip.

“Why there?” John asks as he glances at the map. Olivia pulls her sweatshirt to the side and points at the label.

“Designer stores?” I ask and she nods. “Out here? We’re in the freaking boonies.”

“It’s an outlet mall,” Cory supplies. “Ever heard of the Kittery Outlets?”

“Gotcha,” I say with a nod. “Variety for them to choose from. We’ll have to split off in teams.”

“Wait a damn minute,” John interrupts. “Who the fuck said that you’re going in at all?”

“It’ll be faster if I go in,” I counter. “Besides, who will rush the girls along, if I’m not there to do it? They’ll spend the freaking day lollygagging through every single store.”

“We have people for that,” he replies. “Carlos, Oscar, Tommy, Danny and myself could all go in, and split in two teams. Some go for supplies, and others take the girls shopping. We can handle it.” John gives a pointed look at Olivia, Cory and I. “And we don’t need you three hobbling your weak asses around, slowing us down.”

The three weak hobbling asses, all glare at John in response. He ignores it, and continues driving. There is no way in hell that I’m going to sit in the car, and twiddle my thumbs. A glance at Cory and Olivia, says that they too will not be staying in the car.

Looks like we’ve formed ourselves a third team.

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

Chapter Forty-Three:

It’s about thirty minutes later, when John pulls into one of the parking lots to the outlets. The stores are spread about, so we decide to pick one district, and stick to it. John settles the groups, having Carlos, Danny and himself with the girls; while Oscar and Tommy split off to gather goods from the Kittery Trading Post. They chose the Trading Post since it’s located less than a quarter mile from the outlets, and they think it’ll have more of the things that we need, as opposed to the outlet stores.

As soon as the groups disappear in their designated directions, I turn to find Olivia and Cory already suiting up. Both have their own sets of throwing knives, Cory a silenced gun, and Olivia has her machete. Olivia fishes around in her backpack, before coming out with her whistle, and slides it on as she looks to Cory. He nods to say he’s ready, before he opens the slider door, while Olivia hands Morris off to Leonard. The cat doesn’t even hiss at the old man, as she settles him on Leonard’s lap.

“I hope you don’t plan on leaving me behind,” I sulk, like the third wheel. Olivia shakes her head and passes me the crossbow. I smile as I take it, until she points to the remaining people in the van. Which besides Leonard, includes Akio and Mike. “You expect me to sit here, while you two go gallivanting around injured?”

Olivia nods and gives me a pleading look. Dammit, how the hell can I say no to that? I huff out a sigh and nod. “Fine, but you two come back within thirty minutes, or I’m coming after you.”

“Listen, Superman,” Cory begins. “We can handle a small run by ourselves, you just keep these defenseless citizens safe.”

“Defenseless, my wrinkled ass,” Leonard says affronted from the back. Mike concurs, but Akio looks indifferent.

I look at my mighty midget, who should be resting after having surgery just a few hours ago, and her partner in crime; who is still battling smoke inhalation. What if something happened to one of them? I know that if one went down, the other would undoubtedly go down with them, not a comforting thought. Olivia waves a hand in front of my face. I meet her eyes and she puts a hand on her chest to say that she’ll be fine, then points at Cory.

“Cory’s still coughing,” I say. “How can he outrun a pack, if he can’t breathe properly? You too, for that matter.” Olivia pulls out her tucked in chain for the whistle, and waves it at me. “I know, it harms the wheezers, but you’re wheezing yourselves.”

“Jared, we’ll be fine,” Cory stresses. “We’re going to a few stores, so we’ll be back in less than an hour.”

“I said thirty minutes,” I hiss and Cory rolls his eyes.

“Fine, thirty minutes,” he revises. “Come on, Livs, I bet he’s already started counting.” I did, but I still scowl at the bastard for being an assumptive prick. Olivia goes to turn away, but I grab her hand and pull her in for a hug.

“Stay safe,” I whisper, and she nods before I let her go. Olivia pulls back and motions to say, ‘You too, Mouth.’ “I will, now go, before I come with you.”

Spinning away from me, Olivia looks around the stranded parking lot, it’s full of abandoned cars and trash; but nothing alive, so she jogs ahead of Cory and they disappear around the corner. I force myself to breathe through the panic, and turn back to the van. Sitting in the front, I make sure the crossbow is locked and loaded, before I pop my feet on the dash.

The radio’s off now that John took the keys. The controlling bastard most likely thought that I would start riding around in search of supplies, and the silence is irritating me. It’s only been about two minutes, before I can’t take it anymore, so I pull my feet down and open the passenger door. Walking to the back, I pull out the hose and gas tank, before going to the slider.

“I’m just going to collect some more gas,” I say and point at the nearby cars. “No one moves from this car, and I mean no one.” I give a pointed look at a fidgeting Leonard, who’s since placed Morris on Olivia’s empty chair; where the cat is now napping carelessly.

“What the hell are we supposed to do?” Leonard demands. “Sit here, and take a nap like the lazy cat?”

“Actually...” I trail off when Leonard scowls. “Fine, hop up front, and whistle to me if you see anything coming.”

Leonard grins as he climbs his way to the front, perfectly fine with getting his way, or so he thinks. Having him sit here and feel useful, will hinder him from getting out and wandering around. Therefore, I can actually do something useful like collect gas, and not have to worry about a man; who is well past his prime, pushing himself beyond his limits just to spite me. As soon as Leonard is situated up front, I head off toward the cars.

Approaching the first vehicle, a small older Ford model, I flip the gas tank open and unscrew the cap. Inserting the hose, I give the other end a good suck and remove my mouth quickly. Putting my end of the hose inside the portable gas carrier, I wait for it to fill. The jug only holds five gallons, but this car fills it halfway. Removing the other end from the car, I glance around to make sure that there’s no movement, before walking over to the next one.

Using the same process, I siphon the gas from a Toyota to fill the jug the rest of the way. The tank had more than the container had room for, so I hold my end up when it starts getting close to the top, in order to end the flow. Jogging back to the van, I ignore my stinging hands, and dump the contents into our van’s tank.

The van can hold almost thirty gallons, so It takes about half a dozen cars to fill it to capacity. I make sure that the jug is full as a future reserve, and put it in the back, tying it down with a cargo strap to prevent spillage. A glance at my watch tells me that it only took ten minutes to complete the task. Dammit, it felt like an hour. Shaking out some of the tension in my shoulders, I decide to kill the last twenty minutes searching the now gasless cars for any supplies that we might be able to use. And if Olivia doesn’t show up within the next ten, I’ll drag myself off in the direction they headed, and search them out.

Game plan set in stone, I run over to a minivan. You’d be surprised what soccer moms keep stowed in their vehicles in case of emergency; of the temper tantrum variety, not apocalyptic, mind you. I’ve found a smorgasbord of goods, ranging from band-aids to snacks galore, in various spots like glove compartments and trunks. I even found that one mom was packing heat, with a .356 magnum in a case in her trunk. So, Super Mommy was packing heat for protection, or she was planning to off her cheating son of a bitch of a husband for sleeping with his assistant. Either way, I gave it to John, since I already had my dad’s 9mm. Knowing that they usually keep the good stuff in the back, I head there and pull open the door to the trunk, before jumping back at least six feet.

“Mother fucker!” I shout.

Stepping back, I pull out my hunting knife to ward off the wheezer kid baring it’s bloody jack o’ lantern teeth at me. It’s then I see the open slider, that he must have climbed in through, in order to rip into the rotten corpse on the floor; since he was chowing on it as if it were a Ho-Ho. The kid was probably only five or six when he became infected, so he’s under four feet tall, with a sprinkling of blonde hair still attached to his head. His torn Transformer t-shirt, and filthy jean shorts hang loosely off his smelly frame, as he hops out of the trunk and lands on all fours.

I know that he’s no longer human; that he’s more beast than man, but he was a kid not so long ago, and it makes what I have to do a hell of a lot harder. Fighting the urge to puke, I squeeze the handle of my hunting knife, and feel blisters pop on my hands. The sting that the action brings, distracts me from thinking about how completely wrong it is that I have to exterminate a little boy. Taking a deep breath, I dodge the tiny, gnarled hand taking a swipe at me, and spin so I’m facing the back of the kid’s nearly bald head. Seeing the bite mark on his neck, is what cements it for me. Crouching slightly so that I can reach him, I line up my knife with a kill point.

“Sorry, little dude,” I whisper and mercifully give him a quick end, with a knife speared through his spine, and twist it on the way out.

The body drops the rest of the pitiful two feet to the floor, barely making a noise when fifty pounds of dead weight hits the tarred ground of the parking lot. Rubbing a hand over my face to try to unsuccessfully erase that image from my mind, I jump about a foot off the ground, when a small hand touches my back from behind.

Thinking it’s another wheezer kid, I spin around and swing out with my knife. If Olivia didn’t have cat-like flexes, I most likely would have just unknowingly murdered the woman I love, instead of only cutting off two inches of braided hair.

Dropping my knife so fast it’s like I’ve been burned, I lean down to grab Olivia by the shoulders, and pull her up. My eyes scan her head, neck and face, before gripping the end of her unraveling braid; which is now missing it’s holder because I chopped it off. Since I find no new injuries, I go to meet her eyes; but don’t get that far, because I notice the absolute pain etched into her features. Olivia’s eyes are squeezed tight, lips are pursed, and one hand’s balled around the handle of her machete; while the other is gripping the side of her tracheostomy tube. She can’t even whimper, or curse me out for causing her pain.

“Fuck! I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you. Are you alright?” Olivia gives me a curt nod that I know is complete bull shit. “No, you’re not. Damn it, I knew you weren’t healed enough to deal with this shit, but it looks like you only have to avoid me, and you’ll be fine.” Olivia’s pain filled eyes meet mine, as she pats her chest. “No, it’s not your fault, I almost killed you.” She shakes her head and holds a hand to her ear. “I didn’t hear you, because you can’t speak; once again, not your fault.” She goes to try and deny it, so I cup her cheek and hold her gaze. “It was an accident. I should have been paying attention, especially after I just saw this one, but he was just so friggin tiny...”

Olivia holds two gloved fingers over my mouth. It looks like she got what she needed, because she not only has a new set of leather gloves, but the matching black jacket and pants. I’ll ask about those later, since I have to keep my eyes focused on reading her hand signals. She points to the miniature wheezer, and holds up one finger, before pointing at me. I nod to answer that it is the first wheezer kid I’ve encountered. I’ve seen a few half-eaten corpses of kids, which made me vomit, but never any that were walking around infected.

Olivia points at herself, then the corpse, and waves her hand to say that she’s seen lots of them. Her eyes are pained and filled with understanding as she motions that ‘it makes her sick to see them.’ No, I can’t read sign language; nor does it look like Olivia is using the formal one, but it’s easy to understand her when she points to an example, holds her stomach, and rolls her finger around to say ‘every time.’

“I almost couldn’t do it,” I admit.

Olivia nods, before taking my hand and pulling me toward her for a hug. Removing her hand from my back, I feel as she rubs a soothing hand down the back of my head, and to my neck. It’s times like these that make it clear to me how much of a great mom she would have been, had her childhood dream come true. Which then reminds me how she would have been one already, it weren’t for a sick fucker named Cole.

The name alone makes my hackles raise, and my protective instincts heighten with awareness. When I see him, that fucker will rue the day he even looked at my tiny Tomb Raider. And I will be seeing him. Olivia may think that she only has Cory as an ally after she escorts the group to safety, but she’s wrong. I’ll hand cuff myself to her ankle if I must, but I will be joining their two person duo seeking vengeance for all they’ve lost.

I may have never met Travis, but I know Cory, and from what I’ve heard about the guy; I respect him enough to assist in avenging his murder. Not to mention that the same twisted fuck that killed him, is personally responsible for traumatizing my badass, and ruining her dreams. Then, once the demented psycho is buried six feet under, I’ll convince Olivia that she can rebuild new dreams and start life anew; hopefully with me as a permanent fixture.

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

I would have gladly spent the day wrapped in the comfort that is Olivia’s arms, but Cory pointedly cleared his throat three times, before I finally relinquished my hold on her. Turning slightly to glare at the asshole for interrupting my Livia time, I see him roll his eyes, and point at our van.

“Unless you want Captain Casanova to know that you’ve flown the coop, I’d suggest you get your burned assed back in the van, pronto,” Cory says. When I don’t hop to his orders, he continues. “Seriously, Jared, you look like Freddy Krueger.”

Olivia glares at him, and shakes her head to deny it. Now, I may not be vain, but if I look anything like that wrinkly leper; I’m finding a pair of Wolverine claws and a striped sweater to complete my new look, before hunting down that murderous bitch and welcoming her to my personal nightmare. Olivia grips my hand, and tows me over to the van. Steering me to the slider, she opens it, and points for me to get inside. I shake my head, I want to see the horror movie that is my face, and I’m sitting up front. Olivia crosses her arms, and gives me a stern look. Turning away from her, I take a few steps toward the side view mirror.

Crouching down, I take a look at my new mug. The left side of my face is the same as before, with just a little bit of smoke staining the stubbled skin, so I move on to where I can feel where the damage has been done. There are bandages blocking my view, so I slowly peel them back, to reveal the flesh. The first thing I see, is the blistering. The second, is that the area in between the blisters is a dark red. The last thing I notice, is that I’m damn lucky to have not lost my eye.

The fire burned away a four inch patch of hair on the right side of my head, my ear is covered in angry blisters, my right eyebrow in singed off along with my eyelashes and stubble; and the redness covers from my upper cheekbone, to my jaw, and around the back of my neck. Minor first degree burns, my ass. These are second degree, borderline third degree burns in any man’s book.

Feeling Olivia’s tiny hand pull mine, I quickly paste the bandages back on so she doesn’t have to look at it, before turning to face her. Olivia scowls at me and pulls her collar back to reveal her throat, but she’s not done there. Pulling her jacket off, she shoves it through the open door, slides up her sleeves, and rips her gloves off to show me her scarred wrists. Just for good measure, and to make sure her point was made, she shakily grips the bottom of her undermost shirt, and goes to lift it. Staying her hand, I fix her clothing back to rights.

“I get it, alright?” I ask. “You’ve had it a hell of lot worse than I did, so I shouldn’t complain.”

Shaking her head, she whacks the good side of my head with a dope slap. Olivia waves a hand at my face, and shakes her finger at me. Holding my gaze, she presses her hand firmly over my heart, and ticks her fingers off her thumb one at a time as if counting. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.

“It’s not the outside that counts, but what’s inside that matters,” I repeat and she gives me a firm nod. “Well, it looks like you’re a double threat. Beautiful from the inside out.” Olivia denies it with a headshake. Pressing a hand to her chest, she holds her nose with the free hand. “You are not rotten.” Raising an eyebrow, along with her machete, Olivia points to the blood dripping off the end. “When the fuck did you see a wheezer?”

“It wasn’t a wheezer,” Cory mutters and clenches his fist. “Now, get the fuck in the van.” Giving me a shove, he orders Leonard to vacate to the back so that I can reclaim my seat, but I’m not doing anything until I get answers.

“What was it, if it not a wheezer?” I demand. Olivia rubs her arm, and ignores me, as she climbs into the van to cuddle Morris. I look at Cory for the answer. He closes the slider door, and tips his head for me to follow him to the back. Following his lead, I walk behind him, until we’re about ten feet away from the van.

“Well?” Rubbing a hand over his face, Cory mumbles his response. “I’m sorry, I don’t comprehend mumbling, could you repeat that?” Cory glares at me, but hisses his answer louder.

“Some hillbilly assholes grabbed her,” he repeats. “I shot two of the mother fuckers, but Olivia hacked the one that touched her into pieces. Happy?”

“No, I’m not fucking happy,” I snap. “Where were you, and why the fuck were they touching her at all?”

“Olivia wanted to change into her new gear, and she didn’t want me to see, so she went into the bathroom,” he replies. “She was less than ten feet away, but when I heard glass breaking, I didn’t give a fuck about modesty, I cared about safety. So, I rushed in to find a half dressed Olivia kneeing one of them in the balls, another was dead on the floor, the one who had claw marks across his face was holding his bleeding throat, and the last one that was holding her arms back; was sporting a broken nose. I can only assume her injuries must have prevented her from finishing them herself, because as soon as I shot two of them; Livs chopped off the arms of the last one, and started hacking away until she finally fell over.”

“What is it about her that attracts men like flies to a bug zapper?” I ask. Cory gives me a pointed look.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“That’s different, and you know it,” I say through clenched teeth. Sighing out a breath, he nods.

“Unfortunately, I do know it,” Cory says. “You look at her sometimes, just like Travis did. Sure, you get that deer caught in headlights look anytime she graces you with a smile, but it’s more than that.” He meets my eyes with his hard ones. “But there’s also lust, and that shit don’t fly with me. She’s damaged enough, and doesn’t a guy panting after her for a chew and screw.”

“I don’t just want to try her out for the night,” I snarl. “I care about her. Sure, she’s beautiful, but beauty’s only skin deep. Except when it’s Olivia. Anyone could see that she has inner beauty that radiates through her armor, if you just take the time to look. And I plan on looking for a long damn time, so you better get used to seeing my ugly mug; because it’s here, and it ain’t going nowhere.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Freddy,” he replies. “I would have thanked you for the assist, by the way, but I think you got more than your fair share of payment when you stole a kiss from Livi. So, take the fact that you aren’t walking around with double shiners, as my personal thanks to you.”

“I think we’ll get along just fine, G.I. Joe,” I say with an unrepentant grin and pat his growling back on the way by. “Just you wait and see, I’ll prove myself to both you, and her.”

“Dream on, lover boy,” Cory says and pushes me out of his way. “Liv’s way too good for you.”

“She is,” I agree with a shrug, making Cory look at me a little stunned. “I was a lazy bum before the end, and a self-important jackass after; but now I’m trying to atone and better myself, so that I can eventually be worthy of her. Step one, was saving your ass. Step two, will be ridding the Earth of Cole, and step three will be begging for her to give me a chance.”

“And if she refuses?” Cory inquires.

“I grovel at her feet, until she finally gives in,” I answer simply, and don’t care in the slightest when I hear Cory laugh.

“You’re not too bad, Mouth,” he says and punches my shoulder. “Travis might have even liked you. Though if you looked at Livi like you do now, and he was around, let’s just say that you would have swallowed a few teeth.”

“So, he was one of those control freak, jealous boyfriends?” I ask, and can’t keep the bitterness completely out of my voice.

If there’s one thing that pisses me off more than anything, it’s a man that treats a woman as nothing more than a piece of property. Maybe it’s because I was a momma’s boy, or because I have a sister; but for whatever reason, it gets on my nerves. And don’t call me a hypocrite because I used to sleep around like I was test driving every new model, before committing to the final purchase. I never claimed to own any of those women, and they knew what they were in for before they dropped their skirts.

“No,” Cory snarls. “He wasn’t a controlling bastard, or I would have broken his fucking fingers. Travis had no problem with men looking at Olivia. It was when they were disrespectful, or overstepped their bounds, that the fists started flying. And only then, if Livi wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire.” That makes me feel a hell of a lot better. “Travis lost two of his asshole friends because they made comments about her. Something along the lines of her being ‘nothing more than a skirt to lift, and ditch as soon as they were spent.’ Above all else, Travis was her best friend first, and anything more came after that.”

“Good, because Olivia deserves someone who would cherish her like a queen, not treat her like a prized pet.”

“How would you treat her?” Cory asks. His tone is conversational, but I know that if he doesn’t like my answer, he’ll feed me to the nearest wheezer.

“Seeing as how I can’t lavish her in worldly goods,” I begin. “I can instead shower her in friendly conversation, provide her with permanent shelter, give her my protection, and if she allows it; I might even build her a walk in closet to stow away her wicked machete and leather gear in, when she’s tired at the end of the day.” Cory laughs through more than half of it, but I think he gets the gist of it.

“Just admit it already, Jared,” he says. “You’ll be Olivia’s lap dog, who will warm her feet whenever she wants you to.”

“If she treats me like Morris, I’m alright with that,” I say with a careless shrug. “He gets kisses, and close cuddles, plus he shares her bed.” Cory steps toward me, so I pick up my pace and reach the car door, before I hear his reply.

“You’re a real smartass, Mouth.”

I bow to him in thanks, and grin when he flips me off. Hopping into the passenger seat, I turn and face Olivia. Knowing that she would smack me if I asked if she’s okay after her ordeal, I motion back and forth between us and mouth that she and I will be talking later. Olivia crosses her arms around Morris, but nods her consent.

Seeing the shadow that descends over her features, I reach back and offer her my hand. I feel her gloved fingers wrap around mine, but I don’t want her hiding anymore, so I roll her glove down and rub my thumb over the scarring. If I could, I’d probably kiss them, but this is enough.

For now, at least.

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

Chapter Forty-Four:

It was almost an hour after they left, that Oscar and Tommy came back with bags full of supplies. They both carried three duffels each, all full of hunting, fishing and camping gear from the trading post next door, so they had a good hit. The other group still hasn’t shown up, and the carload is getting restless.

“They should have been back by now,” Mike says and you can read the stress on his face. After all, his wife is one of the members of the missing group.

“They’ll be back soon,” I say with complete confidence.

I know from experience that you can get held up due to unexpected circumstances, such as wheezers you have to avoid or fight, and sometimes blockades you have to work your way around. That’s not including the fact that women are the slowest goddamn shoppers known to man. Actually, I can’t say all women since Olivia got in, got what she needed and killed a group of grabby assholes all in under half an hour. But we’re talking about the designer duo, who were let loose in the first mall in over a year without a credit limit to restrict them. That’s just begging for trouble, so I’m not worrying over it too much just yet.

“If they aren’t back in twenty minutes, I’ll go looking for them,” Oscar offers.

That seems to appease Mike, so he sits back and continues staring out the window. Leonard is sitting back with his eyes closed, taking a nap like he complained about earlier. Akio’s reading some medical pamphlet from the first aid kit Tommy brought back, while Tommy’s pointing out specific things on the paper as he motions at Olivia. Akio nods and ‘um-hms’ his way through it. Oscar is trading out his club for a scoped crossbow that he straps to his shoulder, and Cory’s going through the duffels to see what kind of goods they acquired. I look to Olivia and find her still cuddling Morris, but now she’s holding a feathered toy on a string.

“Where’d you get that?” I ask and point to Morris’s prize.

Olivia gets a light bulb in her eyes and holds up her finger. She starts digging through her backpack and pulls out a few plastic bags that read, ‘Pets Supplies Plus.’ Reaching inside one of them, she comes out with a handful of dog whistles. Separating five of them, she passes them around to the back, slides one around Cory’s neck and gives it a tug to make sure it stays; before walking over to do the same to me. I look down at the offer and smile.

“That was a great idea. What else did you find?”

Olivia points to the bags full of cat supplies. Food, a new mesh pet carrier, toys, and treats are amongst the items, so the bastard got the royal treatment in spades. She immediately sets Morris up in his new pet carrier with a treat and a few new toys. Once she’s thinks he’s content, Olivia zips him inside and sets the mesh bag carefully underneath her seat, wrapping the strap around the metal frame so he won’t be thrashed during the drive.

Then she motions at her new leather gear, I nod to say that I’ve seen it. The jacket’s a different style from her previous one, with a mid-level, fold-over collar that allows her tube to get air when its slightly unzipped, and instead of there being a zipper down the middle; this one’s off to the side and much looser on the bottom half than her last one. The jacket has multiple pockets, a few pieces of studded metal on the collar and shoulders, and a belt across the bottom. Her legs are encased in leather leggings rather than the pants she had, so they’re much more fitted than the previous pair. You can definitely tell that there’s a woman underneath the armor this time around. She looks fucking hot, but I’m guessing that they didn’t carry sizes in Wilson’s Leather with enlarged chest areas and shorter legs, so she made do with what she could.

How I know they were from Wilsons Leather, is because she unhooks another bag from her backpack with their logo on it, which she holds out to me. I take the bag from Olivia and see her biting her lip as if she’s nervous. Not really caring what’s inside, since I’ll love whatever she went through the trouble of getting me in the first place, I’m actually pleasantly surprised when I open the bag and find a men’s sized supple black leather jacket.

It’s wide in the shoulders, so I know that it’ll fit, and has a zipper that goes all the way up to the shorter collar. The collar doesn’t fold over, but it’s high enough to provide a little bit of extra protection without strangling me. There are two pockets on the chest and two zippers on the sleeves so that they could be rolled up. The jacket would have cost her seven hundred dollars easy if we still had to pay for such things, and it shows that she has taste, but keeps safety in mind. Looking up at Olivia I smile and she returns it with one that shows relief that I liked her present.

“I love it, thank you.”

Olivia continues to smile as she waves off the thanks and motions for me to try it on. Sliding my charred sweatshirt off, I pull the jacket all the way out of the bag. Slipping it around my shoulders, I feel that I’m not stuffed in, so mobility won’t be a problem, and I can zip it fully without being squeezed. Therefore, it’s fitted to perfection and I couldn’t have picked a better size even if I’d been there to try it on myself. Standing as much as I can in the front seat, I turn so I can grab her up in a bear hug. Olivia returns it quickly before pulling back and adjusting the collar. Turning it up slightly, she tugs on the whistle’s chain before tucking it away inside.

“So, you like the jacket?” Cory asks in a bored tone.

I look over and see him now leaning back in the chair and wearing a new jacket of his own, that’s unzipped to accommodate for the heat. Since he wasn’t burned as bad as I am, or frightened as bad as Olivia is, he’s truly wearing the coat for protection from wheezer bites, while I’m using it for warmth and Olivia’s using hers as a shield.

“I don’t like it, I love it,” I counter and stick my chin up like a smug toddler.

Cory flips me off half-heartedly. I can tell that it’s only half-heartedly, because he would rather me make a big show of it to please Olivia, than to brush it off as if it were nothing. Truth is, it isn’t a show at all. I truly love the jacket and plan on wearing it as much as possible. Now I just need a motorcycle helmet, and we’ll be a matching set. Actually, we have to get her a replacement helmet first, before finding me my own.

“Where’s mine?” Oscar asks and sticks his bottom lip out in a pout. Olivia laughs silently and points at my ruined scrap of an outer coating. “Oh, I see now, I have to run into a burning building to get a prize?” Olivia points at the whistle she gave him and he smiles. “Okay, I’ll forgive you this one time, mi pequeño nigromante.”

“Good, because I think that we owe Wilsons at least three grand already,” I reply and Olivia nods. My eyes bug out. “Really?”

Olivia points at Cory’s coat and gloves, he even got a new wallet that’s attached with a chain to his jeans, then she points to her new ensemble from leggings, jacket and gloves, to my new coat. I’ve never been so thankful for the Apocalypse in my life. Outfitting Olivia would have cost me a fortune, but then I wouldn’t have met her in the first place, so fuck that. I’d gladly dish out three grand if it made her happy.

“Livs left her aunt’s debit card on the counter, just in case someone comes looking to repo the goods,” Cory says with a smirk. “See, she’s an honest woman.”

I look at Olivia’s innocent expression, her soft grey eyes are wide as saucers as she batts her long black lashes, as if she didn’t commit theft and identity fraud within the last few hours. And it makes me laugh. My girl is a ballsy klepto, and I love it. She steals houses, cars, clothes, and other things that are required for survival. It’s not like she’s looting stores for useless crap like heels, hairspray and other bull shit.

“Hey, Oscar,” Mike calls out. Everyone turns to look at him, before he continues. “You don’t have to find them, but can you help Danny, John and Carlos? They look like they’re about to topple over with their burdens.”

Seven pairs of eyes turn in unison to crane their necks for a better look at the approaching group. Leading the way are Sarah and Whitney running with Danny following closely behind, and he’s loaded down with dozens of bags. Following the trio are John with Chelsea hiked over his shoulder, and Carlos with Marissa over his. Both girls are screaming and kicking to get down. Olivia books it out of the van before I can stop her, so I trail after her with Cory, Oscar and Tommy in tow. Olivia pulls her whistle out and disengages her machete from the strap as she runs.

That’s when I see the pack of wheezers running full speed behind the returning group. I pick up my pace as I pull free my crossbow, and a throwing knife from my thigh. Letting the unarmed members run past, I start by hurling a knife at the faster wheezer that’s sprinting like a cheetah in the front. It goes down sideways and skids to a stop several yards away. Using the crossbow, I feel a few blisters burst as I grip the handle and squeeze. I know it should hurt like hell, but I’m not feeling it through the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

I’m reloading my bow and wondering why the fuck they aren’t stopping when Olivia’s blowing her whistle, but then I remember, she can’t blow any air out of her mouth. Stuffing my hand inside my coat, I rip out the chain attached my whistle, put it in my mouth and blow as hard as I could. Even I can hear it this time, so it doesn’t surprise me when the pack of twenty odd wheezers that are sprinting toward us, come to a screeching halt, and fall over in an attempt to block out the sound.

The six in front get knocked over like dominoes by the ones rear ending them from the back. I keep blowing the whistle as I run forward and switch my crossbow out for my hunting knife. Sinking the eight inch blade into skulls and eyes, I see Oscar and Tommy on my right doing the same with their weapons. Olivia and Cory are breathing heavily, but finishing off the fallen wheezers with their specialty weapons. I keep the whistle going until the pile is no longer screeching or moving, then I spit out the tiny piece of metal that saved our asses, and take a few deep breaths of my own.

Olivia’s leaning most of her weight on her machete and holding her chest, while Cory’s panting out raspy breaths. My breathing’s no better, but I manage to drag my ass over to them and wrap an arm around each, before hobbling back to the van. Helping Cory in first, I give him a shove that has him landing with an ‘oof’ on his side before I turn to Olivia. She’s still holding her chest and it’s making me uneasy, so I grip her chin and make her look at me.

“What’s wrong? Can you breathe?” Olivia nods but rubs her chest with pained tension around her eyes. “Akio, get the fuck out here and take a look at her.”

“Get her in the van, Jared,” Akio orders. “I’ll look at her, but we have to leave right now.”

Without bothering to look at what has the Doc panicking, I scoop Olivia up and climb into the nearest seat. Oscar and Tommy dive in the back of the van, Oscar landing on top of Cory, as Tommy slams the door. I hear a couple of hands slap the glass before John books it. John’s shouting about something in the front, but I can’t hear it over the adrenaline and blood rushing through my head.

Akio unbuckles his seat and pushes Cory, Oscar and Tommy out of the way to have some space on the floor. Instructing me to lay Olivia down, he orders for the new kit to be passed up to him. Pulling on his stethoscope, he looks at Olivia.

“What are you feeling?” Akio inquires. “Is it pressure, pain, shortness of breath?” Olivia digs her gloved fingernails into my hand to signal pain, and holds her fingers out to show a little.

“Pain and shortness of breath,” I answer and Akio nods like he expected it already. “What the fuck’s wrong with her?”

Akio ignores me as he unzips her coat, and pulls six layers of shirts up so they’re out of his way. I see some of the scarring on her stomach that I glimpsed at back in the lake, but I look away from it for now as I watch Akio. Placing the chest piece on Olivia’s sternum, the Doc listens for a few seconds and nods again.

“It sounds like pneumothorax,” he replies. “Just like a feared. And I don’t know how bad it is.”

“Okay, ‘pneumo’ has to do with the chest,” I puzzle out and he nods. “So, what the fuck does that have to do with Olivia? She has throat problems.”

“It’s a complication that sometimes occurs with tracheostomies,” Akio says.

“But what is it?” Cory demands. He’s still breathing heavily, but that’s to be expected for a few days, as the Doc claimed earlier.

“Pneumothorax is a collapsing of the lung,” Akio says as if he’s talking about the freaking weather, and not a life threatening situation. Cory bites his knuckles until they start bleeding, and I’m gripping Olivia’s hand so hard that she must be losing circulation.

“Y-you can fix it right?” I ask hopefully.

“Perhaps,” he replies. “It depends on how severe it is. Minor cases can go away on their own, some need a needle inserted to release the air that’s trapped in the chest cavity, and others need a chest tube.”

With the severity increasing, my hope begins to dissipate. If Olivia needs a chest tube, we’re fucked. We couldn’t even do a small procedure that cut through a few inches of skin without fucking it up, what the hell would happen if we had to cut her open? She would die, that’s what. Not only do we not have the equipment to handle such an operation, but we also don’t have a sterile environment to do it in. So even if we were able to MacGyver a way to complete the surgery, there’s still a high risk of an infection that could take her life. Not to mention she could bleed out, and have to go through another procedure without anesthesia.

“How can you tell which one she needs?” Cory asks. His hand is dripping blood from the bite he made on his knuckles, but he either doesn’t notice or care, as he waits with baited breath for the answer.

“I can’t without an x-ray,” Akio responds. “All we can do is wait. If she’s still having chest pain and can’t breathe deeper breaths, I’ll have to try and release the air. From there...” Akio doesn’t need to finish, we already know the severity of the situation without having him spell out the worst case scenario for us.

“So, we’re supposed to just sit here and hope that it’ll magically disappear?” Cory demands in an icy tone. Akio nods and Cory balls his fists. “Would stress have anything to do with this?”

“It could,” the Doc says and gives Olivia a reproachful look. “She did run around a lot today when she should have been resting.”

“Believe me, she won’t be moving from the nearest bed for at least a week,” Cory says and his tone brooks no arguments.

Olivia has her eyes closed, but she nods her consent to the forced bed rest. Seeing her easy acquiescence shows how much pain she’s really in. I should have never let her leave the van in the first place. What the fuck were we thinking? She had her throat slit open just this morning, and she’s breathing through a tube, but we allow her to go gallivanting through a mall? Then we let her fight off wheezers like she’s in full working order?

Suffice to say, we absolutely suck when it comes to doctoring patients.

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

Chapter Forty-Five:

“Is she alright, Jared?” John asks from the driver’s seat.

“I don’t know,” I say and rub a hand on my forehead to try and release the tension. Olivia’s hand squeezes mine to try and reassure me, but there’s no comfort to be gained from it when the consequences for my neglect vary greatly.

“See what you two did?” John shouts from the front. “Because you had to grab seventeen pairs of stilettos, go to Victoria’s Secret, and then hit up Sephia’s for makeup, you almost killed Olivia. Are you happy?”

“It’s Sephora,” Chelsea corrects with a snap of gum. “How were we supposed to know that she was going to come running?”

“Because she would want to save your stupid asses,” John hisses. “And if that weren’t bad enough, you screamed the whole freaking way back because you didn’t get the right shade of lipstick.”

“Are you serious?” Cory snaps and glares at the shivering girls in the trunk.

He looks like he wants to jump back there and strangle the pair of them. And here I was saying that Marissa wasn’t so bad just a few days ago. Please, that selfish bitch is no better than Kelly. Same goes for the red haired airhead who does nothing more than snap bubble gum.

“Yes I’m serious,” John spits out. “We would have been back an hour ago, but they kept running off to grab more stuff. It only ended when Carlos and I threw them over our shoulders and carried them out. That’s when the screaming started and attracted every goddamn wheezer in the district.” He pauses to glare at the rear view mirror. “I hope you’re glad that you lost half your shit to your own stupidity.”

“What?” Chelsea wails.

“That’s right, we had to drop half the bags to carry you both out,” Carlos confirms from the passenger seat beside John, and the wailing picks up. “All of that precious make up and stripper shit was left behind during our sprint to the car.”

“Why!” Chelsea screams and starts crying in earnest. If I thought Kelly had a set of ear drum piercing pipes on her, Chelsea’s wailing cry blows it away.

“Shut the fuck up!” Oscar shouts.

“B-but my s-stuff!” Chelsea screams. “G-go b-back J-Jonathan.”

“Hell no!” John yells his refusal. “You two were told to grab shit quickly and get the fuck out. And, what did you do? You snuck out the back and had us searching for your stupid asses for an hour. Then, what do you do when we finally find you? You start screaming that you aren’t going anywhere until you get every single thing that you ‘absolutely, positively couldn’t live without!’” John’s mocking high pitch grates further on my nerves. I’m seriously contemplating tossing them and their shit out of the van, so that they could hoof their way to a new group and safe house.”

“How the hell did you possibly live this long without an eyelash curler?” Carlos asks. “I mean, that is a lifesaving tool that could have stopped the end of the fucking world, if it just so happened to have fallen into the right hands.”

“I n-need it,” Chelsea snivels.

“For what?” John demands. “Is it going to kill a wheezer? Is it going to help Olivia breathe? Stop world hunger? What the fuck could you possibly do with it?”

“Curl my lashes!” Chelsea screams.

“You don’t have any freaking lashes, you redheaded stepchild!” Carlos retorts.

“I do too!” Chelsea counters. “And they’re quite long. Aren’t they, Marissa?”

“No!” Marissa screeches.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Chelsea demands. “You were the one that said that you envied their length and fullness half an hour ago.”

“No!” Marissa screeches again. Hold the fucking phone, Marissa doesn’t screech. I turn in time to see her eyes roll back and her body convulse.

“What the fuck!” Oscar shouts and goes for his knife. Marissa stops convulsing after a few seconds, with drool running down the side of her mouth and her whole body lies motionless on the seat. Chelsea pokes her.

“Marissa?” Chelsea asks quietly. “Are you alright?” She pokes the girl beside her again. “Answer the question, are my eyelashes long and full, or not? John doesn’t believe me, and Carlos thinks that I’m a stepchild, whatever that is. I mean, I wasn’t adopted.” Chelsea pauses. “At least I don’t think so. Does anybody know how I could tell?” When no one answers the ditz, Chelsea pushes Marissa again. “Ma-ris-sa! Wake up! No one will answer me, and I’m talking to you!”

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Danny orders. I’ve never heard him swear like that before. When he pushes my sister toward the front, and pulls out his gun, I kind of like the kid.

“Marissa, you alright honey?” Whitney’s voice asks uncertainly.

In answer red eyes flash open and she shrieks when she lunges for Chelsea’s neck. Sinking her teeth into the flesh, Marissa pulls back with a mouthful of bloody skin, while Chelsea screams in horror.

“You’re hurting me!” Chelsea shrieks.

Chelsea begins smacking her hands at the head savaging her neck. Marissa pays no mind to the feeble defense, as she chomps the flesh down and growls when she swallows. Retreating back slightly, Marissa pulls back an arm and punches a fist into Chelsea’s stomach. When her hand comes back out, it’s drenched in blood and holding some kind of organ in a tight fist. Raising it to her mouth, she bites into like a candied apple.

Danny stands up and shoots his gun, but it misses, when Marissa abandons her snack and dives over the seat. Following her flash of brightly colored clothing, I watch her land on Mike. My ears are ringing from the close quartered gun shot, as I pull out my hunting knife, and begin to climbing over the three rows of seating that are dividing me from Marissa. I see Mike as he punches her in the chest, and tries holding her teeth away from him.

Oscar is pushing people out of the way to get at the infected chick attacking the group in the back, while Mike manages to push her off and tries to hold her down. But the infected gain in strength due to the animal blood coursing through their veins, so Marissa’s able to break the hold. Using her legs, she maneuvers them under Mike and kicks him across the van. The car swerves from the impact of Mike’s 190 pound frame smashing into the window on the opposite side at full force.

“Fuck!” John shouts.

Leaping to her feet, Marissa hisses and bares her bloody teeth. There’s green slime now oozing out of her nostrils, her nose looks like it was powdered with Chelsea’s blood, and she’s leaning on her red knuckles, as she picks her next victim. I’m within range so I make a jump for her, just missing her body; but nicking her leg with the sharp blade of my knife, when she bounds forward.

Marissa pays no mind to the wound, she jumps over the tops of two rows of seating, dodging swings from Oscar’s club and Tommy’s bat. I watch in horror as she crashes into Leonard, and it’s a blur of cut scenes on mute. Marissa’s bloody hands gripping both sides of Leonard’s face, her head springing forward, mouth opening wide, and teeth ripping his throat out before he even knew what hit him. Sound returns and the slow-mo ends, when the blood sprays at an angle from the wound and I feel it sprinkling on my face like rain drops. The ceiling takes the brunt of the blood bath, but there’s some splattered on the window behind Leonard’s flailing head.

“N-no!” I hear Tommy exclaim and see him dive at her.

Since Marissa’s distracted during her feast on his grandfather, Tommy’s able to catch her in a tackle. The force dislodges her from Leonard’s throat, but she doesn’t go without a consolation prize; a mouthful of dripping flesh clenched between her teeth. Tommy pins her with his knees, much the way Olivia taught us to, before he reaches into the back of his jeans. Coming up with his gun, he puts it to her forehead and doesn’t even flinch when he pulls the trigger and is spattered with brain matter and blood. Using his sleeve, he brushes the blood away from the side of his face and neck. The chunk of Leonard that Marissa was chewing on as if it were cud, drops from her lifeless teeth with a wet plopping sound when it lands on the carpet.

Out of my peripheral vision, I see Oscar dive for Chelsea just as her body starts convulsing. There’s blood streaming from her nose and eyes, covering her already bloody white blouse with another dose of red dye. She’s stopped shaking, when Oscar finally makes it to her body. He doesn’t wait for her to come back and start attacking, he immediately sinks his knife into her eye socket and the body goes still. Removing his knife, Oscar wipes the blade across her pant leg to clean it, before sliding the knife back into his holster. Sitting beside Chelsea’s body, he pulls his blood soaked shirt off and tosses it over her face. Using his clean undershirt, he wipes his forehead clean of sweat and gore.

“John, pull this fucking car over!” Carlos demands.

Carlos’s pushing everyone away from the carnage, so I climb back to the front to scoop Olivia off the floor before she gets stomped on. She’s staring wide eyed at the back, and frozen stiff as I pick her up. I place her gently in the passenger seat to get her as far away as possible, before she starts having a panic attack which doesn’t bode well with her current condition. It’s after about thirty seconds of deceleration that John finally manages to pull the van over to a screeching halt on the side of the road. I immediately pull the slider open and hop out.

“Everyone out.”

Before the words are completely out of my mouth, I see a crush of people all shoving to get the fuck out as soon as possible. Sarah and Danny are first, and they run a dozen feet away before stopping to check each other out for injuries, with Morris meowing in his carrier at their feet. Carlos carries an unconscious Mike out, with Whitney trailing after them. Akio jumps out next to follow the trio, and to see to Mike’s injuries. That leaves Oscar inside the back with Tommy, Leonard and the bodies. I open the front door and carry a still stiff Olivia over to Carlos.

“Watch her,” I say and point at Olivia. I’m guessing that it was the gunshot that made her freeze like she did out front of our condo, but I can’t stop and ask her right now, no matter how much I may want to.

Carlos nods, before stepping closer to Olivia and pulling out his gun. I look at her to see if she’s alright, but she waves me toward the van to say, ‘just go already.’ Jogging back to the slider, I see Tommy unhooking Leonard to pull him from the van. Stepping forward, I stick my arms out for him to pass Lenny to me, but Tommy shakes his head and hops out with his grandfather cradled in his arms. I know it’s not good when I see a trail of blood following after them, and decide to I stick with him.

Tommy only goes about a dozen feet, before collapsing on the ground and heaving out sobs on Leonard’s chest. Even before I see the black jacket wrap around Tommy’s shaking form, I knew was Olivia there. She couldn’t sit by and let Tommy go through the pain alone, it’s not in her nature. But what’s in my nature, is to protect; meaning that I have to remove the two of them from the corpse before it comes back supercharged with Gene K.

“Olivia,” I begin softly. She must not hear me, so I clear my throat and try again louder. “Livia.” This time her tear filled eyes meet mine. “I need to...” I shake my knife and jerk my chin at the body. I can see she understands even though it pains her to, when she gives me a curt nod and pulls back from Tommy. She mouths something to him, and Tommy shakes his head rapidly.

“Tommy, I don’t want to do this, but I can’t have him come back and attack the group,” I say in as polite a tone as possible. “Leonard wouldn’t want that.”

“I-I..” he chokes on a sob before swallowing. “I a-alread-dy di-did it.”

I glance at the body and see the gash across Lenny’s throat from Marissa, and then a gunshot to his forehead that Tommy’s referring to. I nod and pat his back as he clings to Olivia. It sucks, but if my loved one had to be put down, I’d want to be the one to do it too. Hopefully, I’m never in that situation, but in this world, anything’s a possibility regardless of how much you don’t want to think that it is. Leaving them to share their grief, I walk over to check on Mike. Akio’s ripped his shirt off and is listening to his heart, but what my main concern is that he didn’t get bit or scratched when he was fighting off Marissa.

“What’s his status?” I ask. Akio doesn’t pause in his assessment as he answers.

“No bites or scratches,” he answers and I huff out a relieved breath. Three down in one day is too many already. “But there’s definitely a contusion to the back of his head. Most likely from the impact, so I’d expect a concussion when he wakes up.”

After hearing Mike’s satisfactory condition, I pat Whitney’s shoulder on the way by, and head back to the van. As I approach the car, I can see that John and Oscar are attempting to remove the bodies and are currently maneuvering Chelsea’s corpse from the slider. I jog over and give them a hand.

“Stupid,” John hisses. “I’m so fucking stupid.”

John drops his end of the body as soon as he’s clear of the van, and walks away a few steps to pull on his hair; I help Oscar drag the body further away. Jerking my chin at the van, we leave John to his venting, and Oscar helps me pull out Marissa. I avoid looking at what she’s become, as I set her down next to Chelsea and spin away. Oscar does the same, heading toward Carlos.

I head in the opposite direction to check on John, since he’s obviously taking this badly, and who wouldn’t? We just watched people we’ve been living with for months eat each other. Some of us knew them as friends, but John was intimate with two of them. He might not have loved them, but he cared for them to some extent. Nearing his spot, I hear that he’s still muttering about how stupid he is, so I stop a few feet away from him. He must hear me, because he turns and meets my eyes with a mixture of guilt and anger in his brown ones.

“I should have fucking left them there,” he snaps. Knowing that his anger is being used to cover what he’s really feeling, I stay silent to let him get it all out. “Should have let them spend the rest of their miserable lives surrounded by the only things they cared about, fucking useless bull shit. Instead, what do I do? I drag their materialistic asses out of the stores, and carry the infection straight into our van.”

“You didn’t know that she was infected,” I point out. John shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he says with a voice filled with hate aimed at himself. “I hand delivered them to the safety of the van. I put them in the position to attack more deserving members of our group. And I put Olivia, Cory, Oscar, Tommy and you in danger when I left you all behind to make sure that they didn’t get attacked.” He barks out a short laugh. “Too bad they were already fucking attacked.”

“John, you didn’t know,” I insist. “Marissa obviously knew that she was bit, and didn’t say anything. Chelsea must have seen it, and she didn’t mention a word. What the hell were you supposed to do? You thought that you were escorting defenseless people to safety.”

“It doesn’t matter,” John says as he shakes his head. “Leonard is dead, Mike’s as good as, and Olivia will probably be in a few days.” I lunge forward and grab his collar.

“Don’t you fucking say that. I know that you’re upset, but don’t you dare even joke about something like that. Do you hear me?”

“I’m sorry,” he huffs out and I see some of the anger disappear as his shoulders hunch. “I know you care about her, and I shouldn’t have said something as serious as that so offhandedly.” I nod and release him. “I’m just pissed at myself for putting their safety above everyone else’s.”

“You didn’t,” I press to try and make it get through his thick skull. “They were as much a part of the group as anyone else, and you did what you thought was best.”

“And look where it got me,” John says and waves his hand around.

“It was a mistake, we’ve all made some at one point or another, we’re only human. But what we can do is learn, and make sure that it won’t happen again.”

“You’re damn right it won’t,” he confirms with a face full of determination. “No one goes any-fucking-where near the group if they’ve been out of sight for more than thirty seconds without being subjected to a strip search. Never a-fucking-gain.”

“Good plan,” I say and he nods. “Did you see where she was bit?” John shakes his head in the negative before replying.

“I was too pissed to check.”

I turn and curl a hand over my shoulder for him to follow me. Walking over to Marissa body, I don’t see any visual bites or scratches at first glance, so I crouch down for a better look. Pulling her shirt sleeve up, I check both arms and see that there’s nothing marring the skin there. Pulling her collar back, I see that the left side is in the same condition as her arms, but on her right breast bone is the point of entry of the infection. You can see ten distinct impressions of teeth, six from the top and four from the bottom row that the wheezer left on her.

“It’s another Mikayla,” I say to John and point at the wound. “Remember, she pulled a similar stunt and covered the wound so we would take her in?” John nods to say he remembers that lying stray. “If we weren’t distracted with evading wheezers, we would have noticed that she buttoned her top up. She always loved displaying the girls.”

“That’s because they cost her a fortune,” John hisses. “I do have to say that I’ve got the absolute worst taste in women. First there’s Kelly. That crazy bitch never shut the fuck up, and then when she finally cracks, she tries to burn Olivia like it’s a Salem witch trial. Then there’s Chelsea. All that dumb broad did was snap her gum and parrot whatever Kelly or Marissa said. If they told her to eat shit and die, she’d ask what shit was and follow through.” I chuckle at that, even if it’s the wrong place and time to do so, because it’s true.

“Finally, there’s Marissa. That one I thought was the least offensive of the bunch, but it might have just have been for the fact that she was very clever with her tongue.” John pauses as if reminiscing that particular act, before shaking his head. “But she turned out to be no better than the other two. Money grubbing sluts who would rather cling to their shit, than run for their lives.”

“Don’t say anything else about Marissa,” I say and look over at Tommy’s distraught form still sprawled across Leonard’s body.

“Why?” John asks suspiciously as he follows my eyes. “Oh, because it’ll upset Tommy?”

“It’ll upset him more than you know,” I reply and John cocks his head. I lower my voice and continue. “He liked Marissa, and now, not only did she kill his grandfather, he had to kill her, too.”

“Where the hell was I when he ‘liked’ Marissa?” John’s demand is accompanied by crossed his arms.

“Probably moaning in bed with her,” I reply with a shrug and he scowls at me. “Seriously, he was crushing on her big time.”

“Why the fuck didn’t he say anything?” John asks. “Or you for that matter. You know that I wouldn’t stand in the way if someone wants the chick for real.”

“It wasn’t my place. I, myself, didn’t even know until Olivia told me.” John stares me down demanding the details. “I won’t share it all, just know that he was too shy to ask her out.”

“So, he was like you then,” John responds with a smug smile. “Too chicken shit to go for the girl, so you sit on the sidelines and mope.”

“Fuck you,” I say and flip him off. “Tommy’s different and I’m doing fine, thank you very much.”

“One stolen kiss doesn’t mean you’re doing fine,” he counters.

“When it comes to Olivia it does,” I retort. “Now shut your fucking mouth before Tommy hears you talking shit and shoots you next. Or Olivia for that matter.”

“Olivia wouldn’t shoot me,” John says. “She loves me too much.”

“Don’t count on it,” I say and he laughs.

But I know that Olivia won’t be shooting anyone, no matter how much she may want to, until she can conquer her fear of it in the first place. As soon as she’s able to, and she will recover and be able to learn or I’ll burn the world to the ground with my anger and grief, I’ll teach her how to focus on the target instead of the startling noise.

Then we can hunt the deranged fucker, and finally end her nightmare once and for all.

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

Chapter Forty-Six:

“You know what I don’t get?” John asks me. I shake my head, so he continues. “How the hell did it spread so fast? I mean, it used to take days before the infection took over. Marissa couldn’t have been bitten more than two hours ago, so how the hell did she turn so fast?”

“New mutation,” I answer and see John’s eyes widen with questions. I hold up my hand to stave off the barrage before it begins. “I only know about them because Olivia’s told me of their existence, and since then, I’ve seen a few.” I point at the bodies on the ground. “And now you have too.”

“The ones hopping through traffic?” John questions and I nod. “Fuck, we can’t win can we?”

“It was never about winning,” I counter as I stand. “It’s about defending, and surviving against the odds. That means taking greater precautions, upping our awareness, and taking better care of injuries. If we held off on succumbing to the girls’ hysterics, none of this would have happened. We would have had time to heal our fighters, and stowed away the clueless in a safe house, before gathering supplies on our own. As we’ve done since the beginning.”

“That was my bad call,” he says. “I thought that they could handle a simple shopping trip. We were only supposed to run in, grab what was absolutely necessary, and get the fuck out. Instead, we wind up forming a search and rescue team for two brainless women, who we should have just abandoned for running off in the first place.”

“I would have done the same,” I offer and John gives me a doubtful look. “I would too have.”

“For Sarah and Olivia, or even Whitney, yes you would have definitely gone searching for them,” John agrees. “But you most certainly would not have wrestled an eyelash curler out of Chelsea’s Kung-Fu grip, or smacked twenty shades of lip stick out of Marissa’s hands, before hiking them over your shoulder and carrying their screaming asses out of the store.” I raise my eyebrows and he nods to say that indeed did happen. “If you had been there, you would have shrugged, said ‘have a nice life,’ and left them to their own dumbass demise.”

“Or something along those lines,” I say with a nod and John grins.

“But if Olivia had been there,” he continues. “She would have held her machete to their throats, and marched them like prisoners off the plank, all the way back to the van; and they wouldn’t have made a peep.” A grin of my own takes over at the very realistic scenario in which Olivia would have done just that, but with some deadly cursing thrown in, and her pixie sized fire goddess taking control over the situation. John shakes his head.

“Too bad neither of those things happened, and this is where it’s gotten us.” John motions at the corpses near our feet, Mike’s dazed form now awake and sitting up, a crying Sarah hugging Danny, and finally a distraught Tommy hugging his grandfather’s corpse; while Olivia and Cory try to console him.

“It could have been worse,” I point out, being devil’s advocate. “We knew there were risks when we left the condo. Now, we’re not speculating the possibilities, we’re seeing them for what they are; the cold reality.” John’s shoulders hunch forward as he looks down and nods. “People die, be that now or in twenty years, it doesn’t matter. But we still have a group counting on us to lead them to safety. So, are we going to sit here and mope, or brush ourselves off and push forward to survive?”

“Let’s clean the fucking van and get the hell out of here,” John answers as he cracks his knuckles.

I nod in approval of his new sense of determination, I know that it isn’t likely to stay, but it will work for the time being. Calling Carlos and Oscar over, I instruct them to keep watch on the group, while John and I work on removing blood and guts from the car. Walking around back, I grab two pairs of medical gloves; which John and I put on immediately, and one of the eight bags full of useless clothing that the girls picked. Pulling out some skimpy scrap of fabric, I pass John a handful; who eyes it with disgust, but accepts it before climbing into the back. Taking my own ball of silk, I climb inside and get to work.

Most of the concentration of blood is in the last row of seating where Marissa and Chelsea were sitting. Some blood is drying on the seats and will stain the upholstery, but we don’t have enough seats to avoid it, since we were squeezed in with 15 to a twelve seater as it was already. After scrubbing the windows clear of the blood spray where Chelsea had her neck bitten, I hop over a row to where Mike was sitting. There’s nothing much to be clean up here, just a few dry red handprints, so I move onto the next row where Leonard was attacked.

Leonard’s spot shows the gory tale the worst. There’s blood smeared across the window, some of it’s dripping from the ceiling, a bullet hole punctured the glass, and a puddle of blood is leaking from the seat and onto the carpeting. Wiping away as much as I can, I move to where Tommy took Marissa down. This whole row is covered in the sticky redness, so it should be cordoned off. The whole van really needs to be abandoned, but we don’t have the means to leave it behind just yet, nor am I confident that we’ll find another that could fit twelve passengers comfortably and be in running order.

But I ignore all that, and pick up the piece of Leonard’s flesh that Marissa was chewing on like a T-bone steak. With a grimace, I stuff the hunk of Lenny in my trash bag. Fighting the urge to vomit, before I make even more of a mess for me to clean up; I continue to use the expensively tagged scraps of material to wipe away the sticky mess and erase the final remnants of our fallen shopaholic.

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

After John and I finish cleanup as best to our ability without proper supplies, we use plastic store bags to cover up as much of the affected seats as possible. I know that nobody’s going to want to get back in the van, never mind sit where people died just a short time ago, but we need to get moving. Hopping out of the van, I walk over to where the majority of the remaining group is gathered.

“We’re ready to get back on the road,” I say without preamble. “I know it’s not ideal, but it’s the best we have for now.” I look around at the five people in front of me. “Anyone who has open cuts or wounds, I want to avoid the plastic areas as much as possible. Just sit on your chair and fold your hands on your lap.” Akio, Mike and Whitney grimace, while Sarah and Danny’s eyes round a little at that; since they’ll most likely be the ones in those spots.

“I know that the infection is spread through bites or possibly scratches, but we don’t know what will happen if infected blood gets in some other way. I’m guessing we get another case of The Exorcist.”

“Thank you for that cheery outlook, Jared,” John says and smack my back. I wince as the assault jostles my burned neck, but he doesn’t notice. “Now, everyone climb back in, buckle up and we’ll arrive at our destination momentarily. We apologize now for any inconvenience the delay might have caused you.”

I punch John’s shoulder for making light of three deaths, but that’s just his way, and it gets people moving. Akio and Whitney help to escort Mike back inside and settle him in the second row; which was relatively clean of any carnage. Sarah and Danny pull down their sleeves to cover their hands, and pinch their noses, before trudging all the way to the back with Morris strapped to Sarah’s shoulder. Carlos takes up the last seat in the back, which would have been Chelsea’s, without so much of a lip curl on his stoic face. Oscar plops down in the next row where Leonard sat so that Tommy won’t have to, and John joins me in walking over to the remaining trio. John loses his happy go lucky façade before approaching where Tommy’s grieving over Leonard’s body. He clears his throat, and folds his arms behind his back.

“I’m sorry,” he says and dips his head. Tommy who was sobbing on Leonard’s chest, springs off of the ground and throws a haymaker at John’s chin that has him landing on his ass three feet away. Tommy doesn’t move to go after him, he just points down at John with a face full of rage and pain.

“You fucking should be,” Tommy hisses without a single stutter. Olivia approaches from behind and rubs his arm. “It’s your fault that Gramps is gone, so I hope you’re happy. I know that I am, with all of your sluts gone, you’re finally alone, you heartless prick.”

Spinning his back on John, Tommy’s shoulders fall as he buries his face in Olivia’s shoulder. He has a good ten inches on her, so his back hunches over slightly to reach her tiny frame. Olivia embraces him and rubs his back as he sobs. John doesn’t make a move to retaliate, nor does he even look pissed. He just looks defeated as he ignores Cory’s hand offering to pull him up. Cory, undeterred by John’s response, pats his back and whispers something to him that I don’t catch. No matter, it wasn’t for me, it was for John; who nods at whatever it was, before heading to the van.

“Tommy wants to do something with the body,” Cory says from beside me.

I look over and my eyes must show the question asking as to what the fuck are we supposed to do with it? It’s not like we can roll him in a carpet and toss him in the trunk, or strap him to the roof like Aunt Edna in National Lampoon’s Vacation, nor do we have the time to bury him. So what the hell are we supposed to do with Lenny? Cory answers my silent question with a single word, one that he used himself, so he knows what the effect will be.

“Cremation.”

I nod my head at Cory, and run to the back of the van. Digging through the bags, I finally reach the buckle and unstrap the container of gas, before returning to Leonard’s body. Tommy’s now holding Olivia’s hand and looking as strong as he could manage to be, when I hold up the container to Cory. Knowing that this is the point where we would usually say something, I clear my throat.

“I only had to pleasure of nine short months in his acquaintance, but I know for a fact that Leonard was a tough bastard,” I begin and see Olivia smile a little through her tears. “He may have been pushing a thousand, but that old man could still hurl a hundred pound rain barrel around like no one’s business. I’ll even admit that he beat me in arm wrestling a time or two.” Even Tommy cracks a glimmer of teeth at that. “But what Leonard was really known for, was his heart. That man would push himself above and beyond if it meant helping anyone that needed a hand. Be that washing laundry with Whitney, lending an ear so that he knock some sense into the bullheaded, namely me.” I raise me hand and see Cory, the asshole, nod his agreement on that.

“Or fighting every one of the Doc’s orders, because we all know that Akio was always on a power trip when it came to Lenny’s health.” Olivia laughs silently as she wipes tears away. “Stealing Oscar’s rifle to take over watch, because didn’t you know it, but the rifle just happened to ‘fall’ directly into his lap.” Tommy actually smiles there. “Or when he was rocking out in the car and kitchen with his future wife while preparing a kickass meal; that man was there every time with bells on.” Seeing Cory’s nod saying that it’s enough, I wrap it up.

“So thank you Leonard Shue, veteran, Casanova, chef, father and friend. We’ll never forget you.”

I unscrew the lid to the gas tank, and look to see if Tommy wants to add anything. Remembering his silent nature, I watch as he nods his head and says something internally in respect to his fallen grandfather, so I look away to give him some semblance of privacy. Cory gives Leonard’s body a true military salute, then stands at ease. I watch as Olivia crouches down to take off Leonard’s wedding ring, and places a CD on his chest before kissing his withered cheek. Standing up, she walks over to Tommy and slips the necklace off that she gave him with the dog whistle.

Unclasping it, Olivia slides Leonard’s band on the chain and I hear it clink as the metals collide. Giving the ring a kiss, she stands on tiptoe and replaces the necklace around Tommy’s neck. He looks down at the chain and clasps it in his hand, as he gives me a nod. Taking my cue, I pour some gasoline over the body and Cory passes Tommy a lighter. Taking a step forward, Tommy flicks the lighter and drops it on the corpse, before stepping back to Olivia; who holds his hand as the flames engulf Leonard’s body.

We don’t stay for the duration, once Tommy’s satisfied that Lenny isn’t going to serve as another meal for wheezers, he follows Olivia into the van. Cory takes up the far right seat, leaving Olivia in the middle and Tommy beside her on the opposite end. Shutting the slider door, I walk around back and re-strap the remainder of the gas into the trunk before climbing into the passenger seat.

Once I’m buckled in, I glance over at John and see a bruise already forming on the left side of his jaw, but he remains silent and he starts the van. Before John pulls away, I turn to give a military salute to our fallen veteran as a final goodbye.

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

Chapter Forty-Seven:

The car ride is absolutely silent. Not a single voice is heard, the radio is off and not even a sneeze takes place during the fifty minutes it takes to reach Olivia’s safe house. Pulling down the gravel driveway, John turns off the ignition and stares at the two story colonial home. The slider opens and the twins pop out from the back.

I hop out of the passenger and stretch out my sleeping limbs, as I take in our new home, well temporary home. It’s huge with a wraparound porch, two car garage and about fifteen shuttered windows just on the front. On both sides are trees so you can’t see the nearest neighbors on either side.

Olivia walks around me with her backpack strapped on the shoulder opposite to her machete. Following after her, I hear several other footsteps meaning that the rest of the group is trailing behind us. Jogging up the steps, Olivia slides her backpack to the side and digs inside for her chain of keys. She flips through the mass of them, until she finds the one she needs, and opens the door. It’s dark inside since it’s almost dusk, but Olivia walks straight in, so she must feel confident that it’s safe. I shrug at the curious eyes peering into the darkness, and follow her example.

A few steps out of the foyer, I see that Olivia’s already lit a few candles and scattered them around the parlor. All of the windows have planks nailed to the frames, but other than that, it’s cozy. Not cozy as in cramped, but welcoming almost. Big comfy sectionals line across two walls, one aimed toward the fireplace and another at a huge flat screen that I would have drooled over prior to the infestation. There’s hardwood flooring with area rugs spread around to soften noise, and paintings adorning the walls; mostly of the beach or cottages since we’re still in Maine.

“There are six bedrooms,” Cory announces. I look over and see him interpreting Olivia’s hand signals. “Four of them have their own bathroom, but only the one on the main floor works. Lights work down here, but try to keep it to a minimum because the solar generator only lasts so long.”

“Is it just the toilets that don’t work upstairs? Or the showers too?” Sarah asks and wrinkles her nose as she whiffs Danny. Olivia shakes her head and gives a ‘sorry’ gesture.

“It’s fine,” I say and shoot Sarah a look. “We lived for over a year without showers, just be glad you get to have one at all. A little wait won’t kill you.” Sarah sticks her tongue out at me in a very immature fashion, and she’s only sixteen, so it’s expected and ignored.

“What about food?” Whitney asks. She looks a little worried about that aspect, which I guess is pretty important seeing as we have none, and no one has eaten today. Olivia holds up her finger, before jogging out of the room.

“She shouldn’t be running,” Akio mutters. Hearing the warning, I run after her and find Olivia in the kitchen; digging through a pantry and pulling out ingredients.

“You are not cooking,” I say and cross my arms. She turns with a can still in her hand and frowns at me. “You’re supposed to be resting.” I give the can a pointed look. “Not cooking, we can fend for ourselves. Go lay down.”

Olivia bites her lip, I know she’s trying to think her way around it, so I stop her before she can try to talk her way into something that may sound logical, but isn’t. One, she has a freaking tube sticking out of her throat. Two, she has pneumo-whatever that could be life threatening. And three, I will not risk her life for a goddamn bowl of soup.

“No buts,” I order and point to the exit. “There are plenty of us to cook, go find a bed, and get your ass in it.”

Olivia huffs and presses the can into my chest on the way out. Satisfied that she listened, I glare at the can as I think of what the fuck to do with it. Obviously, I’ll need a can opener, so I’ll start there. Rummaging through what has to be a hundred drawers, I finally find my goal in the last one. Success in that one small task already has me sweating from the exertion.

Wiping my forehead on my leather sleeve, I walk over to the counter Olivia placed ingredients on. There’s flour, canned broth and veggies, spices and some kind of tiny pasta. Not having a freaking clue as to where to begin, I grab a pot and start the gas burner. The pilot ignites after two clicks, so I put the pot over it to let it get hot. Then I remember from my mom’s cooking shows that I don’t want to burn it, so I walk over to the sink and hope that it functions like the bathroom, or else I’ll have to carry the full pot a longer distance with my burned hands. Holding my breath, I flip the handle and release it with a sigh of relief, when water streams out. Sliding the pan underneath, I fill it about a quarter of the way and carry it back to the burner. There, now I shouldn’t burn the house down.

Feeling confident that I can handle this, I pick up the hand operated can opener and ignore the pain as I pry apart eight cans from their lids. There’s a variety of vegetables ranging from potatoes to peas, and chicken stock. No meat, but we’ve survived on less. Adding the cans into the now boiling water, I pull open a drawer and use the first thing that comes in contact with my hand to stir the contents. It looks like some kind of mallet, oh well, it works just as good as a spoon would. And I’m not about to have a repeat performance of that searching fiasco.

I look at the bag of flour and spices on the counter like they hold the key to life. I don’t want to add too much and end up with paste, nor do I want to add too little and wind up with bland gruel for supper. We need something with a little bit of gumption to it in order to tide us off until we can get some more supplies. Deciding to play it by ear, I add a tiny pinch of everything and taste as I go.

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

By the time I’m done, I’ve ixnayed the flour because I don’t know how to make a rue without butter, but I did add a good helping of garlic and onion powder to the mix, along with some salt n’ pepper; and it finally got a decent flavor to it. As a side benefit, we won’t get the horrid breath that used to come along with the fresh stuff.

Wiping my hands off on my jeans, I scavenge through the cabinets until I find where the hell these people hid their bowls and utensils. Finding enough to go around, I call the troops in. A stampede of elephants, I mean starving survivors, comes dashing into the kitchen with drool hanging from their mouths. Okay, the drool isn’t really there, but it might as well be with their ravenous expressions. I swing my arm out before they decide to become cannibalistic.

“Help yourselves,” I say.

As soon as I step out of the way, there’s a rush to the stove. The crowd of shoving Neanderthals all start fighting over control of the serving spoon. Counting heads, I only see seven. Leaving them to it, I head toward the living room. Upon entering, I see John; who is usually the first in line for food, staring at the wood burning in the fireplace.

“Food’s done,” I tell him and he nods. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”

“Not hungry,” he says and doesn’t break eye contact with the ashes. Walking in so that I can lean against the door frame, I cross my arms.

“I know you’re upset, but you have to eat. Come on, they’re probably licking the pot clean as we speak.”

“Let ‘em,” he replies with a wave. “They deserve it more than I do.”

“Alright, enough of the self-pity bull shit,” I snap. John finally looks over. “That’s right, you’re in here moping, while you should be happy that you’re still alive, and so are the others.” John goes to interrupt, but I glare at him and he shuts his mouth. “You didn’t tell the girls to run off. You didn’t bite Marissa. You didn’t know that she was bitten. And you sure as hell didn’t rip out Lenny’s throat. So, that’s e-fucking-nough of this. Tommy was pissed, but when he calms down, he’ll see reason and eventually know that it wasn’t your fault.”

“You don’t understand, Jared,” John pleads and his eyes fill, taking me aback.

John never pleads or cries. Not even when his parents died, did he shed a single tear in front of me. He isn’t heartless, he just chose to smother his grief in a pillow at night, than to have witnesses around to watch him in his vulnerable state; or offer generic condolences. And I know this because I heard him stifle his cries each night for a week after Mr. and Mrs. Moure died.

I know that I should have gone and talked to him like a good friend, but I was too preoccupied with grieving over my own parents’ deaths; and consoling Sarah, to drag myself next door to check on him. What we should have done was consoled each other as a trio, rather than separating in our time of need. And I’ll always regret it, but I can’t change the fact that John went through that rough patch alone.

But what I can change, is that John will not be going through this alone too. I’ll drag his ass out of the room and tie him to a chair in the living room so that we can all console him if we must, but he won’t be locking himself away and burying himself in a false sense of guilt.

“I was responsible for those girls,” John continues. “I told you that I could handle it, and I couldn’t even keep track of them for an hour, when you’ve been doing it for months. Then there’s Lenny. If you were in charge, the girls wouldn’t have been anywhere near the group until they were checked out.”

“That’s not true,” I counter. “I brought back Will, George and Mikayla. All of them were bitten, and I still brought them in. Don’t even get me started on Kelly or Victoria.”

“Those were different. You thought you were giving them shelter. I was protecting them from themselves, without sparing a thought about the good of the whole.”

“It’s part of the job,” I say with a helpless shrug. “You win some, you lose some. I brought in bad apples, and made mistakes along the way, but you live and learn.”

“You’re better at it than I am,” he says. I shake my head. “You are. You’ve led upwards of sixteen people by yourself, kept Sarah safe, and the condo running. What the hell do I do? Tell jokes? Fuck every available woman in the group? Eat you out of house and home? What purpose do I serve?”

“Shut the fuck up!” I demand and see his eyes widen in shock. I don’t think I’ve ever been so furious with him in all my life. “You are more than a playboy comedian, you asshole. You gather, you hunt and you help me run the group. I snap out orders, and you ease them into it. You’re my partner in crime, the Watson to my Holmes. Stimpy to my Ren. Pumba to my Timon. Chewy to my Han, and I need my fucking best friend in order to be sane. Because without you, I most likely would have tossed out anyone who pissed me off out a window if you weren’t there to calm me down.”

“Alright, enough of that shit,” John replies with his trademark smirk, but I can see that the tension is not entirely gone. “Next you’ll be wanting to hug it out and sing kumbaya.”

“Fuck you, douchebag,” I say and flip him off. “‘Whatever will I do with myself? I shall have to cry, and eventually grow a vagina.’”

“Fuck you, you sullen bastard,” John retorts. “Go grovel at Olivia’s feet, I can’t stand looking at your ugly mug another second.”

“I thought I was purty,” I reply and batt my one eye that still has lashes left. John laughs at that. “Seriously though, where the hell are Tommy, Cory and Olivia anyway?”

“I heard them go upstairs about an hour ago,” he answers. “I don’t know where they went from there.”

“Go eat,” I order.

When he doesn’t move, I give John my stern father look that I use occasionally with Sarah. It obviously works with him too, since he drags his ass off the couch and crawls at a snail pace toward the door. Giving him a shove to speed the fuck up, I wait to be sure he actually goes to the kitchen. I make note to check up on him, before heading to the stairs.

The landing splits off in two directions, so I flip a mental coin and try the right side first. Seeing three doors open, I go the last one and smile at the can on top. Obviously, I’ve found Olivia. Knocking lightly, which is just out of courtesy since I know she heard my footsteps, I reach up and remove the can as I open the door.

“Look at you, resting up here like a good girl in the Princess and the Pea bed,” I say with a smile.

Olivia scowls and flips me off, but there’s no other response that I could have made with her in a bed like that. It’s about five feet off the ground, so I don’t know how the hell she climbed up there to begin with, the frame is thick and carved out of cherry wood, and the mattress is topped with a down comforter that makes it look like she’s resting on a cloud. Not to mention that it’s king sized, so her leather clad self only fills out a puny portion of it.

“Comfy?”

I don’t wait for Olivia to motion out her answer, I just spin and hop to land on the other side of the bed. When I sink into the luxurious quilt, I damn near moan. This has to be heaven on Earth. Snuggling down deeper into the goose down comforter, I want to go to sleep and pretend this day never happened. I’m just about to give it a try, when I feel a tiny hand brush through my remaining hair. I keep my eyes shut because I know that if I draw attention to it, she’ll pull away; so I remain motionless and enjoy the sensation for however long it lasts. Which is only about five minutes, since I hear her stomach growl. Opening my eyes, I meet hers.

“What a prick I am,” I begin and she gives me a confused look. “I didn’t bring you anything to eat.” Olivia shakes her head and points at her tube. “You can’t eat?” Olivia nods. “What the fuck? You’re small enough as it is, and now we have to starve you?”

She just shrugs in response, and leans away. Crossing her arms behind her head, Olivia lays down and stares up at the ceiling. I push myself up to look down at my malnourished pixie. She doesn’t look like she cares about eating, most likely because she’s upset over the loss of her new friend, but her body still needs nourishment. After all, the most she’s had in days was broth.

“Akio said that you can’t eat anything?” I ask and she shakes her head. “Then how do you know?” Olivia points at her throat and holds up two fingers. “You’ve had one of these before?” She nods in answer. “When?”

Olivia makes a sawing sign and motions to the scarring around her neck. My fists clench in the comforter, but I keep my anger maintained from surfacing elsewhere. I know that she’ll talk, well, motion out her words as long as it doesn’t upset me. That’s why Cory truly doesn’t get answers, he gets pissed or disgusted by what he hears, so Olivia stops talking to prevent it from upsetting him. Which are perfectly reasonable reactions, but Olivia is a kindhearted woman underneath it all, who would rather bury the pain; than thrust it upon others.

“So, when Victoria carved you up,” I say in an emotionless tone. “You had one of these put in?” Olivia nods slightly. “Did they give you anything to numb it?” Olivia doesn’t give any form of reply, so that tells me that the fuckers didn’t. I dig my fingernails into my palms to keep myself from cursing aloud. “And how long was it before you could eat again?”

She holds up two gloved hands, one with all five fingers and the other with two to indicate seven days. I take one of her hands in mine and remove the glove without asking permission. When I go to do the same to the other, I feel her freed fingers grip my hand.

“I want these off,” I explain and see the fear in her eyes. “You don’t have to be embarrassed or hide from me. Remember those nightmares we were going to fight? This is part of it.”

Looking away, Olivia nods for me to do my worst. Placing the glove beside me on the bed, I go to remove the other, but have to stop to take off her huge watch. I’ve only seen it once, weeks ago at the condo, but didn’t get a good look at it. It looks expensive, so when I see the Rolex insignia, I’m not surprised. I raise my eyebrows and point at the diamond encrusted watch; which was made for a man, but she isn’t looking at me or the watch. Olivia’s focus is on the wall behind me, so I just place the expensive piece of jewelry on the nightstand. It’s probably just a trophy she took from a raider, and if that’s indeed the case, I don’t want to upset her with this; because I want to look at her wrists.

With the Rolex out of the way, I return my attention to the glove. Quickly sliding it off, I place it with its pair on the bed. Holding both hands out flat, I shove her sleeves up so I can look at the scars on top of her wrists. I’ve seen these from a distance a few times, but this is the first time I’ve ever been up close and personal with them. The scars are pretty deep and about three inches thick, so I can’t tell what caused them exactly; but I do know that she worsened the damage by struggling to get them off.

“How long?” I ask as I turn them over. Olivia doesn’t remove her gaze from her hands in mine, as she sticks out eight fingers. “Days?” I can’t keep the hopeful tone out of my voice when I ask it. Olivia gives a quick shake of her head. “Weeks?” Another head shake. “Months?”

Finally a nod to confirm it. Eight freaking months of being chained in a basement. Olivia once said that she’s felt alone for fifteen months and been alone for almost eight. That means half of the time since Travis’s death was spent in captivity, being tormented and tortured by his murderers. I want to puke and rage all at the same time.

“So, eight months,” I say to confirm it, and receive another stiff nod. “Did they feed you at all?”

If Olivia could have laughed without humor, it would have been right there. Without that ability available in her arsenal, she kind of gives a half roll of her eyes along with a sarcastic headshake. For a more descriptive answer, she lifts her palm and draws a small circle with her finger.

“A little then,” I say for her. “Water?” She holds her thumb and forefinger out to say there was some. “Was there a bathroom at least?” Olivia motions out a ‘U’ shape. “Bucket?”

She nods. Okay, so she got less than they did in prison. The fucking criminals were treated with more courtesy than she was. The more I hear, the more determined I am to scour the country for these fuckers. I don’t want to ask the next question, but it has to be asked.

“What did you do all day?” Olivia finally meets my eyes with her haunted ones and I really don’t want to delve into that, but once again, I have to push on. “I can see that there’s a lot of stuff hidden in those pretty eyes, but I want you to try and talk about it.” When I see her face start to shut down, I try and salvage the moment before it’s lost. “We’re murdering nightmares here, now show me how strong you are, and answer me.” Olivia wraps her arms around her middle as if she’s trying to hold herself together, but she gives me a strong nod.

“Good, let’s start with these,” I say and point at her wrists. “What made these marks?” Olivia removes her arms from her waist and holds them together. “Zip ties?” She shakes her head and wraps her fingers around one wrists. “Cuffs?” She tilts her hand from side to side in a kind of motion and spreads her hand further apart. “Manacles then?”

Olivia nods and points at her feet. When I look at her confused, she pulls her right leg up and removes her boot. Sliding her legging up slightly, she reveals her ankle is in much the same state as her wrists. The scarring is about the same thickness when compared to the top, but looks deeper on the front and back of the ankle, than the sides.

“So, feet too,” I repeat unnecessarily and she nods. “Why the feet?” Olivia makes a kicking motion and I almost gag. Punished for defending herself, how sick in the head do you have be to do that to another person? “Were those manacles too, because they’re similar to your wrists?” She nods her head and wraps her arms around herself again. “How did she stand up if your feet were bound?”

Olivia lays back down. Lifting her shaking arms above her head in a V, she then spreads her legs apart so she’s spread eagle. She holds the position for no more than five seconds, before propelling herself forward and backing up to the headboard. As soon as her back makes contact with the wood, she pulls her knees to her chest and re-wraps her arms as she starts rocking.

Knowing that she’s well beyond her limit for the day, I scoot back a little to give her some space. I can finish the rest on my own, there’s only one reason for having her chained in such a position, and it makes me want to vomit. Eventually, I’ll ask her to talk about it, but I know that I’ll have to up my own tolerance level so I can stay for the duration without upchucking. Just because I may suffer a little bit of queasiness doesn’t mean that Olivia has to keep this shit to herself. It wouldn’t have been healthy for a person to keep that inside before the end, and it sure as hell isn’t healthy now either.

Once her rocking slows down a little, I offer my hand out to her. The gesture is probably the simplest in the world, but to Olivia, it’s like a life preserver being thrown to her. After dealing with people taking from you for months to finally be offered something in return, without strings attached to it, has to be a relief. Within seconds of my offer, her tiny fingers latch onto mine in a desperate grip.

Remembering that she doesn’t mind my touch as much, but knowing that she’s terrified due to unleashing some of her nightmares, I slide forward slightly and hold my arms out. It’s a take it or leave it gesture that lets her decide if she wants the physical comfort or not, without it being forced upon her. I hold my breath hoping that she separates the distance, because what I really want to do is bundle her up in the comfy comforter and protect her from the world.

A little hesitantly, I see Olivia unwrap her other arm from her knees. Looking up to meet my eyes, she holds the gaze for a few seconds before moving. It’s a slowly drawn out affair, with her crawling over like a newborn babe, but she finally comes within arm’s length and goes up on her knees. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she pulls me closer to her and buries her face in my neck. When I keep my arms down at my sides, she takes them one at a time and places them around her waist. With her permission granted, I tighten the embrace and offer all the comfort I can give.

When I feel her body starts shaking with sobs, I pull her onto my lap and cradle her like a child. She keeps her arms wrapped tightly around my neck and her face moves to bury itself in the chest of my coat. Removing one hand from her waist, I use it to trail down the back of her head. I keep my touch light to prevent my bandaged hands from revolting against the motion, while still giving her the soothing she needs.

I’ve never been a cuddler before Olivia, and now, I couldn’t think of why I wouldn’t want to have done so in the first place. Sure, with sex you’re as close to the person as you can possibly be, but once you’ve spent, you separate again. It’s pretty much a race to pleasure, and as soon as you get to the climax at the finish line, the intimacy vanishes. But with cuddling, there is no finish line you’re striving towards. You take your time and relish the warmth of the other body pressed against you. Take in their scent and get to know how they feel without sexual intent at the forefront of your mind. You use your upper head, as opposed to your lower.

Like now, I don’t even need to flip off an erection because he’s gone into hibernation after hearing about Olivia’s captivity, and subsequent breakdown. I know that there’s a female body clinging to me, but I’m not ripping off her clothes to hump my way to a mindless release as I’ve done numerous times in the past. And I don’t want to. Nor do I care in the slightest that I sound like I’ve spontaneously grown a vagina, even if it’s just in my own mind. That’s because Olivia deserves so much more than a meaningless fuck. She deserves to be made love to, and until she’s absolutely ready and completely willing to try, I won’t even attempt it.

When the day comes that Olivia finally feels comfortable enough for that kind of intimacy, I’ll make sure that her pleasure comes first and foremost to remind her that sex isn’t purely to cause pain, humiliation or for domination. That it can be more than rutting like animals. That it can be romantic and beautiful, a way to express how you feel in a physical way. From what I know of Travis, I’m positive that he was a man that gave her all of that. And when she’s ready to try, I’ll just have to convince her traumatized mind that it can and will be like that again.

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

Chapter Forty-Eight:

The sun’s strong rays breach my eyelids the next morning. Pissed at the asshole for trying to wake me, I go to tug the comforter over my face, only to find that it doesn’t move. Wanting to growl, since something is hindering my progress, I tear my eyes open and glare at the ceiling. My ceiling isn’t vaulted. Where the fuck am I?

Raising a hand to my forehead, I wince when the bandage scratches against my burns. That brings me back a little. Feeling something warm draped across my chest, I look down and find a mass of black hair and a leather-covered arm wrapped firmly around my waist. I smile at that; my little badass is an instinctive snuggler.

I remember Olivia crying herself out on my chest. Not wanting to wake her from a sound sleep, I figured I’d let her rest and laid back. Fully expecting one of her nightmares to wake her up at some point in the night, I planned on removing myself from the bed and sleeping out the rest of the night in a chair nearby. So, you can see why I’m pleasantly surprised to not only find that she slept through without any disruption to her sleep, but to also wake up still wrapped up in my Olivia cocoon.

Tightening my grip a fraction, I lean down to bury my nose in her hair. No, it isn’t creepy, I just like the way she smells. Or would have smelt, if her apple/mint scent wasn’t masked by smoke. Pissed once again, since I’m now reminded of her close call and losing out on the chance to inhale a breath of Olivia first thing in the morning, I compromise to just enjoying the closeness for a few more seconds. Closing my eyes against the glare of light, I lay my head back and immediately feel Olivia stir.

Cursing myself for moving at all, I crack one eye open in time to see her head raise and look around. Turning her neck slightly, I can see that it causes her pain, but she ignores it and buries her face back into my chest. Confused and thinking that she wasn’t really awake, but just adjusting, I brush her wild hair out of the way to get a better look. Feeling the sensation, she places her chin on my chest and peeks out at me through her fingers. Seeing a slight red tint on her skin, I know that she’s not sleeping, but hiding.

“Don’t be getting shy on me now,” I say as a smile. “Where’s my pissed off Tinkerbell?” Olivia’s face heats this time with anger, and she glares at me. She’s fucking gorgeous when she’s fuming, so my smile spreads even wider. “There she is, she’s been gone for days, and I was starting to get worried.”

That earns me a pinch to the chest. A rather weak one considering it’s only a slight sting compared with what she could of done with her red nails if she meant to hurt me. She keeps them well-manicured, but long; with the exception of a few cracks here and there from fighting. I’ve seen them three different colors in our time together, red, dark red, and really dark red; so I’m gonna go out on the limb here and say that red’s her favorite color. Propping herself up on hand, Olivia points to my bandage.

“They’re fine,” I answer and she tilts her head slightly as if trying to see if I’m lying. Satisfied that I’m not keeling over, or holding out due to masculine pride, she nods. “And you?”

She waves a hand at me, so I give her a pointed look. Rolling her eyes, she holds out her thumb and forefinger to indicate that it hurts a little, as she points at her throat. I did want to know about that, but also her mental state, so I press on.

“Any nightmares?”

Olivia looks startled, it’s as if she just remembered them; along with realizing exactly where she’s laying, and immediately crawls off of me. I want to groan, but I don’t. Time, she needs time that I can, and will give for as long as she needs it. Once she’s sitting back on her heels, Olivia’s hair drapes across her face in a curtain. Knowing that she’s once again hiding, but wanting the answer to my question, I sit up and slowly brush the front portion back and tuck it behind her ear. Her grey eyes look up from their downward aimed angle to meet mine.

“Yes?” I ask softly. Olivia gives a slight head shake and her eyes fill with tears. I frown and sit forward all the way. “Why are you crying? That’s a good thing.” Olivia shakes her head again. “How isn’t it?” Lifting her still naked hand, she points at her head, makes a poofing motion, and follows it with a slash. “You don’t want to forget?” Nodding her head in answer, my confusion grows. “Why wouldn’t you want to forget?”

Olivia’s face hardens as she points to her uncovered wrists and neck, then holds up her ringed finger. Now I get it. “You want to remember what you’re avenging.” She gives me a curt nod. I reach out and cover her left hand with mine. “You’ll never forget anything that happened, it’s all in here.” I place a finger from my free hand on her forehead. “But what will happen is that you set it in the back of your mind where it can’t hurt you. You control it, so it doesn’t control you.”

Olivia’s face clears of the hardness, and she gives me a slight smile. Lifting her right hand, she points at me and then taps her head. “I’m smart?” Her smile spreads as she nods. “Well, that’s a first.” Olivia’s whole body shakes with a silent laugh. “Now you’re just being mean.”

Olivia’s laughter picks up and she lays back as she clutches her stomach. Laying down beside her on my stomach, I prop myself up on my elbow and observe Olivia. Her eyes are squeezed tight as a tear trickles down her check toward her temple, but I know it’s not from pain, since she’s still holding her stomach and smiling. A few more seconds tick by before she recovers and opens her eyes.

“Are you quite done?” I ask in a bland tone. Olivia’s head turns to meet mine as she nods. “Good, because I was starting to get my feelings hurt.” She gives me a doubtful look, so I pull out a mock pout. “You did. I was just about to start crying real tears and everything.” Olivia makes a chomping signal with her hand and then outlines a wave from the corner of her eye.

“Crocodile tears? I haven’t ever used those.” She gives me a shove. “Fine, once or twice when I was a toddler, and wanted another cookie.” Olivia shrugs and places a finger on my mouth. “What about my mouth?” She nods. “I didn’t learn how to use it yet, so tears were the better option.”

Olivia pulls my bottom lip down slightly and smiles a little. I’m not sure why she’s making me pout, but if it makes her happy, what the hell do I care? Looking up to meet my eyes, she blinks and shakes her head. Removing her hand from my face, she sits up and scoots away. Edging her way to the end of the bed, Olivia hops down and stretches. The bed is so high that I can only see about six inches down from her shoulder, and up to her head. Turning to glance over at me, she gives me a shooing motion.

“Excuse me, your highness,” I say and stand as I bow. “I didn’t know that I was taking up so much of your time.” Olivia must think I’m serious, because her hands start flying around so wildly that I can’t keep up. Laughing, I hold up my hands to cease the movement. “I’m only kidding, jeash. Do whatever it is you need to, but I want you back in bed and resting before I come to check on you in,” I look at my watch, “Forty minutes.” Olivia scowls and crosses her arms. “No, you need rest. Doctor’s orders.”

Performing her best huff due to the limited ability, she waves a hand at me and points to the door. “I’m going, I’m going,” I reply and head toward the door, but stop before exiting to point at her. “But I want my hug when I come back.”

I close the door behind me and smile when something is thrown at it.

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

“Where the hell have you been, Jared?” John demands when I walk into the kitchen. He sounds relatively back to normal today, so I continue on toward the cupboards, before I answer him.

“Sleeping, why?”

“Sleeping?” John asks bewilderedly, and I nod. “It’s freaking noon, that’s late, even for you.” Opening a bag of Cheerios, I pop a few in my mouth and chew. “Well?” I hold up my finger for him to wait as I swallow.

“I was tired,” I reply and point at him as I continue. “And you’re the one that wanted me to rest.”

Tossing another handful back, I wolf it down. I completely forgot about eating yesterday, so I don’t know how my creation turned out, and I’m ravenous. I can only imagine how Olivia feels. That thought spoils my appetite slightly, but I know that I need the sustenance and force more down.

“Yes, I wanted you to rest,” he concedes. “But I thought that you would’ve at least put up some kind of a fight.”

“Do you want me to?” I ask and raise my eyebrows. “Because I can if you do.”

“Fuck no!” John exclaims. He waves a hand rapidly back and forth as if he’s trying to erase that entire speech from my mind. I shrug, I didn’t fight him on it because I didn’t get a chance to, and I found a perfect method for me to do so most willingly.

“Okay, so you don’t want me to fight you, which I didn’t, and I got rest,” I puzzle out. “So, what exactly is the problem?”

“I-I don’t know,” he answers completely baffled. “You know what, just forget everything I’ve said since you arrived in the kitchen. Hit rewind and record over that shit, alright?”

“Sure,” I say and toss a careless handful of the delicious ‘O’ cereal into my mouth, before chomping away.

John observes me with inscrutable eyes, they’re squinted and it looks like he’s thinking way too hard and might fry his brain, but I ignore it. The sooner I eat and bathe, the faster I can go talk to Akio about Olivia’s condition. Then of course check to see if she’s actually resting, or running around like a free for all.

“What’s wrong with you?” John asks suspiciously. I give him a ‘what chu talkin’ ‘bout Willis?’ look and he explains. “You just woke up.” I nod. “Walked into the kitchen.” Once again I nod, not seeing what the big deal is. “And didn’t rip apart the cabinets like a rabid squirrel looking like coffee.” I shrug at that, I didn’t even remember it. “What the fuck have you done with my best friend?”

“Nothing, I’m right here,” I say. Holding my arms up, I look down at myself to show him that nothing’s wrong.

“Jared, do you realize that you’re sitting next to a warm pot of Dunkin’s coffee, and haven’t even looked at it?” John points to the pot he’s referring to. “Never mind ingesting it like it was crack?” Glancing at the jug in question, I wrinkle my nose.

“Shit’s bitter as hell,” I reply and John thrusts his finger violently in my direction.

“That’s the fuck it!” John bellows and stomps forward. Dragging me off the counter, he pulls my leather jacket off and tosses it aside. I glare at him, but John ignores me as he slides up my sleeves, and pulls the collar of my shirt down.

“What the hell are you doing?” I ask and slap his hands away as he goes to lift my t-shirt up. “Did you swap teams without telling me? I don’t care if you’re a switch hitter, but a little heads up would be nice.” John plants balled fists on his hips and glares right back.

“What the fuck does it look like?” John accuses. “I’m checking for bites, because obviously you’ve been bitten somewhere. There’s no other explanation for this shit, and I want you to fess up already. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! I had a good night’s sleep, Jesus Christ, is that really a crime?” John stares at me as if he’s never met me.

“Jared, you’re freaking chipper, and it’s disturbing,” he states. “My sullen bastard of a best friend wakes up and goes to bed with a scowl, no matter if he’s spent the night humping six women, or won the lottery. So, what gives?”

“Once again, nothing.”

“Bull shit,” a drawl says from behind me. Turning to face the voice, I scowl while John gives Cory a questioning look. “That bastard spent the night with Olivia.”

John turns his focus onto me with equal measures of betrayal, anger and smugness; an awkward mix aimed at me. Betrayal because I didn’t tell him, which I didn’t because then I would have had to share Olivia’s nightmares; and I would never do that without her explicit permission first. Anger for what exactly, I’m not sure, maybe because of the betrayal? I don’t know. And the smugness is obviously because he knew something changed last night to affect me this morning. But my good mood is quickly going sour with these fucks wasting my time and attacking me with accusations.

“First off,” I say with a scowl aimed at the two of them. “I didn’t spend the night with Olivia. I went to check on her last night, and we talked, that’s it.”

“Then why did I find you sleeping in there when I went to see her this morning?” Cory questions with suspicion lacing his voice.

“We were talking, and she fell asleep on me,” I answer. “Not wanting to wake her, I let her be. I thought that she’d wake up and then I could go to bed, but I feel asleep and she never woke up in the night.” Cory looks surprised, while John still looks confused as hell. “Anyway, when I woke up this morning, I didn’t go straight to a coffee pot because I was freaking hungry. Shoot me, I didn’t eat in two days so my stomach was caving in on itself, and demanded something a little more filling than bitter liquid that makes you fucking jittery.”

“I don’t believe it,” John says with a grin as he turns to Cory. “Do you see this?” Cory nods.

“Yeah I see it,” he mutters. I look between the pair with puzzlement of my own displayed prominently on my features.

“You are in freaking love with Olivia!” John exclaims and I shrug.

“So,” I answer and give him an ‘and?’ face. John’s excitement settles down slightly.

“‘So’? What the hell do you mean ‘so’?” John demands. “Where’s the denial? The anger? The ‘I don’t love anyone but blood’ bull shit?”

“It burned down with that house,” I reply with complete seriousness, and see John’s exuberance taper off. “Why the hell would I want to waste time fighting myself on something that I feel, when I could just sit back and enjoy it? You don’t know how long you have, so live life to the fullest while you still can.” I remember Olivia saying something similar back at the condo, and back then, I didn’t quite understand it. But I do now. “Time is precious and should be spent doing things that make you happy, not brushing those very moments aside. That’s when you really die, and I plan on living.”

I exit the kitchen, leaving behind a gaping John and a smiling Cory; which is slightly disturbing because he only smiles for Olivia. Retrieving my backpack from the parlor, I wave at the majority of group gathered in the living room on my way to the bathroom. Using the first floor’s functioning bathroom, I relish the perks of running water again. The heat and ease of it still baffles me after living so long without it, but I don’t let that dampen my spirits. After brushing my teeth, I finally lift my eyes to view the damage.

Raising up my bandaged hands, I see that they’ll need a clean wrap since they’re covered in dirt and blood, but I ignore that for now, and focus on the facial covering. Having seen it yesterday, I already know what’s to be expected. The blisters are still there, mainly on my ear and neck, so that’s pretty much the same. What I didn’t expect, is for the redness from yesterday to have darkened from a beet red to a burgundy and to be weeping fluid. It’s clear, so I know it’s just water, but it’s still gross and highlights the vulnerabilities in my skin. If even one little droplet of infected blood were to get inside, I’m fucked.

Setting the dirty bandages on the counter, I strip down for a shower. I know that I should be covering the burns, but how the hell else am I supposed to wash myself with my hands being as damaged as they are? Knowing that it’s physically impossible to avoid, I slip under the hot spray and compromise that I’ll leave my head out of the water. Still doesn’t help the absolute agony that I feel when the droplets hit my burned shin and hands. Biting back curses, I grab up a bar of soap, which certainly doesn’t help, and do a speed wash.

After adjusting the water’s temperature to ice cold, I rinse off my stinging flesh and feel slightly better. I don’t smell like smoke and charred skin anymore, so that’s a plus. Grabbing a towel from the linen closet, I dry myself off until my hands protest further movement. Digging around in my backpack, a decide sweats and a t-shirt to be my best bet, so I slip them on. Grabbing the dirty bandages, I remind myself to get new ones when I see Akio, and exit the bathroom.

Walking back to the now empty kitchen, I toss the old gauze in the trash, and pick up my leather jacket before slinging it over my bag on the counter. I’m not feeling the chill as bad today as I was yesterday, so I decided to leave it off for now. Heading back to the living room, I find that John is now laughing on the couch with the twins, Sarah and Danny are playing a game with Mike and Whitney, and Morris is sprawled along a couch by himself, but the rest are elsewhere. Wanting to check in with Sarah, I walk over to the group settled around the coffee table playing poker.

“What ‘cha doing, PITA?” I ask. Sarah turns her head enough to scowl at me before placing two cards on the pile in the center. “Ooh, wrong move there, baby sis.”

“Yeah?” Sarah asks and I nod. “I don’t think so.” Picking up her two cards from the deck, she adds them to her hand and shows me her three of a kind.

“That’s a good hand, but, you could have made a better one if you kept the ace and king.” Sarah looks at me questioningly. She made be smart, but she definitely can’t play cards for the life of her. “You would have had a straight which beats that. Just watch when Danny sets his cards down.” Sarah nods as she sets down her three of a kind, Mike shows his two pair, Danny his straight and Whitney her flush.

“Damn, Whit, that’s three in a row,” Danny says and she smiles.

“And I believe that means you two will be helping me do the wash,” Whitney replies as she gives Danny and Sarah pointed looks. They grumble, but nod their assent. “Good, off to the kitchen then.” Once they step out of the room, she turns to me. “Everything alright?”

“Perfectly fine,” I answer. “Just checking in after...” Whitney nods in understanding. “So, how is everyone? And Mike, I haven’t been able to ask how you’ve been feeling.”

“I’m fine,” he replies. “Just a bit of a headache, but I’ll be right as rain in no time.”

“Glad to hear it,” I say and he nods. “You had some good defensive moves out there, did you face a lot of wheezers before meeting John?”

“A few,” Mike says and looks at Whitney.

“We found others before John found us,” she explains. “One was infected and attacked the others, but Mike got us out. So, we’re sorry for our losses, but we’re alright. We’ve survived worse.” I nod. “As for the rest.” She jerks her chin at the twins and John. “The twins were out there, so they know what it’s like. They miss Lenny, but they’re fine. John’s been a little quieter than usual.”

I know this already, but seeing other’s pick up on it too shows just how much it affected him. Not only losing his girls and Lenny, but the guilt he feels because of it. I’ll figure out another way to approach it later, because as I’ve said before, he will not be going through this alone.

“And the others?” I ask to be polite.

I know that they’re all upset, but I want to know specifically how Sarah is taking it. One, because she’s my little sister and it’s wired in my big brother DNA to want to protect her, and two, because three people that she’s known for months were killed in front of her. Lenny she’s known for almost nine months, and the girls for three, so their deaths had to have made some impression on her.

“Akio’s as stoic as he is professional,” she answers. “Danny’s a tough read, but I think he knows by now that people live and die, and if you want to survive, you need to have a steel backbone.”

I nod at that. The kid came to us alone six months ago, shortly after John brought Whitney and Mike back, so he’s lived out in the world and knows how cold it can be. Sometimes I forget that he’s only seventeen, like when he wore those pants for Sarah a few weeks back. It was because he was impressionable and was trying to appease his girlfriend, which shows his immaturity, but it was dangerous. I regret punching him, I do. One, because he’s just a kid, and two, because it was childish of me to not keep control of my temper. He made a mistake, just as I’ve made some. We live and learn, and at some point I know that I’ll have to apologize. And I will, eventually.

“Tommy’s been upstairs and hasn’t come out,” she continues. “I went in last night with some food and sat in for a little while. He was obviously upset and didn’t want to talk, so I left him alone.”

I expected no less, but make note to check up on him myself. It must be hard losing the last person you’ve truly known and loved all your life, but that goes double for Tommy. He completely depended on Leonard. Leonard was his bodyguard, companion and confidant as well as his father figure. Now I know why Lenny was so concerned with his welfare, and pointed it out to Olivia. It was because he knew that Tommy was going to need someone and wanted to prepare for the inevitable. I’m sure that Lenny didn’t expect that his time was going to be cut so short, but at least he seen his grandson connect with at least one person, and I’m sure it gave him peace of mind before he was gone.

“Sarah?” I ask.

“Sarah cried,” Whitney says. I feel guilt creep up on me, I should have been there for that. “No, don’t make that face, she went into hiding and I flushed her out. She didn’t want anyone to know, not even Danny.” That makes me feel marginally better, but I should have at least said goodnight to her. “She’s fine now. We had a little talk, she said that she wished she could have done something to help out, but I explained that we were all surprised and didn’t react fast enough. It was a freak accident, and we have to use more precaution to prevent a repeat in the future.”

“Absolutely,” I agree. “Thanks for checking up on everyone, I’ve been slipping lately.”

“You haven’t been slipping,” Whitney counters at the same time Mike says, “You have not.”

“Thanks for the support guys,” I say with a self-deprecating grin. “But I have. First with Victoria, then with Kelly, and finally yesterday with the girls. If I’d been using my head, I could have prevented all of that.” I don’t even see Whitney’s hand moving since it comes so fast, but I do feel the sting on the unburned, left side of my head.

“Shuddup,” she replies and I laugh. Momma Bear Whit has arrived to lay the smack down. “Victoria wasn’t your fault, and neither were the rest. She tricked us all, same with Kelly. All of us welcomed them with open arms, gave them shelter, fed them, clothed them. And what did they give us in return? Nothing. Absolutely nothing but misery and pain.” Whitney grabs my shoulders and squeezes.

“If you want to blame anyone for our misfortunes, put it on the shoulders responsible, and lighten your own load. It hasn’t belonged there, and does nothing but pull you down. You’re only twenty-three and I can see you’re already stressed more than a forty year old man working in the failing stock market. Let it go, relax a little, and live your life.”

“Yes ma’am,” I say and tip my imaginary hat at her like a southern gentleman. Whitney laughs at that and taps my cheek.

“You cheeky, rascal,” she replies with a smile. “Go see your girl, she’s good for you.”

“I think so too,” I say easily, which makes Whitney’s smile widen. Standing up, I point at Mike and Whitney. “Don’t work too hard. We’re here to rest and heal up for the journey. I want to make it to compound with the group intact, and no more mishaps.”

“We can try,” they revise in unison.

“Alright, you pair of cynics,” I agree and they laugh. “We can try and succeed.”

“Ay-ay Captain J, of the S.S. Optimist,” John the smartass replies with a salute.

“Was I talking to you, Cassie?” I ask and he scowls. “Didn’t think so.” I look at the twins. “You got anything you wanna add?”

“Only that you’re looking mighty purty today, lova boy,” Carlos answers with a grin.

“Yeah, is that a new haircut?” Oscar inquires. His grin matches his twin, so it’s like I’m seeing double without the help of alcohol.

“Listen, Thing One and Thing Two,” I begin and see their grins turn to glares, making me give a grin of my own. “You’re just jealous that I dressed as the badass villain known as Freddy Krueger for Halloween. Sure, it’s a little early, but so what? I happen to like Halloween, so screw you.”

“Can I be Peter Pan to Olivia’s Tinkerbell?” John asks.

“Hell no!” I exclaim. “She’s not being Tink.”

“Then what’s she being?” Oscar asks.

“Jared’s dream girl, also known as the Tomb Raider,” Carlos answers with a smirk. I scowl at John, and the bastard assumes an innocent expression, so I know that he’s spilled that secret. Gossiping prick. I say one word that’s guaranteed to shut John up, one word that we’ve made a pact to never bring up.

“Bianca.”

“You wouldn’t,” John says.

“I would.”

“Vacuum,” he counters. Fuck, John’s pulling out the big guns. We battle it out with a staring contest, until I hear Oscar’s voice.

“I can see Olivia as Tomb Raider,” Oscar comments with a nod. “She’s already got the attitude and the look.”

I stare him down before he starts naming the attributes that complete that particular look, such as the large chest, full lips and tiny waist. Mother fucker will swallow his teeth if he dares to mention any of them.

“I think we best move on before Jared pops a blood vessel,” Carlos remarks and the three of them start laughing. I flip them off and leave the room.

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

Chapter Forty-Nine:

It isn’t until I reach the second floor, that I can no longer hear the trio’s echoing laugh, but I don’t care about any of that. My goal is to find Akio, check in on Tommy and get back to Olivia, in that order. Mental list set in stone, I turn left this time to head away from Olivia’s room in hopes of finding Akio down this way. Knocking on doors as I pass them, I finally hear a response from the second to last one. Turns out, I was knocking mostly on closet doors, but oh well, pays to be thorough. Especially when I find both Akio and Cory in one fell swoop.

“You’re next,” Akio says absently, without pausing in his task of redressing Cory’s burns, to look at me.

Cory has fewer than I do, but his hands are worse off than mine. While mine have a few now popped blisters and cuts on my right, Cory’s have bloody knuckles from punching out a window and biting them in his frantic state. That, along with large blisters encapsulating his entire palm and the underside of his fingers; makes it looks as if he had a bad allergic reaction that made them swell to the size of a balloon.

“If you stopped grabbing the door handle, you wouldn’t have a set of oven mitts for hands right now, Betty Crocker,” I say to Cory. He lifts one of the mitts in question and scowls at it when he can’t flip me off like he no doubt intended to do. It’s confirmed when he verbalizes it.

“Fuck you, Freddy,” Cory retorts. “I was a little preoccupied trying to keep Olivia breathing, and our asses from burning to a crisp, to pause and say, ‘maybe I should wear gloves.’ So, excuse the fuck out of me for putting our survival over a little bit of discomfort.”

“I know,” I agree and drop the smirk. “The reason you couldn’t open the door to begin with, was because there was a metal chair blocking it.”

“I figured that,” he says while rubbing his bandaged left hand over his face, since the Doc’s still working on the other. “That’s why I moved on to the window, thinking that I could bust out a few bars. I had just gotten started, when you popped in like a freaking wannabee fire brigade.”

“I couldn’t sit back and let you guys burn,” I point out. “It was my fault it was allowed to happen in the first place. You told me to watch out for Kelly, and what did I do? I sent her for a walk where her demented mind was free to plot away.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Cory says. “I sent you to the woods. I ignored the scuffling outside the door thinking it was you. And I should have protected Livi better.”

“Jesus Christ, why aren’t you and John holding hands and crying in the corner together?” I ask and Cory looks at me like I’ve lost a few screws. “Pity parties galore. ‘I shoulda done this, I shoulda done that.’ Shut the fuck up, you can’t go back and fix it. It’s over and done with, so stop your bitching, brush yourself off and move the fuck on already.”

“How about you both take that advice?” Akio proposes. A stunned Cory, and a scowling me, turn and observe the Doc. “Don’t you scowl at me. You’ve had your fair share of moping, so take some of you own medicine, shut up and sit your ass down so I can doctor you.” Akio gives me a look. “Always nit picking over the others’ health, but do you even give a damn about your own? Fuck no.”

“Where’d you find your backbone, Doc?” I ask once I’ve recovered from my shock. Cory still looks a little dazed for being chastised by two men, one several years older and one three years younger than him; and both lectures having occurred in less than five minutes. But I’m able to bounce back, and claim a seat in wait of Akio to do his worst.

“Let’s just say that mine is picking up the slack to accommodate for the whining ninnies,” the Doc answers. “Now, shut up, and let me work in peace.”

I listen to his orders for, oh I don’t know, four minutes. It was enough time for him to smear antibacterial cream over my cuts, and burn ointment to my right hand, before I can’t take it anymore. I start fidgeting and biting my cheek, which hurts like a mofo, to prevent myself from speaking.

“Just say it already,” Akio snaps. He adjusts his glasses, and pulls the roll of gauze tight, as he waits for me to speak. Giving a sigh of relief, I spill my concerns in a rush.

“Okay, Olivia can’t eat, and she’s freaking pint sized already, so what the fuck can we do? Then there’s the fact that she can’t drink, so eventually she’s gonna get dehydrated, and start puking and then she’ll choke to death, and I’ll have a heart attack and die. Never mind Cory, who’ll probably retreat in the nearest cave and starve himself to death over his grief. And then there’s Tommy, who has locked himself away and won’t speak to anyone. The group’s upset over losing Lenny and the hens. Sarah’s crying in closets, John’s the new miserable bastard, and my burns sting like some mother fucker sprayed salt in them! Are those going to scar? Because I don’t care all that much about vanity, but that doesn’t mean I want to live the rest of my life looking like Freddy freaking Krueger!”

I’m heaving out breaths and gulping air from the lack of oxygen during that spiel, Akio’s blinking at me, and Cory looks like he wants to sedate my crazy ass. He might have to, because I can’t take it anymore. There’s so much shit depending on me, that I can’t keep up, and I think I might be having a heart attack right now. Is it possible for a fit twenty three year old man to have a heart attack? I’d say fuck yes, because I’m definitely experiencing one. My chest is on fire, and it feels like I can’t get enough air. I’m wheezing, and my hands are shaking, and...that’s it. John was fucking right, I’m infected.

‘Run! Run before it’s too late!’ I’m mentally projecting it at them, but they’re just sitting there and are staring at me with dumbfounded expressions. My chest is heaving out panting breaths, so I can’t verbalize my warnings. I try again, hoping that my supercharged wheezer blood gives me some new psychic powers before it takes over completely. ‘Save the others, save yourselves!’ When they still aren’t getting it, I meet Cory’s eyes and mimic a gunshot to my head.

In response, the asshole laughs, and struts over. No doubt about it, he’s relishing the fact that he can finally kill me and have Olivia all to himself. Fuck you, you selfish prick! My infected brain’s mental curse is abruptly cut off, instead of by a bullet like I expected, but by Cory’s backhand across the left side of my face.

“You asshole!” I spit that out along with some of my infected blood on the floor from my bitten cheek. “Kill me like a man, don’t pussy out on me now and go for cheap shots! I can’t have Olivia, you should be happy, and doing a jig on my dead wheezer corpse, not wasting time.” I point at my eyes that must be tinting red by now. “I can only control it for so long, eventually it’s gonna overpower me, and I’m gonna go ape shit in this mother fucker and eat everyone in this freaking house like an all you can eat buffet!”

“You aren’t infected,” Cory says with a roll of his eyes, as if I’m not turning ape in front of him.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I demand and raise my shaking arms as evidence. “I can feel the infection coursing through my veins, you blind bastard!”

“It’s a panic attack, you fucking moron!” Cory shouts. I cock my head, and slowly lower my arms.

“Huh?”

“Panic attack, anxiety, a breakdown, a spaz fit, any of which are pretty much one in the same.”

“So, no King Kong for Jared?” I ask carefully, because I’m still not completely convinced that my current condition could be something as simple as anxiety. Cory shakes his head. “No foaming at the mouth, or red eyes?” Cory shakes his head in the negative again. “No, ‘King Kong ain’t got nothin, on me’?” He huffs out a laugh at the reference to Training Day.

“No, Denzel, you will not be going ‘King Kong,’ or ‘ape shit in this mother fucker,’” Cory replies and points to the Doc to explain.

“He’s right,” Akio agrees. “Sometimes with a panic attack it feels like you’re underwater and can’t breathe, your heart races, you can get jittery, some people see spots. Everyone’s different, and you just experienced one of your own.” He gives me a hard look. “You’re doing too much, and your body can’t handle it. It’s been through trauma and it needs rest to heal properly. Now relax, let me finish wrapping you like a mummy, and then go see Olivia. She looks worried about you.”

I glance toward the direction he’s looking in, to find Olivia standing in the doorway, worrying her bottom lip. I’m not a blusher, but damn my cheeks to Hell for betraying me now. This only further embarrasses me after my breakdown, which was witnessed in its entirety by not only Cory and Akio, but Olivia who no doubt came running when she heard shouting. Nothing gives masculine pride a low blow quite like showing your weakness through a hissy fit in front of the girl you want to impress. Especially when said girl is ten times stronger than you already.

It’s even worse when she glares at Akio and Cory, before softening her expression to ask me if I’m all right through hand signals. Nodding, I turn back to Akio and hold out my other hand to be wrapped, all the while looking at the floor. Just shoot me now, and put me out of my misery, is all I can think; when I hear the pitter patter of soft footsteps walk over and a tiny ungloved hand tilt my chin up. Her concerned eyes meet mine, so I project as much confidence in mine as possible, hoping she takes the bait and gives me time to lick my wounds. No chance, because I feel the bed dip slightly with Olivia’s weight, as she plops down beside me and threads her naked fingers through my gauze covered ones. And isn’t that another role reversal.

I suffer in silence, as Akio inspects, cleans, applies creams and wraps up my remaining hand, shin and head. I don’t respond when Akio chastises me for using soap, saying it ‘irritated the wound and stalled the healing process.’ Oh well, what’s a few more days tacked on? It gives everyone more time to heal mentally and physically, most especially my crazy ass.

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

After I’m wrapped like the mummy the Doc said I would be, Olivia tugs me out of the room, waving off Akio’s order for a new dressing of her own. She keeps moving until she reaches the bedroom we slept in last night. Giving me a shove toward bed, she surprises the hell out of me when she not only ixnays the can I try to pass her from the bureau, but shuts the door completely and locks it.

I know that she trusts me to some extent, but to lock herself in with me? That’s freaking huge. Okay, I know that I’m a little limited in my strength right now, and even if I were in tip top shape, she could wipe the floor with me, but it still shows that she put her fears aside for me.

Not wanting her to see that a simple closed door affected me so much, I turn and walk to the chair by the bed. Taking a seat, I look up slightly to see Olivia frown at me. Even with me sitting down, her height is puny at only six inches above my head.

“What?” I ask and look around. “What’d I do?” She points to the bed again. “Yeah, you’re going to rest up in the clouds, and I’ll rest here.” Olivia shakes her head at me and thrusts her finger at the bed with more emphasis this time. “No, you take the bed.” She tilts her head to the side. After a few seconds of observation, she points to me, makes an angry face, then pats her chest. “No, why would I be angry with you?” She motions at the bed, points at me, tips her head and closes her eyes, before tapping herself.

“I didn’t think you wanted me in the bed,” I explain and she scowls. “Don’t give me that, you’re one who kicked me out in the first place. I would have gladly slept the day away if you hadn’t.”

That makes her laugh. She pats her chest and holds out a thumb to show that I’m right. Damn right I am, it was the best I’ve slept in, well, as long as I can remember. Walking forward, Olivia gently grips my hand and tows me to the bed. Before climbing in, she motions to me that she’s sorry. I must look confused because she squeezes her nose, holds out her hair in reference, and points to her throat. I can see that she’s clean with her freshly scrubbed face, but her hair is greasy and I can detect a hint of smoke from here.

“I could help you,” I offer and she looks at me doubtfully. “I could.” I point at my own unwashed hair, as little as it is since there’s only half of it left. “And maybe you could help me? I know it’s not supposed to be wet, but I don’t think I could pull off the Bob Marley look.” That earns me a smile at the music reference, and a nod to my proposal. “Good, because I don’t think that Freddy and Marley were meant to make the ugly step child that is me.”

Olivia glares at me and the motions start flying. From what I can read, she calls someone stupid, says ‘I’m not ugly, but handsome,’ and then a bunch of curses. How do I know all of this? Multiple fingers are pointed at me, in the chest region, eyes and face. Then she flips the door off six times, and I think she might have even spit at it at one point. Seeing my fuming pixie take up my defense against unseen bullies, makes me smile and want to kiss her, but I hold back and catch her flying hands. She’s breathing heavily, some from the exertion, but mostly due to anger; so I lift her hands and kiss a knuckle on each.

“Thank you,” I say and see her anger dissipate. “Now, how the hell are we getting water for our hair?”

Olivia flashes me a mischievous smile, and curls her finger for me to follow. She turns to make sure I’m obeying, before continuing on. Please, I’d follow her into hell if I had to. Entering the room ahead of me, she walks past the monster of a tiled shower with glass enclosure, seriously that beast could fit eight people. The only reasonable explanation for building it that big would be to have an orgy fest. Shaking that thought away, I see Olivia reach over the giant jacuzzi tub; that could fit at least six people, so that she can turn on the faucet. Lo and behold, my little sneak has been holding out on me again.

“You mean to tell me, that you’re up here, having bubble baths by yourself; while we’re all fist fighting downstairs for a chance at the shower?” I ask and she gives me a firm nod. “I like your style.” Olivia smiles at that. “But for future reference, I’ll be checking faucets wherever we stay from now on. Fool me once, and all that nonsense.”

She waves a hand like, ‘good for you,’ before motioning me to come forward. Taking my shirt off, I set it on the counter. Turning back around, I find a wide eyed Olivia. Not good wide eyes, like she’s checking out the goods and can’t believe how ripped I am, but absolutely terrified; and her whole body’s shaking with it. I hold up my hand to stop her from further panicking.

“I just didn’t want to get it wet,” I explain and pick up the shirt. “I’ll put it back on, alright?” Olivia nods, and keeps her eyes trained on mine as I slip my t-shirt back on. “Better?”

She rubs her still slightly shaking arms, but nods. I should have used my freaking brain to prevent that, but I thought it’d be okay since I took it off to swim in the lake with her. Then I remember that we’re not at the wide open lake, we’re in a confined space which obviously trips her triggers, like it did back in the master bedroom at the condo.

“You alright now, or do you wanna try again later?”

Olivia balls her fists, squares her shoulders and gives me a firm nod as she points at the tub. That’s my girl. Walking over to the tub, I adjust the temperature and put the plug down. It doesn’t have one of those handheld sprays, so I rummage under the cabinet and come out with a cup. It’ll work, I decide as I instruct Olivia to sit down on the floor and rest her head against the lip of the porcelain. She’s already undone her braid, so I get to work wetting her hair. It takes a dozen cup-fulls, but once her hair is soaked, I look around for shampoo and find none.

“Olivia, do you have shampoo?”

She doesn’t open her eyes as she points to her bag in the corner. Wiping my hands on my sweatpants, I approach the backpack. It’s the closest to a woman’s purse as you can get, and it feels like an invasion of privacy. I definitely don’t want to dig around, but she basically gave me permission by pointing at it, so there can’t be any skeletons in there. I hope.

Unzipping the main compartment, I release a sigh of relief. No body parts come popping out, so I relax and start digging. There are jars of what looks like preserves, spices, sealed bags of food including crackers, pasta and cans of veggies, a few underthings; which I steer clear of since I’m not that depraved, her photo album, a polaroid camera with film cartridges, a variety of tools, hair elastics and bobby pins, tampons, knives, flint, matches, lighter fluid, a small first aid kit, sewing kit, her case of CDs, the player with headphones, batteries, flashlights, more keys, and bike locks. It’s a friggin catch all, that I start to just push aside without care, in order to look for my goal. I don’t know how the hell she fit it all in here, and I want to know learn her trick because I only have about a quarter compared to this in my pack. Finally, under a neatly folded sweatshirt, I find the bottles I was looking for.

Grabbing the shampoo and conditioner out, I reseal the bag and return to Olivia. Popping open the cap to the shampoo, I pour a liberal amount into the palm of my hand. First off, because she has a ton of hair; even after me unintentionally chopping off two inches, it’s still about two feet long. Then there’s the fact that I don’t want a single trace of the fire left on her. A tube sticking out of her neck is plenty to remind me, so I don’t need the smell.

Massaging the gel into her scalp, I get a huge whiff of the apple scent that I was missing. It’s fucking delicious and makes me want to eat her, but I limit myself to taking deep breaths of it instead, since Olivia would most likely do more than take a bite out of me if I bit her. Loving the smell so much, I lather rinse and repeat the shampoo process three times. I would have gone for a fourth, but Olivia pointed out that she only had so much left. Wanting to conserve it for future use, I reluctantly set it aside and open the conditioner. It too has the apple scent, but I only apply it once since I know from personal experience that if you put too much of that shit in, you look like a freaking greaser within an hour.

“All done.”

She grumbles, well it looks like it, since she takes her sweet time sitting up to allow me to wrap her hair. Olivia takes over after it starts falling out, I guess I didn’t wrap it tight enough, but what do I know? My hair’s only been three inches at the longest, so I’ve never needed to wrap it before. Run a towel through it, and you’re good to go has been how I’ve lived with it my whole life. I never liked longer hair, it restricts your eyesight, and then you have to style it; it’s just too much effort. Even after the end, I’d either buzz it down or have Sarah chop away. And no, she’s never given John or me a hack job, or she would have gotten one herself.

Olivia wrings her hair out as tightly as possible with the towel, then unwraps it. It looks like a curly mess of tangles, which I point out to her, but she shrugs and points for me to sit down like she did. Taking up my spot, she has me sit up and wraps a towel around my shoulders like a barber would. She obviously remembered that I didn’t want to get my shirt wet, since it’s the last clean one I have; and is trying to accommodate my wishes. I smile my thanks, before sitting back, and closing my eyes. A few seconds later, I feel the warm water poured over the left side of my head. It’s quickly followed up with cool shampoo and massaging fingers that make me want to moan out loud, but I bite my cheek to contain them. No need to freak her out, which she most likely would if she heard it.

By the time she rinses, I’m absolutely pissed that I only have half a head for her to work her magic in. Even the conditioning process is quicker than I wanted, but I’m glad that I don’t smell like grease, sweat or fire. Lifting my head slightly with her hand, Olivia runs a hand towel gently over my hair to remove excess water. When she pulls back, I still shake my head like a dog and laugh when she mocks a scowl at me. Which loses its effect when she in turn shakes her own mass of hair and soaks me with its drenched thickness.

“Come on, woman,” I say and stand as I hold out my hand. “We’ve got to tame that mess out before it comes alive and eats us.”

Olivia smiles as she takes my hand, and allows me to pull her up. Walking back to her bag, she places her hair products inside and makes a brush appear in two seconds flat. Freaking magician. She walks out of the bathroom and does a flying leap to get on the bed, which is pretty comical. She took a running start and everything. Not making as stylish an entrance as she did, I climb up and pat the spot in front of me.

“Sit here so I can reach you.” Olivia points at the brush and then herself. “I know you can do it, but I said that I’d help you with your hair. If I only washed it, that’s half-assed. Now, get your pipsqueak self over here, and let me follow through with my promise.”

Rolling her eyes, she crawls over and sits Indian style in front of me. Passing me the brush over her shoulder, she looks straight so I can work. Even when we’re both sitting, I have a good half a foot in height over her, but it makes it easy to reach her hair from all angles. Still, her hair is really thick and long, so it takes me nearly half an hour to slowly work through the kinks and not make her bald. And I’m proud to say that I did not snag a snarl, and rip through it even once. Honest, I even have the unmarred flesh to prove it. By the time I’m done, Olivia’s hair is pretty dry and she’s leaning back on me, mashing most of her brushed hair; but I don’t think she realizes it.

“Olivia?”

When I don’t receive a response, I don’t panic. Okay, I panic a little, until I peer around her shoulder and see the steady rise and fall of her chest. She’s just sleeping and it makes me smile that I got her relaxed enough to pass out. Setting the brush on the nightstand, I lean back and feel her instinctively curve against me. She’s now sprawled out on my chest like last night, so I wrap my arm around her waist and settle in for my own nap.

And I’ll punch any mother fucker who dares disturb us.

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

Chapter Fifty:

Shaking wakes me up. At first, I think it’s a freaking earthquake because what the fuck else could it be? Then it takes me a minute to remember that not only do we not have ramped earthquakes in New England, but the shaking isn’t affecting anything else in the room; no rattling picture frames or furniture, just the bed. Looking down at Olivia, I see that she’s the cause of it. Freaking out for an entirely different reason, I sit up and tilt her head back thinking she can’t breathe and is seizing.

When I don’t see the drool that accompanies a seizure, I squint my eyes in the darkness to observe her closer. Her breathing is escalated, and then she starts thrashing her arms and shaking her head, mouthing ‘no’ over and over. That’s when my semi-asleep brain recognizes it as a nightmare. Tucking her now completely dry hair away from her face, I pull her onto my lap and rock her back and forth. Muttering soothing nonsense that I’ve heard Whitney use at one time or another, I run my fingers through her hair and feel her body start to relax. Even in the dark room, I can see her eyes open and stare up at me.

“You okay?” I ask and she gives me a slight nod. “Nightmare?” Another nod. “You wanna to talk about it?”

This time, she waves a hand to say ‘later,’ and buries her face into my chest. Olivia doesn’t cry, or at least I don’t think she does this time, but she does wrap an arm around my waist and hold on tightly as if wanting to be grounded in reality and not in whatever past experience that plagued her sleeping state. Tightening my hold on her, I try to give her whatever strength she needs from me, relishing the fact that her comfort level with me is what enabled it so that I can comfort her at all. Just a couple of weeks ago, I would have had to sit by and tuck my hands under my legs to fight the urge to do this very thing; now, I can cuddle her close and try to keep her with me, as opposed to trapped somewhere in her head.

It’s a few minutes before Olivia’s tense arm loosens, and she sits up. I was right about her not crying, because there’s no evidence of tears, but there is sadness in their depths. I take a gamble guessing at the cause, because sadness means that it couldn’t have been during a time of her captivity; I would think those evoke feelings of anger or fear. From personal experience, I know that sadness could come from loss, so I throw out a possibility.

“Your mom?” When I receive a nod, I want to fist pump since I read her right, but I don’t; since she’s obviously still upset regardless of the cause. Olivia points to my head. “It’s your eyes, they told me you were sad, so I took a gamble.” She smiles at that, points at herself, and signals out her sign for money. “You gamble too?” A definite nod to that. “How about cards? You any good?” The look she gives me for questioning her skills, should have fried my brain. “Okay, prove it tomorrow. We’ll have a game, and maybe get the others involved.”

Olivia looks at the window, as if just seeing how dark it is, and nods at my proposition. I’m sure that it’ll be good to do something normal for once, and relax at the same time, so it’s doubly good. Turning back to me, she places a hand on her chest and rubs.

“You’re in pain?” I ask and she shakes her head. Again rubbing her chest, she points at me, and then my pillow. “Don’t you dare apologize, you couldn’t help that any more than I could stop being a sullen bastard.” She makes an angry face at me and shakes her head. “I’m not a sullen bastard?” She shakes her head, points to my mouth, and shrugs. “I’m just Mouth?”

Olivia holds up her thumb to say that I got it right. Cocking her head to the side, she holds up her finger for me to wait, and sits up straight. Lifting her hand to her trach tube, which I never replaced the bandage of because I’m a neglectful asshole, she places her thumb over the hole.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask making a move to remove her hand, and stop when I hear something. It’s faint and raspy, but it’s there. Knowing that she’s not trying to off herself, I sit back and motion for her to try again.

“Hel-lo,” she rasps out. After the word comes out in a husky whisper, she removes her thumb so she can breathe. She returns my smile at her cleverness, and motions for me to wait a second. “J-ar-ed.” It’s drawn out, and sounds a little funny, but I can recognize it.

“It’s strange hearing you call me ‘Jared,’” I say as she moves her hand to breathe. “It’s always ‘Mouth,’ or ‘smartass,’ or ‘ugly mug.’” She smiles at the first two, but scowls at the last. Covering the tube, she tries to verbally answer.

“I ne-ver ca-called y-you u-gly,” she says. When Olivia removes her hand, it takes a few minutes of deep breaths for her to stabilize.

“No more of that,” I say with a frown and she nods. “But you did too call me ugly. And then ‘fucking hideous,’ if I recall the wording correctly.”

She cracks a smile in remembrance of that. I smile too, because her sarcastic response proved that she is attracted to me regardless of her fear, and probably against her wishes. Sitting forward, she traces my face with her hands and doesn’t so much as grimace at the burns that have been uncovered somehow in the night. She runs her fingers under my eyes, her thumb across my lips, and ghosts them over my cheeks. She then meets my eyes with hers, shakes her head, and points at me.

“So, I’m not ugly?” I ask just to see her response in truth this time. Olivia gives me a strong headshake. I wipe my forehead of invisible sweat. “Thank god, I thought that I might have to run around with a bag over my head.” She shrugs and opens her arms with a smirk on her face, saying ‘that maybe I should.’ I give her a light shove and she starts laughing.

“Real funny, and you thought I was the smartass? Puh-lease.” She points at herself and shakes her head. “I think you are.” Again she shakes her head, this time she pulls her hair and holds it in a ponytail with one hand and mocks a gun with the other. “I know you’re a badass.” She waves that off and signs ‘L’ and ‘C.’ “You could be her, or you could be someone from Resident Evil, since they actually kill zombies. Like you could be Jill, since you’ve got the same hair color.” She shakes her head and makes a move to say ‘the other one.’

“You prefer Claire?” She nods. “Me too.” Olivia looks doubtful. “No, really. Jill was alright, but Claire could kick ass.” She gives me an, ‘I know, right?’ gesture. “And you got a brother, so Cory can be Chris.” Olivia smiles at that and points to me. “You want me to tell him?” She nods. “Fine, I got no problem telling him. The asshole should be happy he gets to be someone awesome like Chris, but I like Betty Crocker better.”

She shakes her head rapidly at that. “Why can’t he be Betty Crocker?” Olivia motions putting a tray in an oven and crosses her arms to make an ‘X’ quite deliberately. “He can’t bake?” Her eyes widen to show me that she’s absolutely serious as she nods. “Remind me not to let him make any bread.” She nods to say she agrees. “Can he cook, or is he bad at that too?” Olivia holds her thumb to say that he can cook, then gets a sad smile as she points to her ring and shakes her head. “So, Cory could cook, but not Travis?” She nods at that. “Nothing? Not even a piece of toast?”

Olivia looks at me and emphatically shakes her head in the negative. “Then he was like John, he absolutely sucks at life when it comes to preparing a meal. If you aren’t holding his hand through the process, you wind up with something burnt, has too much seasoning, or the wrong flavoring. It’s best if he isn’t anywhere near the stove.”

Olivia taps her head to say she’ll remember that. Seeing that the room has lightened with the sun’s rays, I figure that the others should be getting up soon. I motion at her throat.

“Do you have anything to dress that?” Olivia nods and opens the nightstand drawer. “Let me see, it needs to be changed.” She obediently passes me gauze, gloves, medical tape and two different creams. “Why are there two different kinds?”

Turning the tubes over, she points at the uses. One’s an antibacterial cream and the other is for pain relief that describes it as a ‘cooling sensation.’ I nod and set them aside for now. After I slip the gloves on, she tilts her head back slightly so that I can get at the bandage. It’s pretty clean, meaning that she must have changed it after her bath yesterday, but it still needs to be changed twice a day. I’ll do better, I’m still learning and eventually I’ll be good at this medical stuff.

Folding the old bandage in half so that it doesn’t make a mess on the bed, I turn back to inspect the incision. It’s an angry red, but I think that’s just from irritation since it wasn’t hot to touch or swollen when I checked. Satisfied that there’s no infection going on, I apply a liberal amount of antibacterial first but not directly in the wound. Once that’s on, I do the same with the pain reliever. I’m glad that someone was able to find her something, since it must hurt like a mofo. After everything’s been applied, I lightly press a few sterile gauze pads around the tube and wrap it with medical tape the same way I saw Akio do.

“How’s it feel?” Olivia lowers her head and turns her neck slightly side to side, before holding up her thumb. “Then that makes you my first patient, Mrs. Prescott.” She looks a little startled by that, I’m guessing because no one’s ever called her it out loud, but then she smiles. Sliding out of the bed, I hold my hand out to her. She looks at it curiously, then meets my eyes. “Come on.”

Shrugging her shoulders, she accepts my hand and climbs off the bed. Olivia has to jump to reach the ground, but I restrain the urge to laugh; because she shot me a look of death when I snickered. Tugging her toward the door, I don’t even stop to put my boots back on, I just head toward the stairs. Reaching the first floor, I tow her to the kitchen counter where my bag still sits. Unzipping it, I pull out my gun, silencer and a clip of ammo. Making sure the safety’s on, I tuck it into the back of my pants and continue on to the basement door.

Olivia, obviously seeing where I’m going with this, shoves me out of the way and bounds down the stairs first. I smile at her excitement and follow after her. Before I even reach the bottom step, I see Olivia has found a target and set it at the other end of a table. This time, it’s a fake apple. Where the hell did she get that, and what does she have against that particular fruit? Spotting a fake fruit basket, I know where she found it, but why?

“Hey, Olivia?” I call out and she pauses mid step in adjusting her target, to look at me. “Why do use apple shampoo, if you despise apples?” When she just stares at me, I nod at the apple. “That’s twice I’ve seen you pick an apple as a target. You got something against them?” Olivia shakes her head, but I can see she’s lying. I give her my best ‘Dad’ look and she squirms. Giving up, she tosses her hands in the air. Pointing at her ring she shakes the apple, then she mocks a gunshot at it.

“Travis taught you to shoot apples?”

When she nods, I ask why. In answer, Olivia points at the apple again, sets it down and uses both of her hands to make circles, then arcs for a trunk of a tree. I guess that, and she nods before pointing around the house. Once I get that, she makes a hopping motion with one hand over the other.

“An apple tree next door,” I say and she nods to confirm it. “I haven’t had an apple in over a year, and you people were shooting them like they were going out of style.” Olivia laughs and mouths that she’ll find me one. “You better, because I won’t forget.” She holds up three fingers to say she promises. “Good, now before we get started, I need another promise from you.” Without waiting for her to ask, I explain.

“If I’m going to teach you how to shoot, now would be the best time. We’re going to be here for at least the next few days, so it’s a secure location, and you should feel more comfortable with using the same surroundings.” I wait for her nod before I continue. “With that being said, you still need rest or I won’t teach you a thing. That means if you feel tired, or in pain, we stop immediately and come back later. If your breathing sounds funny, we’re done. Got it?” Olivia nods again. “Daily checks with Akio so he can listen to your lungs and make sure that their functioning properly. Same goes for your trach. I want you laying down for at least four hours a day and to sleep as much as you can. If you can do all that, we have a deal. If not, then we won’t even start.”

Olivia walks over and sticks out her hand. I shake it and hand her my gun. It’s the same caliber as hers, so the weight and shape are basically the same. Once she has it in her hand, she checks the safety twice, and looks at me for further instruction.

“Show me your stance.” Olivia turns toward the table and raises the gun. Her shoulders are perfect, arms straight, legs shoulder length apart and her hands are gripping correctly. “Perfect, you’ve been practicing.” She gives me a nod to say that she has. “Good, wanna try a shot now?” Another nod. “Go on then, flick the safety off. We’ll do this one without the silencer and then we’ll try one with it.”

Olivia lowers the gun and switches the lock off. Raising her arms and setting her stance again, I see her take a breath, release it as she pulls the trigger, and flinch at the sound at the last second. And the apple lives to see another day.

“That was good,” I say and she shoots me a look that screams, ‘are you for real?’ “It was, you only tensed right at the last second, you didn’t even close your eyes.” Tilting her head slightly, she smiles as she remembers. “We’ll try this time with the safety.”

Olivia nods as she turns the safety back on and hands it to me. Pulling the silencer out of my pocket, I quickly attach it to the gun. Once it’s ready, I hand it back to her to try again. Turning back to the table, Olivia shakes out her shoulders, before resetting her stance. It’s perfect once again. When she releases her deep breath, there isn’t so much as a bent elbow when the recoil pushes her back a small step, but I’m not paying much attention there. It’s completely devoted to the red and white styrofoam that burst into the air, so I miss the flying ball of black leather that hurls itself at my chest.

Olivia’s arms wind around my neck and her legs wrap around my waist in her excitement. I’m startled by her exuberance and have to grip her tighter so we don’t topple over. Managing to stay upright, I pull back to see her shining eyes and the huge grin plastered on her face. She even has a tiny dimple near the corner of her mouth that I’ve never seen before. I really want to kiss her, but I hold back so I don’t ruin the moment.

No luck there, since she hops down and does an adorable victory dance. Encapsulating shaking hips, raised arms and spinning, I can’t help but laugh. Olivia pauses to look at me for a second, before grabbing my hand, raising my arm slightly and twirling herself under it like a ballerina. She continues dancing, until she has to clutch her knees and heave out breaths.

“Looks like your showboating earned you bed rest.” Her head snaps up, making her slap a hand on her wound, which only further causes her pain. Ripping her hand away, I scowl at her. “Quit hitting yourself, it’s only making it worse.” She glares at me through her pain. “Yeah, yeah I know. It’s my fault that you looked up to begin with.” She nods a little and winces. “Come on, missy, upstairs to bed.”

Saluting me, Olivia heads up first. I stop to grab the gun she thankfully set down before her excitement took over, and see that she even made sure that the safety was in place. I can’t help the grin that takes over my face, and a little bit of pride that warms me, because I had a hand in her success. Sure, Travis and Cory laid the groundwork, but I figured out a way to make her hit the target. Now, I just have to get her to do it without the use of a silencer.

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

Chapter Fifty-One:

I spend the next two days teaching Olivia how to shoot with the silencer. We always start with her shooting one round without it, which she misses, then with the silencer to make her hit the apple; thankfully there’s a whole basket full of the foam fruit. I think that seeing her ability to obliterate the target is building her confidence, because she’s been fighting the flinch more and more with each try.

Besides teaching her how to shoot, Olivia’s occupied her time doing a variety of things. These included playing countless hands of cards with the group. She’s kicked Carlos, Oscar, Mike, Akio, Sarah, Danny, John’s and my own ass at poker, tied with Whitney and lost a few times to Cory. Tommy’s been keeping to himself, but he lets Olivia in. She spends at least two hours a day with him and won’t let anyone else in there when she visits, claiming that it makes him uncomfortable. I can see that, but then that means I have to detach myself from her hip for two hours.

And I have been firmly attached to it. We play Rummy upstairs when she’s resting, I bring Morris to her for a cuddle when she forces me to eat, which is pretty much the only time I leave her. We wash one another’s hair each night and then I brush it out which puts her to sleep. Meaning that I’ve been sleeping in the big bed with her every night, much to Cory’s chagrin.

Cory comes in to hang out with her for hours, but I don’t leave for their visits. Hell no, I warned him that he’d be seeing my ugly mug for a long time to come, and I think he’s finally starting to believe me. Now we only exchange a few verbal barbs here and there, and sometimes Olivia has to separate us to different corners. On the bed that is, because like I’ve said, I’ve been attached to her hip so I wouldn’t demote myself to the corner in the room.

My burns have scabbed over for the most part, so they don’t hurt as much. I look at lot more like Freddy Krueger, but as long as I have Olivia to doctor me, I’m alright. And she does. Each day, at least twice a day, we change and inspect the other’s wounds with Akio supervising at least one of them. Then we have our checkups with the Doc, where he listens to both ours and Cory’s lungs to make sure that we’re healing. He said mine sound clear, Cory’s are on the mend, and Olivia’s pneumothorax is still there, but sounds minor and will go away so long as she takes it easy. That appeases me slightly, but I won’t be completely satisfied until that’s cleared away.

And that brings us to today. Today is the big day where Olivia finally gets her tube removed. Akio said that if he had the proper equipment, he would have recommended she have it in for at least another week, but we don’t. So, it’s mandatory we take it out today so that she can eat and drink before she keels over from starvation or dehydration. Olivia seems excited about having it removed, but I’m freaking petrified.

I mean, what if she’s not ready and we take out the tube, only to have her start choking and we can’t get it back into her in time? Or, what if we damage her trachea on the way out? Or, she can’t swallow properly and really does wither away to a skeleton? Or...

I’m pulled out of my mental freak out by a jab from a tiny elbow landing in my rib. Rubbing away the sting, I look down at my little pixie sitting beside me. We’re in the middle of a game of poker with the twins, and I guess it’s my turn to set my hand down. Seeing as how I’ve been trapped in my head for a little while, my cards absolutely suck. Not daring to show such a miserable hand, I fold and place my measly high card of an 8 down face first in the pile of discards.

The twins raise identical eyebrows since I’ve never folded a hand before, but then they shrug and set their own hands down. Carlos a straight, Oscar a flush and Olivia trumping all with her full house. She reaches into the middle and collects her new pile of knives for winnings. The twins push each other and swear in Spanish, I don’t understand it all, but Olivia does and starts silently laughing as she observes them.

What will it be like to hear that again? Or her husky voice talking and singing? I’m crossing my fingers that she can still do both because I know that she’ll be crushed if she can’t. I know this because even though she can’t sing right now, that hasn’t stopped her from dancing to her CDs or mouthing the words. Music is part of who Olivia is and if she can’t sing, then she’s lost a vital piece of herself.

Olivia looks over at me and some of the mirth disappears as she mouths, ‘What’s wrong?’ She’s been mouthing words at the others for days, but she does both motions and mouthing the words only when she’s talking to me. I don’t think that she’s even realizing that she’s doing it, but I do. And it makes me feel kind of special that I didn’t need for her to mouth the words in order to understand what she was saying. I’ve even been doing a few hand signals of my own instead of verbalizing my answers.

Like now, I sign out that I’m a little worried about her tube. There’s no point in lying, she can sniff mine out like a bloodhound, just like I can tell when she is or if she’s holding out on me. Olivia’s face softens as she signs back that, ‘Everything will be fine. She’s done this before and it all turned out well in the end.’ I nod and she squeezes my hand for reassurance.

“You two are freaky as shit,” Oscar repeats my exact words for them. Olivia and I turn our attention to the twins and shoot them scowls. Carlos points at us.

“You even do the same facial expressions,” he adds. “I thought we were the twins here, but it looks like we’ve been replaced.”

“No one’s replacing you,” I say and wave a hand at the Super Twins. “We need Things One and Two around here to keep life interesting. Like Oscar will say something and you finish it, or you both say it at the same time like those creepy as twins from The Shining.” They shoot us identical glares, making Olivia and I laugh.

“What have we here?” John inquires as he plops down. He’s been gradually coming back to himself over the past few days. I’ve talked to him a few times when Olivia visited Tommy, and though he still feels guilty, I feel confident that he’ll be back to old self in no time. Maybe with just a little more caution thrown in.

“Did my little card shark sweep the board again?” Olivia nods at John’s question and points to her quarry. “Good, teach these cheating fucks how it’s done.”

“We don’t cheat,” Carlos counters.

“Yeah,” Oscar concurs. “You just suck.” John flips them off.

“I’ve never sucked at anything in my entire life,” John boasts.

“Then that’s your problem,” Oscar says. “You’re too cocky for your own good.”

“And the one’s up highest have the longest to fall,” Carlos finishes.

“Thank you, peer counselors one and two,” he replies and they flip him off. “But I like how I am just fine.”

“I don’t know how you’ve put up with him for so long,” Oscar mutters to me.

“I think that a good ass whooping might straighten him out,” Carlos suggests.

“Nah, I already tried that,” I say. “It only swells his head more.”

“Puh-lease,” John interrupts with a wave at us. “Jared’s never kicked my ass once. I had to save his pansy ass because he was too chicken shit to defend himself.” John ups his pitch to a whine. “’stop it. Leave me alone.’ "

“Actually, numb nuts, I didn’t even talk at all,” I correct him. “That was the problem to begin with. Herby being the asshole he is, asked me a question about what was for lunch that day and when I didn’t answer him, he decided to get physical. The impatient, fat ass.”

“Who the hell is Herby?” Carlos inquires.

“I think that he’s a kid they went to school with,” Oscar answers. John and I nod to say he’s right. “And Jared’s would-be bully.”

“An obese giant of a bully,” I revise. “The kid was pushing three tons and we were only four. I think he got kept back about five times already.”

“So I kicked his ass and wound up with this sullen bastard for a best friend,” John adds.

“And I’ve unfortunately been plagued with having this douchebag dogging my steps for twenty years,” I finish. John flips me off, but there’s no heat to it. A majority of men don’t get all warm and fuzzy with each other, we’re in that category, so this is our equivalent for it.

“Are you ready, Olivia?” Akio asks and five heads swivel to the doorway. Olivia nods hers rapidly before bouncing up onto her feet. “Come along then, Cory and Whitney have prepared us up a spot in the kitchen.”

Olivia grabs my hand and tugs me to my feet. Once I’m standing, she damn near rips my arm right out of the socket when she sprints after Akio down the hallway. She’s obviously ecstatic while I’m dragging my ass as much as I possibly can with her towing me long after her because, as I’ve mentioned before, I’m freaking petrified.

When she realizes my hesitance, Olivia turns and jumps up to place a quick kiss on my cheek. Sufficiently startled because she’s never placed her lips on me before, it takes me a minute to see her signing out reassurances. Mentally shaking cobwebs away, I sign back that ‘this better work or I’m snuffing the doctor with his pillow tonight.’ Olivia flashes me a smile, and says, ‘that won’t be necessary, but thanks for the offer.’ It wasn’t an offer, it’s a guarantee, but I don’t tell her that.

Finally reaching the kitchen, I see that they’ve set up a pseudo operating table on the kitchen island. There are clean sheets spread over the granite slab with a single thin pillow placed up at other end where the lighting comes in better. On a stool is a tray with an array of instruments like scalpels, medical scissors, tweezers, sewing utensils, gauze, tape, rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide. Seeing that there’s more tubing placed on the tray as we approach fills me with equal measures of relief and apprehension. If Akio was completely comfortable with his decision of taking out the trach tube early, that would not be within arm’s reach.

“Just hop up here and we can get started,” Akio instructs her.

His doctor voice doesn’t betray a single emotion, not unease or confidence. Absolutely nothing. It’s completely flat and makes me want to go over and shake the answers out of him, demanding that he convince me that Olivia is going to be fine. Assure me that I’m not signing her death warrant by hand delivering my pint sized Tomb Raider to his incompetent hands. My hands are literally shaking as I watch Cory grasp her tiny waist and set her gently on the prepared counter.

“Did you dress properly?” Akio inquires.

Olivia looks down, but nods her head. What the hell does he mean for her to ‘dress properly?’ She looks fine in her loose braid, boots and full leather gear, and looks no different to me than any other day. It’s when Akio orders her to remove her jacket that I see the difference and have to almost shove my eyeballs back into their respective sockets. She’s completely topless with the exception of what has to be six, tightly wrapped ace bandages binding her breasts. The scarring is completely overlooked since I’m gaping at her chest, come on a guy, of course I immediately zoned in on those babies.

Even with the layers of fabric restricting them, you can still see that there’s a larger cup size being smothered down to a ‘B’ because of the large amount of cleavage. I immediately remove my eyes from the deep valley between her breasts before I blow my load like an untouched virgin or have to retreat to the bathroom for a quick intermission. Looking up, I see that Olivia’s head is still aimed down and her shoulders are tense. That deflates my arousal in .05 seconds. What the fuck is wrong with me? I know what she’s been through, and here I am staring at her like she’s putting it out there willingly for all to see, when it’s obvious that Olivia wishes she were anywhere but here right now.

“That’s not properly,” Akio replies. “It’s squeezing your ribs, making it impossible to take a full breath, and I need cleared access to your chest so I can monitor your lungs. They still sound off.” Olivia further hunches her shoulders and wraps shaking arms around her scarred torso, so I step forward before this professional asshole makes her have a flashback or an anxiety attack.

“Can she wear a loose t-shirt?” I propose. Three out of the four sets of eyes train on me before I continue. “She’s small and if she put one of mine on, it’ll be like a gownie on her.”

Olivia finally peeks up through her soot-like lashes to look at Akio hopefully. That hopeful expression burns into my retina and makes me want to go cover her with four blankets if it made her happy. I look over to the man running this show to see his answer to such a simple request. Akio rubs a hand over his eyes before adjusting his glasses.

“Fine, just cut it up the back so it can be removed if necessary,” he concedes. I’m already stripping off my t-shirt when he says, ‘fine,’ but pause to stare at him.

“What do you mean, ‘if necessary’?” I demand and feel my blood pressure rise with panic fueled indignation. “You said that she’ll be fine. Are you confident enough to ensure her safety today, or should we wait?”

“It’s just a precaution,” he answers. “Now hurry up before we lose the light.”

Glaring because I don’t care much for his tone nor his lack of reassurance, I finally strip the rest of my shirt off but leave on the wife beater that I’ve since added to my daily dressing routine after seeing it set off one of Olivia’s triggers. Walking over to the tray of equipment, I snatch the medical scissors and cut the collar before tearing the rest of the shirt Hulk Hogan style. After replacing the scissors to their appointed spot, I turn to face Olivia.

“Hold your arms out,” I tell her softly. Raising her head up to meet my eyes, she unwraps one arm at a time and slips them through the sleeves. “Do you want Whitney to unwrap you, or can I do it?” Olivia holds my eyes, looks over her shoulder and jerks her chin for me to do it. I restrain the urge to fist pump, and concentrate on the task. “Hold the front of your shirt so it doesn’t slip. And Cory, block the door, we don’t need any uninvited gawpers.”

Once Olivia has hold of the shirt front, Cory’s positioned at the doorway with his arms crossed and expression stoic, I observe the wrappings. They’re the velcro style, so I begin by peeling back the outermost edge to detach it. After the adhesive side is free, I release it and pull the stretchy part on her back as opposed to reaching in and unravelling it by hand. It may be a slow process, but I don’t want to inadvertently cop a feel and set her off on a panic attack, which I have a new respect for after experiencing one myself.

And I can see that my efforts are appreciated when Olivia’s previously tense shoulders ease as she realizes that my hands will remain at her back the whole time. As the ace bandages come off, it reveals more and more of her skin, which means that more and more of her scars are uncovered. And no, I don’t feel horny at the view of her tiny waist and naked back, I feel fucking pissed. I have to bite my tongue from cursing out loud as I get my first real peek at the abused flesh. How the fuck anyone could do this to someone else, especially one as small as my beautiful girl, is completely baffling. But it shows the ugly side of human nature that we tend to ignore or pretend doesn’t exist until it smacks us in the face with a hit close to home, like I’m witnessing right now.

There are long, crisscrossing scars that vary from an inch to two inches in thickness, going from her shoulders to where some disappear underneath the waistband of her leather leggings. I’m guessing that most of those were from a whip, but some of the shorter ones have a shape added to the end that I can’t identify. Mixed in various places are circular, triangular and u-shaped burns, some of which are raised or wrinkled, and others that are still an angry red color.

As I’m removing the last of the seven bandages, I notice an irregular scar on her top right shoulder blade. I can’t even guess as to what caused it, but it’s like a long strip of skin was torn from her shoulder. I know that I’ll have to ask her about all of these, and the ones I’ve seen on her torso, so after I set the final bandage aside, I make a mental note to do so as soon as possible.

“All done,” I say and collect the pile of fabric.

I fold the ace bandages neatly and set them beside Olivia’s coat on the kitchen table. Eventually I’ll convince her that she doesn’t need to wear them at all, but for right now, I’ll let them remain as another piece to her armor. Once they’re set down, I return to take up my position at the table. Whitney’s on standby near the tray, waiting for further instructions, and Akio’s already begun uncovering the tube when I clasp Olivia’s hand in mine.

She gives me a light squeeze, I’m assuming it’s to reassure me, since her expression doesn’t reveal one ounce of fear. Olivia’s face is filled with impatience and acceptance, just waiting for this to be over and done with already. I’m certain that she’s experienced much worse than this, but I haven’t, so my healthy amount of fear is more than sufficient for the two of us.

“It’s time, Jared,” Akio states.

Akio’s already removed the gauze and cleaned the surrounding area free of the creams, so he’s waiting for me to hold her down. I give a quick nod to him before leaning down to kiss her forehead. Obviously, I want more than a brotherly peck, but I’ll take anything I can get for now. Keeping the contact brief, I pull back and meet her eyes.

“You ready?” I ask and my tough girl rolls her eyes. “Good, because I’m not.”

Her eyes widen slightly at my easy confession, but I leave it at that and wrap my arm around her waist to keep her still. Olivia’s arms are under mine, but she hooks them onto mine to keep from thrashing out accidentally. Once she’s restrained, Akio reaches for the tube.

We still don’t have prescription grade pain medication, so we’re operating with her not under the influence of anything. Which is the same as the last time, but this time around, we have crushed over the counter pills, that we found in a cabinet, and mixed the powder in a water bottle for her to drink down afterward. That, along with her cream, should give her some relief afterwards, but I fully intend to make her sleep as soon as she’s hydrated.

Turning my attention back to the surgery, I see that Akio has tweezers prying the skin apart as he slowly extracts the tubing. Olivia’s breathing has increased and her eyes are clenched shut, same as her jaw, so tightly that I fear she may crack her teeth. She may be tough, but this has to hurt like hell. Olivia isn’t even using my arm like a pincushion for her nails; instead they’re firmly digging into her own palms because she refuses to cause me any more pain.

Well fuck that, so long as she’s in pain, I want to be too. No matter how insignificant it may be when compared to hers, I want to go through it with her. Using my free left hand, I do some extracting of my own as I remove her nails from her palms, where four bloody crescent shapes have taken up residence. Olivia struggles to detach her hand from mine, but for the first and hopefully only time in my life, I use my strength to force to do something she doesn’t want to. I cling to her bloody hand, making her use my burned one to brace herself.

At first, I can feel Olivia forcing her fingers to lock straight so that they didn’t come in contact with my bandages, but as her pain increased, her tolerance level was breached and she clamped down on my scabbed skin with a vengeance. I could feel the sting as some of them tore away and reopened, but I ignored it. A slight sting wasn’t going to stop me from being there for Olivia and is nothing compared to having a piece of plastic slowly scrape along the inside of your inflamed throat.

When I look up, Akio’s still keeping his pace slow and steady. I can see that he’s removed several inches of the blood covered tube, so it’s more than half way out when Olivia starts choking. Her arms immediately start flailing to try and get to the obstruction, but Akio hisses at me to keep her still. I’m freaking the fuck out, and already planning where I’m burying Akio’s body, when he finally gets the rest of the tube out. Blood bubbles out from the wound, making me panic even more, so I ignore Akio’s orders to stay calm, you stay calm you murdering mother fucker!

Releasing my restraining arm from her waist, I slide up to where her head is laying, throw the measly pillow out of the way, and push my arm behind her neck. Using my right hand, I tilt her chin back to open the passageway. Seeing that she’s still struggling, I turn furious eyes on Akio.

“Do something, you incompetent fuck!” I shout at him.

“I was trying to, you bull headed, neurotic moron!” Akio retorts. If I weren’t so pissed off and panicked, I would have been taken aback. But seeing as I am those things, it makes me reach across the table, grip the Doc by his collar and shake him.

“Fix it now, or so help me god, I will reach into your stomach, pull out your intestines and strangle you with them,” I growl out. I feel his Adam’s apple bob up and down against the back of my hand, that’s still fisted in his shirt, as he gulps then nods his head.

“A-alright,” he says shakily. “B-but you have to l-let go so I can s-suction the airway.”

Letting go quickly, I turn my attention back to a wheezing Olivia. With each strangled breath she takes, blood trickles from the incision on her neck, and when she coughs, a puff of air speckled with red sprinkles her face like a mist of rain. Her eyes are wide and frightened when they meet mine, so I pat her hair back and hold her gaze.

“You’re going to be fine, I promise.”

Olivia just blinks at me, probably because if she were to move her head, then it would cut out what little air she’s getting. Cory looks just as frantic as I am, but he’s holding it together as he squeezes her hand. Whitney passes Akio of all things, a fucking turkey baster, which he takes as he pulls back the skin to Olivia’s incision and inserts it inside. I can hear a squishing noise and see blood start to fill up the clear tube. It’s not a lot, but it shouldn’t fucking be there to begin with. Diverting my eyes back to Olivia, I try to hide my panic and be strong for her, since I sure as hell can’t be strong enough for myself without an incentive.

Out of my peripheral vision, I see Whitney hold up a bowl for Akio to squeeze the excess blood into. I concentrate on the sound of Olivia’s breathing, it still sounds a little wet, but it’s better than it was. Akio does the same process twice more before Olivia stops choking on blood and is able to take a better breath. After one last baster to the neck, Akio thinks it’s cleared enough to stitch the outer incision, he says that the hole in her trachea will heal on its own, so the fucker better be right if he values his life.

Readying his stitching equipment, Akio removes Whitney’s hand from holding pressure on the wound so that he can work. There’s still a light stream of blood trickling down, but it’s nothing compared to how it was. Setting the needle to skin, Akio concentrates completely on his task.

There’s another neat little line of stitches being made only a couple of inches away from her last set that should be coming out in a few days. Right now, Olivia kind of looks like Sally from Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas, but that’s a hell of a lot better than dead, so I can deal. Not to mention I could not care less about her external packaging’s scars, she’s beautiful regardless and it’s what’s inside that I really love about her. Her strong spirit, her attitude, her dry sense of humor, how she’ll tear into you if you piss her off, they are parts of the whole that make up my Olivia.

The twins were right, she does have fire and it’s the mark of a survivor.

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

Chapter Fifty-Two:

“Done,” Akio says as he ties off the stitches.

Setting his tools aside, he removes his glasses and brushes a forearm across his sweat-covered face. Akio looks completely exhausted, and I’m sure relieved that he was able to successfully complete a surgery that he was never trained to do in the first place. Once I’ve assured my terrified brain that Olivia’s fine, I’ll apologize for my behavior, but not one second before then.

Looking at Olivia, I see that Cory’s gripping both of her bloody cheeks as he wipes them clean with his thumbs, and is talking to her quietly less than four inches from her face. If I wasn’t positive that the asshole loved her only as a platonic, adopted brother, he might have been missing a limb or two right now. But since I’ve seen their relationship through many ups and downs, close calls and reunions; I know that there’s nothing sexual about it. It’s pure emotion that bounces back between the two of them, not chemistry or attraction that glues them to each other for life.

After kissing her forehead, Cory steps aside and holds her hand. Nodding at me, he gives me permission to approach; as if I needed it, but I appreciate the effort just the same. He’s trying to accept me, same as I am him, so this is a good sign that he’s willing to let me have a minute with her. Little does Cory know that as soon as I get my hands on her, Olivia’s disappearing with me upstairs and won’t be back until I feel that it’s safe.

Quickly stepping forward, I reclaim my place by her head and brush her hair back. She has her eyes open, and instead of pain or happiness in their depths, there’s pure fury. I glance around to see who pissed her off, and am surprised when I look back to find her sitting up and heaving out breaths.

“Wha..”

My question is cut off abruptly when a tiny hand lands across my face. It stings a bit, but I ignore it as I turn my head back, startled as I look at her. Olivia points at me, pats her chest and picks up my hand. Showing me my bloody bandage, I know why she’s so pissed. Picking up her hands in mine, I give them a gentle squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “But you were in so much pain, I couldn’t just sit here.” Olivia still looks like she wants to whack me again, so I appeal to her nature. “You would have done the same for me, so don’t give me that. If I was sitting where you are, struggling with pain, you would have comforted me, no questions asked.” Holding up my hand, I continue.

“This is nothing. I don’t even feel it, but what I did feel was guilt that I’m sitting here useless, when I could at least give you something to brace against instead of tearing at your own flesh.” I flip her hands so that they’re palm side up. She gives the crescent shaped scratches and dried blood a cursory glance, but I know that she’s softening.

“You can be tough, but you aren’t alone anymore.” I point around the room to Whitney, Akio and Cory, before pointing at myself. “We’re all here because we care about you, and we aren’t going to let you suffer alone anymore, so you better get used to it.”

Olivia slides to the edge of the counter and throws her arms around my shoulders. I can feel sobs wracking her back, a mixture of pain and relief that she was obviously holding back. Snatching the water bottle that Whitney mixed with pain meds, I pick Olivia up and carry her out of the room; ignoring Akio’s orders to set her down. She doesn’t even fight me, which warms me because I have her trust to take her anywhere, and shows how upset she really is.

I make sure that the back of her t-shirt is closed, before I pass the living room, where there are several pairs of curious eyes watching my progress. I ignore those too, and continue on to the stairs. Climbing them two at a time, I proceed to our room at the end, and it is our room. I may have instilled myself in there, but it’s the room where Olivia finally let her guard down with me. It’s where she’s shared her nightmares, and we’ve battled them together each night with her snuggled tight to my chest. Where we’ve joked, talked the night away, and doctored each other. And it’s where I feel impossibly more in love with her.

Adjusting her slightly, I enable it possible to open the door without setting Olivia or her bottle of pain medicine down. Stepping inside, I kick the door shut behind me and lock it before I walk over to the bed. Slipping my boots off along the way, I climb onto the bed with her clinging onto me like a monkey. Assuming my position on the bed, I settle her on my chest like she always winds up in when she sleeps, being extra careful with her new stitching. I’ll see to it that it’s cleaned and wrapped as soon as she’s calmed, but right now, I just want to comfort both her and myself.

Olivia may have went through the physical trauma, but I went through the ringer emotionally. Fear, anger, hope, back to fear, circling around each emotion like a vulture searching for its prey until it was finally over. I can still feel the remnants coursing through my body as if I drank a liter of caffeine and haven’t worked it off yet.

Hoping to calm my still shaking hands, I remove her ponytail holder and run my fingers through the braid. Once it’s sufficiently spread over me like a cashmere blanket, I grab a handful and inhale her apple/mint scent. Even with Olivia washing my own hair with her products, I still prefer the smell on her. Maybe it’s because I can’t smell it on myself, or maybe it’s because she adds her own natural mix to it, but I can never seem to get enough of it.

Each night, I lay awake and take hits of it like a crack addict. Obviously, it’s after she’s gone to sleep so that she doesn’t whack me for being a creeper, but it’s become my routine. Brush out Olivia’s hair until she’s fallen asleep, then cuddle her and sniff her hair like a weirdo so that I can go to sleep with the smell of apples still in my nostrils. I know, I’m approaching borderline obsessed, but this is Olivia we’re talking about here; it’s not just some random chick I picked up off the street. This is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life pleasing, or begging for her to give me a chance. She’s my friend right now, but I want so much more than that. I nearly laugh at the very realistic scenario in which I chase her around with my arms spread out in front of me while screaming, ‘Let me love you!’ at her retreating form.

I’m pulled out of my little stalker-like thoughts, when I feel Olivia tilt her head slightly to meet my eyes. Olivia’s are bloodshot, her cheeks are splotchy and her nose is a little red, but she’s never looked more beautiful. Brushing her hair away from her face, I tuck it behind an ear so I can take in the whole picture without any obstructions to my view.

“You okay?” I ask and she nods. “You can breathe, there’s nothing bothering you?” Another nod. “How are the stitches? They don’t pinch you or anything, right?”

Olivia finally sits up so she can use her hands to motion out her answers. The first thing she does is tell me that ‘She’s fine, and to calm the hell down before she has to knock me out.’ That makes me smile, and once she’s satisfied that I’m not going to talk my way into another panic attack, she returns it.

“Glad to hear it,” I reply and sit up as well. “Now let me doctor you, you’re getting blood all over the bed.”

She’s not, but it makes her sit through my ministrations without a single complaint. Once I’ve got both sets of her stitches covered in the antibacterial and the pain cream, I apply the gauze patches and medical tape. Next, I clean her face of the dried blood she coughed up. Lastly, I work on her hands. They’re only minor cuts, so after I clean them with a sterile wipe, I put a little bit of antibacterial on and leave them alone.

Looking up after completing my task, I see that my torn and bloody shirt is in danger of slipping from her shoulder and flashing me the goods. As much as Junior is jumping at the chance to gaze upon the beauties about to pop out and say hello, I know that would wind up embarrassing her, or sending her into an anxiety attack; so I carefully lift the goose down comforter and wrap it around her shoulders. Olivia looks at me curiously, as if she doesn’t know why I’m smothering her in a hundred pound quilt when it’s muggy in this room, but I ignore it and go grab my bag from the floor. Digging through, I locate another one of my t-shirts, that Whitney has since cleaned, and hand it to her.

Finally realizing why I covered her, Olivia’s pale cheeks flush with color as she snatches the shirt from me, and buries herself under the blanket. Fighting the urge to laugh, because I’m positive that it’ll end with me cupping my balls and be mewling in the fetal position on the floor, I climb up onto the bed. This time it isn’t Olivia’s added weight that makes it a challenge, it’s my now engorged cock and heavy balls that have become uncomfortably fuller with the thought of Olivia’s exquisite breasts. Once I’m situated with a portion of the blanket draped across my lap, I breathe in deep and calming breaths to settle down and wait for Olivia to resurface.

Let me just say that men have the worse luck in hiding their arousal, I mean, we have this fucking sword that pretty much pokes the woman in the eye; so it’s pretty freaking impossible to hide, while a woman can just cross her arms or wear a padded bra to hide their pointy nips. It’s completely unfair, and they have the nerve call us the privileged sex? As if. You can play hard to get since we have to literally get in your face or touch you to see how you’re affected, while all you have to do is glance south and find the ‘X’ marking the spot, saying ‘go ahead and take me!’

I’m pulled out of my mental rant, when I see a head full of black hair pop out of the white blanket. Her face is now flushed with heat instead of embarrassment, and covered in sweat. Olivia’s hand comes out next, offering me my torn shirt, so I take it and toss it aside. She scowls and picks it back up.

“What?” I ask. “It’s ruined.” Holding it together, she motions that it can be sewn. “You don’t have to, I have plenty more.”

Olivia holds my gaze to see if I’m lying, I’m not really since I have at least three more in my bag, besides I can score some more pretty easily. Once she’s done, she folds the scrap and sets it aside, I guess I didn’t convince her, so I’ll be getting a mended shirt in the near future. Hell, if she goes through the trouble of sewing the bloody scraps back together, I’ll wear it every freaking day until it can’t be worn anymore if it makes her happy.

Pointing at the gauze, Olivia picks up my right hand. I pass her the necessary supplies and patiently wait through her doctoring. It’s no hardship on my end to have her run gentle fingers along my skin to apply the creams, or brush my hair back so that it won’t get caught in the tape on the other side. It’s actually pretty damn relaxing, so I close my eyes and let her mummify me.

When she’s finished, I reach over and put the first aid equipment away, before picking up her laced water bottle from the night stand on the way back. As soon as she sees it, Olivia nearly knocks me off the bed in order to get her hands on it. Laughing at her exuberance, I catch her shoulders and set her back.

“Relax, I know you want to guzzle it down, but you have to pace yourself,” I say and give her a stern look.

Olivia nods obediently, and makes a ‘gimme’ motion like a toddler, which is quite adorable since she’s not that much bigger than one. Seeing that she still looks like she wants to tackle me, I hand the bottle to her, and she immediately twists the cap and sets it to her lips. I go to intercept her, but she holds her hand out and shows me that she is indeed only taking tiny sips. Taking small increments of medicine laced water, Olivia manages to drink about half of the contents down in ten minutes, before she can’t stand any more. After recapping the bottle, she hands it back to me and lays down.

I stretch out beside her, immediately feeling an arm curve around my waist and a head settle on my chest; along with the mouthwatering scent of apples. Happy that she won’t be poked by a now settled appendage, I smile as I wrap an arm around Olivia’s back and hug her close. I know that she’ll be out in seconds, and then I can stalk to my heart’s content.

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

“Jared, open this fucking door right the fuck now!” Cory shouts.

I jolt out of a sound sleep at the sound of the asshole’s raised voice. Olivia sits up quickly, and immediately winces as her neck protests the movement. She breathes through the pain, but motions for me to get the door. I slide out of the bed and stomp to the door. Flipping the lock, I swing it open and scowl at the bastard on the other side. Make that bastards, since he isn’t alone. I up my scowl to encompass Cory, Akio and Whitney. Further down the hallway, I see several more pairs of eyes peering from the stairs, so I flip them off.

“Well?” My voice is still scratchy from sleep, but I can tell they heard it, since I see Cory’s furious expression harden even more. “What the fuck do you want?”

“To check on Olivia,” Cory hisses through his teeth.

“She was fine until you woke her up, you asshole,” I say. Cory clenches his fists.

“I wouldn’t have had to wake her, if you let Akio do his fucking job, you prick,” he retorts. “Instead, you decided to secret her away when she wasn’t even cleared. Do you know that her lungs could be filled with blood right now?” My breath freezes in my throat and Cory nods. “That’s right, since you’re an impatient douchebag, Olivia’s lungs could be collapsing as we speak, so get the fuck out of the way, now.”

My feet are already moving before his growl finishes the warning. I grab Akio’s arm and literally drag him over to the bed. Olivia witnesses my mistreatment of her doctor, so she scowls and motions out chastisements at me, but I barely pay attention to them. Instead, I take a page from Carlos’s book and point at Olivia.

“Fix Olivia now.”

Akio ignores me, as he very deliberately snaps his gloves in place, then his stethoscope. I’m just about to tackle him for being a spiteful bastard, when he turns to Olivia.

“Any pain?” Akio asks. Olivia makes a so-so motion, to which he nods. “And your breathing? Does it feel congested like you’re going to cough something up as you would with a cold?”

Olivia shakes her head as Akio lifts the chest piece and places it on her back. He makes those ‘um-hm’ noises that can be good, or could be a sign that he doesn’t like whatever he’s hearing. Akio moves the chest piece around and listens to both her back and chest in various places, before standing upright. Tilting her chin, he runs his fingers along my patch job and feels under her jaw. Nodding, he steps back and turns to address the tense room.

“Her lungs sound fine,” he announces and there’s a collective sigh of relief. “Tell me immediately if she’s struggling to take a breath, or if she starts choking.”

Akio says the last bit with a pointed look at me. I nod, but it’s not necessary. If Olivia does either of those things, I’m kicking in the Doc’s door; regardless of the time of day, to hand deliver her to his care. Akio and Whitney leave, but not Cory.

Oh no, big brother has instilled himself in my spot on the bed. After experiencing this same treatment multiple times over the past few days, I know how to deal with it. Instead of forcibly removing him, I take up my position on her other side to make an Olivia sandwich. Ignoring Cory’s glare, I snatch hold of Olivia’s hand and lace the tiny fingers with my own.

“You don’t have to stay,” Cory says casually. As with before, I know how to handle this too.

“No, I don’t have to,” I agree. “I want to, but if you feel duty bound to stay here, feel free to leave. I’ve got it covered.” His glare turns even icier if that were possible, but I couldn’t care less. I’m not here to argue with him, I’m here to make sure Olivia’s alright, so I turn my attention away from him, and to her. “Do you want to try some more water?”

Olivia nods her head slightly, so I reach onto the nightstand to grab her bottle. Handing it to her, she takes a good half dozen of small sips before wincing and giving it back to me. Cory eyes her like a hawk, seeing each grimace as she swallows, he glares at them as if his fierce countenance will frighten them into submission. Olivia catches him scowling, so she rubs his arm and leans over to coddle him as if he were the one going through pain. Tucking the giant Vet into her chest, she pats his hair back and kisses his brow. This is what I was talking about, her comforting people when she’s the one who should be comforted.

“Do you need anything else, Olivia?” I ask. She shakes her head and motions for me to go eat, so I give her a head shake of my own. “Not until you do.” Olivia points at her mouth, and waves a finger to say she isn’t hungry. “You have to be hungry, you haven’t eaten anything in days.” I point at her gaunt cheeks that have sunken in.

“She will,” Cory insists. His voice is slightly muffled from laying on Olivia’s comfy chest, but his tone brooks no arguments. “Why don’t you head downstairs and whip something up for her? That soup you made the other night wasn’t half bad, but just give her the broth. I don’t think she could handle solids yet.”

I glance at Cory’s form sprawled on top of Olivia. I know that he’s more than capable of tending to her needs while I go cook, but his eyes are closed, and he looks like he might slack on his duties and nap instead.

“Alright,” I agree. “But you better not fall asleep on her, or I’ll kick your ass.”

“As if, King Kong,” he retorts. Cory’s been switching back and forth between calling me ‘Freddy Krueger’ and ‘King Kong’ since my panic attack, so I’m used to it by now. Besides, he’s still Betty Crocker regardless of his sucky baking skills. “I can take care of my sister just fine, thank you very much, and you couldn’t kick my ass even if I tied my hands behind my back.”

“Fine, GI Joe, you stay here and watch after my second best friend,” I tell Cory and see Olivia smile. “While I go cook her something simple with a ton of calories, before she withers away.”

Seeing Cory’s nod, I lean over him to kiss Olivia’s forehead, ignoring the pinch the bastard gives me on my stomach for squishing him. Tough shit, if he didn’t want to be squeezed, then he shouldn’t have gotten between Olivia and me. Leaving the bed, I grab my backpack on the way out since I might as well sneak a shower in while I’m gone so I don’t have to leave Olivia’s bedside again. Continuing down the hallway, I see Tommy’s door is still closed on the end. I make note to visit him today, since I don’t think Olivia will be up for it, and jog down the stairs.

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

Chapter Fifty-Three:

“She okay?” John asks from the living room.

I stop in to answer him, finding that the room is filled with a majority of the others, all of which are looking to me for a status on Olivia’s condition. Sarah’s hand is frozen mid pat on Morris’s back, which he’s peeved about, but she doesn’t notice since she’s busy staring at me. Danny’s sitting on the opposite side of her with a similar expression, as are the twins from their position on the floor near John. The three of them are centered around the strewn supplies on the floor, varying from weapons, to first aid, tools, ammo, and suspiciously; a great deal of food.

“Where’d the food come from?” I ask and point at the stack. Three male faces blank, as if that doesn’t wave a red flag. “Okay, you obviously made a supply run.” Slight nods confirm my obvious statement. “What else have you been up to behind my back? Building moats, digging underground tunnels, experiments in the basement?”

“No to all of the above,” Oscar answers.

“But we did implement Tommy’s idea with the van’s windows,” Carlos adds.

“And clean the inside,” John says. “It looks brand new and doesn’t smell like blood or decay anymore.”

“And the supplies came from where?” I repeat the question, because I know that they’re stalling in hopes that I’ll forget. Yeah, no way that’s happening. They not only left me behind, they purposely left me out of the loop entirely. And it ticks me off since wherever it is that they went, must have been close, or I would have noticed their prolonged absence; and I could have definitely handled a quick supply run.

“There’s a town up the road,” Danny replies this time, so I turn to face him.

“You went too?” I ask and he nods. “When the fuck did the four of you sneak out together? And how the hell did I miss it?”

“We didn’t go together,” John says. “We went hunting in pairs, and just so happened to stumble upon the town down the road, and we somehow managed to squeeze in a trip or two to grab some supplies. So, really, we just killed two birds with one stone.” Sarcastic prick.

“Okay, so you deliberately misguided me, and left me out of the loop, why exactly?” I demand as I cross my arms. In response, their eyes all travel to my burns.

“We didn’t want you hurt anymore,” Sarah says quietly. My eyes flash to meet hers.

“You mean to tell me, that you went with them?” My voice is quiet, but can’t be taken as anything other than furious. Sarah’s hazel eyes widen, as she shakes her head rapidly.

“No, I didn’t go anywhere besides the backyard with Whitney,” she replies. “And only then so we could hang clean clothes on the line, and always with one of the boys keeping watch.”

“We wouldn’t have taken her with us,” John hisses at me. “Jesus Christ, Jared, how could you even think that I would put Sarah in danger again? She may not be related by blood, but she’s my sister just as well as yours!” John’s heaving out angry breaths, and glaring at me by the end. Obviously, he took offense, and rightly so. He’d never willingly put Sarah in a dangerous position, especially after the loss of his girls. I hold out my hands to show that I didn’t mean it; he waves it away and balls his fists.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I begin carefully. “I’m just a tad stressed as it is, and wasn’t thinking. I know you wouldn’t do anything that could harm Sarah.” John nods, but his body’s still tense. “And I’ve been preoccupied with Olivia, so I’m sorry, and I’ll try to do better.”

“You’re doing fine,” John huffs out. The twins, Danny and Sarah nod their agreement.

“I want to do better,” I insist. “This isn’t a monarchy, if you have suggestions, say them. I never asked to be head honcho, but somehow I am. So, could you please help me out by sharing your schemes, and keep me informed from now on?”

“Fine,” they agree in unison.

“But you can start,” Carlos says.

“How’s Olivia, and don’t give us some bull shit answer,” Oscar orders.

“Her tube caused some bleeding, so we have to monitor her for a couple of days,” I say, giving it to them straight. “Akio thinks she’ll be fine, but I doubt he’ll tell you anything, since he’s still wound up in that damn Hippo law.”

“And you?” Sarah asks. “Will you be alright?”

Seeing her worried frown tears me up inside, so I crouch down in front of her and take hold of her hand. It’s bigger than Olivia’s, and pisses me off that I haven’t done this before. I usually left John to deal with comforting her, but she’s my sister too, and I should have manned up and been there for more than just a courtesy check.

“I’m fine, Rah-rah,” I say and see her give me a watery smile at the childhood nickname our Dad gave her. Usually, I just call her PITA, so I make note to use the silly name more often, since she seems to like it more. Not to mention if our parents were still alive, she would still be their little princess ‘Rah-rah.’

“Really?” Sarah asks uncertainly.

In response, I pull her in for a bear hug. I’ve hugged Sarah a handful of times in the past few months, before supply runs, after the raid, when she punched Kelly, but I can’t remember a single time where I hugged her just because. And before the infestation, I only recall forced hugs between us on holidays for pictures.

I know, I suck at being a big brother. But I’m learning, the thanks belonging to Olivia. Me wanting to be a better man for her, makes a better man for all, especially to my baby sister. Like now I know that there’s more to taking care of Sarah than making sure she’s safe, clothed and fed. She has to be happy, and I’ll be making sure that she is from now on. And if Danny does, I might begrudge the gangly bastard a spot our family circle. Maybe.

Pulling back from Sarah, I give a noogie to her curly head to show that I’m not completely soft. Sure, I can be more sensitive to her feelings, but I still am an older sibling, so teasing comes with the territory. And she knows it, since Sarah gives me a mock scowl, but can’t bite back the smile that breaks through.

Standing upright, I see Danny watching me suspiciously, like I’m a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Can’t really blame the kid, since I mostly snap at him, and I did break his nose just a few weeks back. You can even see that it’s now slightly crooked on the bridge, and instead of feeling masculine pride at the evidence, I feel disgusted with myself for losing my temper over a mistake and punching a minor. Remembering my earlier promise to apologize, I choose now to make good on it. I stick my hand out to Danny, and want to punch myself in the face when he flinches. I leave it out there, but he just stares at it.

“I’m sorry,” I say. Danny looks even more startled by that, so I explain my baffling actions. “I’m sorry for punching you, if there were a jail still operating, I’d throw myself in it. You’re just a kid and you made a mistake, but I lost my temper, and even that’s no excuse for my childish actions. I’m sorry for every name that I might have called you, I would name them, but I don’t think that I can recall them all.” That earns a few chuckles from behind me, but I ignore them in favor of continuing my long overdue conversation with the young man in front of me. “And I want to thank you for taking care of Sarah. I know I’ve been asshole to you, but I’ve noticed that you don’t let that affect how you treat her. You’ve comforted and protected her, sometimes even more than I have, so thanks.”

“Are you serious?” Danny asks cautiously.

I nod as I wiggle my fingers still held out in front of him. I would have tried for a friendly smile, but I think that it might come off as more of a shark baring its teeth to Danny, so I hold off on that and wait for him to either accept my apology, curse me out, or hit me like I deserve. But Danny’s obviously the better man that I’m trying to be, so he stands to his full 5’11” and accepts the offer with a firm handshake.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

“Maybe you could train Sarah in knife training?” I propose. “I’ve seen your skills, and you’re not half bad. I’d even go so far as to say you’re better than John and Oscar.” I hear the two men make noises of offense behind me, but it’s true.

“Really?” Danny asks with a boyish grin that reveals his youth. I nod and almost get plowed over by his excited hug. I pat his back awkwardly, just because I might be all touchy feely with the girls, doesn’t mean that I want dudes feeling up on me. Danny must feel my tension, because he pulls back and shrugs it off as it never happened. “I mean, yeah that’s cool, I could definitely teach Sarah a few tricks.”

“There’s room in the basement,” I offer and follow his example of ignoring the awkwardness. “You know, where I’ve been training with Olivia?”

“Yeah, she teach you anything new?” Danny asks. Everyone knows that we’ve been training, but they figured she’s been teaching me stuff, not the other way around. Which she kind of is, since Olivia’s teaching me how to live, more than just survive; so I shrug at Danny.

“Mostly just practicing,” I answer. “I’m sure that once she’s healed up, she’ll get back to teaching lessons.”

“Cool,” Danny says with a nod, before looking at Sarah. “You wanna start now?”

“Hells yes!” Sarah exclaims and nearly tosses Morris out her way as she stands. The cat lets loose a loud howl of protest when he bounces out of a sound sleep on the couch. Seeing her distraught pet, Sarah crouches down and rubs the white fur underneath his chin. “Sorry, Mors, I’ll bring you to visit Auntie Liv in a little while. Mommy’s gotta go to school now.”

“‘Auntie Liv?’” I ask with raised eyebrows. Sarah looks at me like I’m dumb.

“You love her, so that makes her Morris’s aunt,” Sarah answers easily. My eyes bug out, and I glance around to make sure that my tiny Tomb Raider isn’t lurking the shadows listening to Sarah spout off something as groundbreaking as that, as if it were nothing more than a weather report.

“Keep it down, Jesus, Rah-rah,” I whisper sharply.

“Why, it’s true,” she insists.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know that,” I hiss.

“Why the hell not?” Sarah demands and plants her fists on her hips. “Are you planning on making an honest woman out of her, or are you going to treat her like you did Victoria, or John did the girls?” If my eyes could have popped completely out of my head, it would have been right there. “Don’t look at me like that, you either, Jon-Jon. I’m sixteen, not four, so I did have Sex Ed, and ‘the talk’ with Mom and Dad. Not to mention that neither of you were quiet about it. ‘OMG!’ ‘Harder Jonathan!’ ‘You like that, baby?’ ‘Yes!’ ‘Right there, you big sexy man!’ ‘Fuuuuck’” I think I might puke from hearing Sarah’s realistic imitations of Chelsea, Kelly, John, Marissa, Victoria and my own orgasms, but she isn’t done there.

“I had to bury myself under a mound of pillows every single night just to try and drown out the sound of creaking bed frames, screams and moaning that was coming through the walls. And I still couldn’t even fall asleep, until you finished making your racket, and quit your mating calls!”

Oh my god, I think I might die of embarrassment. I look away from my little sister’s knowing look, to see how John’s taking it. John’s entire face is flushed, from his neck to the tips of his ears, and all the way up into his blonde hairline. The twins are laughing hysterically, but I ignore it as I try to grasp at straws and gain some kind of control over this train wreck of a conversation. An entire year of abstinence out of fear of being caught by Sarah was not for nothing, and all my hard work was spoiled within hours of meeting that fucking red head. God, I hope that slut is rotting in hell right now. Shaking my head, I clear my throat, and adopt my fatherly tone.

“That’s grown up stuff,” I begin and Sarah joins the twins in their laughing fit. “Besides, we’re men, and we have urges that you know nothing about, right Danny?” Danny looks a little stunned to be dragged into this conversation, but he recovers quickly.

“Absolutely,” he agrees easily. “Sarah and I have chastity rings and everything. We barely hold hands, and we’ve never even kissed.”

Such a bull shit answer, but I’ll let him live. After all, it would be rather hypocritical of me to kill him for doing something as natural as having sex. And I’m not delusional enough to believe that Sarah has been dating the same guy for six months, living in close quarters with him for that entire time; while having nothing else to do but play board games, and still be a naive virgin. I mean, I didn’t have half of that shit stacked against me, and I was already having sex for over a year by the time I was Sarah’s age.

And Danny’s a dude, so I know for a fact that he’s getting it from somewhere, either manually or from some other source that I don’t want to know anything about. Besides, they’re obviously using some form of safe sex since Sarah’s not knocked up, and it better stay that way. So as long as Sarah isn’t hurt or impregnated, I’ll pretend that it doesn’t exist. And I better not see any evidence of that shit or I’ll go blind.

“You remember my warnings?” I ask Danny. He gulps, but nods his head. Sarah witnesses the exchange, and looks between us with squinted eyes as if she’s trying to figure out what the hell I’m talking about that has Danny shaking in his size tens. “Nothing for you to worry about, Rah-rah, just some guy talk. But we’re done now, so how about you take your boyfriend downstairs and go learn something?”

“I don’t believe you for a second, Jarry, but I want to be taught more than sit here and argue with you, so I’ll let it slide for now,” Sarah warns. “Come on, Danny, we have some knives to throw.”

Sarah grabs hold of Danny, who willingly follows her out of the room and toward the basement, all while holding her hand. Which proves Danny’s bull shit lie for what it is, barely hold hands, my burned ass. Turning away from the door they disappeared from, I run a hand down my face in an attempt to try and erase the entirety of that whole exchange. After removing my hand, I see that the twins are still laughing, and John has since recovered from his embarrassment; so his face is no longer tomato red. I cross my arms, and stare at the identical assholes finding my traumatic plight hysterical.

“I take it that you two didn’t have a sister,” I say.

“Nope, it was just us,” Oscar confirms.

“We were more than enough for our mama to handle,” Carlos adds. “She was always worrying about us spreading our seed throughout the neighborhood like a pair unneutered dogs, just like our scoundrel of a daddy.”

“Which we did,” Oscar grins unrepentantly.

“But we were much more careful with our equipment,” Carlos says with a smirk. “We didn’t want to pause our marathon of fucks to get prescriptions for chlamydia or pampers.”

“Wrap it and tap it, that’s what I always say,” John remarks and the three share a smile. “My dick never met a pussy without a glove to catch the baby batter.”

“I’m sorry,” I begin. “But I absolutely cannot, and will not, contribute to a conversation about the attributes of safe sex, or the pleasures of fucking, since this was all started by Sarah, and that’s just disturbing.”

John grimaces as if he just remembered that it was Sarah’s calling us out on our promiscuity that opened this line of discussion to begin with. I’m perfectly fine with talking about sex of any kind. Be that oral, vaginal, anal, missionary, doggy style, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, follatio, cunnilingus, 69, I don’t care because I fucking love sex! Men have it on their brains 99.98% of the time, so it’s only natural that when you throw us together, the conversation is most definitely going to center around that one topic. We compare notes, swap stories about our greatest conquests, see who likes what body part most and why, and talk about our favorite positions and the benefits of each; it’s just what we do. And I would be more than happy to have this conversation at any other time, but not after having Sarah be the instigator.

I know that she’s either having sex in some fashion or will someday, but I do not, nor will I ever be able to connect sex to my baby sister. By the time Sarah’s in her forties and pops out a litter of brats for me to spoil, I’ll be entirely convinced that a stork left them on her doorstep. I’ll pretend the burgeoning stomach is nothing more than a new fashion statement where you shove a pillow underneath your shirt. And if the kids just so happen to look like their bastard of a father, I’ll chuckle and say, ‘What are the odds that huge ass bird just so happened to have a matching set of tiny tykes to drop off that look just like you, so-and-so.’ Then I’ll ignore Sarah and her husband’s confused looks, and go about my ignorant existence with a goofy grin plastered on my crazed face. But since I don’t have to worry about any of that shit for years and years to come; and hopefully I’ll have Olivia’s hand to hold through the traumatic ordeal of Sarah growing up, I turn back to the present.

“As much as I love the topic matter at hand, I have to agree with Jared,” John says and he’s still a little green about the gills. “I can’t continue talking about my favorite pastime just after hearing my baby sister’s rendition of an orgasm, without wanting to vomit. Come back in about an hour and we’ll be able to start it up again, but right now, I’m going to go to the kitchen and carve out my ear drums out with a butter knife in hopes of removing that horrific sound from echoing in my ears.”

“I’m right behind you,” I tell him. John pauses in his forward movement toward the exit, to look at me questioningly. “I was supposed to be down here cooking something for Olivia to eat, but I got a little sidetracked because I’m a neglectful prick.”

“I could always cook something for her,” John offers.

“Fuck no!” The twins and I exclaim in unison.

“Are you trying to kill her?” Carlos asks.

“Yeah, she’s starting to recover, why the fuck would you want to waylay her with something else?” Oscar asks.

“Come on, guys, I’m not that bad,” he counters. Three sets of eyes peer at John as if he’s nuts. “Fine, am I worse than Kelly?”

“Hell no,” I retort. “But you definitely are no prized chef either.”

“What if I help you?” John proposes. “You know that if you tell me what to do, I’m alright. It’s when I’m left to my own devices, that I screw up.”

“Alright,” I say. “You can help.”

“And then I can go feed my girl some food,” John adds.

“How exactly is she ‘your girl’?” I ask with a scowl. John grins at me and laughs along with the twins. My scowl turns fiercer as the seconds tick by.

“I’m sorry, but you should see your face right now,” John says and wipes his eyes. “It’s freaking priceless, and your new found jealousy never gets old.”

“Assholes,” I mutter.

I flip them off as I walk out, which only makes them laugh harder. Ignoring the pricks for being, well, for being pricks, I continue on to the kitchen. Whitney’s sitting at the table drinking coffee with Mike and Akio, so I pass them a wave as I head to the pantry. I know that it has to some form of soup, but what I need to figure out is how to add some much needed calories in for Olivia to consume. Digging through the shelves stocked with a variety of goods, I still have no idea what to do. There are plenty of cans of broth, from chicken to beef and vegetable, so there’s no shortage of flavors, but what the fuck could I add to it?

“Looking for something in particular?” Whitney asks. I look up from my position on the floor, surrounded by cans and boxes and scratching the left side of my head since I didn’t feel like picking scabs.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I have no idea what Olivia needs besides calories, and it has to watery, so what the hell should I make? I’m lost.”

“How about a puree?” Whitney proposes. “You could thin it out as much as you need to, and add whatever you want to it.”

“How?” I ask helplessly. “I can make soup, you just throw it in a pot and leave it, but that’s pretty much it.” Whitney offers me a hand and pulls me up.

“Come on, I’ll help you.”

Whitney points at different ingredients for me to carry, so I grab them and follow after her. Most of the ingredients are stuff I would throw into a soup, so whatever it is we wind up with, should taste alright. Knowing Whitney wouldn’t steer me wrong, I pass her the reins and hold on for the ride.

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

Chapter Fifty-Four:

“So, what do you think?”

Olivia has her eyes closed as she takes a bite of the puree I prepared with Whitney. It looked like baby mush to me, so I tried some and I thought it was pretty damn good; but I’m waiting with bated breath, hoping that Olivia approves and will be able to eat a good portion of it. I made sure that the consistency was right by mashing a bowl of vegetables and adding broth to thin it out, so she should be able to eat this without difficulty, as long as she finds the flavoring alright. Opening her eyes, Olivia gives me a smile and a thumbs up. I release the breath I was holding.

“Really? You’re not just saying that to not hurt my feelings?” I ask and she motions that it’s really good. “Thank god, Whitney supervised, but I did all the steps. I wanted to make sure that you could handle it, but not have to eat something as insignificant as plain old broth.”

“Kiss ass,” Cory mutters. I pay him no mind, since I couldn’t care less what he thinks, so long as Olivia’s eating.

“Hey, I helped too,” John says with a pout. Olivia pats his hand in thanks, so John smirks at me. Please, a hand pat isn’t going to tip my scales when I get to cuddle her all night.

“You passed me ingredients,” I counter.

“It’s still helping,” John retorts.

“Whatever,” I say and wave him off. “Eat as much as you can, but don’t force it, alright?” Olivia nods. “I was planning on stopping by Tommy’s room to check on him. You want me to pass anything on?” Olivia opens her mouth to try and answer.

“I..s-s-ee him,” she replies. It sounds awkward and breathless, but it’s still understandable.

“Are you sure?” I ask and she nods. “You want me to wait and go with you?”

Olivia scowls since I’ve been asking this same question every time she goes to see Tommy, and every time it’s the same answer, ‘She wants to go alone because he can talk easier without the pressure of so many people.’ Just like she motions out now.

“Fine, but I’ll still go see him now while you’re eating,” I say and she shrugs. Giving her free hand that’s not holding the spoon a squeeze, I nod at John and Cory before leaving the room.

Walking down the hall, I think of my previous trips to see Tommy. I highly doubt he’ll talk to me today, but I’ve been going in once daily, even if it’s for three minutes to see how he’s doing. He’s quiet, and basically lays on the bed and stares at the ceiling, so after sitting in the chair and talking to myself for a few minutes, I leave. At least I’m making the effort, and maybe someday my efforts will be rewarded with him saying a word, even a finger flipping me off as a response would make me happy at this point, because as it stands; I don’t feel comfortable taking him out of this house.

Tommy’s severely depressed and I don’t think that he cares much for life right now, so if we’re out in the open, he’ll probably sit on the ground and wait for death. I’ve even taken his weapons, not that he cared since he hasn’t moved from the bed, but I took them just in case he got any ideas. I wonder if Olivia gets any type of response out of him, I’ll have to ask her later, since I’ve arrived at the door to his room. I knock lightly and as usual, don’t hear a response, so I just walk in.

“Hey, Tommy,” I say to his still form curled in a blanket, when it’s freaking 80 degrees, and facing the opposite wall from the window. I don’t receive a greeting, not that I was expecting one, but I wait for it anyway in hopes that today will be the day he finally talks. No dice. “It’s pretty freaking hot in here today, don’t you think?”

Walking over to the window, I pull the shades out of the way and open the window. Fresh air and sunlight stream in, all without so much as a peep from Tommy. At least he changed up his position a little today, I mean, he’s staring at the wall as opposed to the ceiling, so that has to be some kind of improvement, right? Turning away from the refreshing breeze sweeping through the window, I take up my normal chair at the foot of the bed.

“So, the guys found a town down the road,” I begin. “Lots of food that should last us a while. I know you must be hungry, since I don’t think you’ve eaten a much in the last few days.” That’s an understatement; he hasn’t a single bite of the food Whitney’s brought up to him three times a day. The current tray has a bowl of the unmashed soup we made, so it’s fresh and still full to the rim. Even his water sits untouched on the nightstand beside the bed.

“I made that soup with Whitney about an hour ago, so it’s pretty fresh,” I say. Nothing. Not a sigh, or sniff of distaste, absolutely nothing. “It even tastes alright, so you won’t have to worry about food poisoning like when Kelly cooked.”

Since I’m getting absolutely nowhere, I wrack my brain for something that will spark some life in him. Obviously, I can’t talk about Leonard since his death is what put Tommy in this catatonic state to begin with. I can’t talk about Marissa or Chelsea either. John’s off the table since I’m not sure where Tommy stands with his current thoughts about my best friend. I’m hoping that he’ll eventually see that John wasn’t at fault for what happened, but it’s not like I’ve ever experienced something like this myself; so I don’t know how I’d feel if I were in Tommy’s shoes. And I’ve never had to watch someone I love be killed in front of me, but Cory has, as well as Olivia.

Bingo. That’s my saving grace right there. I clear my throat and give it a shot.

“I don’t know if you heard about Olivia’s surgery today,” I inform him. Not even a blanket rustle at that. “Maybe she told you about it herself, but it’s done.”

“S-she okay?” Success! It’s nothing more than a stuttered whisper, but it’s like he screamed it after four days of silence.

“She might be,” I say.

I purposely leave it vague in hopes that he’ll take a bite and talk some more. The quilt shifts a little at the foot of the bed, but still I remain silent. One socked foot pokes out from the edge of the blanket, and still I don’t speak. Finally fed up, Tommy rips the quilt off his head and sits up to glare at me with his hair sticking up in six different directions for the worst case of bed head; or best if that’s the look he was going for. But his hair would’ve had to have been clean for him to pull it off, which it most certainly is not after almost a week without bathing.

“W-well?” Tommy demands.

“Why don’t you come look for yourself?” I propose. “I might not be the best judge of her condition, since I’m not a professional, but you might. Olivia said you’re pretty smart, and you’ve been reading up on all of those medical journals, so you could probably tell better than I could.”

“O-okay,” he replies.

Carefully pulling the blanket off of himself, Tommy slides to the edge of the bed. He’s still wearing the same outfit as the one he had on the day Lenny died. There’s even dried blood covering his shirt and jeans, but I’m not sure from which source, probably a combination of Marissa’s, Lenny’s and the wheezer he battled; since some of it is black. Tommy stands and almost topples over on his misused legs; that haven’t seen the floor other than to use the restroom attached to the room, protest the unfamiliar movement. I don’t believe the water works up here other than in the master where Olivia and I are staying, so what the hell has he been doing if the toilet doesn’t flush? I don’t think I wanna know. After falling back on his ass, Tommy uses his weak arms to try and push himself up unsuccessfully.

“Here, let me help,” I stand up and walk over to him on the floor. I ignore the stench coming off of him, a mixture of unwashed body, sweat and rust; as I offer him my hand. Tommy grips it weakly, but strengthens it enough for me to pull him to his feet. He stumbles a bit, so I steady him with a hand to his shoulder. “Maybe we should feed you first so that you can make it to Olivia’s room without passing out? Then you’d miss your chance to see her while she’s awake, but if you eat, I’m sure you could make it. How does that sound?”

Tommy eyes the bowl of soup with some hunger shining in his eyes. If I hadn’t eaten so long as he has, I would have probably licked the tray clean and consumed the bowl, glass and all. Giving me a slight nod, he sits back on the bed and I pass him the tray when his trembling hands can’t manage to pick it up. I resume my seat as Tommy picks up his spoon and begins eating. Or attempts eating, since his hand shakes the entire way toward his mouth with a spoonful of soup, so by the time it reaches his lips; it’s only a quarter of what it was when he first scooped it from the bowl. He continues the shaky process of eating, with his hands getting marginally better with each bite.

No, one bowl of soup will not rebuild whatever muscle atrophy he suffered over a four day period of starvation and inactivity, but it’s a start. Another start, is to get him to bathe. Ever since the blanket came off, I can smell him reeking from here, and it’s making my eyes water a little. I don’t know how Olivia sat in here for two hours, sometimes longer, when he smelt like this.

Then I remember that she hasn’t been able to smell at all since the tracheostomy tube went in. She told me that tidbit when I asked her if she could smell her apple shampoo on me, and she answered that I smell like nothing. I pressed saying that she complained about her own hair smelling like smoke, but she said that she just wanted it clean since it was greasy, she didn’t know that it smelt of her close brush with death by fire.

Seeing Tommy now lift the bowl to drain the liquid, I can tell that he’s still hungry, but I don’t want him overdoing it. I know that if he gorges himself so soon after having an empty stomach for so long, he’ll just puke it all back up, so I make note to monitor his intake. Setting the empty bowl down, he snatches up the water bottle, tips it back and guzzles that too. I hear the crack of the plastic as he inhales the water without pausing to take a breath.

“Slow down, you’re gonna make yourself sick.” Tommy immediately tilts the water down, and removes it from his mouth. Swiping a dirty sleeve across his chin, he leaves a smear of now wet filth across his stubbled cheek. When it reaches his nose, I see Tommy grimace and pull it away, glaring at the offending fabric.

“Yeah, you may want a bath too,” I suggest. Tommy’s eyes snap to mine, and he gives me a firm nod. “I have clothes if you need them, you’re about the same size as me, but the pants may be a little long for you.”

“W-Whit gave me s-some,” he replies. I nod.

“Okay, let me go check if this bathroom works.” When I move to check the plumbing, I see him hold up his thumb. “You know it works?” Tommy nods again. “Alright, I’ll go tell Olivia to wait up for you so you can clean yourself up.”

“T-thanks,” Tommy says quietly.

“Don’t mention it, just make sure you clean up quickly,” I tell him. “Because she should be resting.”

Tommy nods as he sets the tray back on the nightstand. I make sure he can stand on his own, before exiting the room. Walking back down the hall, I grin at my breakthrough. All it did was take a mention of Olivia’s name to spark his interest in life again. Leonard was right, Tommy did need someone to connect with, and she was just the person to do it.

Reaching the master, I see that the door’s propped open with her soda can, meaning that she has visitors other than Cory. I’ve noticed that she uses it if there are more than one male in the room, or if Cory, nor I are not present in the room. Seeing that it’s in place, it tells me either Cory isn’t currently bed hogging, or there a few people visiting that I need to clear out for Tommy to make a comfortable appearance. I know that he wants to see her, but I doubt he wants to be pestered by seven other people all at the same time. I’m trying to drag him out bed, not force him back into hibernation.

Grabbing the can from the corner of the door frame, I push the door wider and enter; leaving it wide open. I see that my assumption was correct this time, since not only is Cory not in here, but there are four guys in the room. These include John, the twins and Danny. Sarah’s also here, as is Morris; who’s currently sitting on Olivia’s lap. Olivia looks comfortable with the crew surrounding her, smiling and happy even, so I know that the can is merely a safety blanket that she uses, like the leather jacket she’s slipped over my t-shirt. I bet her ace bandages are back to binding her breasts, too, because it’s zipped up tight.

“You might be having another visitor today.” Six pairs of eyes turn to observe me. “But I think he’d be far more likely to show if this room cleared out within the next ten minutes.”

“Who is this surprise guest exactly?” Carlos asks suspiciously.

“And why does he want to kick us out?” Oscar asks with an equal amount of suspicion as his twin.

“Never you mind,” I reply. “But I know for a fact that he won’t show if there’s a friggin crowd of people smothering the place.” Olivia tilts her head slightly as she observes me, then she motions out her sign for ‘Tommy,’ which is a frowny face accompanied by a hammer. I nod in answer and she flashes me a smile. “So, scram, the whole lot of you. Visiting hours are officially over.”

Five grumbling people, and a hissing tabby, make their exit. I make sure the door’s open so that Tommy can come in if he decides to come, which I’m hoping he does, before I go hop up onto the bed with Olivia. I tuck my arms behind my head in a casual pose, all the while pretending that Olivia isn’t staring at me expectantly. I can see her start to fidget, since she’s no more patient than I am. It begins with wiggling her cute little toes, then it works its way up to crossing and uncrossing her legs.

Finally, she huffs and smacks me across the chest when I laugh at her. I capture her hand, which hasn’t been gloved since I took it off of her three days ago. I don’t know if it’s because I told her to stop hiding from me, or if she doesn’t want them to hold power over her anymore; regardless of the cause, I like it. Olivia’s refusal to hide the scars on her wrists, shows that she’s accepted what happened to her, and is starting to take strength from it. Rome wasn’t built in a day, so I know it won’t be an instant process, but at least it’s a step in the right direction.

Lacing my fingers through hers, I keep her hand captive on my chest. Olivia gives it a weak tug, but gives up when I don’t budge. Using her right hand, she turns my chin to look at her. When my eyes meet hers, she mouths and motions out, ‘How’d you get him to talk?’ I give her a cocky grin and point to my mouth, to which she rolls her eyes. ‘I know you’re Mouth, but how did you get him to talk to you? What did you talk about? When is he coming?...’ I didn’t know that it was physically possible to ramble without speaking, but Olivia managed it. I point one finger at her in answer, making her give me a confused look.

“Tommy wanted to know about how your surgery went, and I gave him a vague answer,” I tell her. “So, he decided to come check on you himself.” Olivia taps her fingers at me in a naughty gesture, but she’s grinning. “He should be here any second now.” She immediately trains her eyes to the door. “Damn, I didn’t think I was so bad of company, that you can’t wait for me to the get the hell out.” I’m not really offended, and when Olivia’s head whips in my direction to deny my claim, she sees my smirk and squeezes our laced fingers tightly. “My burns!”

Olivia snatches her hand away quickly, and begins inspecting my bandage. I try to hold it, but I can’t, and start laughing. Looking up from my hand, she scowls before pinching my chest. ‘Not funny,’ she signs out furiously.

“Come on, sour puss, lighten up. I was only kidding.”

Olivia still looks ticked, so I try a tactic that I’ve used with Sarah in the past. Reaching over slowly, I squeeze her hip and grin when I see her squirm away in a ticklish reaction. I start using both hands, and I’m concentrating on the sound of her husky laugh; which admittedly sounds a little strange, so I don’t see her tiny hand but feel it when it grazes just under my ribs and squeezes. I jerk my elbow to try and catch it, but am unsuccessful.

Next thing I know, I’m on my back with my arms pinned by my sides, and a sexy pixie straddling my abs. Olivia grins at me as she wiggles her fingers before attacking my stomach. This is so not a good position to be in right now. One, because I am unfortunately cursed with being extremely ticklish. Two, she’s mere inches from grinding against my crotch. And three, because I’ve never found a tickle fight to be so arousing. I’m helpless to do much of anything but lay there and laugh as she holds me captive. I can’t even lift a hand to wave the white flag, but my dick sure could.

Fuck. If she feels that, it’s curtains for me. Our easy relationship will either end up awkward, either because I’m harvesting feelings that she doesn’t return, or I’ll spook her for good. I swivel my shoulders left and right hoping to shake a hand free, that earns me muscled thighs clamping down on my waist. Sweet Jesus, would I love to be between those thighs under different circumstances. I need to get the hell out of here before I embarrass myself by coming in my boxers like a dry humping virgin. The sad part is that she isn’t even touching my groin area, and I’m still about to blow my load. In a final act of self-preservation, I wiggle my right arm and manage to hook it under her knee and flip her onto her back. I don’t make any move to touch her wrists or hold her down in any fashion, since I know that would trip a trigger without even trying, so I hold up my hands in defeat.

“You win,” I pant out.

I sound like I’ve just run a marathon, but I’m hoping that she accounts it to the tickle beat down she just laid upon me and not the severe state of arousal I’m in. It’s almost painful how hard I am right now, and that right there tells me that I’ll have to squeeze one out before I come to bed tonight. Why, you ask, would I have to spank some spunk out before going to sleep? That would be because Junior can hold a grudge with the best of them. I’ve learned from past experience that if he ain’t happy, no one’s happy. I can become snappish, cantankerous and downright impossible to be around; so I don’t want to be an angry bear around my teacup badass.

“I should probably leave before Tommy comes.” Olivia’s brows furrow, but she nods. “Okay, see you in a little while.” Climbing off the bed, I discreetly adjust my crotch as I pretend to adjust my clothes, and walk toward the door.

“J-jared?” I hear a rasp call out. Turning at the sound, I look over at Olivia. “T-tr-ain?”

“We’ll train later, alright?”

She nods and sits back on the bed with a perplexed look on her face. I’m about to ask her what for, when I hear footsteps coming in fast. Looking back at the door, I see Tommy with still damp hair slightly curled over his ears after not having cut it in a while, his jaw’s shaved of scruff and he smells a hell of a lot better than he did half an hour ago. He’s thankfully changed his clothing to a pair of clean jeans and a button up plaid shirt with a white tee underneath and sneakers. It’s the most casual I’ve seen him in a while. Usually, he’s in his Carhartt overalls, Under Armor and boots. Tommy pauses at the door and looks to the bed before he sees me, and when he does notice me, he immediately looks down at his sneakers.

“I was just leaving,” I tell him.

It’s obvious that he is embarrassed, and I’m guessing it’s because I saw him at his lowest. Seeing the slight nod aimed at his toes, I slip past him and close the door behind me, since Olivia has locked the door anytime she’s visited him this week. The door clicks shut, and I immediately hear Olivia’s music player turn on. And the two hour countdown commences.

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

Chapter Fifty-Five:

Bang. I watch as Olivia flinches at the last second and the shot goes wide. Her already tense shoulders slump in defeat. No way is she giving up on my watch.

“Come on over here,” I say. Olivia flips the safety and checks it twice, before setting the gun down on the table. She takes the seat I pointed at across from me and looks at me curiously. “We’re gonna try something different.” Olivia nods for me to continue. “Why don’t you tell me about your nightmare from last night?”

She rubs a hand over her wrist but nods. Taking off her leather coat, she sets it on the back of her chair, then she lifts the t-shirt I gave her and points at a narrow scar on her stomach. It’s about an inch long and a couple millimeters wide, so I can tell that it’s a knife wound without her having to tell me.

“Where’d that come from?” In answer, Olivia points at her throat. “Icky Vicky.” She gives me a nod to confirm it, and lifts the shirt a little more to point out other knife wounds out mixed into the numerous scars on her lower torso. It pisses me off to see some of the physical damage done to her, but I keep my anger in check in favor of watching Olivia sign out her words.

‘She came in after Cole left with The...’

“Wait, I don’t understand who he left with.” Olivia mouths out, ‘The Don.’

“Who’s ‘The Don’? You had a mafia boss there?” Olivia shakes her head and signs out that she’ll tell me about him later, I nod before she continues with the current memory. Most of its signs, but words that she can’t mouth out, she mouths; so I’m able to understand it as if she were really speaking.

‘Eddy was supposed to be on watch, but Victoria gave him a blow job and he took a break.’ There’s another man I’ll have to ask her about, and Olivia motioning out blow job did not affect me in the slightest, since it ties in to the red head, and anything that involves Icky makes me want to gag. ‘I didn’t really give a fuck about what she would do to me now that she finally got inside. You see, she’d come to the tiny window every day and curse me for “Stealing” Cole. I was actually kind of hoping that she’d be my guardian angel and cut me loose, since she didn’t want me there.’ Olivia barks out a humorless laugh.

‘Turns out she was more like Lilith. Vicky had this butter knife that she sharpened to a dull point.’ Olivia picks up her braid. ‘She tried to chop off my hair, but her knife couldn’t do it, so she pulled it out in clumps.’ I look at Olivia’s hair now, and it looks really long, so how much was torn out? She must read the question in my eyes, because she undoes the braid, and pulls aside a few inches to reveal a patch of hair that is several inches shorter than the rest. ‘She could only reach this much because the rest was tucked behind my back.’ I remember the position she told me about, so I nod for her to continue.

‘Vicky stabbed me a few times, the first few didn’t go in all the way.’ Olivia points to one of those. It’s not a raised scar like the other knife wounds. ‘So, she added a little more force to it and took her anger out on me.’ Olivia’s eyes are a little distant, I’m guessing that she’s visualizing the scene again, so I reach over and grip her shaking hand. She blinks a few times before meeting my gaze.

“You alright?” Olivia gives me a firm nod and I see her eyes are now that smoky steel color they take on when she’s pissed. Her motions are choppy and quick, but I can keep up with her now that I’ve been reading them for days.

‘The bitch sliced me up, and couldn’t even finish the job right.’ Olivia balls her right fist in a white knuckled grip. ‘I just kept thinking, “Do us both a favor and cut a little deeper.’” I squeeze her hand and scowl at her. Olivia shows me her haunted eyes, that have now bled to that cool grey color I hate. She speaks the next part out loud, but it’s no more than a raspy whisper. “Unless you’ve been there, you don’t know how it feels to have nothing left to live for. For every day to be worse than the one prior. To think that it would be better to be buried in the ground, to have to force yourself to take a breath, even when it burns your soul.”

Olivia wipes furiously at her eyes, so I reach over and pull her onto my lap. I know that she’s keeping the pain inside, and is pissed at herself for ‘showing weakness,’ but as I’ve said before; she isn’t alone anymore and I refuse to sit back when she’s hurting. Taking one arm at a time, I wrap them around my neck and feel her squeeze me closer. I run my hand up and down her back, feeling the six ace bandages digging into her flesh.

It reminds me that I have to get her to stop binding her chest, because it must hurt, and it’s unnecessary. She has curves, and they aren’t going anywhere, nor does binding them do anything other than prevent her from taking full breaths. I didn’t even see her chest when I first saw her, and I was already lusting after her, so doing this to herself isn’t accomplishing what she thinks it is.

Regardless of her cup size, or how she dresses, men will always find her attractive. And it’s not a bad thing, she just has to be able to defend herself against unwanted attention, and be aware of her surroundings; which she most certainly is, since she pulls back from me and dives for her chair before I even hear the tread on the stairs. The footfalls are heavy, so I know it’s male, and don’t need more information than that to know it’s Cory; because who other than me follows her every move? I’m proven right, when he appears w few seconds later. Cory checks Olivia’s face first, and since she didn’t cry, there’s no evidence to be found of her lapse in armor. With her well-being visually accounted for, he looks at me.

“What’re doing down here? She should be resting.”

“You could ask Olivia, since she can speak for herself,” I reply after seeing Olivia scowl at Cory. Said scowl turns to a smile when I say that, but Cory adopts a scowl of his own. “But I’m sure that her answer would be something along the lines of, ‘I feel fine, and I made a deal with Jared that if I feel tired or in pain, we immediately go upstairs and cuddle in the clouds.’” Olivia nodded at most of it, but gives me an elbow for the last bit, which causes me to grin.

“I’m just going to ignore everything you’ve just said, Kong,” Corry says with a wave at me and looks at Olivia. “Livs, do you really feel well enough to have Jared train you?” My eyes widen a little at his awareness of our training sessions; since I figured she didn’t want the others to know about her inability to shoot, but Olivia doesn’t seem shocked at all. Maybe because Cory already knew she was a bad shot, or maybe she told him that I offered to train her? I don’t know, doesn’t matter anyway, so just watch their exchange as she mouths out her answer to Cory.

‘I feel fine, but you can stay and watch if you want.’ It’s my turn to scowl; this is my time with her. With the surgery this morning, everyone visiting all day long, and then Tommy’s surprise visit that lasted three hours; I’ve barely had a minute with her. Okay, I snuck in time for a nap with her and a tickle fight, but training is our time.

“I’ll stay to see how you’ve improved, if at all, and then I’ll leave,” Cory says. “But I doubt that he could have taught you any better than Trav or I did.”

I swallow my retort, because dissing his skills would also be inadvertently insulting a deceased man, and I’m not that much of a bastard. There’s also the fact that Olivia would either never speak to me again, or kill me for saying anything against the love of her life, which I would never do.

Olivia stands with her chin raised at Cory, as she walks over to the table and picks up the gun. I don’t know who she took offense for, but it obviously stiffened her spine. Attaching the silencer with nimble fingers, she flips the safety, takes aim and decimates the styrofoam apple at the other end of the table. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Cory so stupefied in our year of acquaintance, well, minus the time he came back from a run to find Olivia amongst our ranks. On the other hand, I think that anyone who walked in to find a missing person to be suddenly found, would have been a little dazed under the circumstances. But this is different, it’s like he’s never seen a target destroyed before, which he undoubtedly has with his background.

“Holy shit, it’s a miracle,” he mutters. Running over to Olivia, he picks her up and spins her around. Thankfully her obsessive safety checks made her set the gun down first, so she’s able to hold on as Cory whips her around like a rag doll.

“It’s not a miracle, now set her down before you open her stitches, you damn giant,” I demand. Spinning immediately ceases and he sets her down to check her throat. Olivia bats his hands away, mouthing that she’s fine.

“Livs, you just fucking murdered the target,” Cory whispers with disbelief. Olivia nods, but he just keeps staring at her as if he’s never seen her before. “How the hell did this fucker teach you, when we couldn’t?” Olivia lifts a hand to her ear. “You weren’t listening?”

“No, she doesn’t like the sound,” I answer when Cory still doesn’t get it. “So, it wasn’t anything you were doing wrong, it’s just that she was afraid of the gun.”

“And how the hell do you know that?” Cory asks. “You’ve only been teaching her for a few days, when we were teaching her for months.”

“Actually, I figured it out weeks ago,” I counter and feel a little but smug about that. “I noticed her flinching was the cause of the bullet going wild, so I made a comment about her being afraid of the gun.” I look at Olivia with a question in my eyes, she nods to say that I can continue. “You know about her mom.” Cory’s face fills with understanding, as he nods and looks at Olivia. Cupping her cheek, he crouches a little and lifts her chin slightly to be able to meet his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell us? We could have let you use my earmuffs.” Olivia mouths that ‘She didn’t want to seem weak.’ Cory shakes his head at her in denial. “Travis and I never thought you were weak. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known.” She gives him a doubtful look. “Who dropped out at seventeen, and got her GED so that she could help support her family? Who passed up a full scholarship so that she could take care of her mom? And who escaped from hell and found me? You are strong, and Travis would be damn proud of you if he were here to see you now.”

“R-really?” Olivia asks aloud.

When Cory nods, she gives him a watery smile and jumps up so that she can reach his neck and hug him. This seems like a personal moment, and I’ve already stayed past my welcome, so I turn away from the duo and walk toward the stairs. Jogging up to the kitchen, I continue on past the empty parlor and jog upstairs. A glance at my watch says it’s eleven, so most likely everyone’s gone to sleep already. At the landing, I hear voices coming from the left and head in that direction. The door across from Tommy’s where I find John, the twins, Whit, Akio and Mike.

“What’s going on?” I ask the now quiet room.

“We were just going over the new map,” John answers.

He then points to the paper folded out in front of him on the coffee table. It’s an office/den that they’re in, so there’s a computer on a desk in the corner and a couch angled toward the television. Those who could fit are on the three seater couch, leaving John, Oscar and Carlos sitting on the floor and all are centered around the map.

“Why?”

“Olivia’s good enough to travel now,” Carlos replies.

“And Tommy’s ready to leave,” Oscar adds.

“And you know this, how?”

“I talked to Tommy,” Whitney says. “He told me that he’s ready when we are.”

“And I cleared Olivia for the car ride,” Akio answers.

“She just had a friggin straw pulled out of her throat less than twelve hours ago,” I retort. “How can you clear her fit for travel? Never mind ask her if she’s well enough herself.”

“I’m a doctor,” the asswipe counters.

“With poor bedside manner,” I snap. “What about her pneumothorax? You made her strip because you said her lungs sounded off. Was that just bull shit to get a peek at her chest, you sick fuck?”

“No, I rechecked them while you were cooking, and they’re clear,” he says with a glare at me. “But I’ll keep an eye on them over the next few days just to be sure.”

“Well, I’m not moving an inch from this house until Olivia tells me that she feels that way herself.”

“I-I’m o-k-kay,” an awkward rasp tells me. I turn to face Olivia at the door with Cory behind her.

“You don’t sound it,” I say. Olivia points to Akio.

“She needs to retrain the muscles,” Akio explains. “If this were before the infestation, she would have needed speech therapy. Since that’s impossible, I’ve given her a few techniques to try on her own. She should be annunciating her words fluently as soon as the swelling goes down and the hole recloses.”

“So, you’re okay to move?” I ask Olivia and she nods. “You have no pain, can run five miles straight, and fight off wheezers without pausing to pant out breaths.” She gives me a firm nod. “Prove it.”

Olivia curls her finger over her shoulder, wanting me to follow her. I do and she jogs down to our room. Before I reach the door, Olivia comes out in her full leather gear from gloves to boots, and machete in hand. When she goes to brush by me, I catch her arm.

“Not that way,” I tell her. “I don’t want you going out there until I think that you could handle it.”

“How the hell is she supposed to show you otherwise if you won’t let her leave the house?” John asks.

“She could do a couple of training exercises in the basement,” Cory proposes when I don’t respond right away.

Olivia nods and I let her arm go to follow her down stairs. I hear several pairs of steps following behind us, but I pay them no attention as I follow that woman on a mission in front of me. Passing down the hallway and through the kitchen, she ducks into the door that leads to the basement and jogs down the steps.

When I reach the bottom, I see Olivia pushing the table we have shooting practice at over against the wall. The finished basement is pretty big since it’s just one huge and open space with a bathroom in the corner, so we’ll have plenty of room to do whatever it is she’s planning. Once the table is out of the way, Olivia walks over to her CD player and flips it on. Green Day’s “Brain Stew" comes blasting out of the speakers. Curling her gloved finger at me, Olivia bounces on her toes and rolls her head side to side. Seeing her grin, I’m actually a little afraid that I’m about to have my ass handed to me by a pint sized songbird. Not that I would ever let it show on my face, instead, I grin right back.

“You sure you wanna do this?” I ask and she nods. “I don’t want to hurt you, it goes against my rules of not hitting a girl.”

“Believe me, you won’t be hitting her,” John remarks.

I flip him off and hear several voices laugh. I don’t look over to see who followed, but I know that it was at least John and Cory since I heard their distinct laughs amongst the mix. Shaking out my own shoulders, I walk toward my opponent. I have a foot in height on her and at least sixty pounds, there’s no way in hell that I’ll be using any of that against her. I’m just looking to make her sweat and see how her stamina is. Olivia asks if I’m ready, and I give her a nod.

Before I can blink, Olivia dips down and sweeps my legs out from under me. I land on my back and the breath rushes out of my lungs, but I push myself up. Still struggling to catch my breath, I curl my hand at her to say I’m good. Olivia shrugs and goes to grab my arm for a flip, using her own technique against her, I twist and roll her over my back and she lands on the ground. I place my knee on her chest to pin her and look up at her face.

Instead of seeing defeat, I see triumph in those grey irises. Smirking as she does it, Olivia hooks her leg over my back, crosses her left arm over her chest and shoves it into the left side of my neck as she flips us. Her knees immediately pin my arms down as she straddles my chest. I believe that we were in a similar position earlier, and it was near impossible to get out of then, as it is now. I twist my arms this way and that, making no progress.

“G-give?” Olivia asks and I shake my head.

I hear more chuckles from the peanut gallery, and that gives me the push I need to dismount her. Using my feet, I push off the ground and throw my right shoulder forward. Olivia’s eyes widen a little bit as I wrap an arm around her waist to soften the fall as she lands on her back. Pulling my arm free, I catch both of her wrists and hold them above her head.

“Give?” I ask.

Olivia doesn’t give me a verbal response, but I sure as fuck get a physical one. She swings an elbow wide, catching me in the nose as a knee comes up between my legs. Letting go as quickly as possible, I roll off of her to cup my stinging balls. Jesus Christ, did that fucking kill. I don’t even notice the blood dripping from my nose, until Olivia pinches the bridge.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” she rasps out.

Olivia’s breathing is a little fast and she’s trying to say more but it’s lost in the pants. I can feel her hand shaking on my nose, but I’m a little busy trying to make sure my balls are still attached and that they’re not exploded in a bloody mass inside my pants. Junior has officially receded and become a vagina. I have a freaking labia! I don’t want a fucking labia! I like my cock n’ balls.

“Jared, you alright?” John asks. I keep my eyes closed tight and bite my lip on a curse as I nod.

“I think it’s more like ‘Janet’ right now,” Carlos says.

“‘Janie’s Got a Gun,’” Cory starts singing Aerosmith’s song. I’m not that injured that I can’t free a hand to flip him off.

“I think it’s safe to say that Olivia’s good for travel,” Oscar says.

“Yeah, she did just hand Jared his balls on a platter,” John agrees. “So, I think that she could handle a car ride.”

“O-out!” Olivia shouts.

It could have only been a shout with how loud she said it, but it still comes out a little breathy. I don’t know if it’s because she told them to, or if it’s the fierce expression on her face when I open my eyes, but four pairs of feet immediately tread up the stairs. Once the door slams up top, Olivia’s face softens as she looks down at me.

“Y-you okay?” Olivia ask and I nod. “I-I’m so-orry.”

“It’s fine,” I breathe out. She shakes her head as she unzips her coat. Lifting my t-shirt out of the way, Olivia begins unwrapping an ace bandage from her chest. “What the hell are you doing?”

I catch her hand before she flashes me. Junior is in no state to be becoming hard as a rock, and with her stripping off the final layers covering her chest, he’s going to be getting stiff, and I’m positive that it would be painful for him to do so right now. Olivia uses her other hand and continues unwrapping. Once she has one of them off, she pulls the shirt back down and holds it up to my nose.

Understanding that she wasn’t giving me a peep show in return for unmanning me both relieves and irritates me at the same time. Relieves me that I’m not getting action out of pity, and pisses me off because I’m depraved enough to think that she would ever do such a thing. My nose didn’t bleed much and is already stopped flowing, so I just swipe away what’s remaining under my nose and ball the ruined fabric in my fist.

“I freaked,” she whispers.

I look up to meet her eyes and see that they’re filled with some left over fear and remorse. Pulling off her glove, Olivia points at her wrists. I rub my fingers over the scars and remember the position she told me that she was bound in. Spread eagle, which is what I essentially held her down in.

“I’m sorry, I forgot,” I tell her. Olivia shakes her head at me.

“It’s not your fault,” she whispers. I notice that when she keeps her voice low, she doesn’t have as much difficulty, which I’m guessing is why she’s using it. Olivia points at her head. “I went somewhere else for a minute and my crazy ass took it out on you.”

“You aren’t crazy,” I retort and tilt her chin from looking down at her folded hands. “I tripped one of your triggers, it won’t let it happen again.” She nods. “You know that I would never hurt you, right?”

“Of course,” she replies with strength and rubs her thumb along my burned brow. “You have honest eyes. It was the first thing I noticed about you.” Olivia flashes me a smile as she taps her pointer finger on my lips. “Then there was that mouth of yours. It convinced me along with those open eyes of yours that it would be okay to trust you, even when my brain kept screaming at me to run.”

“I’m glad you ignored your brain and went with your instincts,” I say.

“Me too, Mouth, me too.”

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

Chapter Fifty-Six:

“So, you wanna tell me about how a mafia boss factors into the mix?”

Now that the room’s cleared, and my balls no longer feel like they’ve exploded; it’s more of a slow burn, but they’ll live, thank god. Anyway, now that the room’s cleared out, I figured that it was time to get back to the point of me rehashing nightmares with her during training. It’s simple really, I want her to channel all of that anger at her target to take her mind away from the fear of the gun.

Olivia says that she can tell me, but her voice may break at points.

“It’s fine,” I tell her. “I actually noticed that if you keep it at a whisper, you sound fine.”

“I’ll try that then,” she whispers. “‘The Don’ is the nickname I gave Cole’s right hand man. He reminded me of Marlon Brando in The Godfather, so that’s what I referred to him as, even though I knew his name was Tim. Anyway, Don is a douche bag who would have jumped off a bridge if Cole told him to. He kind of reminds me of Chelsea with the way he went along with whatever he was told to.” I nod and she clears her throat a little bit.

“Do you need water or something?” Olivia shakes her head.

“No, just not used to talking yet,” she answers. “I’ll be alright soon enough.” I nod since she’s the one that’s done this before, so she knows what to expect. “Don didn’t do much of anything to me but hose me off once a day. But Eddy, that fucker did plenty.” Olivia pulls her coat off and lifts my t-shirt before pointing to one of the triangular scars. “These were from an iron. He’d heat it over the fire and then hold it on my skin. When I refused to scream, he left it there longer, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, so I took the burn as opposed to his smug smile.”

“Hold on, what the fuck was he burning you for to begin with?”

“Because I bit him,” she replies with a smug smile of her own.

“You bit him, so he burned you...” I count the scars on her stomach, “Six times?”

“It was more than that, but if you knew where I bit him, you’d understand,” Olivia says. I think it’s self-explanatory where she bit him, and the fact that some dude’s cock was in her mouth when she didn’t put it there, makes me want to punch something. “Besides, it wasn’t all in one day, they were for two different offenses since the stupid fuck didn’t learn his lesson the first time.”

“I hope you disfigured him.”

“I’m pretty sure that he was no longer able to have children,” she tells me. “Oh well, that was no loss to the world.” I nod my agreement as she points to a circular scar on her stomach. “This one was from another guard named Dog. No, Dog wasn’t his name, but he sure as hell looked like one. One of those ugly rat things with no hair.”

“Chinese Crested,” I answer and she looks at me curiously. “I liked Animal Planet.”

“But you don’t like Morris,” she remarks dryly.

“No, he doesn’t like me,” I correct her. “He’s the one that hisses when I haven’t even done anything to the prick.”

“We’ll work on it later,” she promises. “Back to Dog. That bastard liked his cigars.” Olivia points to one of the numerous circular scars on her toned stomach. “He enjoyed inflicting pain because he couldn’t enjoy the perks the other guards could with his ED.”

“So, Cole wasn’t the only one who...” Olivia shakes her head rapidly.

“They’d hose me down after and tell Cole that I misbehaved, like I was a fucking dog and they had to punish me,” she spits out and I hear her voice break. She clenches her fists as she takes a few breaths. “You see, Cole didn’t like when other people played with his toys. As Jorge, Paul and Donald all learned when he shot them execution style for touching me.”

“But your scars,” I point out. “Obviously they were touching you to put them there.” Olivia barks out a humorless laugh.

“That wasn’t the way he minded,” she revises. “Donald was caught literally with his pants down, Paul while fondling my chest and Jorge for jerking off on me.” I may vomit from the way she can just say this like it was an everyday occurrence to have a guy rape, molest or spider web you, but to her, it probably did. I swallow back the bile threatening to come up.

“So, because Cole caught them, he killed them,” I say for confirmation and Olivia nods her head.

“Yup,” she says with a pop on the ‘p.’ “So, the other guards learned that Cole wouldn’t be a ‘cuckold,’ and took more caution.” Olivia makes quotes around the word. “While I got punished for being a slut.”

“How the fuck does being raped make you a slut?”

“He thought I was his,” Olivia replies as she shrugs. Removing her jacket, she turns and pulls the shirt up to expose her back. “I’d get whipped for every guy he caught me with.” I run my finger over one of the many long scars on her back. She tenses a little, but doesn’t pull away.

“He used something different here,” I say and tap my finger on one of the thicker scars that have a shape at the end.

“A belt with a metal buckle since he didn’t have his whip with him that time.” I bite my tongue on a curse and run my finger along the irregular scar on her shoulder blade.

“What about this one?” I ask.

“That one was a microchip,” she says and sits up. After adjusting her shirt she turns around. “I cut it out myself when I escaped for the last time. I didn’t want him to see me coming, or for him to find me when I wasn’t ready.”

“I’ll ask about the microchip in a second,” I tell her. “But what do you mean ‘for the last time’?”

“I escaped five times,” she explains. “The last one permanently because I went at a time when no one expected me to.” Olivia points at her throat. “Vicky had cut me up, and they all thought I would be dead within a few hours. But that would probably be because the doctor was more interested in performing a pelvic exam on me with his penis, than on checking how my trach tube was coming along.” Well, that explains her aversion to doctors. No wonder she didn’t want Akio touching her. “They didn’t even cuff me up, so after Doctor Dipshit zipped himself up, I slit his throat with his own scalpel.” She points to her ring.

“I couldn’t leave without it. I know that it may sound silly, but it felt like I was leaving Travis behind, and I couldn’t do it. Eddy took it from me as a punishment and used to wear it on his pinky,” Olivia continues. “Guess who lost a few fingers?” She wiggles the rock at me. “Asshole was still bleeding out when I heard a noise upstairs. After living underneath them for eight months, I was pretty good at recognizing treads, so I knew that it was Dog’s steps.” Another solved mystery as to her ninja skills. “That fucker was huge and I didn’t wanna face him without something a little more significant than a scalpel, so I went searching around the basement.” Olivia smiles as she looks at the corner where her machete is stowed near her backpack. “Machie and me went to town on that mother fucker, so Dog was nothing more than a stump when I was done with him.”

“Weren’t you afraid that they would catch you and chain you back up?”

“Hell no,” Olivia retorts. “If I was gonna go down, I was gonna go out my way.” She motions at her arms. “My backup plan was to slit my wrists with the scalpel if they tried to pin me down.” Each time she references suicide is like a physical blow that knocks the air from my lungs, and she says it so casually like she’s perfectly okay with the thought of taking her own life.

“Anyway, I didn’t get caught or else I wouldn’t be here right now. Cole only left Dog, Eddy, and Doctor Derange there with me, so I had plenty of time to cut out the microchip, burn the bed I spent more than half a year in, and climb out the tiny window Vicky used to come and curse me from. So really, I should have thanked Red before I left her for dead, because without her, I’d probably still be there.”

I disregard Olivia’s gratitude to the pumpkin carver because Red’s torture techniques were never intended to set her free to begin with, that was just a consequence that worked in Olivia’s favor.

“And the microchip?”

“Because I kept running away, and he wanted to be able to find his pet.”

“You’re telling me, that he put a freaking tracking device in you?”

“Uh-huh, he had a solar powered, handheld GPS tracker that he used to pull out and follow me like I was the ‘X’ on a treasure map, every time that I escaped,” she says and points to her wrists. “These weren’t available at first, so I used to break out of the rope, the zip ties, and the cuffs he used. Cole eventually found the manacles to hold me down when he finally understood that I wouldn’t ever agree to his terms.”

“And his terms would have been?”

“To essentially be his slave, to be at his beck and call for whenever he wanted me, and do whatever it is he wanted. If he wanted water, I would have had to carry a tray on my back and bring it to him. If he wanted a blow job, I’d have to drop down and suck him off while calling him ‘master.’ I’m sure you get the picture.” I absolutely do, so I clench my fists as I nod when she points to her wrists. “As you can tell, I chose option number two.” Olivia gets a mischievous smile. “But I did cook for him and the others once or twice.”

“Why would you waste your skills on those deranged fucks?”

“Don’t worry,” she says with a wave. “They got an extra ingredient a time or two, that may, or may not have been rat poisoning.”

I laugh at that, which is what I think Olivia intended to do since she’s had enough of hashing out memories. It’s obvious in the way her eyes have dulled a little that she no longer wants to think about that shit, which is completely reasonable. She told me a hell of a lot more than I thought that she’d be able to. There’s also the fact that her voice is getting more and more strained as she talks.

“Alright my little culinary genius,” I say as I stand. “How about we try something new?” Taking my offered hand, I pull her up before she replies.

“What?”

“We’re going to channel some of that anger toward the apple,” I answer and lead her over to the table. I pull it away from the wall and set it up the way that we usually have it in for gun training. Reaching into my backpack, I pull out my 9mm and make sure it has ammo before I hand it to Olivia. She immediately checks the safety.

“Have I ever handed you an unlocked gun?” She looks startled since she was still obsessively checking the gun, but shakes her head.

“No,” she whispers to me. “It’s just that Travis was all about gun safety. Especially after...”

Olivia trails off and shakes her head, but I catch her hand rub across her stomach. That unconscious gesture burns me because she’s still mourning the loss of a lover and a child, and I can’t do anything about it. But what I can do is teach her something that will hopefully distract her from bad memories, at least for a little while.

“Let’s see it then,” I challenge. She blinks a few times but nods as she takes her place at the end of the table. “Okay, let’s think of those women you told me about. Six women broke into your house, one was Victoria. What happened to the other five after you were taken?”

“They laughed,” she says through clenched teeth. “I asked them to let me go, and they laughed every single time.” Fucking cunts.

“Why would they laugh?”

“They said that there was no helping the damned,” Olivia replies. “And that they didn’t interfere with the boss’s affairs.”

“Names.”

“Carly, Felicia, Heather, Mariella and Amanda.”

“Who did what?”

“Carly cut off some of Travis’s fingers,” she replies in a detached voice. “Felicia and Heather took turns kicking him while a few of the ‘unoccupied’ men held him down.” I’m taking it that the others were too busy raping her to deal with Travis even if she doesn’t say it. “Mariella broke his nose with her gun while Victoria knocked out his teeth with hers. And Amanda’s the one who screamed. That bitch is the one that brought them to us.” Olivia’s voice catches on the last bit and it isn’t from her speech difficulty.

“Cole finally came upstairs and I remember thinking, ‘maybe he’ll stop these animals before they kill Travis?’” She laughs without humor as she swipes a hand under her eyes to catch a few escaped tears. “He didn’t even spare a glance at Travis. He walked directly over to me, looked at me with his black eyes and shot the guy on top of me without even blinking. That’s when it finally sunk in that we were dead.”

“But you aren’t dead,” I say and boy do I want to shake her, when she shakes her head at me.

“A huge part of me died that day,” she says. “Sure, I’m breathing, but what the fuck good is it when I don’t want to? When every smile feels like it’s wrong or forced? When every day is just more bull shit added to the pile without a shovel in sight start to digging myself out?”

“I’ll be your shovel,” I say with a shrug likes it’s no biggie to me. “Remember, you’re not alone anymore, so quit trying to carry the world on your shoulders.”

“You should talk,” she retorts. “Running around like a freaking chicken with its head chopped off to make sure everyone else is okay, do you ever stop and say ‘let me have a ME moment’?”

“This is my ‘ME’ moment,” I say. “Now, show me that I’m not wasting my time training you, you lazy bum.” Olivia flips me off, before readying her stance, and pulling the trigger. I watch her body and see her still flinch slightly. It’s nowhere near where it was earlier, but it’s still there.

“That was good, we’ll try again tomorrow.”

“Sure,” she says and checks the safety three times before setting the gun down on the table. “But we’ll need to pack a few targets because I doubt they’ll have any apples at the next stop.”

“Go on then, you anti Johnny Appleseed.”

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

Chapter Fifty-Seven:

“What’s the deal with the bullet?”

Olivia blinks a few times and looks up at me. We’ve been in the van for four hours, and every one of those hours has been spent rolling that single slug in her hand. We left early this morning, Tommy’s driving since Olivia demanded it, Cory’s shotgun and the rest of us are occupying the rows in the back. Since Olivia and I have open wounds, well they’re scabbed over but we’re still vulnerable, we got the closest row to the front where any remnants of the carnage never took place.

The guys did an excellent job cleaning it, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think that it was a new car. Well, minus the bars on the windows, the bullet hole in the back and the crack in the windshield, that is. The insurance premiums would have been ridiculous. Hey, at least it doesn’t smell like rot and decay. Anyway, back to the bullet. Since Olivia’s been trapped in her own head or staring at the metal in her hand, she’s been silent the entire time.

“The bullet,” I repeat and jerk my chin at her hand. “Why is that particular one so special?” Olivia picks it up from her palm and holds it up.

“This bullet has Cole’s name on it,” she whispers.

I don’t know if she’s whispering so that the others won’t hear, or if it’s still easier to talk in a soft voice. Either way, I have to lean in to hear a little better over the conversations and music bouncing around the metal interior of the van.

“The day they came in, Travis was teaching me how to shoot. Well, I was practicing, anyway, and he came up to see how I was doing.” Olivia closes her eyes as she closes her hand around the bullet. “I was on my last shot in the clip when he interrupted my practice, wanting me to go inside and rest.” Her voice gets bitter. “I should have fucking listened, but because I’m a selfish bitch, I begged him to let me try just one last shot.” She opens her eyes and lifts the bullet. “I never got to fire it off because I left the safety on, but those precious seconds cost me Travis, and I’ll never forgive myself for that.” I reach over and cover her hand with mine. I highly doubt that little piece of metal cost her so much, but I don’t want to discount her when she’s talking about some of her dark memories.

“How did you wanting to practice, cost you Travis?” I ask, and Olivia looks at me.

“If we had gone inside when Travis said, we would have never heard the scream,” she answers and her eyes get a little misty. “But we didn’t, and since we heard it, we ran over to the edge of the roof and saw her. She looked so scared, Jared, and she wouldn’t stop fucking screaming.” Olivia squeezes my hand, but I don’t think she realizes it. “I looked at Travis and I could see it on his face that he wanted to go help her, but when he looked at me, I seen how much he wanted to protect me and the baby more. So, what did I do? I told him that we’d be fine and to go bring her back.” She turns her face away but I see the tears trail down her cheek before she wipes them away.

“I once told you that your only fault is caring too much, and Travis was the same way. When they dragged him in, they told Travis to give them everything, and they’d leave him alone. Travis told them take anything they wanted, but just to leave us alone. When Don told him that they wanted me, too, Travis fought, so they dragged us to the roof and...”

Olivia starts sobbing, so I pull her as close as the seat belt allows and tuck her head into my neck. I feel her arms wrap around me, and catch Cory’s eyes looking at us. From the look of pain, and fury mixed in his brown irises, I know he heard every one of whispered words. I pat her hair down, and wave Cory back, when he moves to come and comfort her to say that I’ve got it. He scowls at me, but remains in his seat. I rub a hand down her back, and hold Olivia, until her body stops wracking with sobs. Pulling back, I see that Olivia has an embarrassed expression on her face, as she swipes her wet cheek across her jacket sleeve. I pretend I don’t see it, and let her recover her composure. When she’s set, she lifts the bullet again.

“Since this bullet cost Travis his life, I find it fitting that it should cost Cole his.”

“You didn’t kill Travis, and neither did that fucking bullet,” Cory says. “So, stop blaming yourself.”

“I’ll quit blaming myself, when you stop blaming yourself,” she retorts.

“It’s neither of your faults,” I counter. “Remember what you told me, Olivia? They prey upon human emotions; it’s sick, but effective.”

“I fucking hate it when he uses his mouth,” Olivia mutters and I grin. She flips me off. “It isn’t cute anymore, I find it obnoxious.”

“It..” I start.

“‘Comes with the territory,’” Cory and Olivia say in unison, before they start laughing. I scowl at them, which makes them laugh harder.

“Assholes, I’m glad I amuse you.”

“Oh, you most definitely do, Mouth,” Olivia says with blue flecks in her eyes. They’ve since taken over the pale grey, so I’m good with her laughing at my expense, if it makes her happy.

“W-where’re we s-stopping tonight?” Tommy asks from the driver’s seat. He’s been his usual, quiet self, but I’ve seen him mouth along the words to a few songs; so he seems better now that he’s not in self-imposed solitary confinement.

“We have two days left of driving if we stop here,” Cory answers and points to a spot on the map. “Olivia has a safe house we could use, so we got another twenty minutes to go.”

Tommy nods as he returns his full attention back to the road. He’s actually a pretty good driver, avoiding wheezers and keeping a steady pace so we’ve been able to cover quite a bit of ground today. He even cut a day off of Olivia’s revised estimate of taking three more days before we’ll arrive at the compound.

It’s been a damn crazy month; we’ve lost supplies, survived a crazy bitch, had casualties and dealt with injuries along the way, so the thought of finally reaching our destination is kind of surreal. When Olivia first proposed it, I thought it was nuts. Hell, I thought she was bat shit crazy for a while. And now, I’ve not only learned that she isn’t cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, but I’ve also developed feelings for her that I’ve never before.

I’ve become closer with each member of the group in one way or another, like I know more about Whit and Mike then when we first started, definitely learned a hell of a lot more about Tommy, and met the real Cory. Akio’s still a dick, but at least he knows his shit. The twins are awesome as always, they may creep me out with their clone-like qualities, but they’re loyal and can be depended on for whatever it is you need.

As for John, Sarah and Danny, I’d say that my relationships with them each matured a little. John and I aren’t all shits and giggles anymore; he’s hardened now with the loss of his girls. Sarah’s no longer just my little sister, but a person whose happiness matters to me. And Danny isn’t the piss ant that I wanted to squish with my size twelve’s just a short while ago. He’s actually a decent kid, who I wouldn’t mind getting to know better, and it looks like the kid is hankering for some male bonding time.

Like now, for instance. Danny’s back in the last row with Sarah and Oscar, and Oscar’s showing him how to handle a rifle. Yes, the safety’s on so it’s completely safe, and Danny’s watching with rapt attention. You can see the way he’s hanging on every single one of Oscar’s words, so if I were to hand him a piece of paper and a pen right now, it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if it were written down word for word. I apologized to him, but I still feel bad about the whole assault back at the condo, so maybe I’ll include the kid in more of the guy stuff. Yeah, he’s closer to Sarah in age than anyone else here, but he’s still male, so I doubt that he enjoys having to censor his thoughts and words at all times.

“Jared,” Olivia says and waves a hand in front of my face. “You alright?” I shake my head.

“Yeah, sorry. Just spaced out a minute. What’d you need?”

Olivia raises her eyebrows at me and points at the empty car. “We’re here, and you’re just sitting there, so, are you coming or not?”

“I’m coming,” I answer.

After unclicking my belt, I follow her out. Walking around back, I see that not only did everyone take their new packs of supplies in that John and the others collected back at the outlets, but they’re already in the house. Reaching into the already opened trunk, I grab out my pack and Olivia’s. She scowls at me for taking her bag, and tries to snatch it from me.

“Uh-uh, my mommy raised me to be a gentleman.”

“Please, you are no gentleman,” she says with a crooked grin. I place an offended hand on my chest.

“How dare you?”

“A gentleman wouldn’t have kissed and told,” Olivia counters. Her grin turns smug, as she snatches her bag from my frozen fingers, and heads toward the house. It gets a cursory look to see that it’s a freaking mansion in the middle of nowhere, but I ignore it, as I regain motor skills and chase after Olivia.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Without pausing, Olivia answers. “Back at Aunt Crystal’s, I heard you and John swapping virginity stories.” She glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “Did you really bribe a girl to sleep with you so that she could graduate?”

“I was fifteen years old, of course I would have done anything for even the slightest chance at sex!”

“I’d say that any post-pubescent male would do anything for sex,” she points out. “Take Cory, for instance. He was drooling over this complete bitch named Karen from middle school up through high school graduation. When she had the nerve to dump him after she cheated with four different guys, he passed up a football scholarship to Brown, and enlisted. If it weren’t for her, he would have been an architect. He was obsessed with Legos, K’nex, tinker toys, popsicle sticks; anything that he could build with.” I guess that explains his handiness back the condo. He constructed our garden and the downspout to collect rain for our barrels.

“So, he’s not gay then?”

“What?” Olivia asks with a laugh. When I don’t join in, she looks at me like I’m nuts. “Wait, why the hell would you think he’s gay?”

“I’ve known him a year, and have never seen him look at any of the girls we found. And he’s never mentioned a single woman from his past, even when John was sharing his conquest stories.”

“I’m sure that you have a list just as long as John’s,” she says dryly. “But Cory is as straight as they come. He’s private about it, but he’s been burned, and doesn’t trust anyone of the opposite sex. Well, other than me, since I do have a vagina even though I forget sometimes.” Hearing Olivia talk about sex and vaginas is kind of frying my brain, but I manage to pick out a piece to concentrate on.

“I do not have a list as long as John’s,” I retort. Olivia gives me a look. “Fine, I was a man slut, but not anymore.”

“That’s because there aren’t any women left that you’re interested in.” The hell? Is she blind? I’m fucking panting after her every second of the day, and she doesn’t see how very interested that I am in her? I’ll puzzle that out later, since she’s still talking. “Just you wait and see, as soon as you get to the compound, they’ll see those baby blues and come running in droves like locusts.”

“Not if they aren’t into Freddy.”

“Jesus H. Christ!” Olivia exclaims. She comes to a halt in her forward motion toward the house, to dope slap me on the unburned half of my head. “You do not look like Freddy freaking Krueger.” Lifting her gloved hand to my face she traces my lips. It’s not because she’s hiding that she’s wearing the gloves, Olivia’s in full leather gear because we’re out in the open, but they will be coming off as soon as we get inside Rockefeller’s Mansion.

“These are absolutely sinful,” Olivia says as she runs a fingertip underneath my bottom lip. Looking up to meet my eyes, she continues. “They evoke wicked thoughts in the minds of straight women everywhere, trust me.” Fuck, she’s making me hard. “You’re a freaking skyscraper, which happens to be built like Brad Pitt in Troy. Those greenish-blue eyes are like a mood ring. They get this vibrant blue color when you smile, I swear they fucking glow green when you’re pissed, and when you space out? They get this rim of midnight blue that complements the aqua center.” She shakes her head and drops her hand. “So, trust me when I say, that any woman who doesn’t stop dead in her tracks, drop on all fours and purr at your feet; is either a muff muncher, or an extremely faithful wife.”

Now would be the perfect time to say that I’m not interested in them, that I want her and no one else. That I want to drop on all fours, rub against her leg and purr like Morris does. That I can’t go to sleep curled around her each night without jacking off three times out of fear that she’ll feel my erection trying to impale her. That I want to be the one to make her live again. And I abso-fucking-lutely want to ravage those soft pillows she calls lips, and make her think wicked thoughts about me. But I don’t get to do any of that, because just as I open my mouth to nut up or shut up, dickface has to pull out his big brother stop sign.

“Are you going to come inside, or do you plan on sleeping in the van tonight?” Cory asks from the still opened doorway.

Olivia immediately moves toward the house, while I growl underneath my breath. I’m chicken enough about this shit, and just when I think I can grow some balls and do something, I’m interrupted. And didn’t Cory’s sarcastic comment have to spark my demented brain into envisioning what I could have done with Olivia had we slept in the van. The grey bastard didn’t even care that three people lost their lives in that vehicle, he still wanted to bend Olivia over the center console, and let Junior have his way.

Looks like I’ll be making a pit stop to stroke the snake before I join the others.

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

After I’m sufficiently drained of those baby making bastards that like to declare war on brain power, I finish showering in the ice cold well-water this mansion has. I guess these rich bastards couldn’t tie into public sewage systems since they’re too far out, but it actually worked out for us in the long run, seeing as we still have running water in all seven bathrooms this monster house has. Sure, it’s cold since we don’t have electricity, but it’s still running water.

Dried and dressed, I go searching out the others. This house is like four times the size of the colonial we stayed at yesterday, so there’s two of everything. Two dining rooms, two parlors, two dens, why the fuck they needed two of all of these rooms still confuses me, but at least we can spread out. Hearing music, and knowing that it’s Olivia who packs the player, I follow it through the maze of rooms and start to smell something delicious. Picking up my pace, because music along with scent can only mean one thing, I’m nearly sprinting by the time I reach the kitchen.

There, I come to a stop so fast; that I nearly plow into a frozen John, and have to peer around the bastard’s shoulder to see what the fuck he’s just standing here for. When I catch sight of what has him dazed, I’m no better. Olivia’s taken off her coat and gloves, so she’s only in another one of my t-shirts as she dances and sings her way around the kitchen. If her hip shaking wasn’t enough, the lyrics she’s belting out, sure as hell would have revved several engines. Olivia, completely unaware of her audience, continues singing into her spoon, as she gyrates around the kitchen. She continues doing a mixture of hip hop, and something else, as she sings the chorus for 3OH!3’s “Dirty Mind” with her eyes closed.

“Is it wrong that I just came?” John whispers.

I elbow him hard in the ribs, but he just grunts as he watches Olivia continue her dance fest with a wet dream inducing performance. She’s still ignorant of her audience, and multitasking as she prepares dinner. And obviously John and I are ignorant of our surroundings, since we get a pinch to each of our ears. The stinging pain breaks my eye fucking of Olivia, in favor of facing the culprit, who just so happens to be my baby sister. There’s a boner killer for ya.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sarah demands as she crosses her arms, and taps her sneakered foot.

“Language, Rah-rah,” John mutters.

“Don’t you talk to me about language, Jon Jon, when you’re sitting here like a pair of peeping toms.”

“We were not,” I deny. First lesson learned when you’re the child of a pit bull of a lawyer, deny, deny, deny. And if they still don’t believe you, deny some more.

“Then what were you doing?” Sarah inquires. “Were you waiting for Olivia to shout out instructions to you from across the room?”

“Actually, I just got out of the shower, and wanted to see if dinner would be ready soon,” I reply and point to my still damp hair as evidence. Since I’m scabbed up, I can unfortunately wash my own hair again, same for Olivia. I almost cried last night, when she told me that my services were no longer needed, now that her tube was out.

“Sure you were,” Sarah says dryly. “And the drool dripping down your chin, was from the thought of food, and not from ogling a taken woman. You should be ashamed of yourself, Jared.” I resist the urge to do a drool check, because that would only incriminate me, and shake my head.

“She’s not taken,” I counter.

“Um, did you not see the diamond that could be seen from outer space?” Sarah asks. “I saw it yesterday, before you kicked us out from our visit.”

“She’s widowed,” John answers, when I don’t. Sarah’s eyes round, as she peers over at Olivia.

“She’s like twelve, how’s she a widow?”

“She’s not twelve,” I say offended on Olivia’s behalf. “She’s twenty, which makes her four years older than you.”

“Still too young to be widowed,” Sarah says. I grab her arm and pull her down through the maze of rooms. Finding an empty one, I pull her inside along with John, before closing it behind us.

“Promise not to say a word,” I tell Sarah. “Not to Danny, not to Whitney, not a fucking soul.”

“I promise,” she says.

Sarah holds her pinky out in our childhood code for don’t tell the ‘rents that we broke whatever it was that time, and if they figure it out, blame John. Hey, he may have been like a brother to us, but the key word here was like. John didn’t live with us, and wouldn’t have faced the wrath of my mother whacking him on the ass with a wooden spoon, as she would have done to us. No, we weren’t abused, but we did get a tap on the backside if the occasion called for it. Like a fifty thousand dollar vase that Sarah and I may, or may not, have used to play kickball in the house.

“Alright,” I say and reclaim my pinky. “Olivia was engaged to her next door neighbor, I won’t tell you the details, but he died last year, and now she’s a widow, and Cory’s actually her deceased husband’s brother, so that’s how they knew each other, we good now?”

“No,” she replies. “You lost me in your run on sentence that sounds an awful lot like an episode of Jerry Springer.”

“It’s not,” John explains. “Olivia grew up with Travis, they were neighbors and Cory’s been like an older brother to her ever since she was born. Her and Travis were childhood sweethearts, eventually they got engaged, got married, the whole shebang. Now, he’s gone, and she’s alone, understand?”

“Physically, she’s not taken,” I continue. “Mentally, not so much.”

“So, it’s because she’s not over Travis, that you won’t do anything about it?” Sarah puzzles out.

“Pretty much,” I agree. I could deal with taking it slower than a snail’s pace physically, but I won’t force her into a relationship, if she’s not open to it.

“You’re not so much of a shmuck after all, Jarry.”

“Thanks, PITA. But you tell anyone that I’m going soft, and I’ll deny it with my last breath.”

“Would I do that?” Sarah asks with what she attempts to be an innocent expression, and fails miserably.

“Yes,” I say easily. “Yes, you would.”

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

Chapter Fifty-Eight:

“Deep breaths, Danny.”

No, that’s not sexual in the slightest, you pack of perverts. I’m making good on my promise for male bonding with the kid, so that would be why we’re out back with a hunting rifle, and I’m teaching him how to shoot it. Danny’s actually pretty good with a handgun, as could be seen when we had the raiders breaking in, but he’s never handled anything with more of a kick to it. But I have, since Cory had a sniper when he first came to us, and because John and I use to go to the shooting range prior to the infestation. This would be on account of us having nothing better to do other than play video games, or go pick up chicks.

Technically speaking, they picked us up, since we were lazy bums and didn’t have places; other than our back seat, to take them to. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried it, but back seat sex in a muscle car; when you’re over six feet tall, is damn near impossible to do comfortably, no matter what position you try. Believe me; it’s hard to get off, when you have the gear shift trying to get in on the action. Call me kinky, but I only like inanimate objects getting involved if I’m the one operating them.

That would be why I went home with whoever the woman was, because there was no way in hell I was banging some chick twenty feet away from my parents’ bedroom. They’d most likely come in while I’m mid thrust, introduce themselves, and ask when the wedding was since I ‘deflowered’ the poor girl. Yeah, I heard about that fucking hysterical story from John; and no, he didn’t complete that mission, so let’s just say it was aborted, and maybe I’ll let him fill you in on the particulars to that story later. But let me just make it known right now that I’ve never seduced a virgin, and remind you that my parents sent us to Catholic school, so I kept mum about my extracurricular activities in the homestead.

But that’s all in the past, so, I turn my attention back to the present; in time to see Danny fire off a shot, and land on his ass. Reaching down, I hook my arm and under his, and haul him up.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“Don’t thank me yet,” I tell him. “That shot sucked ass, but since it’s getting dark, let’s go in and grab some more of Olivia’s casserole, then hit the gym.” I pinch his gangly arm that has little to no muscle mass. “These need some serious help.”

Danny nods dutifully, before heading toward the house. I can pretty much say anything to the kid, but he just agrees and follows through. I’m guessing that he doesn’t want to piss me off, but I don’t want a mindless little minion. I’ll having him cursing me out freely, by the end of the day, and make it known that I will not be kicking his ass if he does.

Danny goes through the back door first, again not sexual since I don’t swing that way, and it leads directly to the kitchen. Dinner was a couple of hours ago, but I can still smell the mouthwatering chicken casserole that Olivia made from canned ingredients. It melted on your tongue, and had a flaky crust that she wouldn’t tell her secrets on how she accomplished it, no matter how much I begged for the recipe. Grabbing up a couple of bowls, I serve up two heaping helpings of the goodness. What? I’m a growing boy as Cory claimed, so I need the calories. And so doesn’t Danny, he may be lean, but I can tell he’s still underweight.

It’s nowhere near the starving state that we found him in seven months ago, but Danny could still use another ten to fifteen pounds for him to be healthy, especially with his body still maturing. The kid’s only seventeen, and when I was his age, I ate my parents out of house and home. My mom had to make trips to the market constantly, but we can’t, so he’s been restricted to three square courses a day. And I’ve never seen Danny take seconds unless it’s forced upon him by Whitney, and now Olivia does it.

“You need to eat more.” I look at Danny damn near lapping up his bowl like one of those neglected dogs on Animal Cops. As I’ve said before, I liked Animal Planet, and whenever I got around to going to college, I probably would have ixnayed law school, to be a vet. Too bad that’s never gonna happen.

“I eat plenty, thank you,” Danny says as he immediately sets the bowl down. I pile another large scoop into his bowl.

“You don’t,” I counter. “Quit being so damn polite, and eat.”

“Really, I’m fine,” he lies through his teeth, as he eyes the bowl.

“You’re not. You’re underweight and it is not healthy. So either you eat the freaking food until you’re full, or I’m done training you.” His green eyes snap to mine.

“The others,” he says.

“They’re fine,” I tell him. I wave at the remainders of the second casserole dish Olivia managed to squeeze out of six cans of food. How she can stretch it that far, is a mystery to me, but it works in our favor. “This is gonna spoil anyway, since we don’t have our cold packs, or our coolers to store it in. So, either you eat it like you need to, or it’s going to be food for the birds.”

“You’re sure?” Danny asks.

“Positive, now eat.”

With my approval now cemented, Danny dives at the pan and digs in with the serving spoon. Since I’m done, I rinse out my bowl and set it on the strainer with the others. Yeah, I know we don’t live here, but that’s still no reason to act like a pig. Besides, Olivia would kick my ass if I fucked with her clean kitchen. Cory wasn’t lying when he said she kept her place immaculate, since it’s freaking sparkling right now. She even scrubbed the non-working, electronic stainless steel appliances to the point that I could see my reflection. Not that I’ve looked at it, I already know that I’m a scaly leper, who has some peach fuzz sprinkling up from places that weren’t burned as bad as the scabbed areas. I’m like a Freddy Krueger Chia Pet. Ch-ch-ch-chia!

“When you’re done, meet me downstairs in the gym.”

Danny mumbles out something indiscernible around a mouthful of food, so I grab some clothes from my bag, and leave my leather jacket next to it on the counter. I continue on to the hallway bathroom to swap out my jeans and long sleeve shirt, for ball shorts and a tee to work out in. Folding them neatly, I shove them into the trash bag that Whit left in here for laundry. She usually sets one up at every stop and will wait until it’s full, then clean them at the next location, along with Sarah.

No, it’s not sexist, Whitney insists on doing the laundry since she owned her own cleaning service, and said she liked the normalcy in her routine. I’m fine with it, but I always make sure she has help, or I assist her myself. Or try to at least. On more than one occasion, Whit has chased me away, wielding a broom, and shouting that I do too much. I don’t agree, especially lately since I’ve been slacking; but before the fire I only did supply runs, guard duty, gardening, adjusted the rain barrels to collect rain more efficiently, was decision maker, and appointed the other’s to their daily chores. So really, I didn’t do much at all.

Opening the door that leads to the basement, music drifts up to me. This means that not only is Olivia down here, but Cory too, because she would never close a door without him or me with her. Well, Tommy too, but he doesn’t count since the closed door is for his benefit too. Jogging down the steps, I find that I’m right on both accounts. Not only is Tommy down here, but so aren’t Cory and Olivia. The former is over by Akio and reading another one of those medical pamphlets that he found back at the outlets, while the latter are dancing around the room together.

I recall Cory mentioning something about Olivia having a scholarship for both her singing and dancing, but I’ve only witnessed a few glimpses of her in the car, when she rocked out to Joan Jett a few weeks back, and in the kitchen earlier, but this is different. This isn’t spontaneous gyrating, it’s slow and intimate choreography. Cory’s face is only about three inches from her face, which should be impossible, but a glance at Olivia’s feet explains that.

My eyes bug out when I see the ‘fuck me’ heels gracing her feet, adding at least six inches in height to her tiny frame, and her movements are still as graceful as if she were bare foot. Her feet follow Cory’s around the room, as he leads her in what I’m guessing is ballroom dancing, but am proved wrong when she hikes a leg over his hip and he dips her low to the ground. I’m pretty sure that waltzing doesn’t include sensual moves like that, nor do they have vicious turns that actually look they’re battling. Three quick turns, and Cory throws Olivia to the side, catching her wrist when she’s about an inch from the ground.

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaim over the clapping from Whitney, Sarah, Mike, John and the twins. “Are you trying to fucking kill her?” Stomping over I snatch Olivia from her abusive brother and check out her arm, ignoring the wide eyes in the background.

“I’m fine, Mouth,” Olivia says as she slaps my hands away. “It’s a routine, right, Cory?”

“Yes, but something tells me that Freddy’s not a fan of dancing, and wouldn’t recognize a tango when he sees one,” Cory answers. I didn’t, but I still scowl at him anyway. “Liv used to make me and Travis practice that dance with her when she got lead for Moulin Rouge her freshman year of high school.”

“Please, you loved it,” she tells him with a smile. “How many girls were swooning after you for your dance skills at the Rec?”

“They were all illegal for me to look at, so what was the point?” Cory asks. Olivia boots him in the ass, when he dodges her smack.

“Get outta here, you cradle robbing, jail baiting, country bumpkin!” Olivia shouts as loud as her straining voice can, at a laughing Cory’s back.

“Where’d the heels come from?”

“The shopaholics,” she says and looks down at her feet. “I found them when I was looking for a shirt so that you could have yours back, but there’s nothing I could wear in there.”

“Keep the shirt, yours were cut up, and I have plenty. Anyway, I don’t think anyone could wear what they picked,” I offer since she seems a little despondent. Olivia shakes her head, before looking back to me and lifting her hand.

“You know how to salsa?”

“Um, no. White men don’t know how to dance, it’s a known fact.” She lifts a brow at that.

“No, that’s a stereotype, as you’ve just seen with Cory’s mad skills,” she informs me. “Just like ‘white men can’t jump,’ ‘cause Larry Bird was definitely white, and that man was one of the best basketball players to ever grace the NBA with his talent.” She looks over my shoulder, which she can do better at her elevated height. “Everyone can dance, but since you don’t, or won’t dance with me, I’ll have to take Oscar up on his offer.” Reaching past me, her ungloved fingers wrap around tanned fingers, before they spin her away.

“Move, gringo, yo y mi mamacita tiene que bailar.”

The grinning bastard, gives me a shove; that has me stumbling out of his way, while he twists Olivia around the room with fast feet and dizzying spins. The song is in Spanish, but it’s something about moving, since it keeps saying ‘mueva’ over and over again. They fucking move alright, and Oscar’s hands are on her way more than I’m comfortable with, but Olivia’s smiling as she dances, so she doesn’t seem to mind. Not even when he grasps her waist, and swings her through his legs. She just laughs and calls him a show off, as she performs a split that should be impossible to do in her leather leggings.

“Looking a little green today, Jared, you alright?” John asks. I tear my gaze from Rico Suave handling my girl, to face John and the laughing twin beside him. I flip them and Cory off, since he’s looking rather smug too.

“Just making sure he minds his hands,” I say to the trio. “Since it looks like big brother, Cory here, has been slacking.”

“Liv’s been dancing since she could bob her head to music, nothing to do but go along with it,” Cory says with a shrug. “Travis was usually the one she used to sweep the floor with, but even he needed to rest at some point.”

“What happened when he rested?” I ask.

“She’d dance by herself, or pick one of her admirers.”

“And Travis was alright with that?”

“So long as she went home with him, he was fine with it,” Cory answers. “You know that song, ‘Save the Last dance for Me’ by the Drifters?” I nod, it’s older, but my mom used to listen to oldies sometimes. She called them, ‘oldies, but goodies.’ “That was pretty much Travis’s standing on it.”

“He was a better man than me then,” Carlos comments as he nods behind me. “Because if my girl was being handled like that, I’d probably tear his fucking arm off, and shove it up the bastard’s ass.”

My head snaps around so fast, it’s like Linda Blair in The Exorcist. When I find that not only is Oscar no longer dancing with Olivia, but talking to Danny; while she’s dancing with Sarah, I hear them laugh behind me.

“That was fucking priceless,” John says through his chuckles. I turn back to the assholes behind me.

“Wanna hear a story about John?” I ask. John looks suspicious, but I ignore it and continue when I see the other two nod. “Alright, this was back when we were twenty...”

____________________________________

“John and I went out with our fake IDs to get smashed. We were unemployed bums, who could do whatever the fuck we wanted on our parents’ dime, so we liked to party. Anyway, we hopped on the T and rode in to Boston for the night. We hit three different night clubs, had way too many fucking drunks, and I thought it was time to head on home; since it was four in the freaking morning, and I didn’t feel like getting arrested. John, being the drunken fucker that he is, refused to leave without bringing a chick along with him. I was grumpy, and my head was swimming, so I told him to ‘take the broad if he had to, but let’s just get the fuck home already.’”

John scowls at me in the present, since he knows where this is heading, but I ignore it.

“I wasn’t as smashed as he was, so I asked him four times if he was sure that he really wanted to bring this girl home with him,” I continue.

‘I’m positive, Jarry. Me and Britney are gonna have lots of fun.’

‘It’s Bianca,’ the girl corrected.

John smiled a sloshed grin at as he hiccupped, ‘You won’t remember your name when I’m through with you.’”

____________________________________

“John, you stud muffin,” Carlos says as he elbows him. “You forgot the girl’s name before you fucked her, and she still went home with you?”

“Yup,” I answer before John can interrupt. “His mad player skills persuaded her to forgive his blunder, and go home with him. I made sure that him and his date made it home alright, before I head home. Little did I know, that I would be getting a six-thirty wake-up call from this fucker’s house.”

____________________________________

‘Jared Matthew Benson, what the hell did you do to my son?’

“That would have been John’s mom screeching through the cell phone. So not helping my hangover, I asked her what the problem is, hoping that I could go back to sleep.

‘Get your ass over here now!’

“The command was followed up by a dial tone, so I knew she meant business, or my mom would have been breaking the door down with a bucket of ice water. To avoid all that, I dragged my ass out of bed. I trudged a mile through a blizzard, in my pajamas, mind you, just to get to John’s house. I could have taken my beautiful Cobra, but I didn’t want to wrap it around a pole, so I hoofed it. I arrived at his house, it was like 7:00 in the fucking morning, the sun wasn’t even out yet, and I almost got run over by seven snow plows; so I’m freezing, soaked and pissed, when I stomp up to his front steps. The door’s ripped open by an equally pissed Mr. Moure, he didn’t say a word, he just pointed for me to go into the living room. I walk in, and there on the sofa were John and Bianca, wrapped in a blanket.”

‘Let me make it known right now, that I told him not to do it,’ I told his parents as soon as I walked in. ‘It’s a sin, and he’ll burn in hell for eternity. But he just wouldn’t listen to me, Mr. and Mrs. Moure. John just kept saying, that he had to bring her home with him.’”

____________________________________

“Yeah, I took the coward’s way out,” I tell Carlos and Cory. “But I did try and stop him from that train wreck.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” John interrupts.

“If you aren’t gonna tell it right, don’t start,” I warn.

“I’ll tell it right,” he promises and brings us back in time.

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

Chapter Fifty-Nine:

“Before Jared arrived on the scene, I was having some awesomely messy, drunken sex,” John begins. “You know when you’re trashed, that it could be the lousiest fuck ever, but when you’re that fucked up; you could be humping a pillow, and it will be the best fuck of your life. Until you sober up, that is. Anyway, here I am, plowing away into the hottest chick in the world, when the lights flicker on.”

‘Jonathan Andrew Moure, what the hell are doing!’

“Yes, that would have been my mom screaming, but did I stop? Hell no, I’m buried in the hottest woman to ever grace the Earth, I got my eyes squeezed tight, and I’m so close, I can taste it. Turns out, that wasn’t what I was tasting. I’m still thrusting away, when I fucking spew the night before’s sauce supper; and about a gallon’s worth of alcohol, on the chick under me. That’s when I opened my eyes, and let’s just say that the vomit was an improvement. I’ve never had a boner die so quick a death in all my life. I scrambled off my bed bare-assed and ran to hide behind my mother.”

‘Save me Mommy, there’s a changeling in my bed.’

‘That’s no way to speak about your future wife, Jonathan,’ my mother hissed at me.

‘The fuck it is!’

‘Watch your mouth when you speak to your mother,’ my dad said. ‘And you are going to do whatever your she tells you to.’

‘I’m not getting married.’

‘You most certainly are,’ my mom said. ‘You deflowered that poor girl, so she could be with child, and no grandbaby of mine will be born a bastard. You’ll do right by this girl, and John Jr.’

‘Are you even listening to yourself right now? You sound like you’re from the nineteen hundreds, not the two thousands.’ I pointed at the bed. ‘That thing has been laid straight more times than should be possible, but she managed it somehow; since she could sink the Titanic between her thighs, and still have room. Not to mention that they have this marvelous invention called a condom, and thank fucking Christ for that, since it prevents that troll from touching my baby making treasure.’

‘Jonathan,’ my mom said appalled, and cuffed me on the side of my head. Then she turned to the bed with a smile. ‘Hi, I’m Judy, that’s my husband John, and we’re awfully sorry for our son’s appalling behavior.’

‘Quit introducing yourself, she ain’t staying.’ I looked at the bed as I pointed to the door. ‘Out!’ The wildebeest just snuggled further into my bed, while I swallowed back more bile.

‘John,’ my mother snarled and twisted my ear. ‘Be the well-mannered boy I raised you to be, and get your fiancé a towel, she’s staining your sheets.’

‘I’m burning those sheets, so don’t worry about it. Now, can you please remove Quasimodo from my bed? I have a tummy ache, and I might puke again if I have to look at her any longer.’

‘Be nice,’ my mother growled as she pinched my elbow. ‘I’m going to call Jared, he has something to do with this, I just know it. Because my baby would never have done something like this, but that hellion sure would. Do you remember my vacuum cleaner? It never worked the same again.’”

____________________________________

“I’m gonna interrupt, and point out that that vacuum cleaner was nothing but a false advertising whore,” I say. “‘Best suction,’ my ass.”

“We’ll come back to that,” John says and holds up his hand to stop the barrage of questions on Carlos and Cory’s, as well as Oscar and Danny’s faces. “Since you pulled the most embarrassing moment of my life out, we’re gonna pull out yours too, Jared.”

“Go ahead,” I challenge. “I’m not the one who should be ashamed by it, that damn manufacturer should be. Besides, that’s nowhere near as bad as yours.”

“Alright, back to the story. So, Mom’s going off on a tangent about Jared and I’s wicked adventures, and how I would never have done something like this without him having some part in it...”

____________________________________

‘You’re absolutely right,’ I told her. If I was gonna go down, he was going with me, since the bastard escorted that beast to my house. ‘You call Jared, and tell him to get here now, so that I can officially make him my best man.’ My mom immediately left the room to demand Jared’s presence.

‘Really?’ The creature on the bed asked with hopeful eyes.

‘Hell no! I wouldn’t touch you with a twenty foot pole.’

‘You already did,’ manzilla hissed with a scowl that looked like a caterpillar was crawling across her face.

‘Yeah, and I was temporarily insane, blind and stupid last night, so as far as I’m concerned, that never happened.’ I grabbed my dad’s arm and propelled him out of the room, before the thing on the bed decided to slither on over and swallow us whole. ‘Dad, you gotta get rid of her before Ma gets back. Have you seen that thing? I can’t be saddled to it for life.’

‘Get over it son, you’ve made your bed,’ my dad said with a disgusted look at the door containing my forced fiancé. ‘Literally. What a waste, too, you were so handsome, and had so much potential. Instead, you threw it all away for that.’ He looked at the door again and shivered. ‘Is it even human? Or is it one of them she-males?’

‘I don’t know, Dad, and I don’t think I want to.’

‘Tell me you’re on drugs,’ my father said urgently. ‘Anything that could explain your actions, because if you weren’t under the influence of something when you brought that home to meet your mother, I’m committing you.’

‘I didn’t bring her to meet Ma,’ I denied. ‘And I’m not on drugs.’

‘Sweet mercy in heaven, save us all,’ he muttered at the ceiling. ’My son’s a homo.’

‘What the fuck? I’m not a homo. I was obviously sinking into something, that I’m now convinced was a black hole, but I don’t remember, ‘cuz I’m fucking drunk.’

‘Drunk, you say?’ Dad inquired and I nodded. ‘Good, we can work with that. You’re going to tell them that you were raped, trust me, the cops will believe it when they see you, and then get a look at her. If it is a her, since I’m not entirely convinced that it is.’

‘What the hell are you talking about? We don’t need cops, just kick her ass out.’

‘John, I don’t think you understand the severity of this situation. She knows where we live, that we have money, and she’s going to sink her pit bull teeth straight in your ass, claiming that you knocked her up, and then she’ll be milking you for child support for years to come.’

‘Jesus, Dad, it’s just a drunken accident, it’s not like she knows who I am. And I used a freaking condom. You know, like the ones you gave me when I was sixteen, and you caught me making out with Rosalie from next door? So, there’s no way in hell that I could have knocked her up, when I used protection.’

‘99.9% effective,’ Dad countered. ‘I’ve had clients who were convinced they weren’t the daddy, since they used a condom, and guess what? They were.’

‘Spermicide,’ I said. ‘I used spermicide too, so there’s no way on God’s green Earth that anything got through, not to mention that nothing got out in the first place, since you busted in on me. Thanks for the rescue by the way, I’m pretty sure I’d have to become a monk if I’d finished.’

‘We’re Catholic, and you’ll stay that way,’ my dad warned as we heard the doorbell chime. ‘Now, get your fiancé in the living room, and for Christ’s sake, put on some damn pants!’ Dad went to answer the door, so I head back to my room and snatched my blanket from Medusa.

‘Hey!’ She protested.

‘Fuck off, Man Beast, this is mine.’

‘What’s yours is mine,’ the naked thing said as she trailed after me and grabbed hold of my blankie.

‘The fuck it is!’ I smacked her grabby mitts away. ‘And get your damn hands away from Snakie, he don’t like you.’

‘He liked me half an hour ago,’ she said and flashed her jagged teeth at me. I felt a whole body shiver of revulsion course through me.

‘I plead the fifth, ‘cuz I was under the influence of Jack, José and Walker. Now, put some freaking clothes on, no one wants to see that shit.’ I sat on the sofa, and didn’t the thing sidle up next to me and curl herself up in half of my blanket. ‘I’m gonna give you ‘til the count of three to move the fuck away from me, before I upchuck on you again.’

‘In sickness and in health.’ it retorted.

“I’m tug of warring my blanket from the selfish toad monkey, my dad’s in his office on the phone with his police connections, and mom’s in the kitchen planning the wedding; when Jared walked in. He was in his fucking feetie pajamas that had these cute little puppy faces all over them, with their tongues wagging out. He had snow dripping from his face, and snot frozen underneath his nose like Jim Carrey in Dumb and Dumber, Adidas flip flops on his feet, and he wasn’t even wearing a coat; but he ignored all that, pointed at me, and sang like a canary.”

____________________________________

John glares at me. “You could have at least ditched the monster in the subway, that way, she could have found her way home along with her fellow sewer rats.”

“I tried,” I insist and hold up four fingers. “Four times, but she was a stage five clinger, and it didn’t help when you kept calling her your ‘sexy baby.’”

“I was obviously well past my cups to find anything remotely attractive about her,” John says with a disgusted face.

“Come on, she couldn’t have been that bad,” Oscar says.

“Think of the ugliest mutt you’ve ever seen, add a horse head, a caveman’s forehead, a uni-brow, a snaggle tooth, and a whiskered chin; and even that still didn’t compare to the beast I brought home,” John says with complete seriousness.

“I’m sure she had a great personality,” Danny says.

“No personality could have possibly convinced me to keep her,” John says. “Plus, I’m pretty sure it sucked, ‘cuz she didn’t take too kindly to the way I got rid of her...”

____________________________________

‘Jared, you asshole,’ I hissed. ‘How could you?’

‘Uh-uh, this is all on you,’ he said. ‘I asked you over and over again if you were sure that you wanted to bring it home, and what did you say? “I’m positive, Jarry, me and Britney are gonna have lots of fun.”’

‘It’s Bianca,’ creature of the deep informed us.

‘No one gives a fuck,’ I told her. ‘What are you still doing here anyway? I told you to get the fuck out.’

‘Your mom invited me to dinner,’ Bianca answered. ‘She told me that she needed to get to know me better, before the wedding, and John Jr. were born.’

‘No fucking way!’ I jumped up from the couch, not caring one bit that I was still butt naked, and flashing the goods to Jared and the Beast. ‘We are not getting married. We are not having babies, and you are not staying for fucking dinner! You already spoiled my delicious pasta from last night, that you’re still wearing, and you sure the fuck will not be here to ruin another. Now, get your shit, and get the fuck out.’

‘I think I’ll listen to Judy,’ she said, and adjusted herself on the couch to settle in for the long haul. ‘She’s nice, and I can’t wait to have her for my mother-in-law.’

‘Jared, I’m going to fucking murder you in your sleep tonight, so help me God.’

‘What the fuck did I do?’ Jared demanded.

‘You were supposed to be my wingman, not my freaking kamikaze pilot.’

‘I told you last night, that she was a dog, you prick,’ Jared said as he pointed at the thing on the couch. ‘I’m not responsible for Gollum.’

‘The fuck you aren’t. You should have cut me off twenty drinks before I got to the state of inebriation needed to want that thing within sixty feet of me, without a steel cage between us for my own protection.’

‘You do know that I’m right here, and can hear everything that you’re saying, right?’ Britney asked.

‘Who cares? I told you to get lost, so, if you don’t like what we say, then leave, Britney. No one’s holding you captive. Hell, we want you gone.’

‘It’s Bi-an-ca,’ she repeated and stressed each syllable.

‘And I still don’t give a f-u-c-k if it’s Britney, Bart, Brian or Barney, get out!’

‘Nah, I’m pretty comfortable where I am,’ Bi-an-ca said and wrapped my blanket around her hairy shoulders, that still had puke on them.

‘Jared, I’m gonna strangle her first, then you, then I’m gonna hurl myself from the fucking Tobin, because I can’t take this shit!’

‘Calm the fuck down,’ Jared ordered. ‘We’ll get rid of her, then you’ll get you some therapy, alright?’

‘Yeah, I’ll be needing lots of therapy, alright. Shock therapy, pills and a lobotomy to forget every detail from the last eight hours. Especially the bed scene. My god, I need to burn this fucking house to the ground. Where’re the matches, Ma?’

‘I’m on the phone, Jonathan!’ My mom shouted back. ‘Father Daniels is very disappointed in you, but he said your soul isn’t damned yet, so there might still be hope.’

‘Who the fuck calls their priest when their son is having a crisis?’

‘I do, now shut up!’ Ma answered.

‘Dad, a little help here.’

‘I’m already on the case, Jon-Jon,’ Dad called back. ‘The police said that they can’t give you a restraining order without a full name, or justifiable cause, but I’m trying to pull a few strings.’

‘Goddamnit!’

‘No taking the lord’s name in vain!’ Mom ordered.

‘Why the hell not? He damned me, so I’m damning him right back!’

‘Yes, I know Father,’ Mom continued. ‘He’ll be coming to church with us on Sunday, I can guarantee it!’

‘I will not!’

‘You will!’ Mom demanded.

‘Yes, Mommy.’

‘Where’s my ring, Johnny-cakes?’ Bianca inquired. ‘I want at least a six carat diamond, in a platinum band, but I’ll take more than that, I’m not picky.’

‘Why are you still here?’

‘I already told you, Judy invited me for dinner,’ it answered.

‘And I rescinded your invitation. Now, make like your vampiric cousins, and scram, before I pull out the holy water and stakes.’

‘Nope.’

‘Jared!’

‘What!’ He shouted, and sprang upright in the chair he was sitting in.

‘Quit fucking falling asleep, before I bury you in a snow bank.’

‘I’m fucking tired, you asshole,’ he muttered and leaned back in his chair. ‘Some fucker had to bring home Satan’s ugly step kid, so I got dragged out of bed, and had to walk through a fucking blizzard. I’m probably dying of hyperthermia right now, and you don’t even care.’

‘You’re damn right I don’t. It would serve you right.’ He started snoring again. ‘Wake the fuck up, you bastard!’

‘Nah, you’re the one with a bastard in the oven,’ Jared told me and looked over at Bi-an-ca and folded his hands on his knee. ‘You got a baby Jon-Jon is gestation yet? How long exactly does it take for one of your kind take to pop one out?’

‘Nine months,’ the thing answered. ‘We’re gonna name him Johnny-kins, the third.’

‘Make sure you call me,’ Jared said in complete seriousness. ‘I definitely want to be there so that I could see what it looks like to birth Rosemary’s baby, ‘cuz they never showed it in the movie.’

‘Oh my God, kill me now!’

‘Suicide’s a sin, Jonathan!’ Mom shouted from the kitchen. ‘Number Six, “thou shalt not kill.”’

‘No one cares, Ma!’

‘I care, and so won’t little Johnny when he has no daddy around,’ Beastie said.

‘You aren’t pregnant, you don’t even have ovaries.’

’Do too.’

‘Bull.’

‘Not bull, was born with ‘em too.’’

‘Then give them to someone who needs them, since it defeats the purpose when you have an inverted penis.’

‘I do not have a penis,’ hissed Splinter from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

‘I know,’ I agreed. ‘Because you chopped that sucker in half to construct that poor excuse for a vagina.’ It started growling, so I took four huge steps back before the hermaphrodite bit Snakie off like it were a chew toy.

‘Don’t anger it,’ Jared warned without taking his eyes off of the creature. ‘It could be like the Hulk, and grow into an even scarier monster.’

‘I’m not a monster,’ and didn’t the thing sound very monster-like when she snarled that at Jared, and bared her snaggletooth at him. He flinched, and pressed back into his chair cushion.

‘N-nice Beas-Bianca, Jared friend,’ Jared said and held up his hands. ‘Please don’t eat Jared, he’ll get you and baby Johnny-kins lots of cookies.’

‘I don’t like cookies,’ Bianca snapped.

‘See, only a fucking beast doesn’t like cookies,’ I said, and didn’t care when it turned it’s putrid green eyes, and Groucho Marx brows my way. ‘Listen, I’m gonna give you a few friendly tips, alright?’ I didn’t wait for a reply, I just went with it. ‘Grow a vagina, tweeze your brows, get some veneers, shave your chin, get some implants, and get a new personality, then maybe you’ll find a Shrek for your Fiona. Maybe. Because I’m not guaranteeing that even all that would be enough. But I most fucking definitely will not be him.’

‘You love me,’ Bianca said with a sniff of her actual pig snout. ‘You told me so last night. Many times.’

‘I did no such thing, you lying cow!’

‘You wanna bet?’ The indistinguishable hair colored nutcase challenged. It was a cross between brown, red and black, with an unknown origin.

‘Yeah, I fucking do.’

Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her sparkly iPhone, clicked on an app, and played a recording. ‘Yeah, baby. Suck me good.’

‘How much do you love me?’ Bianca asked as she popped off my cock.

‘You know how much I love you,’ I told her and shoved her head back down.

‘Unh-uh, tell me.’

‘I fucking love you soo much,’ I said and thrust into her mouth to get her to shut the fuck up. ‘Mhmm. That’s right, sexy baby, keep going. I fucking love you to death. Now, go faster.’

____________________________________

“No, it wasn’t just a verbal recording, this sick bitch actually videotaped herself giving me head. My poor dick even had teeth marks from her snaggletooth.”

“So, how’d you rid of her, without a proposal?” Carlos asks.

“I’m getting there,” John continues.

____________________________________

“The video was still playing, when I snatched the phone out of her hairy paw, and hurled it at the wall. Wouldn’t you know it, but that bitch had a fucking otter box on it, and we all know those fuckers were dear near indestructible, so it didn’t die the death I thought it would. And didn’t that have to be the exact moment for my mom to walk in.”

‘John, Father Daniels said...’ Mom began, but was cut off by my voice shouting from the phone.

‘Suck it harder, sexy baby!’

“My mom’s eyes rounded, as she walked over, and picked it up. She took one look at it, then turned furious eyes my way. I was fully expecting her to beat my ass, and have the priest be at the house within the hour, but she didn’t. Instead, she walked over, grabbed the girl by the hair, and hauled her up.”

‘Blasphemous slut!’ Mom shouted and dragged the naked girl out of the parlor, leaving my soiled blanket on the couch. ‘How dare you corrupt my baby, and put your disgusting mouth on his privates? And in my house!’

“Jared and I chased after my mom, in time to see her hurl the girl in a snowbank. She then took the phone out of the case, and smashed it repeatedly against the brick exterior to our house, until it was in pieces.”

‘You want a new phone? Take me to court, I know a lawyer who would love to rip you to shreds, you nasty skank.’ Mom pointed a furious finger at me. ‘And if I see even one blink of that mug on my block, or near my baby again, you won’t have a face left to scare the world with. You hear me, demon spawn?’

“The abominable snowman shivered with her mosquito tits frozen in the snow bank, but nodded at my mother. Mom then turned to me, and cupped my cheek. ‘My poor baby, let’s get you inside, and take care of that tummy ache, alright?’ I nodded and then she turned to Jared. ‘I love you like a son, but I don’t like you very much right now.’

‘Hey, I told him to leave her in the gutter she crawled out of,’ Jared said defensively.

‘Is that true, John?’ Mom asked me. I huffed, but nodded. ‘Then you’re forgiven this time, Jared, but not for the vacuum. I still can’t figure out what the hell you did to it, but the damn thing doesn’t work anymore.’

‘Maybe the warranty is still good?’ Jared offered.

‘Maybe,’ she agreed as she walked into the house. Mom paused as she looked over her shoulder at me. ‘Oh, and John?’ I nodded for her to continue. ‘Put some pants on, honey, your winky still needs to give me grandbabies, and it can’t if it freezes off.’

‘Jesus, Ma! Don’t talk to me about winkies and babies, it gives me the willies.’

____________________________________

“Mom smiled and all was forgiven, the end" John finishes. Carlos, Oscar, Cory, Danny and I are laughing our asses off. “I’m glad my very traumatic experience amuses you, you pack of assholes.”

“You had to have your mom get rid of your dog,” Carlos says as he breaks out in another round of chuckles.

“That’s an insult to dogs everywhere,” John counters. “She was a cross between Shrek, a pig and a troll.”

“And you still tapped it,” Oscar points out.

“I had vodka vision!” John protests.

“Remind me to never drink vodka,” Danny mutters.

“No, don’t even touch beer, ‘cuz it gives you goggles too,” John warns. “I’ve never touched a drop of alcohol since.”

“I’d say that’s a good thing,” Olivia remarks. Five pairs of wide eyes swivel to the eavesdropping pixie leaning casually on the bar behind us. “After all, you wouldn’t want to bring home another ‘ugliest mutt you’ve ever seen, add a horse head, a caveman’s forehead, a uni-brow, a snaggle tooth and a whiskered chin.’” She looks at me. “Did you really have feetie pajamas with puppies on them?”

“Yes, yes he did!” John exclaims.

“That is so fucking awesome,” Olivia say with a grin.

“Dammit,” John mutters under his breath.

“Thank you, Olivia,” I say. “My mom got them for me for Christmas, and I absolutely loved ‘em.”

“Ahh,” she gushes.

“Fucking, momma’s boy,” Cory says.

“And damn proud of it, too.”

“So, what’s the story with the vacuum?” Olivia inquires. “I think I got it already, but I want the dirty deets.”

“No, you definitely don’t need those,” I tell her.

“No, I believe I do,” she counters with a smirk. “What do you think, John? You’re the one whose dirty laundry was aired out, so, do you tell the story? Or let him get away with it?”

“Tell it,” John agrees. “He already broke the pact, so I can too.” I kick his shin, where Olivia can’t see.

“I saw that,” ninja girl says with a ‘tsk tsk.’ “Leave John alone, the poor man was traumatized, and had to have his mommy take care of the clingy changeling.”

“See, someone finally throws some much deserved pity my way,” John says and points at Olivia. “You are my new best friend.”

“Thanks, John, that’s really sweet of you,” she says with a smile. “Now, get on with the story.”

I think I may die of embarrassment. I thought I’d go out with fifty wheezers tearing me apart in six different directions, or in a horrible car accident where I’m paralyzed and then I’m eaten. I never thought I’d go out from something as pathetic as embarrassment, but it looks like that’s what the C.O.D. will be on my death record.

“Alright, let’s go back a couple of years,” John beings. I swipe a hand over my face, trying to think of something to divert their attention away from this story.

“Wait!” I shout. “Sarah can’t hear this.” Six people laugh at me. “What’s so funny?”

“Have you looked around the room?” Carlos asks.

“‘Cause it cleared out half an hour ago,” Oscar adds. “I’m pretty sure it was just after I finished my dance with Olivia, that they went to bed. Huh, mama poco?”

“Sí,” she answers.

“Enough stalling, Jared,” John orders. “This story is being told, whether you want it to or not.”

I absolutely don’t, but knowing John and his determined will when he’s set his mind on something, it will either come out now; while I can revise it, or later when he can embellish it.

“Do your worst,” I say and wave my hand for him to get on with it.

“Not my worst,” he tells me. “Your worst.” I roll my eyes. “So, this was back a few years ago. We were probably, I don’t know, seventeen or something, anyway that doesn’t matter. What matters, is the fact that Jared still thought it would be a good idea to try out this video he saw on the internet.”

“YouTube would have been the death of me if the internet hadn’t died first,” I announce to the room.

“Ain’t that the damn truth,” John agrees. “Google was my best friend, sorry Jared, but I miss that bastard more than I ever could you.” I flip him off. “Seriously, I could type in anything, and there would be thousands of answers to pick from. ‘How to extend your orgasm? How much sex is too much? Can you die from blue balls?’” John’s sounding more and more forlorn with each question that he can no longer type in, and receive an instant response to.

“I know, John,” I say and pat his head. “You were usually on my laptop, googling porn sites, pointless questions, and how-to videos. Do you have any idea how many viruses you got me? Or the fact that I was freaking terrified to let my mom borrow my computer? What the fuck would I have done if she restored a tab like, ‘Big breasted, horny school girls,’ or ‘double team my dong’?” John just grins at me.

“Back to the vacuum,” he says. “Jared found this video on YouTube where a dude used a vacuum hose to give himself a blowjob. No, I’m not kidding, it was really there. Why the fuck he looked up something like this to begin with, still confuses me. I mean, I thought you were straight, Jared, not Bi. Don’t matter to me, just don’t be looking to suck my cock like a blow pop ‘cause my door only swings one way.”

“I’m not Bi, you douche,” I say. “And I didn’t look it up, it was in those videos on the side, and I clicked on it because I was bored.”

“I’m gonna have to create some activities for you,” Olivia says. “Because anytime you guys get bored, it sounds like you do something stupid.”

“Tends to happen to anyone who has a penis,” I tell her and she nods.

“I’m glad I don’t have one then,” she returns. Me too, I add silently. “Anyway, take it away, John.”

“Thank you, Olivia,” he says. “So, we were at my house this time, obviously, since it was my mom’s vacuum that he destroyed. The video said to watch out for Dysons, ‘cause those fuckers will suck you too damn hard. See what I did there?” John points around the room to row his clever play on words, well, he thought it was clever anyway. A few people nod or wave for him to keep going. “Yeah, I thought that was good too. But back to the vacuum, my mom had an LG one with the hose attachment, so he figured it suit his purpose, since it was an almighty Dyson. Jared plugged it in, shoved his dick in the hose, and gave it a go. It wasn’t even two seconds in, and he was screaming, ‘Get this the fuck off of me!’”

“So, I asked him what was wrong, and Jared told me that his dick was being torn off. Me, being the best friend that I am, ignored him so that he could learn his lesson. I turned back to my computer, and continued playing Mafia Wars, since this was before Candy Crush, and the Crush was my game. Don’t you miss those?” Mutters of agreement go around, but not a single comment in sympathy for my poor abused dick, the assholes. “Anyway, here I am, kicking mafia ass, while my room was being torn to hell. There was a lot of cursing, shit being thrown around, and finally the vacuum’s cord was ripped from the wall. But it wasn’t done there. He was stuck in the fucking tube.”

“How’d you fit in the tube to begin with?” Carlos asks.

“I’d say he’s a little narrow,” Oscar replies with a smirk.

“Fuck off, or I’ll pull it out, and prove you wrong,” I warn.

“Please don’t,” Cory pleads. “I’ll be scarred for life, and I really don’t want that.”

“Don’t start measuring penises in my presence,” Olivia orders. “Do that after I leave, now John finish the damn story about your mom’s vacuum’s untimely death to a foolish boy’s antics.”

“Well, he was stuck like that kid in a Christmas Story,” he says. “You know the one who stuck his tongue to the pole? Yeah, well that was Jared’s dick. He just kept tugging on the hose to try and pull it off, it so wasn’t working, and he was cursing at me for not helping him. No fucking way was I jerking on some dude’s cock for any reason. Be that safety reasons, or not, I wasn’t having any part of it. So, Jared grabs hold of the hose as he stumbled around my room, and started digging through my drawers for something to pry the damn thing off. ‘Call the fucking fire department, John! I need the fucking Jaws of Life here right the fuck now, before my dick falls off, you fucker!’”

“I was definitely not calling anyone to come and help,” John continues. “My mom would have died on the spot if she found out that the door was broken down to help Jared keep his dick. Especially if she knew that he used her four hundred dollar vacuum to castrate himself.”

“I’m not castrated, you asshole,” I hiss. “Junior is still attached and fully functional.”

“Whatever,” he says and waves me away. “Jared used a pencil, a pen and finally a screwdriver that he found in my drawer, until he finally got the fucking thing off of him.”

“It had to be the most painful thing in my life,” I say and see the guys wince in sympathy.

“But the most hysterical thing I’ve seen in mine,” John says. I punch him in the shoulder. “Seriously, it looked like an angry balloon animal.”

“And that’s all folks!” Olivia says. “Thanks for that, John, but I’m exhausted, and don’t plan on staying for cocks to be pulled out and compared.” She turns toward the stairs. “Have at it boys, goodnight.”

“Night Olivia,” a chorus of follows her footsteps retreating upstairs.

“I’m gonna head up too,” Cory says. “John, stay away from the alcohol, and Jared, stay the hell away from vacuums.”

“Yes, sir,” John and I say as we salute him. GI Joe follows Olivia’s exit, along with the twins and Danny.

“Sorry about training,” I call out. “We’ll try again at the next house.”

“It’s fine,” Danny says. “Thanks, Jared.”

“Don’t mention it, just no repeating shit to Sarah.” Danny nods as he jogs up the stairs. “Thanks for humiliating me, you prick.”

“You started it,” John counters.

“I didn’t do it front of a chick you like.”

“Who said I don’t like Olivia?” John asks. I stare at him. “What? I do. Any guy would, she’s funny, beautiful, smart. What’s not to like.” When I glare at him, he holds up his hand. “Of course I’m not gonna make a play for her, but you better do it soon, you stalling bastard.”

“I’m giving her time.”

“Yeah, and you’ll keep giving her time, until you feel comfortable with admitting that you have feelings for her,” he says.

“I can admit it,” I say.

“To yourself, and me, or Cory,” John agrees. “But not to whom it matters most.”

“She’s not ready for it yet.”

John stands as he replies, “You don’t know that unless you try.”

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.

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

Chapter Sixty:

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.”

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

After my conversation with Carlos, I wasn’t looking forward to a run. When I went downstairs and told a fully dressed Olivia, she shrugged, but I could tell that she was confused as to why a three minute separation changed my decision so drastically. Not wanting to explain myself, I fainted exhaustion, and left her to her own devices, while I returned upstairs.

That would be why I’m now wide-awake in one of the dens, and staring at the ceiling. I’ve been up here for two hours, trying to come up with a way to persuade Olivia out of her suicide mission. I was all for helping her when I thought it would be Joe Shmo with a penchant for extreme BDSM, but now that I know that he is a notarized convict with experience, I’m not so sure. I’m not a trained professional in tracking or fighting, so really, I have nothing to recommend me to go along with Olivia on her expedition across the northeast. And I don’t care how much of a badass Olivia is, she isn’t equipped to deal with a situation of this magnitude either.

So, that leaves me with having to convince her to forget about the past, and push forward. I’m guessing that this is damn near impossible, since she’s already been on this path for months, so some guy that she’s only known for a month, is not going to have any chance at swaying her. Plus, I have responsibilities to the group, and I can’t abandon them; it’s just not an option for me. This brings me to option number two.

Option two would be to distance myself from her. Both physically and emotionally would be best, and I know that I could do this as much as it may kill me to. If I stay away from her as much as possible, I could forget about her smiles, her dry sense of humor, her nurturing nature, the way her eyes light up when she’s happy, her viper tongue, the sound of her voice, and her sexy attitude. I can and will do it. As I’ve said before, it’s only a month’s worth of attachment, so it can, and will be broken.

That way, when Olivia leaves, I won’t be broken when she never comes back.

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

Part Four:

Showdown

“Don’t mix bad words with your bad mood. You’ll have many opportunities to change a mood, but you’ll never get the opportunity to replace the words you spoke.”

-Nishan Panwar

Chapter Sixty-One:

“You’ve been awful quiet,” Sarah says from beside me.

We’re back on the road, but since I’ve decided on going with option two, I’ve put as much distance between me and Olivia as possible. Meaning that I’m in the deceased Chelsea’s seat in the way back, while Olivia’s driving the van. Everyone assumed that I would be driving or riding passenger at least, so they left the seat open until I complained of a headache.

When Olivia stared at me like an unknown species that needed to be identified, I ushered Tommy into shotgun and climbed into the van without another word. Another second with that stare down and I would have been begging at her feet. Not to mention she would have pulled out one of her mom’s headache remedies and then I definitely would have spilled, and I couldn’t allow that to happen.

So, that’s how I ended up squished in this dwarf sized seat with my legs tucked up to my chin and a metal cup holder digging into my hip. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Olivia has purposely hit every pot hole just to spite me. When Sarah repeats her comment, I glance over at her. She has Morris on her lap and he’s sleepily ticking his tail back and forth to swipe me with the agitated end.

“Sorry, just a little tired.” When Sarah peers at me as if she’s trying to climb into my brain with her Jedi woman tricks, I put the brakes on that shit. “Really, I’ve been up since three and I’m exhausted.”

“I’m sure you are,” she agrees. “But I know you better than that. What’s wrong? You have a fight with Olivia or something?” Goddamn you, woman’s intuition.

“No, of course not,” I tell her. And it’s not a lie. Olivia and I did not have a fight; I just can’t condone suicide missions for either myself, or others, so I’ve taken myself out of the equation.

“Then why aren’t you up front?” Sarah asks.

“I told you already, I have a headache and the radio blasting up there would just make it worse.” Sarah lifts a brow and points to the speaker directly over my head, and blasting Radiohead’s “Creep.” Damn you to hell, Aunt Crystal, and your kickass surround system, too.

“It’s a little quieter back here...” I think of something for inspiration, and the sun’s glare coming in from Danny’s window on the right side, answers it. “Plus I don’t have the afternoon sun blasting me in the eyes like it would be if I were sitting on that side like Danny is.”

“Did you take any medicine?” Sarah asks with a worried frown.

That worried from makes me feel like fist pumping the air and then veering back to punch myself in the face, because I not only convinced Sarah that I have a false ailment, I also lied in order to do so. I completely suck as a person, but as the appointed leader, I have to make sacrifices for the good of the whole. And the whole would benefit more by having me around, as opposed to me being selfish and following Olivia around like the lost puppy Carlos suggested.

“Yeah, Rah-rah, I took some Advil before we left,” I reply.

Sarah nods and goes to pat a soothing hand over my head, grimaces a little at the sight of my burns, and then pats my hand instead. I’m rocking the Freddy look without the gauze wrap since I’m scabbed, and I couldn’t touch the gauze without envisioning my time doctoring Olivia; or vice versa, meaning I wound up hurling it across the room instead. Of course I then went to retrieve it after I cooled down; making sure it was packed with my stuff. See, I can still throw a temper tantrum like a two year old, but my mature brain eventually comes back around. Like it did to point out the fact that I, or someone in our group, would need that gauze somewhere in the future.

But Sarah’s grimace still reminds me of Olivia because even with all of the times she’s seen my burns, not once did she show any sign of disgust or fear. There was only openness and gentle care when she tended my wounds, and I’ll never get to experience that again. Hell, I won’t get to experience anything with her again since it seems that tonight will be the last one that I’ll be spending in the same place as Olivia. When she went over the map with the twins, she said that we’ll be able to complete the trip to the compound early tomorrow afternoon. Now, all I have to do is avoid her until then, and I’m golden.

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

“How’s the head?”

I jump and slap a hand over my pounding heart at the sound of the voice. The weight I was lifting falls from my fingers and just misses my toes. I’ve been keeping my promise of avoiding Olivia, and it’s worked pretty well, until now.

Earlier this afternoon, we arrived at another of Olivia’s safe houses, this one a small Cape style, before she went to cook dinner. Since I don’t usually help with the cooking, I was able to avoid her then without drawing suspicion, and helped Whit with the laundry. During dinner, I sat with John and the twins in the living room since the dining room was too small for all of us to fit. After dinner, I convinced Danny that it would be the perfect time to get him to work out, even though the equipment available admittedly sucked.

There was a rusted bench press with an equally worn weight set, a bolted down bike that had seen its day about forty years ago, a stair climber that you didn’t even have to plug in, and a few dumbbells. I worked Danny until he literally fell over with his tired legs, and crawled his way upstairs to the nearest place to sleep. Yeah, I kind of took my frustration out on Danny by being a Nazi trainer, so I wouldn’t blame him in the slightest if he flips me off next time instead of taking me up on my offer. Hey, I had to do something to keep myself busy and avoid Olivia. But it looks like it was all done in vain, since she’s the one who searched me out this time.

“It’s alright,” I say with a shrug as I lean down to collect my dumbbell.

“Well, I’m pretty sure working out isn’t helping it, so, how about you go up to bed?”

“I’m not tired.”

“It’s four o’clock in the morning, your eyeballs are hanging out, and you look like you’re about to fall flat on your face. Which would be pretty damn dangerous in this room, ‘cuz you’d probably get tetanus when you impaled yourself on that rickety work bench.”

“That’s a little morbid,” I say and she shrugs. “I’m fine, so go on back to bed.”

“I can’t sleep, because some teddy bear bastard has been avoiding me.” My eyes snap to hers.

“I’m not avoiding you,” step one, deny.

“You sure?” Olivia asks. “Because you ditched me last night on a run.”

“I was tired,” step two, deny again.

“You didn’t come back to bed,” she points out. Fuck, I knew she’d catch that one.

“I couldn’t find our room again in that maze, so I slept in one of the dens,” step three, deny some more.

“Okay, then why’d you pretend you were sleeping when I found you, and then ignored me when I asked if you were coming to bed?” Because I’m a prick.

“I wasn’t pretending,” step four, deny even more.

“You’re usually the first to the table, and today you were the last one to drag his ass in,” Olivia presents her next piece of evidence. “You sure you weren’t avoiding me?”

“Positive,” step five, you already know is to keep on denying.

“And you didn’t watch me while I cooked, like your usual stalker self.”

“I don’t do that,” I retort.

“Really? So, I hallucinated seeing you and Cory back at Aunt Crystal’s? And yesterday when you were with John? If I did, then I need to get on some medication, stat. I’ll have Akio diagnose me and hit the nearest pharmacy. And don’t you worry your pretty little head, I won’t bring anyone with me, because next thing you know, I’ll confuse whoever it is with a wheezer, and they’ll wind up headless.”

“I don’t watch you like a creeper,” deny, deny, deny.

“Okay, so you’re not avoiding me,” she says with a wave. “How’s the head again?”

“It hurts, but I’ll live.”

“Where exactly does it hurt?” Olivia inquires. I gesture in the general area of my face.

“Um, here and here?” Why the fuck did that come out sounding like a question?

“Where and where?” Olivia asks. “It sounds like you weren’t sure of yourself.”

“Here?” I point to my forehead, and damn myself for sounding unsure of my phantom ailment. “And here?” Again with the fucking uncertainty as I point at my left temple.

“Any other symptoms?” Olivia presses. Fuck, what goes with a headache?

“Um, there’s some throbbing... in my head,” I start. “And... some flashing lights. A little bit of dizziness... some confusion and...” I scratch at my leper skin, while I try to think of something else. “Shortness of breath.” Damn, that’s not right, and Olivia knows it since she has her arms crossed and a brow raised. “My arm.” I swing it out. “My arm is...um...it’s...”

“Full of shit, like you are?” Olivia asks. “Half of those symptoms could have gone with a headache, another portion to a stroke, a few to a seizure and a couple to a heart attack. But you aren’t suffering from any of those, are you?”

“No?” Back to the fucking questions, dammit! I would have been the worst lawyer ever, and that makes me an embarrassment to my father because he was the best bull shitter I know. ‘Of course I’ll be at your game tomorrow, son, have I ever let you down?’ ‘Yes, many times, Daddy.’ ‘Well, not this time.’ ‘Okay, Dad, see ya there.’ Yeah, I stopped believing that shit about as fast as Olivia is losing her faith in me.

“Jared, stop with the bull shit already,” Olivia orders. I know that she’s serious, because the only time she calls me ‘Jared,’ is when she means whatever point she’s trying to make. “Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not avoiding you,” I say it more for my own benefit than hers as I look at the floor. I’m not strong enough to stare into those grey eyes and lie anymore, because it feels like I’m stabbing myself in the chest every time I see those blue flecks disappear, or harden to ice. I hear her stomping over and prepare for her to shake me, or bitch slap me. What I get is completely different.

An ungloved fist grabs hold of my shirt and rips me down to meet her lips. It’s not gentle, it’s a bruising lip lock that’s full of anger, as she ravages my mouth the same way I’ve wanted to do to hers since the helmet first came off. When her tongue runs along the seam of my lips, the selfish part of me that’s rebelling against avoiding Olivia, takes over as my tongue shoves its way in and dominates her mouth. It claims every inch of her, allowing me to taste the peppermint on her tongue and I can smell that apple/mint combo that I love so much. My arms have a mind of their own as they encircle her waist and pull her hard against me as me as my hands find their way into her loose hair. Her unbound breasts collide with my ribs and I release a moan into her mouth. Said moan is echoed around the room when I unconsciously grind my erection against her soft belly and she tears her lips from mine.

“Dammit,” I say breathlessly. I brush her silky hair back and look at her plump lips that are even redder now that they’ve been successfully ravaged. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t you?” Olivia asks as she trails a hand down my chest, over my stomach, and finally grazes my crotch. Junior leaps in my cargos to get more of the contact, but I don’t like the tone she’s using. “I’m pretty sure this is exactly what you wanted, right?” She grabs my hand and presses it against her breast. “You’re tired of having to put work in, and getting nothing in return, so you’re done with me now.” The fuck she talking about? I shake my head, and remove my hand from her chest, but she ignores me as she keeps talking.

“All of those long talks were just to make me let me guard down. To let you slip right past my walls and sneak in for a quick fuck, wasn’t it?” She circles my navel with her fingers and I feel every one of my abdominal muscles tense. “What, was your hand not good enough? Vicky wasn’t here to suck your dick for you, so you thought I would?”

“No, what the fuck?”

“Not, ‘what the fuck,’” Olivia counters and cups the ‘V’ of my bulging crotch. “You want to fuck, and since I’m the only female here who isn’t related to you by blood, or over forty, you want to fuck me.”

“I do not want to fuck you,” I say through clenched teeth. I’d want to make love to her regardless if there were eighty-seven women available, but there’s no way I’d tell her that right now. I’m fucking hard as a rock, and pissed that I am, since she’s spitting out bull shit accusations and my erection only cements the incriminating evidence in her mind.

“I believe you do,” she counters and squeezes my dick. I bite my tongue on a groan. “Why don’t I take care of this for you? That’s what you want, right? For me to get down on my knees, and suck you like a vacuum? Don’t worry, he’ll stay firmly attached this time, and he won’t even get teeth marks. After all, I’m a slut with tons of experience.” I go to deny it, when she unzips my pants and shoves her hand inside to curl around my dick. “Just relax, he’ll be better in no time. Then you can go back to pretending you’re my friend.”

“Jesus Christ!” I exclaim and try to dislodge her tiny fingers from my dick. So not helping, when it only makes her jerk my cock up and down. “Olivia, let go.”

“Why? You didn’t get your payment yet.” She meets eyes with her frosty ones. “What do I owe ya, Dr. Benson? There were several shrinking sessions, so I’d say that nothing less than a good fuck will do it, right?”

“No,” I hiss.

“I thought more, too,” she says either misinterpreting my denial, or not believing it. Olivia pulls her shirt off one handedly, since she still has her right hand curled around my cock, so it dangles from her wrist. When she goes to undo her bindings, I stay her hand.

“S-stop.” My order is strained because she’s still jerking me off. Olivia pushes my hand away and un-velcros the first ace bandage. I catch the unraveling fabric and reattach it. “I said stop.”

“Why, you don’t want me to,” she says.

Olivia looks down at her hand working my dick as she massages the sensitive ridge underneath the head. Even with my upper head screaming this is fucking wrong, my body leans into it and I feel a tingle run up my spine from the pleasure she’s creating. But I fight it, because Olivia’s voice definitely isn’t her own, and it’s not the hole in her trachea that’s making it sound both detached and furious at the same time.

“I do,” I insist. Olivia runs her thumb over the slit on the head of my cock.

“He says otherwise,” she says as rubs precum around. Mother fucker, does that feel good. I will not come, I will not come. I will not come!

“He’s not in charge here,” I tell her and find the will power from somewhere to grab hold of her wrist in a gentle, but firm grip to stop the hand job from hell. It’s actually the best I’ve ever had, minus the accusations being spit at me, but I don’t want it like this. “Look at me.”

“No, this is what you want,” she refuses and keeps her gaze down on my hand. “It’s what you all want.” I tilt her chin up and see trails of tears running down both cheeks from her closed eyelids. It’s like she just shoved a fucking ice pick in my heart.

“Look at me,” I say with more force this time. When she still refuses, I cup her cheeks in my hands. “I said look at me. You’re the one who told me I have honest eyes, tell me what they say right now.”

“They lie,” she whispers. “I should have listened to my fucking head and left you back at Hal’s.”

“Stop listening to that fucking head of yours and look at me,” I demand. Olivia opens them and glares at me.

“They tell me you’re lying prick.” Ain’t that the damn truth. “Now tell me why are you avoiding me, and if you lie again, I’m going to feed you your balls.”

“Fine!” I snap. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been busy training Danny.”

“Yeah, the last two days you’ve been training Danny,” she concedes. “But you’ve been pulling away from me for longer than that.”

“Have not.”

“Have too,” she counters and punishes me with a tug on my cock that nearly has my eyes rolling back, and a groan rumbling in my chest. “You haven’t stayed in a room with me alone for more than ten minutes without running out to do one thing or another.”

True, because I was usually running away with an erection that was trying to poke her, or giving her space with Cory, but I can’t tell her that right now since she’s not in a reasonable state of mind. I have to end this shit before I spider web her, or she pulls answers out of me that are better for all parties if they remain hidden. I harden myself, no pun intended, and pull out the asshole that I’ve used to get rid of clingy girls in the past.

“I just have a lot of shit to do, and I can’t be holding your hand every goddamn second of the day!”

“I never asked you to!” Olivia shouts and pushes me away. Success! I breathe a sigh of relief as I fix my pants, and ignore the zipper teeth leaving an imprint on my dick, as I shout back my response.

“No, you didn’t, but when you look like a kicked puppy, it’s kind of hard not to pity you!” Yeah, I know I’m being a prick, but I need to get her to avoid me, since she does it better than I ever could. After all, she’s the expert at being a loner and a professional repellent when she wants to be.

“Fuck you,” she hisses. “Take your pity and shove it up your ass.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t take things up the ass.”

“You will when I shove my foot up it!” Olivia retorts.

“Sounds kinky, did Sanders like that too?” Olivia looks like I just slapped her. “Yeah, I heard about him. Why didn’t you tell me about who Cole was?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” I counter. “Now tell me why.”

“Because it doesn’t fucking matter!” Olivia screams. “He could be Bigfoot for all I care, and I would still hunt his ass down and shoot him in the fucking head.”

“Well, I’m not teaching you how to shoot anymore.”

“Fine,” Olivia retorts. “I don’t need you anyway.”

“You do.”

“Don’t. I was just fine without you, and I’ll be just fine after.” Damn, that couldn’t have hurt any worse even if she had stabbed me with that ice pick.

“This is fucking crazy!” I yell at her. “Are you even listening to yourself? You’re gonna die, you know that? You can’t just run in blind with a single bullet that you’ve been saving as if you’re fucking Jack Sparrow! This ain’t a movie, and it isn’t gonna end well.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t,” I say. “It doesn’t matter how many people you kill, it still doesn’t change anything. Travis is never gonna come back. Your baby is never gonna come back. They’re gone, and they’re gonna stay that way, so give it a fucking rest already!” Olivia faces turns from fire goddess to devastation in less than a millisecond.

Have you ever wanted to hit rewind and take back ten minutes? Or at least suck the words back into your mouth? Yeah, well this is one of those moments.

“Go to hell,” Olivia orders in a steeled tone and tears swimming in her eyes. She then balls my shirt up and throws it in my general direction before running out of the room.

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

Chapter Sixty-Two:

I wait exactly .009 seconds before chasing after her. This was so not what I wanted. Why the fuck can’t I ever shut up? Or tell the goddamn truth? If I just told Olivia that I’m afraid of what will happen to her because I love her, this conversation could have gone in a completely different direction. I wouldn’t have insulted her, made her think that our relationship was just a meaningless ploy to get into her pants, and I most definitely wouldn’t have brought up the dead fiancé and forced miscarriage card.

It would have hurt her less if I’d just punched her in the heart, because you could see the gaping wound I tore wide open, and I’m following the trail of it right now. There’s furniture thrown around, most likely in her mad dash to get the fuck away from me, and I don’t blame her. I don’t even want to be around myself right now. As I continue down the hall, I hear that dying animal noise that I’ve only heard once before, and this time, I’m the cause of it. A few doors are open and people are popping sleepy heads out to see what’s going on. When they hear my tread, ten heads swivel in my direction.

“What the fuck did you do?” Cory demands.

“I fucked up.”

“I fucking knew it,” he hisses. “I said you were hurt her, and you fucking did.”

Taking long stomping steps to clear the distance between us, Cory prowls forward. He twists his hand in my shirt and hauls me up on my toes, which he can do since he’s got a few inches on me. Pulling his fist back, he lands a blow to my right eye. Pain bursts from the eye socket, but I ignore it. I deserve this and so much more, so I stand there and let Cory land three more punches to my lip, nose and jaw. That’s when the twins separate us.

“Calm the fuck down!” Oscar orders.

“Jared, what the hell did you do?” Carlos asks.

“I already told you, I fucked up.” Looks like I know have an ailment to complain about, but I ignore the headache, the blood dripping down my chin and the throbbing in my nose, chin and eye.

“How?” Carlos presses.

“I took your advice about avoiding Olivia, and this is where it got me.”

“I never told you to avoid her, you selective listening prick,” he retorts. “I was only pointing out the fact that you’re only one man, and you had tough choices to make.” Carlos looks down the hall. “I guess you made the wrong one.”

“I didn’t. I did what’s best.”

“What exactly would these choices have been?” Cory inquires. “And how the fuck is making my sister cry doing what’s best?”

He’s still pissed; you can read it in his brown eyes that are glittering dangerously with the help of the flashlights that Sarah and Danny are holding. His jaw is also clenched and his fists are balled like he wants to hit me a few more times. If I were him, I would hit me until I was nothing more than a bloody pulp staining the carpet, and if Cory knew about half the shit that was said, or I allowed to happen in the last half hour, he probably would.

“I had a talk with Jared the other day,” Carlos explains. “It was about how Olivia was going to leave the compound.”

“Yeah, she was always planning to leave the compound,” Cory says. “The deal was that she and I were going to escort your group to the compound, and then we were going hunting for Cole. You all knew this before we left the condo.”

“But that was before Jared grew an attachment,” Oscar explains. “He was all for her leaving until he realized that there was a chance that she wouldn’t come back.”

“Nah, that’s not it,” Carlos counters. “He actually thought that he could split himself in two so that one half would be with Sarah and the other half would be with Olivia. Then he learned that the man Olivia’s going after is above his forte and chickened out.”

“You fucks can all sit here and argue over Jared’s motives all night if you want to, but I’m going to go calm Olivia down before she cries her throat raw,” John announces. Then he points a furious finger at me. “I warned you. I told you not to try anything unless you were serious about her. She had enough trust issues, and she didn’t need any more proof to steel her walls with, and you just gave her an electric fucking fence.”

“I was serious about her,” I say and John shakes his head.

“If you were, you would have told her how you feel, instead of lying and pissing her off so that she’d run away,” he tells me. “That way you could blame her since it’s easier that way for you.”

“Let me tell you something, you stupid mother fucker,” Cory interrupts. “Love ain’t easy. There are shit times, and there are moments of absolute bliss. It’s hard work to keep it going, but if you’ve got the right person, it’s worth it. Too fucking bad you’ll never know that, since you threw her away.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I don’t know why the fuck I thought you were the one for the job, because obviously, you weren’t.” Then he looks at me with deadly intent. “Come near her again, and I’ll fucking gut you.”

Cory doesn’t wait for my reply as he turns his back on me and walks down the hall with John, not that I would have had one since they’re right. I caused this. Me, no one else. Instead, of claiming my blame for what it is, I glare at the wide eyed people staring at me.

“What the fuck are you all looking at? I did it for you.”

I sweep my gaze around to encompass Tommy, Whit, Mike, Akio, the twins, Sarah and Danny. John and Cory are now down the hall trying to get to a hysterical Olivia. It should be me down there trying to clean up the shit storm I created. But no, I’m right where I wanted to be, so I have to lay in the bed I’ve made.

“I couldn’t leave you behind, so I chose you all over her. You should be happy. Celebrating and singing zip-a-dee-doo-dah fucking day!”

“We aren’t,” Akio says.

“And why not? I put the good of group ahead of my own happiness, which is just the way it should be.”

“Because we aren’t just a group, Jared,” Whitney adds.

“We’re family,” Mike finishes.

“And Olivia’s a part of that family,” Tommy says without a single stutter.

“She’s not,” I deny. “She’s on a suicide mission, and I won’t risk the safety of the majority for the foolhardy mission of the minority. I have responsibilities to all of you and that’s to take care of you, to make sure you’re clothed, fed and safe. And I can’t do that if I go gallivanting around on some aimless hunt for an elusive serial killer to claim vengeance on something that has nothing to do with me, or any of you.”

Maybe if I repeat it enough, I’ll start believing it. Not that any of them look any more convinced than I am. Hell, they all look like they want to line up and take a few swings of their own. Step right up and punch a douche bag. Absolutely free, just make sure you hit him nice and hard, then maybe some sense will finally pour out of his deranged cranium. Need some incentive? He let a sexually abused girl give him a hand job while calling herself a slut. Still not enough? He then called her a kicked puppy, a burden, and belittled the murders of her fiancé and baby. Want to kill him now, you say? So don’t I, folks, so don’t I.

“We aren’t your responsibility,” Carlos says.

“And we never should have let you think otherwise,” Oscar continues. “You’re just a kid yourself. Hell, most of us are older than you, but we’ve been looking to you as if you’ve got all the answers, and you don’t. Nor should you. You didn’t train for the apocalypse or to protect innocents, and you didn’t sign up to take care of a bunch of strangers. All you did was open your doors to us and we took advantage of you. For that, I’m sorry, but it’s done now. Step down and claim your place as an equal. Quit carrying the weight of the goddamn world on your shoulders, it doesn’t belong there, and never belonged there in the first place.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Now, go make up with your girl before you lose her for good.”

I blink at Oscar. That’s probably the longest speech I’ve heard from either twin while they’re together without the other one popping in to make a comment, or to finish a sentence. I don’t know whether to applaud the feat, or cry out in demand of a refund for being jipped of my admission to the creep show.

“Well, what the fuck are you waiting for?” Carlos asks.

“Yeah, move gringo, before I dance my way into her heart,” Oscar says with a grin. And they’re back. I flip the flirtatious asshole off.

“I can’t,” I say.

“Why the hell not?” They say in unison. Was it me just asking for the creepy twin act? I take it back.

“I made a promise and I have to keep it.”

“Didn’t we just go over this?” Oscar asks as he scratches his head.

“We did,” an equally baffled Carlos answers.

“Different promise and this one can’t be broken, so thanks for the green light, but this’ll have to stay red.” I look at the scowling people around me. “Go back to bed, we leave in three hours.”

Several doors slam, and I ignore the curses about me being a ‘stubborn ass’ or a ‘sullen bastard’ because they don’t matter. My parents’ asked one thing of me. One simple thing, when I’ve never done a thing for them even once in my life. I didn’t go to school right away like they hoped I would. I didn’t keep a job for more than three months because I got bored stocking shelves. I asked them for money constantly to put gas in my car, buy video games, hit the club, to get the latest technology and other stupid shit that I don’t even remember. I was a lazy slob who took advantage of my privileged life, because I was nothing but a silver spooned, snobby asshole.

So, the least I could do for them is keep this one promise. And that promise is to take care of Sarah and make sure that she’s safe. Nothing, and no one, will ever make me break it, no matter how much it may kill me inside in order to keep it.

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

Chapter Sixty-Three:

I think it’s rather obvious why I’m treated like the red headed step child the next day. I don’t think anyone got much sleep after the fight, and Olivia’s subsequent howling. Her wounded cry lasted a good half hour until it miraculously ended, but it didn’t stop echoing in my ears until I broke two fingers with my assault on the wall. Yeah, it’s childish, but I caused the woman I love pain, and I wanted to be in some myself. Sure, Cory busted my nose, reopened burn scabs, and split my lip; but even all that in addition to my self-inflicted damage, didn’t hurt me enough to compare to Olivia’s pain.

I feel like shit, I am shit, and I will remain shit. I’m just a heaping pile of steaming horse manure, and I’m pretty sure I even reek of it. My rotten core is leaking out of my pores, and suffocating the air we’re breathing with misery, so fragrant that you could taste the bitterness of it on your tongue.

We all packed into the van at 6:00 this morning when Oscar gave us our marching orders. Olivia was already in the driver’s seat, face blank, headphones in place, and revving the engine for us to hurry the fuck up. Why she still agreed to take us when I was a dick to her, is most likely because she made a promise to the group to get them there safely; not just me, so she wouldn’t take her emotions out on the rest group. She’s a much better person than I am, because if someone said half the shit I said to her, to me, I’d have laid their ass out. Hell, I want to knock myself into next week.

We’ve been driving for six hours. Six hours of silence. Six hours of listening to the tread of tires ripping up asphalt, dirt and branches. Six hours of sighs and death glares being thrown in my direction. I’m as far away from Olivia as possible, but it seems that everyone wants to be far away from me.

Cory’s up front with Olivia, John’s in the next row with Sarah. Danny’s in the following one with Tommy. Akio and the twins in the third, leaving me with Mike and Whit in the last one. And they are none too happy with the setup, as can be seen now since they’re leaning against each other, pressed against the padded metal frame of the van’s interior. Even fucking Morris doesn’t want to be near me, the feline asshole flipped me the paw when I tried to cuddle him like Olivia does. And these are the people I’m throwing Olivia away for. Fuck, I didn’t throw her away; I gutted her, set her on fire and pissed on her ashes. You just don’t do that to people you care about, so it looks like Carlos was right about the puppy love comment.

I’m fucking clueless and immature when it comes to relationships with the opposite sex, which is why I’ve avoided them in the first place. Sure, my parents were married, and obviously they cared about each other to some extent since they didn’t get divorced, but I never seen them display open affection for each other. Yeah, they kissed each other on the cheek and my dad gave her the standard roses on her birthday, but that was it; because he was so fucking involved in his work. He’d go to the office at six o’clock every morning, come home at seven to eat dinner and share the pleasantries of ‘how was your day so-and-so,’ then go to the home office down the hall. As I told Olivia, it was life sucking monotony that I wanted no part of.

I’m jostled out of my head, when the van comes to an abrupt stop. If I weren’t wearing my seatbelt, my broken nose would have been mashed into the headrest in front of me. Leaning back, I rub my abused collarbone and try to peer around nine heads to see what the fuck the holdup is.

“Everyone out,” Cory orders.

The fuck? I hear a door open and the slider move on the track. The van rocks as the bodies make their exits quickly. Because I’m a dick and no one’s a fan of me right now, it’s like I’m the last kid to be picked in gym class because kids are dicks too, so I’m pushed to be the last one to exit. Oh well, I can take their childish antics; after all, I’m rather childish myself.

Hell, I could have avoided all of this if I’d used that big mouth of mine for something useful for once. But no, I have to be a fucking moron, and a stubborn fuck that refuses to right my mistake by explaining that my actions were well intended, but wrongly executed. There’s no going back though, what’s done is done and I’ll have to suffer the consequences.

“We gotta walk two miles,” Cory announces. “There was a road, but it was blocked off to create the barrier.” Olivia looks at each member of the group, obviously not me, before talking.

“There shouldn’t be anything around here since there’re lakes surrounding us on both sides, but just in case, stay as quiet as possible. Lighten your steps, and if you do happen to see anything, stop moving, but don’t drop down. Think Jurassic Park. The wheezers are the T-Rex, so if you stay still, you won’t capture their attention as easily. Any questions?” No one speaks up. “Alright, carry as much as you can, but don’t bring anything that isn’t essential.”

John opens the trunk and passes everyone his or her pack; he was even kind enough to throw mine at my feet. I shrug and scoop it off the ground; they’ll all get over it eventually. Like when Olivia ditches us in less an hour, which she’s already said that she will be doing; and now that I’ve upset her, she’ll be even more inclined to run as fast as those leather clad legs will carry her.

Shutting the trunk, I see that the group’s already hit the trees. I don’t go running after them like some kid afraid to be left behind, nope, I keep my pace nice and steady as I follow after them. It’s not like they’re going fast, they’re in between a walk and a jog, so it’s pretty easy to the cover the distance with my longer legs.

The woods are actually pretty nice. Back in the suburbs, we were lucky to have a few trees since we were so close to Boston, most of the area was industrialized. But since we’re out in the boonies, there’s more wilderness than what used to be civilization. There’s not even a trail for us to walk on, so we’re trudging through brush and tree roots. Olivia’s leading point, so a lot of it’s been cut back with her machete likes she’s a freaking professional jungle explorer, but at least it makes it a little easier to navigate.

I’ve been seeing plenty of birds, bunnies and squirrels, all things that could be excellent sources of food for us, so I’m not worried about that. What I am worried about is the amount of people. What if they aren’t equipped to take on ten more? What if we’ve come all this way, only to be turned away? What if their security isn’t as good as Olivia thought and they’ve been breached, so then when we finally get there, it’s nothing more than a pile of smoking rubble with wheezers leafing through the debris to find scraps to eat? All of these things take up residence in my head and push my worries about Olivia, the pissy attitudes of the group, and my own dislike for myself, to the back burner.

They’ve also distracted me, so I don’t see Olivia’s hand signal to stop until I bump into Mike’s back. I gave him a confused look when he scowled at me and pointed at Olivia. She has her head cocked slightly and her machete held out a few inches in prep for an attack. I pull out a knife from my holster and listen in with my own ears to hear whatever it is. Then I hear it, scuffling. Fucking wheezing bastards. I see Mike raise an ax, Whitney a bat, Akio a tire iron, Tommy a club, Carlos his bowie knife, Oscar and John their bows, Danny his handgun, Sarah has a bat like Whit with Morris meowing in protest from inside his carrier on her shoulder, and Cory has knives in both of his hands.

We’re all armed to the teeth, so you can see why I’m a little confused when Olivia tucks her machete into its strap on her back, and dives into the trees. What the fuck? Obviously this girl has a death wish. I push people out of the way and see Olivia have a wheezer pinned to the ground. At least I thought it was a wheezer until I see him flip her onto her back and pin her chest with his knee. Olivia pulls her arm across her chest and swings it to knock him over. Coming up on top, she pins both of his arms with her knees and places her knife to his throat. Instead of fear entering his features, the guy grins. Again, what the fuck?

“Hey, Webby, long time no see,” Olivia says and returns his grin as she tucks her knife away.

“Yeah, like three fucking months, what the hell Ollie?”

‘Ollie?’ Who the fuck is this guy? Olivia climbs off the dude and offers him her hand, which he accepts and pretty much has to lift himself up since he’s fucking huge. He’s 25ish and rivals Cory in height, so he’s gotta be at least 6’4,” 230 pounds. And no, it isn’t fat; this dude is built like a bodybuilder, thick neck and arms that strain the fabric of his fatigues. His hair is black and curly and reaches down to his collar, his eyes are brown, and I’d assume he has some Greek heritage with his olive skin tone, but it could just be from summer having just past. The fucker’s even handsome, he kinda looks like a young Billy Zane; you know, the asshole from Titanic? Yeah, too bad he seems to not be like his namesake’s persona since Olivia likes him.

He reaches down and lifts Olivia off the ground in a bear hug that I’ve only seen Cory give her since she’s opposed to touch. Or she was, since this fucking guy is all over her and she hasn’t slit his throat. Pulling back, he sets her down on her feet before looking at our rag tag group.

“So, who’re y’all?” The man Olivia referred to as Webby asks.

“I’m John, that’s Cory, Sarah, Danny, Akio, Whit, Mike, Carlos and Oscar, and that fucker in the back is Jared,” John introduces us. “And you obviously know Olivia already.”

“Hell yes I do,” Webby confirms with a fond smile at the pixie next to him. “And I’d know her better if she’d stop running away from me.” Oh Jesus, looks like she’s already got a beau dogging her steps. She’s probably used to it by now and chooses it to just ignore it.

“Later, Webs,” Olivia says. “Let’s get them inside, processed and housed. I gotta go out again.” Webby’s face falls.

“You just got here,” he says with a pout. Yes, an actual pout with his bottom lip pushed out and everything. What a bitch. And obviously Olivia isn’t falling for it since she rolls her eyes. “Fine, if you have to go so soon, I guess you won’t be able to hear about the new lead I have for you.” Fucking prick knows how to lay his cards. Olivia looks like that Yorkie flipping for treats again like she did back at Hal’s, and Webby knows he has her right where he wants her when he grins and turns his back on her. “I guess that you’ll be joining us for dinner then.”

“Nuh-uh,” Olivia denies as she trails after the towering giant. “I never said nothin’ about no dinner.”

“Come on, Ollie, you just got here,” he counters. “You can stay one night. I’ll tell you about the lead, you can see the kids, Sammy misses you, Ally’s pissed at you, and Melly will be pissed at you if you don’t come and say hello at least.”

“She still alive then?” Olivia asks and he nods. “Old biddy, I thought she’d of croaked by now.”

“Nah, she’s still alive and kicking, literally. She kicked me in the shin earlier and I think I even have the bruise to prove it.” Olivia laughs as Webby waves toward the trees. I look over to where he waved, and see three more men in fatigues pop out of the woodwork, literally. “You remember Wally, Patsy and Ace, right?” Olivia shoots him a look. “What? You could have forgotten them since you left last time.”

“Please,” she says and wiggles her fingers at the three guys. “Miss me, boys?”

“‘Course, now get your tiny ass over here,” one of them orders and points to the ground in front of him. I scowl, who the fuck does this ginger bastard think he is, ordering her order like she’s some kind of goddamn barmaid?

“Patsy, you know better than that,” another one says to the first. “Ollie doesn’t come to you, you go to her.”

“Yeah, but she’ll come to me,” the third one says as he elbows the second one out of the way and holds his arms out.

Olivia runs on over and embraces that assumptive mother fucker. He’s young, maybe around my age, and not as tall as Webby or the other two, so he’s probably 5’10” and about 170 pounds. He’s got brown hair and eyes, and a kind smile, but he hasn’t seen a shave in days. Not that I can talk since I haven’t gotten around to shaving the half side of scruff on my face in a couple days myself, but that’s me. This dude’s just lazy. Shut up, I ain’t lazy; I just don’t have the proper equipment to deal with it yet. When I get some shaving cream and a new razor, I’ll take care of it.

Olivia pulls back from the hug and holds her hand out at the group. “Guys, these are the new recruits. Group, these are Ace.” She tilts her chin at the one she just hugged. “Webby.” She points to the Billy Zane look alike. “Wally and Patsy.”

“But no one calls me Patsy without earning it,” Patsy says with a stern look at us.

Olivia laughs at that and Patsy grins. He’s probably in his mid-twenties and just about six feet tall, with red hair that’s more of an auburn, but it shows his Irish heritage like his freckles and green eyes. He reminds me of the Sherminator from American Pie for some odd reason. Honestly, the guy looks nothing like that actor, but Sherminator is the first thing that comes to mind when I look at him, and I don’t know why. Maybe I’m a little punch drunk.

“Patsy, no one can take you seriously with a name like that,” Wally says.

Wally’s a thirtyish African American guy at little over six feet tall, a shaved head and he kind of looks like Michael Clarke Duncan with his big friendly smile. I’m waiting for him to ask Olivia ‘to leave the light on, boss,’ like his counterpart did in The Green Mile.

“Where’s my hug, baby girl?” Wally asks.

“Right here, John Coffey,” she answers and holds her arms up to him. See, I’m not the only one that thought he looked like Duncan. Wally gives her a tight squeeze that makes her look like a tiny tyke before stepping back.

“You stayin’ this time? Or are ya sneaking out without saying goodbye again?” Wally asks.

“I’m staying for the night,” she says. “And I’ll say goodbye this time if you promise not to try and come with me.”

“Sorry, Ollie, ain’t gonna happen,” Wally replies.

“Then I’ll be sneaking out,” Olivia tells him as she gives Patsy a hug.

“We’ll see, baby girl. We’ll see.”

“Yeah, but you won’t be gettin’ far this time,” Patsy counters. “‘Cause I’ll be following your every step. That’s three times that you’ve left without a word.” Olivia waves him off.

“Let’s just get inside, alright?” Olivia asks as she eyes the frowning foursome. “Or else I won’t come in at all.”

The new guys grumble their discontent, but listen to her. Obviously they’re used to her coming and going and don’t like it one bit. See, I’m not the only one that doesn’t approve of aimless gallivanting across the northeast, that’s dangerous for many reasons. Including infected animal like creatures that want to eat you since they’re predators and we their prey, then there’s hostile survivors and weather conditions that could also prove challenging. So really, any sane person would fear for the safety of a lone person, regardless of them being a woman or not, travelling alone. But then when you factor in that she is a woman, an extremely attractive one at that, and she’s pint sized, that doubles and triples the danger level.

All of this now pushes thoughts of our new home to the back burner, as my renewed fear for Olivia sets up camp in the forefront of my mind. They even hammered down stakes, so I know that they won’t be going anywhere soon. Even with my mind bouncing around thoughts, I’m still capable of following directions, so I’m able to get back in line when we get the signal to move. Wally takes point this time, so he must be the one in charge, which makes sense since he looks to be the oldest. The other three line up in a triangle formation behind him, and then we walk.

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

The rest of the trip is silent, and thankfully short, since the sun has been setting earlier with fall taking effect. We finally arrive at this huge, thirty foot tall, cement blockade that disappears into the woods and is topped by barbed wire. It was pretty hidden, and I wouldn’t have been able to find it if I hadn’t been here before or was escorted at least.

There are two giant metal doors that are the same height as the structure, but are wide enough to drive a vehicle out of. Where the hell the vehicle would go, or come in remains a mystery since I don’t see a trail. Oh no, actually there are a few faint tire impressions off to the left that run along the fence, so obviously it’s used occasionally.

“Ollie Ollie oxen free,” Wally calls out.

“Number!” A voice shouts from somewhere up above.

“2562,” Wally responds. “Captain Walter Briggs and troop, with guests.”

“Charlies or Freds.”

“Charlies.”

I hear a click and something rotating before the metal doors creak open. As they swing wider, I see a handful of men on the other side, also in fatigues, with weapons strapped to their thighs or hung from their shoulders, all similar to how the four we just met are dressed.

One man with salt and pepper hair steps forward from the pack. He’s got more grey than brown in his hair, so he could be in either his fifties or forties; depending on if he’s prematurely grey. About 6’1 or 6’2” and around 200 pounds, he has a slight belly on him that most likely accumulated with age. He’s dressed basically the same as the others with his fatigues tucked into standard issue boots, but he has an air of authority about him that identifies him as the man in charge.

“I’m Commander Jack Morales, and welcome to Cross Lake. This is a refugee camp, and you are welcome to stay as long as you would like, so long as you don’t mind pitching in.” He glances at each person to see if there is any opposition to his rules, there aren’t, so he continues. “Before you’re free to move about and check out your new home, we ask that you submit to a mandatory exam. It’s for your safety as well as ours, so please help us make this go as smoothly as possible.” Morales looks at Wally. “Take them to the entry wing. Once their cleared, we’ll process them and set them up with jobs.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Wally says with a salute. Obviously, I won’t be using that in jest anymore. “Follow me.” Wally starts a forward march with his trio following first, and the group after.

“Welcome back Ollie,” Morales says as we pass by. He has a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, so it looks like even this stoic commander couldn’t resist the tiny girl’s charms.

“Thank you, sir,” she says with a polite bob of her head.

“Make sure you go see Ally when you’re through,” he says. “She’s been a pain in the ass ever since you ditched her.” Olivia grins.

“It’s because she’s a pain in my ass, is why I ditched her,” she replies.

The commander laughs as we continue on by. I look around to observe our new home as I follow the parade of newcomers. It’s fucking huge in here. There’s a giant building off to the left with a rounded roof, that I see people coming out with baskets. Another building off to the right, that’s slightly smaller than the first, has a flat roof, and a ton of windows that I can see through to reveal desks lined up in rows with kids seated in them. Obviously that’s a school. What they teach remains to be seen, but maybe Mike could finally get some students to shove math down the throats of.

Scattered throughout are small cabins with short fences making a square around them to mark their territory. People are dressed in casual clothing, as well as fatigues. Most are hanging laundry on lines, or tending to gardens out front or in the side yards, while younger children are running around on the small playground. Everyone looks well fed and clothed, and dare I say happy? This is the most normal thing I’ve seen in almost two years, and it makes me smile that we found it. Then I lose my smile when I remember the reason that we found it all.

Another building is straight ahead, and it says ‘Infirmary,’ so it looks like they have a decent sized hospital. I’m guessing that Akio will wind up there at some point. It’s also where we’re headed since it looks to be the only thing that’s left before the back fence. It’s confirmed when Wally leads us around to a side door and lifts a little hatch. Revealed is a keypad, which he types a number into and the door pops open. Lo and behold, we have electricity. I feel like jumping up and down like a kid in a candy store, but I keep it in check. John? Not so much.

“You have electrici-fucking-ty!” John exclaims.

“Yeah,” Wally answers with a shrug.

“Don’t you shrug, this is fucking huge!” John shouts.

“Must you scream in my ear?” Cory asks.

“Cory, do you not understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?” John shouts every word at him. “They have electrici-fucking-ty!”

“Yeah, I heard you alright,” Cory replies with a scowl as he rubs his ear. “I think the whole fucking compound heard you.”

“I take it you didn’t have any where you were last staying,” Ace says.

“Well, not the last place we stayed,” John answers. “But we haven’t really used it in two years.”

“Damn, you people suck,” Patsy comments.

“Hey!” John protests.

“What?” Patsy asks. “You couldn’t figure out how to hotwire a car battery to power a simple light bulb? That’s science fair shit.”

“Um, no,” Carlos says.

“We didn’t learn that in the academy,” Oscar adds.

“Ah, so we have a couple of a lawmen,” Webby says and the twins nod. “We could use a couple of you.”

“Why?” Oscar asks with his cop face.

“You got a high crime rate in this joint?” Carlos inquires with an expression identical to his twin.

“If you call squabbles over eggs a high crime rate, then yes,” Webby replies.

The twins look like they were just told they couldn’t play at the playground. We can, right? If not, I’ll be hitting the swings after dark and sprint away when I see the blue and reds come swooping in. Actually, if the twins are the popo, I’ll just say I know a cop and keep on swinging. I’m pulled out of my daydream where I’ve selfishly taken over the swing set king of the mountain style, and was ignoring the a crowd of kids that were glaring at me like they were the Children of the Corn, by the escalating bickering match between Patsy and John. They’re still going on about how un-resourceful we were, until Olivia interrupts.

“Patsy, leave these people alone before I tell them how you got your name,” Olivia warns.

“Come on, Ollie,” he says with a pleading look at her. “I’m just curious. I mean, how many survivors does it take to screw a light bulb into a potato?”

“Do not pull out the blonde jokes, you ginger balled, foot licker,” Ace says.

“I am not a foot licker,” Patsy denies.

“Um, correct me if I’m wrong,” Olivia begins. “But I think I recall waking up to a freckle faced freak lapping my toes like a puppy.”

“It was one time,” he says. “I had a little too much to drink, and they were so damn cute, that I had to take a taste.”

“How’s the nose, by the way?” Olivia asks.

“It’s s’okay,” Patsy replies. “Habish said it wasn’t even broken, so I’m still my pretty self.” He batts his ginger lashes at Olivia.

“Patsy, you’re the damn ugliest son of a bitch this side of the border,” Ace says.

“Says the guy who fucked Bertha,” Patsy counters before looking at Whit and Sarah. “Pardon my French ladies.”

“I thought we agreed to never talk about that,” Ace hisses.

“Nah, we’re talking ‘bout it,” Patsy replies.

“Not right now we aren’t,” Wally interrupts. “We’ve wasted enough time, now let’s get them inside, and maybe you can bicker about this on our rounds if you can behave.”

“Yes, Wally,” the chorus.

Wally leads us all inside and down a long, sterile white hallway. The lights flicker brighter when you walk near them, so I’m guessing it’s to conserve energy, even though it’s making me dizzy as hell. I feel like a freaking lab rat chasing the cheese with all the twists and turns we’re taking, but we finally come to a room with an appointed guard. He salutes Wally before keying in numbers on the door for us to enter. It’s a sterile room with white on white, with metal chairs along the opposite walls and a table with two more guards, armed with weapons.

“Webby, you know the drill,” Wally says. Webby nods and turns to us.

“Alright, as a safety precaution to all involved, we ask that you to turn over all weapons at this point in time. This includes lighters, knives, guns, sharp objects of any kind, and all blunt force instruments,” Webby announces. “Also leave all personal items here, they will all be returned to you, but it makes the processing move along smoothly without you all lugging suitcases, duffels or backpacks.”

“And the weapons?” Mike asks.

“Depending on your status, they might be returned to you,” Webby answers.

“So, you’re saying that you’ll confiscate our stuff?” John asks.

“Guys, you’re gonna be fine,” Olivia says.

“Coming from the girl who stabbed four people her first day here,” Patsy remarks dryly.

“Spider,” Olivia says and Patsy shuts his mouth. “Besides, I only nicked them. And Habish only got like twelve stitches.”

“More like thirty,” Webby mutters and laughs when Olivia kicks his shin. “Easy, Ollie, I need to do my rounds later, and I can’t do my job when I have two busted shins. Melly already got me today.” Olivia grins at that. “You and I are going toe to toe later, but for now, get these people to give up the goods.”

“Hand your shit over,” Olivia demands.

“I coulda done that,” Webby says. “You sound like a damn pirate.” Olivia sticks his tongue out at him. “Don’t flash me that tongue, babe, unless you plan to use it.” Olivia flips him off, but he grins in response. Then he looks at the group and flashes them a reassuring smile. “Please hand your shit over.”

As if that’s any better, you flirtatious prick, but I do as I’m told, as do the others. I feel like I’m naked as I unhook my knife holster from my thigh, my gun holder from my shoulder, my spare handgun from the back of my pants, the cross bow Olivia gave me from the opposite shoulder, and finally my back pack. These fucks better not rob me of my shit, or it’s on like mother fucking Donkey Kong.

“Alright, males to the left and females to the right,” Wally orders as the last of our group places their items on the table.

The guards at the table separate it into piles, personal items to the left, weapons on the right. One of the dudes is eyeing my ginsu knives as if they’re prime for the taking, again, these assholes better not fuck with my shit or else I’ll be going ape shit in this mother fucker. And no, you don’t need to be going King Kong to rip a place up when you have rage, misery, and jealousy on your side.

Yes, I have all three because I’m a selfish prick, and even though I know I threw her away, I didn’t want to do it. I had to, because it was the right thing. So, I don’t like all these dudes touching or flirting with her. I don’t give a fuck about Olivia allowing it, meaning that she’s comfortable around these bastards; I’m not comfortable with it. These dudes are deranged anyway, I mean, licking feet? Who the fuck licks someone’s feet without at least asking permission first?

Shut up, it was one freaking time and I found that I have a slight foot fetish. This reminds of how very cute Olivia’s toes are, and how I didn’t get to lick them. I want to throw myself down on the floor and pound my fists on the linoleum floor in a temper tantrum to end all temper tantrums, but I’m pretty sure that they wouldn’t clear me fit for duty if I did, so I take my seat on the left.

The group splits in two with Whitney, Sarah and Olivia sitting opposite the rest of us. Sarah looks a little freaked, Whitney looks curious, if a little apprehensive, and Olivia looks bored. I’m guessing that’s she’s used to this whole process by now, but I do see her still try and comfort Sarah even though I’m a dick. She holds my baby sister’s hand and tells her it’s all going to be fine, to which Sarah nods and gains a little bit of color in her cheeks.

“After your exams, you’ll be sent down for processing,” Wally announces. “You’ll get your job placements there and your assigned cabins numbers. Good luck.” Wally looks at Olivia. “We’ll see you at dinner.” Olivia nods and they turn to leave, until she calls out for Webby to wait.

“Can you take him for me?” Olivia asks as she holds out Morris’s carrier. “I’ll come get him after, but you know how head bitch is about useless beasts.”

“Yeah, I’ll babysit the little critter,” Webby replies as he takes the mesh bag. “Sammy will probably like the playmate.”

“Thanks Webs,” she says. “I’ll come get him as soon as I get outta here.”

“Don’t mention it,” Webby says. “See you at dinner.” Olivia nods, so Wally, Webby, Patsy and Ace take their leave, but I don’t watch their goodbyes because the first knuckle kiss made me see red.

It’s a few minutes of waiting silently, well I’m silent since no one speaks to me, but the men are called into a room first. I glance over at Sarah to make sure she’s alright, which she is since Olivia’s right there and I know that Olivia wouldn’t be calm if it wasn’t safe here, before heading inside with the rest of them. There are curtains sectioning off exam tables, so a woman in scrubs leads me to one of the cordoned off areas and passes me a gownie before stepping out. I grimace at the piece of tissue paper, but strip as ordered.

No reason to get kicked out just because I don’t like the scratchy fabric or freezing my ass on the metal prep table. Sure, it has a piece of paper on it for sterilization, but it’s still a sheet of fucking paper that offers not warmth whatsoever. I wish I could wear my coat at least, but I have that shoved in the bottom of my backpack, where it’s been since I’m a fuckhead and fought with Olivia. But I’m selfish and wanted to have a token for after she left, like the whistle she gave me, which is still around my neck and will remain there.

I see feet and a shadow at my curtain before a male voice, so I get out of my head before I start having a pity party for myself.

“Are you decent?”

“Yes,” I answer and the curtain parts for a doctor to slip through. He’s in his later thirties, of Middle Eastern heritage and has a pair of reading glasses set low over his nose as he glances at his chart. He’s wearing blue scrub pants, but a lab coat, so I take it that he’s the doctor.

“Name?”

“It’s Jared Benson, and you are?”

“Sorry,” he says and looks up. “Tend to forget introductions when dealing with so many at once.”

He holds his blue gloved hand out to me, which does not remind of Olivia one bit, nuh-uh, no way. John’s father always said that you could tell a lot about a man from their hand shake, if it’s weak, he’s either an untrustworthy, pathological liar who’ll smile as he stabs you in the back, or he’s a coward. If his grip is too strong, he thinks he’s above you and he’s trying to show dominance, or he’s intimidated and trying to pull rank. And if it’s firm, but not break your fingers strong, he’s alright. This doctor’s grip is firm without trying to be a douche, so I’ll give him the okay for now.

“I’m Abdullah Habish. Head doctor of Cross Lake.” I nod at the introduction, and pull my hand from his. “Sorry to be blunt, but we’re short on time and I need to see to more patients, so how did you get your wounds?” I look at him curiously and he points to my face.

“Most of it’s from a fire,” I begin. “The rest is because I’m an asshole.” The doctor laughs, I don’t.

“Oh,” he says and loses the mirth for a doctor face that rivals Akio’s. Doctor Habish clears his throat. “Well, let’s take a look at them to see how you’re healing.” He steps forward and examines the burn scabs first, then looks at my nose. “I’ll have to reset this.” I shrug, whatever, a crooked nose doesn’t bother me so much. Hell, it’ll give me some character. “The scabs look like their healing well, except for this one.” Habish points to the one that got torn open. “It was torn off, so it starts the healing process all over again.”

“Scars?” He screws his face up, so I know the verdict can’t be good.

“Perhaps,” he says vaguely. “Everyone’s different and we won’t know for sure until the scabs fall off, and even then it can take longer. Most burns will lighten over time as new skin grows to replace the damaged layers, so you could have some, or you might not have any at all.” I nod and hold out my left hand for examination. Habish makes me grip his pen, form a fist and widen my fingers of my left hand. “No nerve damage then. Now the right.” He tsks when he sees the broken fingers. “Quite the temper on you.”

“Bad day,” I mutter.

“Well, we all have one some time or another,” Habish says. Is it me, or does this doctor’s bedside manner kick Akio’s ass? “I’ll have a nurse clean and wrap them for you, but they probably won’t assign you to do work until they’re healed.”

“So, I’m cleared then?”

“Not quite yet,” he replies. “You must have had a physical before, so you know the drill.”

Boy do I ever, and I hated them back then too. Oh well, I guess I’ll have to grit my teeth and bare it.

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

Chapter Sixty-Four:

After my physical, the doctor reset my nose, which hurt like a bitch, and took some blood. Once Habish was finished, a nurse a came to scrap my burns and clean them up, which also hurt like a bitch, then she wrapped my fingers. But in the end, she gave me a lolly, so Nurse Ratched and I are good, even though I might have cursed her to hell once or twice. Fine, it was six or seven times, but who’s counting?

Since I was given the all clear for infection, another nurse took me down to processing. I don’t know if it’s because they deal with so many people, but the staff here aren’t all that good on giving introductions, meaning that the only people I know the names of are the ones that Olivia introduced, the commander who introduced himself, and Habish whom I asked for his name. Strange, but I can deal so long as we have food, a roof over our heads and protection from the outside elements.

Anyway, that’s how I ended up down here in ‘Processing.’ It’s still in the same building as the infirmary, but it’s on a lower level. And yeah, they have a freaking elevator that functions, but I didn’t play a game of fifty questions to find out how, I’ll do that later. Nurse what’s-his-face sat me in a chair and told me they’ll be with me shortly before ditching me. I was fine with it, not like it’s anything new with my own group pretending that I don’t exist, the pack of ingrates.

“Jared Benson,” a male voice calls. I look up and see a dude holding a clipboard down the hall, so I go over to meet him. “Right this way, please.” Again, no introduction, as he leads me around the corner and knocks on a door that says ‘Director.’

“Send him in,” a woman says.

The dude in the pants suit ushers me inside without another word. Behind the desk is a tall woman; and I know she’s tall because her torso dwarfs the mahogany table in front of her. She’s fiftyish with her greyish hair tied back in a snug bun that pulls her wrinkles tight, but also makes her look like she’s trying too hard to be young. Which is also present in the way her hair has been died an ash blonde color to make it look like she wants her hair to be that color, as opposed to nature making that way. Same goes for her clothes, which I see when she stands and hold her hand out to the white arm chair opposite her. She’s wearing a skirt suit with an extremely low cut blouse underneath that belongs on a woman twenty years her junior, and shows too much of her wrinkled cleavage for my liking. No, I didn’t look; it fucking poked me in the eye and is giving me daytime nightmares.

“Please have a seat,” she says as she reclaims her own.

I don’t, instead I step closer and offer my hand. She eyes it with distaste, but tries to hide it with a forced smile as she puts her limp hand in mine, gives it a single weak shake and snatches hers back. Already, I do not like this woman. If the outfit wasn’t enough to make me want to vomit, her handshakes sucks ass and personality is as frosty as her hand. She seems like an uppity bitch with the way she’s eyeing my clothes like I’m some ruffian here for the distinct purpose of staining her couch. Bitch please, I was rocking socks that cost more than her entire polyester suit just a couple short years ago. And yes, I know that it’s a cheap polyester set, because even with my work-roughened hands; the material scratched me and stuck to the gauze wrappings I have on.

“Your name,” I demand. She’s gonna be rude and just sit there staring at me like I’m a freak show, so I’ll be the same way back. How you like them apples?

“Dir-ec-tor Denise Dennington,” she answers with emphasis on the ‘director’ and a tilt of her nose. Yes, she did just put her nose up to me.

“I would say it’s nice to meet you, but how about we cut the pleasantries and get to the chase?” I propose. I don’t want to be around her any longer than I have to, and it seems like she’s of the same mindset, since she slides a clip board my way along with a pen.

“Fill in the information as honestly as possible, it will be the determinant to your position here,” Director Dennington says. She then eyes my clothing with disdain. Yeah I’m in cargos that a tad dirty, and shirt is likewise, but hello? It’s the fucking apocalypse, not a fucking runway. “I’d say you’ll probably end up a laborer.”

“That’s fine with me,” I say with a shrug as I pick up the clipboard. “I’m rather good with my hands.” I’ve started filling in the paperwork, which is pretty standard: Name, age, sex, known health conditions, family history, blood type, and other blazé information, that’s when I hear her clear her throat.

“Good with your hands you say,” she repeats. I look up to meet her and see her lick her lips as she eyes me in a different light this time. Hell to the fucking no!

“I’m good with gardening, have a green thumb,” I bull. I never did the gardening; just made sure it was watered and tilled the soil when Cory or Leonard told me to because I have the blackest thumb ever.

“I’m sure I can find a position for you,” Dennington says undeterred as she eyes my chest and arms. I want to go find Olivia and ask her if I could borrow her ace bandages, then grab my leather coat to bundle myself up with the way Dennington looks like she wants to eat me alive. Fuck that, I’m stealing Olivia’s machete if Wrinkle Tits comes near me.

“I’m good with having to do manual labor,” I counter and know it’s the wrong thing to say, because granny’s face fills with lust. Goddamn it, she’s taking innocent answers for innuendos. “Can we move this along? My wife’s waiting for me, and she’s expecting, so I don’t like leaving her for long.”

“Fine,” she says with a huff, but I hear the unsaid words of ‘this ain’t over.’ It sure the fuck is, now I just have to find a fake wife, that’s already knocked up, for me to hide behind, and I’m golden. “If you’re finished with your paper work, I can assign you to your cabin.” Dennington eyes me again. “You could have a luxury suite if you take my position for assistant.” How’s that for sexual harassment?

“No thank you,” I say very clearly. “A cabin’s good for me. Preferably with my sister, Sarah Benson.”

“And your wife of course,” Dennington adds. Fuck, I already forgot about the imaginary family.

“Right, and my wife.”

“Her name, Mr. Benson,” she says as she stares me down. I say the first name that comes to mind when I think of that word, and I know you’ve already guessed it before I say it aloud.

“Olivia, her name’s Olivia.”

“Mrs. Olivia Benson then?” Dennington asks.

“No, Prescott. She’s one of those independent women, you know? So, she wanted to keep her last name.”

“That’s funny,” she says as she flips through paper work on her desk. “It says here that Olivia is unmarried. Miss Olivia St. John.” Fuck, Forgetful Fred probably isn’t used to writing Travis’s name down on account of never having to fill out paperwork with her changed last name before.

“How funny,” I say with a forced laugh. “She forgot. It’s pretty easy with not having to fill out all the paperwork these days. No marriage licenses, no insurance companies pestering you, mortgages to pay, applications to fill out....” Denise doesn’t look convinced in the slightest. “But we’re married. So, just scribble that little X out and fill in the other box, please.”

“No need,” Denise replies. “We don’t care much about formalities here. We’re very, shall we say, laid back when it comes to the old rules here. Like silly little things such as vows, for instance.” She waves her hand. “We hardly recognize them at all with there being so few people around to throw stones.”

“That sounds great,” I begin. “But I’m very religious, and extremely faithful to my adoring wife.” Who’ll be stabbing me if this gets back to her.

“I’m sure she’d be very understanding.”

“I’m not so sure, she has quite the temper.”

Which I’ll be feeling the wrath of if she ever hears about this, but I shouldn’t have to worry about it since she’s leaving tomorrow, and is never coming back. Crouching Tiger Hidden Cougar is actually making me question my decision about staying here. If this is the all there is for an internal threat in this joint, then Sarah should be fine, since she doesn’t have the equipment hot pants is looking for. No, no, no. Can’t think like that. I can’t give myself hope for something I can’t have, so I’ll suffer a little eye rape if I have to in order to keep Sarah and the others safe.

“She’s going to be pretty busy dealing with her pregnancy,” Dennington continues. Yeah, if she were pregnant, which she’s not. “When’s she due? She didn’t look very far along at all. You could hardly tell that she was expecting, just a little pouch. I thought she just needed to do a few crunches, but now that I know it’s a baby, I can see why she’s been slacking in her exercise regimen.”

Oh no this bitch didn’t just insult my fake wife. And Olivia doesn’t have a fucking pouch, she’s actually lost weight with her injuries preventing her from eating, not that she had anything to lose in the first place. She’s fucking gorgeous and has womanly curves that any man would love to get his hands on so that he could worship them like they deserve to be. I gotta take this cougar down a few pegs.

“I think she looks beautiful,” I say. “Glowing even, with her fresh skin, full figure, and perky breasts.” I see the youthful comments strike their mark. Take that you old cow. “So young too, just made twenty. We’ll be happy for years to come.”

“Right,” she says with a pinched expression. “Cabin 56. That’s the one I put your wife in.” I stand immediately and turn to the door. “Oh, and Mr. Benson?”

I look over my shoulder, catching her checking out my ass, and I resist the urge the cover it with my hands. Barely. Dennington turns her lustful gaze up to meet my eyes, and I don’t miss the fact that she’s practically salivating as she speaks.

“In case you change your mind, the position is still open. I guarantee that you’ll like all the perks that come with being higher up on the food chain.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” as I avoid your horny cougar ass for eternity. “Thank you Director.”

“Call me Denise,” she purrs.

“Denise,” I say and resist the urge to upchuck. “See you around.” Like never if I have any say in it. I almost rip the door off the hinges as I make my escape.

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

“John, I know you hate the sight of me right now, but do you feel violated?” I ask without preamble.

After running through the maze for ten minutes like a chicken with its head cut off, some lady finally took pity on me and directed me to the exit. I thanked my savior before sprinting to the cabins. They each have numbers, and since we’re the newest arrivals, I figured that they would put us in succession. You know 54, 55, 56... Well, let’s just say that I was proved wrong when I barged into three different cabins, one where a guy was eating a potato cake but he ignored me as he kept on chewing. Another where a lady was doing laundry, she said I was welcome to stay, so long as I didn’t snore. I told her thanks for the offer, but I was taken. Thankfully, she took the news better than Dennington.

As for the last cabin, I don’t think it’s legal for me to repeat what I saw. But I will tell you that it involved two naked bodies, a turkey baster, honey and chicken feathers. I don’t know what the feathers were for, but what I do know is that I declined their offer of a threesome and got the fuck outta there. I’m all for kinky sex, but I’m not that adventurous. Besides, I’m celibate until Olivia is gone from my mind and heart, which I would guess to be never. Poor Junior will have to limit himself to being stroked by his master for life.

So, after three strikes, I finally abandoned my man card and asked a guy for directions. I know that he was disappointed in my internal GPS, because he shook his head sadly and pointed me in the direction of the front office. He said that they would be able to tell me where the new arrivals were placed and draw me a map so that I wouldn’t have to unman myself by asking a woman for directions. I kid you not; he actually said that, so I thanked him for his macho wisdom and did the walk of shame down to the office.

Wouldn’t you know it, but a woman was the one to draw me a map with her curly script while she batt her lashes at me coyly. Obviously, there’s a shortage of men here if they’re all eyeing me like I’m filet mignon when I know that I’m more of an overly charred steak that resembles Freddy Krueger right now. As I’ve said before, I’m not vain, but before I looked like I belong on a burn unit, I was a good looking guy. Girls used to chase after me for my dark hair and unique eyes, but I don’t have half of my hair; I have patches of peach fuzz, a reset nose that’s still swollen, a split lip, my right eye is nearly swollen shut so you can’t really see their color, and I’m covered in burns and scabs. So, there’s no fucking way that I’m hot shit right now, nor do I want to be. The woman I want, I can’t have, and I won’t go looking for a counterfeit as a replacement.

Anyway, back to John. I searched him out because he’s my best friend, and even though he’s pissed, I know that he’ll talk to me. The map the nameless flirt drew up for me, showed that each of our new group members were housed in section C row D, which goes horizontally on the map instead of vertically like I was checking. For instance, John’s cabin is 46, and then someone else is in 36, and so on. So, we’re all in the sixth cabin of each row. Who the fuck came up with such a stupid design, I don’t know; but he or she should’ve been smacked for making a simple numerical order, complicated by adding letters and shit like it’s a freaking algebraic expression. I bet Mike would have a fucking field day with this map. ‘If Jared is in cabin 56 in section C row D, how long would it take Sarah to walk from cabin 26 in section C row D to meet him?’ Yeah, I’m so not solving that shit. I didn’t like it back in high school, and I sure as shit don’t like it now.

Pointless sorting system set aside, I haven’t been inside my own cabin yet, so I don’t know how many each of them house, or how many cabins our group filled out. John’s cabin is actually a decent size, two small bedrooms that I can see from my spot on the couch in the living room, one bathroom, a kitchen/dining combo with a living area that has its own fireplace. I’m curious as to who they housed him with, because right now, there’s no one else here.

“Violated, how?” John asks without looking away from his functioning lamp light. He’s sitting in an armchair across from me and just keeps flick the table lamp on and off, over and over again.

“Quit doing that, before you start a fire,” I say. “Or have the sheriff come kicking the door in for wasting electricity.”

“It’s green energy,” he counters. “The river that feeds into the lake is filtered through pipes, and leads to a water mill. That’s what powers their generators in the buildings. Then they have solar panels on the roofs of the buildings and all one hundred of the cabins.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“I noticed the panels on the roof and asked the lady who brought us to our cabins how they have electricity,” he answers. “She was more accommodating than Ollie’s friends.”

“You picked up on that too?” I ask and he nods as he finally looks away from his new lamp.

“Kinda hard not to. What I’m curious about is why she’s so comfortable around them? I mean, she was preparing to slit our throats for a silly comment, but they were licking her feet and telling her to use her tongue, but ‘Ollie’ didn’t even lift her machete once.” John shakes his head. “But you don’t care about those things since you’re through with her, so she’s free to do whatever she wants, and we won’t take up any more of your precious time to talk about such insignificant things.” I scowl, but he ignores it. “Anyway, what was it that made you feel violated?”

“Di-rec-tor Dennington,” I repeat in my imitation of her self-important tone.

“A.K.A. Captain Kooky Cougar,” John replies and I laugh.

“So, I wasn’t the only one that she came onto then?” John shakes his head.

“Nah, you weren’t singled out, so don’t feel special,” he tells me.

“I don’t,” I say with a grimace. “Who else did she get?”

“Anyone with a dick who was under forty,” John says. “Actually, not anyone, since she didn’t proposition Akio. Mike’s over forty, so she didn’t take a bite outta him, Tommy came running out with a terrified expression, the twins looked a little queasy, and Cory said in no uncertain terms that he’s glad he was leaving.”

“And you?”

“I told her I had herpes,” he answers. Only John would come up with such an excuse and say it so bluntly. “When that didn’t faze her, I said that if her archaic vagina came anywhere near me, I’d blow a gust of air at her so strong that her brittle bones would break down to ash, and carry her away in the wind.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” he confirms. “She didn’t take too kindly to that, so she assigned me to be a farmer.” John shrugs. “I’ll plow fields all day long, but I most fucking definitely will not be plowing into her.” He shivers with revulsion, before looking at me. “How’d you get out of being her boy toy?”

“I’m happily married, and we’re expecting our first baby.”

“Congrats. Who’s your wife, and why wasn’t I invited to the wedding?”

“It was a quiet ceremony,” I answer.

“And your wife?” Damn, I knew he’d focus on that.

“Made her up.”

“Fucking liar,” John retorts and points at me. “You’re ears are red, and they only get that way, when you’re a lying fuck. Who’s your fictional wife?”

“They’re burnt,” I protest.

“The right one is burnt,” he concedes. “Not the left one, which is currently fire engine red, so who the fuck is your wife?”

“..ia,” I mutter.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” John holds his hand to his ear. “It sounded like ‘I wanna be ya.’ And I know that you do wanna be me, but that’s not the answer I was looking for.”

“Olivia,” I repeat louder this time.

“Selfish prick. Stomp her in the ground, then spit on her, and you still have the balls to use her for your own benefit?”

“It didn’t work anyway,” I tell him to take the heat off of my assholery. “Denise still wants a piece of my charred body, regardless of my phantom family and hot wife.”

“Serves you right,” he says. “If you told Olivia the goddamn truth, she’d have probably stabbed that old bitch for coming onto you. Instead, you get to be harassed by Wrinkle Tits, until she finally croaks. But I doubt it’ll be any time soon, because evil just don’t die that easily.”

She ain’t evil, she’s hungry and horny; and the only thing that will satisfy that insatiable craving, is a guy young enough to be her son to service her cobwebbed vagina. But I’ll leave that nightmare where it belongs for now, and focus on what really matters.

“I couldn’t tell her,” I stress. “Olivia’s not staying, John. Hate me if you must, but I just can’t go along with her plan of suicide.” I rub my chest. “It fucking hurts, and I know that when she leaves and doesn’t come back, I’ll be destroyed. I can’t let that happen. Sarah needs me, the group needs me, and it would be selfish of me to not be here.”

“She needs you,” John counters.

“She doesn’t,” I deny with a head shake “She told me that herself.”

“After you called her a kicked puppy that deserves to be pitied.” I blink at him. “Yeah, we heard you. Small house with sucky insulation, so we heard every word. Especially the part about Travis. I had to hold Cory back on that one, but when you brought up the baby card, I let him loose. You know what that shit does to her, you saw it with Vicky, so that was a low blow of the worst kind.”

“I know,” I agree and rub a hand over my face. “You think I don’t feel like kicking my own ass right now? I do.” I pound a fist on my chest. “It felt like I stabbed myself, and it didn’t help when she cried for an hour, because I’m a douche bag.” I raise my busted hand in reference. “So, I did this, while you cleaned up my mess. How’d you calm her down?”

“I called you a fucking asshole, and told her that Cory beat your face in,” he answers with a shrug. “She didn’t like that he kicked your ass.”

“Why? I deserved it.”

“Because she wanted to do it herself,” John replies, but he has a smirk on his face, so I know that he isn’t telling the full story. I give him a look, which he rolls his eyes at. “Fine, that’s not what she said, but it’s what she should have.”

“What’d she say?” Yeah, I’m totally bouncing on my toes right now. Like I’ve said before, I didn’t want to give her up, so of course I’m yipping at his heels with excitement for any and all that has to do with Olivia.

“She was pissed at Cory.”

“Yeah, you already said that,” I say and curl my hand impatiently at him. “Why was she pissed at Cory?”

“Because he kicked your ass.” Why is he repeating himself? “Obviously, you don’t get it, so I’ll spell it out for you.” John walks over and grips my shoulders as he shakes me. “She cares about you, you dick.”

“No she doesn’t,” I say and brush his hands off my shoulders for getting my hopes up all for nothing. “She thinks that I was using her.”

“Using her how?” Fuck.

“How much did you hear, exactly?” I ask, making John look suspicious.

“Enough that I wanted to take a swing or two myself,” he says. “Why?”

“But what did you hear?” I press. No need to bring up the fact that I kind of got a hand job.

“I was sleeping, since it was four in the fucking morning, and that’s what normal people do at that hour,” he says with a look at me. “So, I only heard the shouting when I woke up; and it was the kicked puppy stuff and onward that I heard, like I already told you.” Good, then he didn’t hear me moaning.

“Great,” I say and he looks even more suspicious. Dammit, need to divert this train, before it runs off the track. “What I meant is that you heard most of it already, so I won’t have to repeat it. Anyway, Olivia had this weird idea that I was avoiding her because she wouldn’t put out. She thought me being her friend was just a ploy to get in her pants. Why, I don’t know, but she did, so it escalated from there. My fear came off as anger, and I pulled some cheap shots to get her to go away. I admit it, I’m an asshole, but I’ve already told you my reasons for it, and I can’t go back now.”

“Okay, that very watered down, long winded explanation still doesn’t nix the fact that she cares about you. She may have thought you were using her, but she wasn’t pretending. You guys were attached at the hip for weeks, you think that she would have been smiling, or laughing at every stupid thing you said, if she didn’t care about you? Do you think the girl who dug a knife in your neck for touching her wrist, would have told you about her past if she didn’t trust you absolutely? Not to mention you’ve been sleeping in her fucking bed, when she doesn’t like being touched!” I hold up my hand because I can’t hear any more. If I do, I’m gonna run outta here and throw myself at Olivia’s feet, begging for mercy. And I can’t do it.

“I can’t.”

“No, you won’t,” John counters. “Quit using Sarah as an excuse, because that’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re using her as a crutch.” I shake my head in denial. “You are, I know you Jared. You’re afraid of rejection, because your dad cared more about his job, than he did you. I know, I was there, remember? How many times did he say he’d be at your game, and didn’t you know it, but something came up last minute? How many times did you sit on the other side of his desk and ask him to go fishing with us? Or to the movies, a ball game, the fucking corner store! And how many times did he let you down?” Many times to all of the above. “You may have been a momma’s boy, but you wanted your dad’s approval in everything you did. You pretended you didn’t care, but you did. And you still do because you’re trying to keep your last promise to him, even though he never kept any that he gave to you.”

“That’s not true,” I say. “I gave up on him when I was twelve, and he didn’t come to “Bring Your Dad to School Day.” My freaking mom came, but your dad showed up. Your dad worked in the same office, had the same responsibilities as mine, and he still managed to come. Why the fuck couldn’t mine make it?”

“Because he was fucking his secretary,” John retorts. His eyes widen and he slaps a hand over his mouth. “Shit.”

“What?” I ask with a laugh. “What kind of sick joke is that, you dick?” John shakes his head.

“Never mind,” John says. When waves me off, it makes me zero in on him and feel a pit open up in my stomach. “You’re right, sick joke. I shouldn’t have said something like that about the deceased. It’s disrespectful.”

“Bull fucking shit,” I hiss. “Now, you tell me what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I never wanted you to know, Jared,” he replies.

“Well, I wanna know.”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” I say and he must read the seriousness in my expression, because John nods.

“I didn’t want to say anything because you idolized him,” he says and holds up his hand when I go to deny it. “You did. Constantly showing him your trophies, ribbons or tests. Whatever achievement you earned, he was the first person you ran to show them to. And what did he do? ‘That’s great, son, now go show your mother.’”

I fucking hated that response, and John does a spot on imitation of my father’s voice. It was always bored, and he never even spared a glance at me. I could have been holding a fucking crack pipe in one hand, a bottle of Jägermeister in the other, had an IV filled with heroin dangling from my arm, a hooker hanging from my neck, and a police escort; but he wouldn’t have known the difference. It would have just been, ‘That’s great son, now go show your mother.’ Not, ‘Son, what the hell are you doing?’ Or, ‘First place in the tournament, that’s awesome. I bet you worked really hard, not that I helped you practice or anything.’

I envied John for his easy relationship with his dad. I mean, our dads both had the exact same career, owned the same shares in the company, and had sons the same exact age; but somehow Mr. Moure managed to squeeze in time for John. I would tag along as the third wheel since my own father was too busy to teach his son how to bait a hook, or take me to buy cleats, or to just talk about life. Mr. Moure taught me shit that my father should have. It pissed me off back then, and I’m even more pissed now that I know the reason for his neglect.

I could have forgiven him if he was trying to support his family with the long hours he logged at the office, but not when those extra hours were for booty calls, when he had a beautiful wife at home who fucking adored him. And my mom did adore him. She’d constantly talk to him at the table about her day, tell him about whatever Sarah or I did recently, or ask him questions; but she only got indiscernible answers. Grunts, and absent head nods, were his response to everything. Even with the blatant evidence for his lack of interest, Mom always just flashed me and Sarah a smile, and said he was like a grumpy bear. We’d laugh, but really, I think that she was trying to distract us from the fact that our father was a dick.

Mom would always have his favorite dinner ready and for him at seven o’clock on the dot, his newspaper on the table every morning with his coffee poured beside it, his shirt ironed and suit pressed; but did she ever get a thank you? Hell no. She did every little thing she could, she might have even wiped his ass for him, and how did he repay her for taking care of his house and children? By treating her like a used condom. Use it, and discard it when you’re done, and obviously he was done with her; since his boredom with us began just after Sarah was born.

“You may look like your mom,” John continues. “But you’re a stubborn prick like your dad was, and that’s why he was such a good liar. He refused to cower, so when my mom told yours about the affair, he bull shit his way through it. Claimed it was a mistake, and that it only happened once, when it was an ongoing affair with four different secretaries for over ten years.”

“And, how do you know this?”

I’m not questioning the fact that it did happen, because all of the evidence was there, and has been there all along; but I either chose to unconsciously ignore it, or thought it was normal. I’m guessing that it was the former, because I saw what an affectionate relationship looked like with John’s parents. They had date nights every Saturday for as long as John and I have been friends. When we were younger, he’d sleep over my house, so that they could go out. And when we were older, we’d throw parties at his house, and tip the maid extra to clean up before they got home on Sunday for church. It worked out perfectly, especially when Maria started accepting tips via sexual favors. We were of age by then, so no, it wasn’t illegal.

“I went to bring your kid to work day,” John answers. “Remember, it was back in like sixth grade? Anyway, you were sick with the flu, and stayed home with your mom. But I went, and my dad needed me to get some paperwork for a case from your dad’s office. He was supposed to be out at a meeting, so my dad gave me his key, and I walked in...” John trails off. “That time it was Sherry, you remember her? Really bad fake tits and the frizzy blonde hair?” I nod, and distinctly remember my mom disliking her. Now I know why. “That was the first time I caught him. He told me it was an accident, but how does a woman accidentally fall on your lap naked repeatedly?” My hands clench at that. “Then there were Charlene, Terry and Vanessa.”

“Wasn’t Vanessa the one who keyed his car?” I ask and he nods. Fucking liar, my dad said a disgruntled worker screwed with his car because he canned her for embezzling money.

“He fired her when she got pregnant, so she took her revenge out on his midlife crisis’s splurge.”

“P-pregnant?” John nods. I swallow hard before continuing. “So, I have a sibling that I didn’t know about? Or had one anyway, since they could be dead by now.”

“Nah, they were sucked out long before the apocalypse,” he tells me.

Well, that makes me want to puke. I’m all for women’s rights, but that was my sibling’s life that was ended because of an affair gone bad. But it all makes so much sense now. My mom’s distance from him, the customary pecks on the cheek, basically being civil and polite, but never affectionate. They didn’t even sleep in the same bed most nights. I believed my mom’s excuse of my dad having a bad back, but now I know that his back wasn’t the problem; his stray dick was, so she kicked his ass to the couch.

What she should have done is kicked his ass to the curb, and took him to the cleaners. Hit him where it really hurts, because he didn’t care about us, but he loved his goddamn money. His closet full of three thousand dollar suits, and his custom Aston Martin car. If my mom had filed the papers, she would have finally gotten a reaction out of him, since it would have risked half his assets.

“Why the fuck did they stay married?” My internal question rushes out.

“You and Sarah,” he answers simply. “Your mom would come over to our house and cry to my mom about how she couldn’t leave him. That you guys needed your dad.”

“That’s bull shit,” I counter and stand to pace around the cabin. “He was never around. Even on fucking vacations, he’d be on his goddamn phone, doing whatever the fuck he wanted. Your dad would shut his off for the entire week, mine wouldn’t even set it down for thirty seconds. He never took holidays off, took me anywhere, showed up for Sarah’s father-daughter dance, so your dad had to step in. How sick is that? And he had the nerve to call her his little girl. ‘Take care of Daddy’s little girl for me Jared. You’re the man of the house now, make me proud, son.’ Bull shit. He was never even the man of the house to begin with.”

I feel like a caged tiger in an enclosure far too small. John was fucking right about it all. Me being afraid of rejection because if I wasn’t good enough to earn the approval of my own father, then why the hell would someone else want me? How I push people away to protect myself from getting hurt in the end, because if they’re the one who leaves, I can say it was them that was the problem. That way, they’re the one to blame when I’m left alone, and I can turn the hurt to anger, because it feels much better to be pissed than miserable. But what I’m figuring out now is that the misery is still there, it’s just camouflaged as something else. That is until one day, it eats its way out from inside you, and manifests in the ugliest way imaginable. Such as hurting the people you love most, before they can hurt you.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” John continues. “I can see those wheels turning in your head, and you were already afraid enough to pull the trigger, now you’ll swear off the opposite sex for good.”

“Just the opposite, actually,” I counter and stop pacing. “I don’t want to be like him, and by being a stubborn jackass, I am. You said so yourself, and I don’t want to be that way anymore. He didn’t keep his promises, but I’m gonna keep mine.”

“Which one?” John asks a little uneasily.

“The only one that counts,” I say with a grin.

“Which is?” John presses.

“Taking care of Sarah is second nature to me,” I reply and see John frown a little in defeat. “But I was referring to the one I made my mom, ‘Find a good girl, treat her right, and be happy.’”

“Atta boy, I knew you had a brain in there somewhere.”

I don’t even spare the second it would take to flip him off, as I sprint out of the cabin. Step one, serious groveling.

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

Chapter Sixty-Five:

I’m not stalling. Nope, not me. I’m just standing directly outside of cabin 56, and taking in the fresh air. Not creepy at all, even if I have been staring at the door for the past twenty minutes straight.

I had four women ask me if I was lost, and if they could find me. As I’ve said before, they have a severe shortage of men to be that desperate. I thanked them for their kind, if somewhat selfish offers, and waved them away. They gave me confused looks when I continued standing here instead of going in, but when I started whacking myself on the head, they hurried away quickly. I think I’ll use that trick with Dennington next time I see her, since no one wants to deal with crazy.

Enough pussying out, I take a deep breath and place my hand on the door knob. To then drop my hand again. What the fuck am I going to say to her? I was scared, so I decided to swear, shout, and insult you? I might as well have hit her too, since that’s what abusive fucks do; and being emotionally abusive is sometimes more damaging than the physical kind. You can heal broken bones without trying, but to glue yourself back together mentally, takes time and effort. Not to mention I fucked with her trust, and that was hard enough to earn in the first place. I don’t see any more smoking buildings to go running in to pull her out of, so how the fuck can I prove to her that I’m serious?

Speaking of fires, I almost forgot about the murderous psycho that nearly killed us all. I’ll have to ask around to see if she made it, because I think that I would have heard her screech by now if she were close by. I’m hoping that she didn’t, because that would mean that she suffered some kind of horrible death by mauling, therefore making my day. But on the other hand, I hope she did make it so that I could reclaim a little bit of vengeance on the bitch that was a thorn in my side since day one.

“Are you just gonna stand there all day, or are you going to go inside?” Sarah’s voice asks me. I jump about six inches off the ground, and spin to find where she is, which happens to be directly behind me.

“What are you doing here?” Sarah lifts her eyebrows at my question.

“I’m here to get something for Olivia,” she answers as she gives me a pointed look. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my cabin,” I say.

“Huh?”

“Cabin 56,” I say and wave a hand at the structure behind my back. “It’s where they assigned me.”

“Why wouldn’t you be with me?”

“You mean you aren’t in here?” Sarah shakes her head. “What the hell? I told her to put me with you.”

“Yeah, how about we trade?” Sarah proposes. “John snores, and Olivia’s not a fan of yours at the moment, so it would be best for all parties involved if we traded.”

“No, we shouldn’t start messing with their setup,” I reply. “We just got here, no need to shake things up yet.”

“Fine, have it your way,” Sarah says and brushes past me as she keeps talking. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you if you wake up tomorrow with worms in your underwear, the rest of your hair shaved off, and a permanent mustache.”

I follow her in and my eyes sweep the cabin, letting out a sigh that Olivia isn’t here. Yes, it was with relief, but that just goes to prove how much of a chicken shit I really am. I’m a twenty three year old guy, and I’m scared to talk to a girl about feelings. Which is pretty cringe worthy for any guy to do, but if I want any chance with her; then I need to put pride aside, and just come out with it. Lay it all out there, and if she doesn’t want anything to do with me, I’ll just keep laying it out there until she finally gets fed up and says yes.

“A permanent ‘stache would probably be an improvement right about now,” I comment. Sarah pauses in a doorway to look back at me.

“You really don’t look that bad, Jarry.”

“You’re just trying to be nice, since you’re my sister.”

“No, actually it’s a sister’s job to tell you you’re ugly, and since I just remembered that I’m mad at you, you are hideous.” She then turns back toward the bedroom.
I walk over it, and lean against the doorframe. Sarah has Olivia’s backpack unzipped and she’s rummaging through. From experience, I know there’s a ton of shit in there, and it’s near impossible to locate anything in the black pit.

“What’re looking for?”

Sarah’s hand comes out within seconds with a handful of fabric, before she zips the bag back up. How the fuck did she do that? It must be programmed in the extra X chromosome to be able to pop shit out of bags, like it’s programmed in men’s Y chromosome to have internal GPS. A decent trade off if you ask me, because a woman can ask for directions without having reproachful looks thrown their way, and can pull freaking rabbits out of a hat. While us men have to reach in blind, hoping that we don’t come out with feminine hygiene products. Just thinking of those gives me hives.

“All set,” she says as she places the bag near the machete in the corner. Obviously, Olivia got her shit back already. I bet she threatened castration if they didn’t return it to her, because that sure as fuck would have had me hand deliver her items within seconds.

“Olivia needed you to come get some scraps?”

“Yeah,” she replies with a shrug. “For some chick named Ally. That’s where I’m going now.”

“So, Olivia’s out visiting then?” I ask, making Sarah pause in her forward movement, and squint her eyes at me.

“Why do you care?”

“I...I, um, I,” I stutter out.

“You what?”

“I want to apologize for being a dick,” I say since it’s half the truth.

“And are you going to tell her you love her?” Sarah inquires.

“Not exactly,” I begin and see Sarah’s lips purse, making her look like my dad. That reminder makes me straighten my shoulders, I won’t be like him. “I need to apologize first, get her to trust me again, and then I’ll tell her how I feel; because if I told her right now, she wouldn’t believe me.”

“But you’re gonna tell her, right?” Sarah asks and I can see a little bit of hope shine in her hazel eyes. I nod and have a teenaged missile nearly tackle me. “Good for you. You’re finally smartening up.” I pull back from the hug.

“Yeah, I’m getting there,” I tell her. “But part of that making it up to her, would mean leaving you here. I can’t be in two places at once, and I don’t want to leave you anywhere alone. Especially if you feel uncomfortable here, do you? Feel uncomfortable that is. I know I made a promise to take care of you, and I want to, but I feel torn; because I want to help Olivia too. And I just don’t know what the fuck to do. My head’s telling me to stay, and heart’s telling me go, I feel like I’m tied to two trains and their travelling in opposite directions...” Sarah places her hand over my mouth to stop my rambling.

“What did mom always tell us?” Sarah asks.

“Be happy,” I answer.

“That’s right, be happy,” she repeats with a nod. “Does Olivia make you happy?” I give her a firm nod. “Would you be hurt if she left, and you weren’t with her?” I give Sarah a look like she’s crazy. “That’s what I thought. Now, quit worrying about me. You’ve taken care of me long enough. Now’s your time. Do something for yourself for once in your life. Not for Dad, not for Mom, not for me, not for the group, or Olivia, you. I’ll be fine, the group will be fine, and if you’d stop battling with yourself, you’ll be fine.”

“Where the hell did you get your wisdom from, and why didn’t I get that in the DNA jackpot?” I ask and Sarah laughs. “Seriously, that brain of yours will take you places. And it looks like you’ll be training it with school.” Sarah grumbles. “Yeah, I know, it sucks. But I had to do it, and maybe they’ll teach you something a little more useful than freaking parabolas and shit.”

“Can’t I just say that I graduated already?” Sarah asks. “That I’m actually a child prodigy, and graduated when I was twelve?”

“Give it a go,” I tell her with a shrug. “I’m probably the worst guardian ever, but I’m still your brother; so if you can get outta something without being penalized, go for it.” It would be rather hypocritical of me to use a fictional wife and bun in the oven to get out of something, and then chastise her for doing basically the same thing.

“I will,” she says. “Anyway, I gotta get back.” Sarah points at me with a stern expression. “You, quit stalling and talk to her tonight. It’s the perfect time to do it, since no one else will be around, and it’ll be hard to avoid each other in this tiny cabin.” Sarah walks toward the door as she calls over her shoulder. “After all, it’s only a one bedroom.”

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

“Quit glaring at the ginger,” John hisses at me.

“I ain’t glaring at him,” I say. I move my eyes slightly to the right, to glare at the wall beside the ginger’s head, that way I can glare at him with my peripheral vision, while making it look like its someone else that’s receiving my death stare.

“Are too,” he counters. “Leave him alone, he’s got enough problems as it is, looking like Ronald McDonald. So, he don’t need some asshole mentally plotting out his funeral, strictly due to his unfortunate hair color.”

“Hey, if some red headed cunt fucked you over, you’d be a little wary of them too.”

“Fine, Hitler, if we’re gonna disgrace an entire race of people based on the color of their hair because of one criminal member in their ranks, then that includes me, too,” John says. “Because Kelly was blonde, and so am I. Cory, too. And Ana.”

“Who the hell is Ana?”

“Sarah’s new friend,” he answers. “Olivia introduced them during the tour. Ana’s Morales’ daughter, and she’s the same age as Sarah.” I nod my head at the information. I’m glad that someone here is Sarah’s age, because the only person that she’s had contact with that’s near her age, has been Danny; and he’s a dude, so she really couldn’t talk to him the way she would have been able to with a girl. “But if we’re going to turn our backs on people with unfortunate hair colors, then you need to go nip that relationship at the budding level, before they Romeo and Juliet it.”

“I get it, alright? I won’t glare at the ginger anymore, at least not until he does something to deserve it.”

“That’s all I can ask,” John says as he inhales a bite of his food. “By the way, when are you gonna talk to her?”

After Sarah left to go wherever Olivia was, I returned to his cabin and moped. Yes, I moped because I’m a pitiful excuse for a man. I’m all words, but no action. The talk, without the walk. The ultimate procrastinator, and now John’s calling me on it. I’ve been staring at Olivia laugh and smile with her table full of dudes from across the ‘Mess Hall’ for an hour. I know that it’s military lingo they use here, but ‘Mess Hall’ just doesn’t sound appetizing to me. It sounds like they’re serving you mud and garbage to eat, which isn’t at all what this food tastes like. This is farm grown ingredients, along with fresh meat.

They have fucking chickens here. Real, live chickens, that they keep for the eggs; and some have the honor of having their heads chopped off, and their feathers plucked off to be our dinner. Yeah, I saw them do it, and that’s probably why I haven’t touched the meat. I know where meat comes from, but it’s different than when you used to go to the grocery store, and pick up a package of butchered meat. It’s not as if I said, ‘I pick that one, now go out back, murder it, and hack it up for me to consume.’

If I didn’t see the chicken’s untimely deaths, I would have been able to eat, but since I did; I haven’t even touched it. My tray of food is separated into divisions, a slice of dense bread, a hunk of chicken that makes me queasy, corn that’s farm grown, and mashed potatoes with real butter since they have cows. The cows aren’t butchered since their milk serves more useful purposes for us than their meat would. They also have horses to help plow the fields, so it looks like we’ve reverted back to the old methods.

“Later,” I say to John.

My eyes still remain glued to Olivia, so I see her pat the one they call Ace’s hand, and smile at him. These are just her friends, I tell myself. It’s okay for her to have friends. Good even. And I’ll have a better chance of becoming friends with these men, if I don’t stab them with my fork, which is now bent in my clenched hand. I set it down on the table, and John eyes it with a raised brow.

“Later, when?”

“Tonight,” I reply. “We’re in the same cabin, so it’ll be hard to avoid her.”

“They put you in the same cabin?” John asks.

“We’re married, remember?” John laughs.

“Yeah, I remember,” he says. “And I can’t wait for Olivia to kick your ass because of it.”

“She’ll kick my ass for many things before that,” I counter with a shrug. “But I’ll take a few hits if it makes her feel better. Not like it’ll make a difference, my whole face is either burned or bruised, so what’s another?”

“Quit your bitching already,” John orders. “You took like two hits, it couldn’t have been that bad.”

“Broken nose, asshole.”

“Oh no, does your wittle nosey have a boo boo?” John asks with a babying voice. I flip him off. “I’m sure Olivia will kiss it better, if you man up.”

“I will,” I promise. “Just as soon as I get her alone.” I jerk my chin toward her table. “Looks like it won’t be for a while.”

“All the more reason to just walk over there, and ask her to talk.”

“And have five freaking dudes take turns whaling on me for being an intrusive dick? I don’t think so. If it were one or two, I’d have had no problem going over, but with four of them, plus angry brother Cory, I don’t like my chances.”

“I wouldn’t be worried about them,” Carlos comments as he sets his tray down beside me.

“Nah, they’re pansy ass mother fuckers compared to Melly,” Oscar adds as he takes up the seat next to John. “That old witch kicked me when I called her ma’am. ‘Do I look like some blue haired, shriveled hag with a bingo dauber to you, boy?’ I didn’t say yes, even though she is elderly, and has a mop of grey hair.”

Yeah, the twins have begun talking to me again since John let them in on my plan to apologize. They also gave me death threats if I hurt Olivia again. Take a number boys, I already got plenty of people promising to maim, strangle, stab, castrate, and snuff me in my sleep; so two more added to the pile doesn’t faze me in the slightest.

“She the one with too much lipstick on?” John asks and the twins nod. “She reminded me of Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane.”

“I’m scared that you even know that movie to reference it,” Oscar says with a raised eyebrow.

“What, my mom liked old movies,” John replies. “And everyone knows who Joan Crawford is. ‘No wire hangers, ever!’” John’s exclaimed the quote, so a few of the surrounding tables either raise their eyebrows at him, or give him dirty looks; like the dude whose girlfriend has had her eyes trained on John for the last hour.

“Keep it down before Macho Supreme comes over, and stomps you in the ground,” I say and tilt my head toward the territorial boyfriend. Instead of doing as I suggested, John wiggles his fingers at them.

“Hello, there,” John says. “I’m Tom, this is my boyfriend, Dick, and the twins can get a little adventurous, and like to swap in from time to time.” John looks the guy over. “I don’t suppose a big, strong man like you would be interested?” The gaping chick, and her disgusted bodyguard, immediately turn their attention back to their food. “That’s what I thought.”

“Any reason you just told them we’re a gay foursome, with some incest on the side?” I inquire.

“First off, I said the twins ‘swap,’ that means that they’re not both present at the same time for our fictional orgy,” John responds. “Second, that chick didn’t get Snakie excited because she reminds me of Bianca. Lastly, I’ve sworn off of women, since I’m cursed to have the worst fucking taste ever.”

“I’ll give it two hours,” Carlos wagers.

“Four days,” Oscar says.

“What’re you betting?” I ask.

“Cabins,” John answers. “Theirs is fucking awesome. It got this humongous jacuzzi tub that works, three bedrooms, king sized beds...”

“An 80 inch LED flat screen, and an Xbox that I used to kick Carlo’s ass in COD with,” Oscar replies.

“X-xbox?” John asks. I see him wipe a little bit of drool, when the twins nod. “And you got Call of Duty?”

“Not just one of them,” Carlos counters. “We got them from before the split, after the split, Modern Warfares, all the way up to Ghosts.”

“That’s the fuck it!” John shouts and slams his hand on the table. “Game on, mother fuckers, game on.”

“You do know there’s no internet for you to play on, right?” I ask John.

“But there’s still campaign mode, and two player,” he counters. “As long as there’s a functioning console, and a controller in my hands, I’m good with it.”

“Why’d you get a kickass cabin anyway?” I ask the twins. “You take up Dennington on her offer?”

“Fuck no,” Carlos retorts.

“We’re guards, and they get special treatment around here,” Oscar answers. “For obvious reasons, really. If we’re out there, risking our asses, then the least they could do is make sure we have a comfortable place to rest our heads.”

“So, you’re staying then?” I ask them.

“Nah, it’ll be there whenever we get back,” Carlos says with a wave at me.

“And no playing until we get back,” Oscar tells John.

“Fuck that, I’m coming with you selfish assholes,” John says.

“Does Olivia know she has a troop following after her?” I ask.

“Nope,” John answers. “We’re just gonna be bright eyed, and bushy tailed at the gate tomorrow morning.”

“What time?”

“Four A.M.,” Carlos replies. “That way we won’t miss her sneaking out, like Wally said she did the last couple of times.”

“You talked to him then?”

“We talked to all four of them,” Oscar says. “Wally said she came here about seven months ago with some other chick. When she got here, Olivia was close to death with an infection in her neck. He said it looked like something mauled her throat, and they didn’t want to take her in at all.”

“But Webby pulled her in anyway,” Carlos says. “Said that if he was wrong, he’d take the repercussions.”

“Habish hooked her up to some antibiotics, and she slept for four days straight,” Oscar picks up. “When she came to, she sliced two nurses, and stabbed Habish in his arm.”

“When Webby came in to try and calm her down, she cut him too,” Carlos says. “Eventually, Habish managed sedate her, but Dennington wanted to put her down.”

“Hold up,” I interrupt. “Why the fuck would that crotch cricket be anywhere near Olivia, or proposing options in the first place. She’s just head of housing.”

“No, she’s head of everything,” Carlos says and glances around. “Commander Morales is under her jurisdiction, same as everyone else. So, if I were you, I’d use a little bit of caution when you talk about her.”

“I’m not kissing anyone’s ass,” I retort. “Especially hers.”

“Fine, get Sarah tossed out on her ass,” Oscar says with a shrug. Fuck, I’m gonna have to bow down to Queen Cougar. That still don’t mean I’m going to be her personal fuck toy.

“I’ll play nice,” I say. “How’d Olivia go from rabid dog, to that?”

I point at her table, where she currently has a little boy sitting on her knees, and he’s telling her a story. You can tell it’s a story from his hands flying around and Olivia nodding with rapt attention. He’s probably four or five, because he’s small enough to fit on Olivia’s lap and that’s no small feat, pun intended. I can’t see his face, since he’s facing the opposite direction, but he has a head full of black hair that’s a curly mess. Olivia’s running her fingers through it absently, as she smiles at whatever the kid is saying.

“They sent Ally in,” Carlos answers when I turn back to the table. “That’s the chick she came here with. Anyway, Ally went in, and talked to her. Olivia was confused, because she had a high fever, and didn’t remember getting here. After Ally explained where they were, and why she was restrained, she calmed down a little.”

“If I woke up surrounded by strangers, I would’ve cut a bitch, too,” John comments.

“That still doesn’t explain how she’s besties with four dudes,” I say.

“Who do you think trained her?” Oscar asks. “Once Olivia was cleared from the hospital, Dennington set her up in a cabin by herself, and gave her a labor job. Olivia, being Olivia, flipped the old crow off, and demanded a guard position.”

“They were a little hesitant, not Dennington; since she couldn’t care less about Olivia’s welfare, but Morales and the guards,” Carlos continues. “She’s so small; they didn’t think that she could be much use to them. But when Olivia pointed out Webby’s sliced arm, Patsy’s black eye, and Ace’s fat lip, they decided to give it a try.” He points at Olivia. “Looks like she proved them wrong.”

“Where’s that fucking slut!” My head snaps to the screamed voice, to find a brunette storming toward Olivia’s table. Great, another bitch to deal with. “Leave me behind again! What the hell is your problem?” Olivia sets the boy down beside, and her lifts her hand full of fabric, the same ones that I saw Sarah with earlier. The screaming chick halts mid stride. “Is that what I think it is?” Olivia nods, and is almost tackled by the much taller woman. “You know I love you, right?”

“No, you love your silk panties,” Olivia replies as the girl snatches the bundle from her hand, and rubs the tagged items reverently against her cheek.

“If you had to wear those scratchy, starch blended, cotton undies, you would worship silk worms, too,” the woman retorts.

“I know, Ally, remember? I did wear them for two months,” Olivia says.

“How about seven months?” Ally asks and Olivia shivers. “My sentiments exactly.” She then hugs Olivia. “So, when we leaving?”

I can’t hear whatever the rest of the conversation entails, because the previously silent room, has begun buzzing with noise again. But I do see Olivia shake her head at Ally, and look down at the dark haired boy she was talking to. She nods at whatever he says, before he runs away from the table.

“That’s the chick she came here with?” I ask and the twins nod. “They’re like extreme opposites.”

“You click with people you wouldn’t expect to, when there are so few of us left,” Carlos says.

“We don’t know the story of how they met up,” Oscar says. “But they arrived as a pair.”

“And Olivia leaves her behind every time she goes,” I say and they nod. “I’m guessing that’s the reason for it.” I jerk my chin at Ally, who’s still rubbing her cheek against her new underwear. “She seems pretty clueless.”

“That may be true,” John agrees. “But she did survive this long, so she must have some kind of skills.”

“And will you be discovering these ‘skills’?” Carlos asks with a smirk.

“Nope, not interested,” John replies as he leans back casually in his chair. “Sure, she’s cute, but that’s not my type. I like them more rounded, that chick’s too lean for me.” Bull shit, female is John’s type.

“Damn,” Oscar mutters.

“What exactly would you two get out of the deal if John loses?”

“His .356,” Carlos answers.

“No fucking way,” John retorts and sits upright. “You can keep your fucking mitts away from my baby.”

“Hey, all you have to do is hold out for one month, then you can keep your magnum, and have our cabin,” Oscar says with a shrug.

“Fine, that’s a piece of a cake,” he says. “Say goodbye it tonight, ‘cause you won’t be sleeping it in again.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but wouldn’t that be rather easy for him to do, when he won’t be around a woman until we get back?” I ask. The twins blink a few times.

“Damn, forgot about that,” Carlos mutters.

“We’ll revise it to start whenever we get back,” Oscar says. “So, your previous days of celibacy don’t count.”

“It’ll still be a cakewalk,” John replies.

“We’ll see about that,” I say.

There’s no fucking way that John can keep it in his pants for that long, when there’s a fucking parade of desperate woman inhabiting this joint. All it’s going to take, is one flash of cleavage, and he’s a goner. Actually no, it can’t just be any cleavage because that would include Dennngton’s wrinkled chest, and that would scare me off sex for months. So, it has to be a younger model to tempt John, and there should be plenty of women here who fit the bill.

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

I’m pulled out of my head, of trying to figure out how to approach Olivia, by the sound of scraping. Looking up, I see that the ‘Mess Hall’ is now empty, with the exception of about twenty people out of the hundred and something that I counted earlier. My eyes discover that the scraping noise was from Ace and Patsy pushing a table against the wall. Wally and Webby are pushing another out of the way, so that there’s a clear space in the center where a crowd of kids ranging from five to early teens are gathered.

“Spread out so that you each have some room,” Olivia tells them. The fifteen kids all space out a little, and I see the little boy that Olivia was talking to earlier, is now close to the front with a huge smile on his face. “Sammy, did you tell Benny which song you want to play?”

“Yup, Ollie,” the same boy replies.

“Alright, hit it Benny!” Olivia calls out.

Music immediately streams in from above, where I see speakers on the ceiling. I laugh at the Sammy’s selection of “Teach Me How To Dougie,” until I see that a fucking five year old could whoop my ass in a dance battle. His little black curls bounce as he dougies around the front, following Olivia’s lead, but throws in a few moves of his own. Like when he adds a little to his hair sweep, he actually pops his chest out like a professional dancer. Olivia smiles at that, and begins mimicking his moves.

When the song’s over, Sammy whispers up something to Olivia. She nods and he tells the other kids to take a seat. How a five year old boy could command fourteen older kids is amazing to me, but they immediately move aside as Sammy runs to a desk in back where there’s an Asian kid with headphones on. But it’s not a desk, it’s a freaking DJ table; which he uses to play the music on, like right now when he uses a laptop to change the song selection. Olivia curls her finger at Webby, and he walks out to join her.

“You ready to have your ass handed to you, Webby?”

“Please, your ass is mine,” Webby says with a suggestive grin at her. Olivia gives him a shove.

After Sammy pops a squat with the other kids, Benny plays the music. It’s Blacksheep’s “The Choice is Yours.” How a kid his age would even know that song is amazing to me, but then I remember that commercial with the hamsters dancing to it a few years back, so maybe he remembers it from then? I don’t know, but what I do know, is that Webby can fucking dance. Him and Olivia are facing opposite each other and switching back and forth.

Like Webby will do a few tricks, and then point at Olivia to do hers. I’ve seen Olivia breakdance, him do handstands, and then they start doing tricks together. Webby holds his hands out in front of him, and Olivia uses his boost to flip backwards. The kids all cheer at that, but I’m a little worried about her doing this shit when she’s only just recovered from her last surgery. No, she isn’t showing any signs of discomfort or pain, she’s fucking smiling and laughing at the bastard in front of her. Fine, I’m not worried, I’m jealous, alright? Happy now? I want to be the one she’s laughing and smiling with, and I was, until I decided to be a fucking dick to her.

The song trails off and the kids applaud the performance. If I wasn’t green with envy, I would have admitted that it was pretty fucking awesome, but since I am; I sit here like a grumpy old troll with my arms crossed, refusing to give them the props they were due. That’s further cemented when Benny puts on Ludacris’s “My Chick Bad.” Webby gets behind Olivia, and grips her hips as he rolls his pelvis against her. No he didn’t just fucking rub himself against her ass. I feel a hand curl around my arm.

“It’s just dancing,” John says. “Calm the fuck down.”

“Rubbing your dick against a girl’s ass, is not dancing,” I hiss. “It’s dry humping.”

“It’s called grinding,” John retorts. “And it is a kind of dancing, which I know for a fact that you’ve used a time or two in the clubs, you damn hypocrite.”

“Well, I’m gonna grind my foot up his ass, if he does it again.”

The twins are laughing, but I don’t care; you don’t dry hump women, unless they want you to. Not that Olivia’s protesting or anything like that. Nope, not ‘Miss I Don’t Like Touch.’ She’s just dancing along with him, as if he didn’t just hump her in front of children. Like right now, she’s fucking twerking. And no, it’s not Miley’s poor attempt at it, this is actual twerking with hip ticks, and booty shaking. Olivia doesn’t even have her coat on, since she left it on the table before she started dancing with Sammy; so she’s only wearing a pair of baggy sweat pants, along with a tank top that clearly marks out her breasts. That would be because she’s only wearing five sports bras, that I’m counting the straps of right now.

“Jared, make your damn move tonight,” John orders. I look over and see his expression is rather pained. Oh no he fucking isn’t sporting a woody from looking at my Olivia. I elbow him in the ribs.

“It’s just dancing,” I mimic using his tone. “Tell Snakie go to sleep, or I’ll rip him the fuck off.”

“Hey, don’t you threaten him, you territorial bastard,” John says as he cups his crotch. “He sees a sexy, unattached female shaking what her mamma gave her, and wants to pounce. It’s a perfectly reasonable reaction.”

“Yeah, and if that didn’t have anything to do with Olivia, I wouldn’t care; but it does, so tell him to back the hell down.”

“How do you know it’s Olivia?” John asks with a smirk. “Maybe Webby’s making me a switch hitter.” When I growl, he holds up his hands. “Fine, I’ll leave before my magnetic dick propels me forward, and I start humping Olivia’s leg, alright?”

“That would probably be best,” I say. “And I think I’ll come with you, before I have to stab someone.”

I glance back at the floor and see that Olivia’s now dancing with Patsy. Besides the hackles that his hair color raise, which I’m working on, he’s alright; and he keeps his contact with Olivia to a minimum, so that means I don’t want to stab him. Maybe just cut him a little. I continue after John, until I feel a hand curl around my arm. A decidedly small hand, that raises hope in me, that I have no right feeling. Turning to find the owner of that hand, I turn, and look down.

To find Bette Davis with a sherry colored wig, and lipstick that goes onto her skin. I can see the temples of her grey hair poking out from underneath the pinned wig, and I think that she’d look a hell of a lot better, if she lost the horrid thing all together. Along with applying her lipstick while using a mirror.

“You the one they call Jared,” the old woman asks and I nod. “Come and sit with me a while.”

It wasn’t a request, as can be seen when she doesn’t release my arm, until I sit in the chair she dragged me to. It just so happens to be even closer to Olivia, so I just got a front row seat to her dazzling smile being aimed at other people. I turn my attention to the old crone, whose unwittingly shoving bamboo shoots under my fingernails.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” I say. Melly, and I know it’s Melly because of Oscar’s description earlier, turns her alert blue eyes my way.

“It’s Melly,” she answers. “Not ‘granny,’ not ‘ma’am,’ and definitely not ‘old crow.’ I’m sixty-eight, thank you very much.”

“You don’t look a day over thirty,” I tell her and she flashes me her lipstick stained teeth. Red is so not her color.

“Quit looking at me like I’m a circus exhibit,” Melly orders. “I let my neighbor do my makeup and hair, believe me, I know I look awful. But Paula is a sweet girl, if not a little soft in the head, and I couldn’t tell her that it should be illegal for her to even look at lipstick.” I laugh at that. This lady ain’t half bad. “Anyway, we’re not here to talk about Paula.”

“What are we here to talk about?”

“Well, if you didn’t interrupt me,” she says with a look at me. “I would have gotten to say Olivia.” Melly glances at floor in front of us, but I don’t look. She’ll probably just be on to the next partner by now, and I don’t feel like rushing the floor to punch whoever it is right now. “She and my grandson are gonna make beautiful babies.” The fuck? Melly must read the frown on my face, because she smiles. “My grandson, Jayce, he and Olivia will give me some more great-grandbabies to spoil.”

“Who’s Jayce?” I ask, and doesn’t whoever the fuck this guy’s name is, taste bitter on my tongue. Melly points her finger, so I follow it to none other than Webby. The handsome, dry humping bastard.

“Jayce Petropoulos,” she answers. I guess I was right about the Greek heritage.

“Then, why do they call him ‘Webby’?”

“He has webbed toes,” Melly says. I bite back my laugh; the guy’s a freaking mutant. “It’s a family trait, so I’d mind my tongue, if I were you.”

“I didn’t say nothin.”

“No, you thought it,” she says and points at my eyes. “She was right about that.”

“Who?”

“Never you mind.” Melly replies and waves at me. “Back to my great-grandbabies. Sammy’s the only one I got, so I need more.”

“Sammy’s your great-grandson?” I ask. She’s not old enough to be a great-anything.

“He’s Jayce’s,” she says. I raise my eyebrows, he’s no older than I am. “Yeah, he had Sammy a little young for my liking, only seventeen, but he’s done a fine job. Especially since Sammy’s mom ran off the day he was born.”

“How old is Sammy?”

“Six,” Melly answers. I do the math, that makes Webby twenty-three. My age, plus a kid, and a career. This guy poses a threat. “And he loves Olivia.” Melly tips her chin back to the floor. I look this time to see Sammy dancing with Olivia, and he has this huge grin on his face, that showcases a missing tooth on the right side. He is also a carbon copy of his father, now that I can see his face.

“Everyone loves Olivia,” I retort.

“They do that,” she says with a nod. “There’s just something about her that draws people in. Webby sees it, Sammy sees it, I see it.” Melly looks at me. “Do you see it?”

“I do.”

“Good, then do something about it,” she orders. Completely baffled, I drag my eyes away from Olivia, to look at Melly.

“Didn’t you just say that you wanted Olivia to give you beautiful great-grandbabies with Webby?”

“Nah,” she says and pats my leg. “That was to get a reaction outta you. Jayce and Olivia are better friends than lovers, and it’s best to stay that way.”

“So, that was just a ploy for what, exactly?”

“I already told you boy, are you deaf?” Melly asks. She raises her voice a little. “To get a reaction out of you.”

“I heard you alright,” I say and rub my ear. “But why did you want a reaction in the first place?”

“That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” Melly says as she stands. “Nice talking you to, Jared.”

With that, she leaves me, and heads toward Olivia. It’s sad that even Melly, a nearly seventy year old great-grandmother, can dance better than I do; but I don’t pay much attention to her. If she wants to break her hip, good for her, but I’m frozen in my chair and thinking. Melly said a comment about my eyes, ‘someone was right about that.’

The only person that could, or would have made a comment about my eyes to Melly, would have been Olivia. Why would she be talking to Melly about me, when I was a dick to her? It’s another one of those puzzle pieces that make up the amazing woman, who’s now dancing with Sarah, some blonde girl that I assume is Ana, Ally, and Melly. And if I want to be a part in Olivia’s puzzle again, then I need to glue the piece she made specifically for me. The same one that I've stupidly torn to shreds.

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

Chapter Sixty-Six:

I’ve been sitting on the couch of our cabin for almost an hour, before I hear the knob turn. Standing abruptly, I take a few steps so that I’m on the other side of the sofa as Olivia walks in. She has her coat back on, but it’s unzipped, and she’s still in her loose sweatpants.

“Can I talk to you?” I ask.

“No time,” she says and continues toward the bedroom. I follow after her, she may hit me; which I deserve to be, but at least she’s talking.

“Please, I just need a minute.”

“I don’t have a minute,” Olivia says as she picks up her pack, and digs inside. Coming out with her leather leggings and ace bandages, she tries to brush past me to go into the bathroom, but I take a step to block her.

“Please.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “But you’ll have to do it as I change.” Olivia then drops her sweatpants, and steps out of them in only her Hello Kitty underwear. They’re fucking adorable, but I keep my eyes away from them. She’s giving me a chance to talk, and if I waste time ogling her, then I’m fucked.

“I’m sorry about last night,” I begin. “I know that doesn’t make a difference at all, but I’m sorry, and I shouldn’t have said anything that I did. I didn’t mean it, it just poured out of me. I was scared and it came off as anger, so I did what I do best, and pushed you away.” Olivia’s pulling on her leather leggings, but she has to hop a few times to keep her balance. I put my hand out to offer her something to brace herself on, and feel a little bit of hope swell in my chest, when she accepts my help.

“You were, and are my friend,” I continue. “I’m sorry if I ever made our friendship feel cheap to you, but it wasn’t for me.” Olivia zips her leggings, before pulling her coat off. “I liked staying up all night talking to you. Or playing cards, or looking at our photo albums. All of that was what I cared about. I never had any designs to seduce you.” She pulls her tank over her head, leaving her in her bra, but I again choose to keep my eyes up top, even though she won’t look at me.

“I admit it, I’m insanely attracted to you. When you thought I was running away, I was, but not for the reasons you thought. I wasn’t frustrated because you wouldn’t have sex with me. I was embarrassed for having the hots for my best friend. And I knew that if you had even an inkling of the effect you have on me, you’d either freak out, or pull away from me to keep it from being awkward. I didn’t want that, I liked how it was, exactly how we made it. Our cuddles on the Princess and the Pea bed, having you doctoring me, you being my personal hairdresser, training you. I loved it all, and I miss it.” When she still won’t look at me, and starts wrapping the ace bandages around her chest, the words continue rushing out of me.

“I miss you because I care about you. I know that it may not seem that way with all of the shit I said, but I do. I was fucking scared about what will happen to you, and I still am, that’s why I freaked out last night. Me being a dick, was my way of coping with emotions that I’m not accustomed to having for someone. Especially someone as beautiful, and smart, and fearless as you are.”

“I’m not fearless,” she says as she pulls shirt on. “I’m scared eighty percent of the time, I just hide it better.”

“I already told you that I don’t like you hiding from me,” I say and lift her gloved hand. Pulling back the leather glove, that she’s been wearing all damn day, I rub my thumb over the scars. “I know I’m not good at sharing, but I’m trying. I’m trying because I’m tired of hurting people I care about, and you’re one of them.”

“Thanks, but you shouldn’t,” she says and pulls her hand from mine, before adjusting her glove so that it’s tucked under her coat. Olivia looks up to meet my eyes for the first time today. “Can I go? I have somewhere I need to be.”

“Can it wait a minute?”

“It already has,” she counters. “Now, please move.” I do, since she’s already given me more than I deserve, but I follow after her.

“Where’re you going anyway?”

“Webby had a lead for me,” Olivia answers. She pauses in the doorway to look over her shoulder at me. “Don’t wait up for me, honey, me and Jared Jr. will be just fine.” With that, she slams the door behind her. Well, that went...well.

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

I wake up on the couch. No, Olivia didn’t put me here, I put myself here. I wonder if my dad ever accepted the blame when it was his due? Probably not, but since I don’t want to be like him, I accept it with open arms.

Anyway, Olivia came back from wherever it was she went to meet Webby about an hour later. From there, she went into the bedroom, and told me she was going to bed, and no she didn’t want company. I was fine with it, it’s not like I expected a simple apology was going to repair our relationship to rights just like that.

Okay, maybe I hoped that it would, but I’m a realist; and was prepared to have at least two conversations, before I was out of the dog house. Besides, I still have to apologize for making her my fictional wife, with a bundle of joy in utero. But I’ll do that later, because I have to get ready to join the boys at the gate. Its three thirty now, which is what I set my watch for, but I still need to sneak into the bedroom to get my backpack without waking Olivia.

The guards finally got around to returning it along with my weapons at nine o’clock, which was while Olivia was still out. The bastards didn’t steal anything, but there were fingerprints on my ginsu knives, so the fuckers were obviously giving them a try. I’m hoping that I got a guard position, because as Webby said earlier, not everyone got their weapons returned to them; and seeing as I got mine, a guard would be my best guess.

I know from John that Mike got his teaching position like I expected, Whitney’s doing some kind of work in Dennigton’s building, what I’m not sure exactly. Akio’s over at the hospital, the twins are guards like they said earlier; same with Cory, and Tommy got a position working on the generators due to his construction background. Sarah and Danny are now enrolled as students, so I guess her child prodigy strategy didn’t pan out. Oh well, a little education will be good for her. Plus it’ll give her something to do during the day.

Approaching the bedroom door on socked feet, I turn the knob, and wince as I hear the door swing open on squeaky hinges. It’s dark in here with only the moonlight to guide me, but I remember where they put my bag, so I creep over to it. Reaching down, I grab up the straps to my backpack, and sling it over my shoulder. That’s when I feel the breeze. Turning toward the window, I see the white curtain billowing out of the room, which is impossible. There isn’t a draft in the cabin to have pushed the curtain out.

I look toward the bed, and find exactly what I feared I would, an empty mattress with an unwrinkled quilt. Upon said quilt, is a piece on paper. How it wasn’t blown around the room, is answered when I see a shine of something on top. Walking over to the bed, I pick up the metal objects, and lift the paper toward the moonlight so that I can read it.

Jared,

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you care about me. I’m sorry for making you battle with yourself on what the right thing to do was. But most of all, I’m sorry for making you think that I ever thought less of you, or our relationship. Those eyes never lied to me, and I’ll be forever thankful to you for taking a chance on me. Because you did. I’m not the easiest person to get along with, but you and your obstinacy torched my icy exterior, then took a sledgehammer to batter your way through my walls regardless.

Don’t ever be ashamed of your nature, or dare let your father take credit for your strong backbone. You are more of a man than he ever was, that’s the true reason he chose to ignore you. He was envious that his son was a better man than he could ever be. So, keep your stubbornness, and wear it with pride; because your refusal to quit, is what makes you a survivor.

When you said that I was crazy to run around with my Jack Sparrow bullet, you were right. I know this won’t end well. That’s why I refuse to bring people into this. This is my mess that I have to clean up. My hurt that I have to end, and I won’t be responsible for any more blood on my hands.

Yes, I know that it’ll never bring back Travis or our baby, I’m not crazy, though I may act it sometimes. But it will make me feel better to know that the man responsible for destroying my dreams, isn’t capable of destroying more. To know that some other girl won’t have to sit by, and watch a loved one be tortured and murdered in front of her eyes. To have that same man, whose hands are still bathed in their blood, to then use you as their plaything. Or to make you feel guilty for being the one who’s left alive.

I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, be able to live with myself if I sat back and did nothing, when I know what that monster’s capable of. That’s why I’m leaving. And that’s why I’m leaving alone. Tell the twins and John that I’m thankful for their offer, but I couldn’t accept it. Same goes for you, since I know that your protective instincts would have prevailed at some point, it’s just your way. And that isn’t a bad thing. Those very instincts are what make you a great leader. So, use those instincts to protect your new home and family.

Keep your promise to your mom, because you’re right, it is the only one that counts. Find a good girl, treat her right, and be happy. You could use the ring if you want; maybe it’ll even have better luck the next time around. If not, give that and the watch Cory, he’ll know what it means.

–Olivia♫

P.S. I wanted to thank you for taking care of him for me, but could you do me a favor? I know that I have absolutely no right to ask this with all that you’ve already done for me, but if you could find it in you to do this last thing for me; I’ll be forever grateful. If not, I understand, I wouldn’t do anything for me either. But if you can, make him live his life, not bury himself in senseless guilt. Without me around to hijack his time, he should finally be able to find happiness of his own, he deserves no less. You too, for that matter.

Once again, I apologize for any and all pain that I may have inadvertently caused. It wasn’t intentional, and I hope that you could come to forgive me in time.

I squeeze the watch in one hand, and the ring in other, until the prongs dig into the flesh. I’m fucking pissed. She’s sorry? She’s sorry? That’s it? Not so much as a fucking wave, or written goodbye? I stomp over to boots, and pull them onto my feet, before stomping out of the cabin. Find a good girl? Give the ring to someone else? Fuck that. I already found her, and she’ll be wearing this goddamn ring for eternity. And what the fuck is up with this Rolex?

After shoving the watch into my pocket, I stomp through gardens to get to John’s cabin because I’m not walking around the fucking block to get to his. Fuck their perimeter fences, and whacky ass plot scheme; these fuckers are a pack of morons for constructing it this way in the first place. I’m pretty sure I massacred six tomato plants on the way over, but do I care? Hell no. I’m the new neighbor that everyone wants to get a petition going to evict. Jogging up the stairs to John’s cabin, I pound on the door repeatedly, until a squinty eyed Danny opens the door with his hair mussed, and his scrawny chest hanging out.

“You better have your own room,” I warn as I push past him. Satan’s Spawn, also known as Morris, hisses at me from the couch; but I ignore the temperamental feline, and I continue down the hall toward the bedrooms.

“I do,” he replies. “So don’t Sarah, John and Tommy. They put us all in here.”

“Good, go back to bed then.”

“What the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night?” Danny asks.

“I need John,” I answer.

“At four in the freaking morning?”

“Yup,” I say. “Now, which door is his? I don’t want to wake the others.” Danny points to the second on the left. One of the two that I couldn’t see earlier from the living room, since it’s further down the hall. “Thanks, now go back to sleep.”

“Alright then,” he says with a shrug.

I hear Danny’s footsteps trail down the hall, before a door closes, so I walk into John’s room without knocking. After twenty years of friendship, I’ve seen him naked on numerous occasions; since the fucker sleeps in the buff and doesn’t think that it’s necessary to slide on a pair of boxers, before waltzing down to the kitchen to get himself a drink. Stepping into the room, I see that John is thankfully dressed, and already awake.

“I thought we were meeting at the gate,” he says as he pulls on his boot, and checks his wrist watch; a cheap one that couldn’t compare with the one worth 50k in my pocket. “I still have twenty minutes.”

“Change of plans,” I say.

“You chickening out?”

“Nope, I’m absolutely 1000% positive that I will be heading out.”

“Then what’s the change?”

“That Olivia won’t be with us,” I reply and he raises an eyebrow at me.

“How’d you convince her to stay behind?”

“I didn’t, she decided it would be a good idea to sneak out alone, and leave us this bull shit letter.” I wave the piece of paper at John. “It doesn’t even say goodbye.”

“The fuck?” John asks as he walks over and I hand him the letter to read. He scans the first two lines before going immediately to the bottom. “The fuck?”

“The fuck,” I repeat, and no, there isn’t a parrot in the room. We’re just a little taken aback by this piece of news. “Now, I have to go tracking after her, give her the ring, and kiss the fucking life back into her.”

“Good plan,” he says. “But we’ll need some backup.”

“I was already planning on getting Cory,” I tell him. “I know he’s pissed at me, but he’ll be murderous if I didn’t tell him about Olivia flying the coop, or taking him with us to retrieve her back.”

“Fine, you get him, and I’ll get the others,” John says. “I’ll round up the troops, and meet you at the gate in ten minutes.”

I nod at the plan, so John hands me back the letter, and he leaves the room. I take a minute to tuck it into my jeans pocket with the watch, before pulling off the whistle Olivia gave me. I slip the tiny metal band on the chain, and reclasp it around my neck. Tucking the necklace inside my shirt, I unzip my backpack, and rummage around the bottom. Feeling the supple leather, I tug it out, and slip my arms inside. Game on.

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

Chapter Sixty-Seven:

They put Cory in fucking east Guam. Okay, not east Guam, but pretty damn close. Or maybe it’s because I’m in a rush that makes two rows of crushing gardens Godzilla style, seem like two thousand miles. Finally seeing the big 26 on the cabin across the dirt path, I kick someone’s rosebush off of me, and jog the last twenty feet. I use the same method I did back at John’s house, and bang on the door until Cory’s scowling face answers.

“The fuck you want?” Cory demands as he rubs his eyes.

“Get dressed, we’re going after Olivia.” That wakes him up.

“What do you mean, ‘going after Olivia’?”

“She snuck out,” I explain and pull the letter out from my pocket. “Read it, and she wanted you to have this.”

I try to hand him the Rolex, not having one clue as to its importance, but from the way Cory eyes it like it’s a rattlesnake; it must mean something. He leaves the watch in my hand, and snatches the sheet of paper from my hands, reading it in its entirety. His face goes from pissed, to confused, and back to pissed again. Without a word, Cory disappears inside his dark cabin and comes back out a few seconds later. He has his leather coat from Wilsons, his backpack, knife holsters and guns all in place.

“Let’s go, fuckhead,” he orders.

“Don’t you want the watch?”

“It’s not mine, and I want nothing to do with it,” Cory says. “Now, let’s fucking go already.”

I pocket the piece of jewelry and listen, because the faster we meet up with John, the faster we can find Olivia’s trail. I set a steady jog toward the gate, but seeing as this place is fucking huge; it still takes a few minutes. As we round the Mess Hall, I see John with a crowd of seven people. Four of which are in fatigues, two identical twins, and one silent man in Carhartt cargos.

“About time you showed up,” John says with a grin. “I rounded up the troops, so we’re good to go.” I glance at Olivia’s compound friends, Ace, Wally, Patsy and Webby.

“You sure you can go?” I ask. “You guys are supposed to be guards, so who’s gonna be here to do your job?”

“There are thirty of us,” Wally answers. “I told them to cover our shift, so that we could go for a run. It’s nothing new, so they know how to handle it.”

“This might take a while,” I say. “We don’t even know where she went, or how to find Cole, so we could be gone for weeks.”

“Who said we don’t know where she went?” Patsy counters with a sly grin. I look at him. “We’ve learned that our little Ollie likes to disappear in the night like a dude after a bad lay, so we tried something different.” Webby waves a little handheld thing with an antenna.

“Snuck the tracker in her coat pocket when she tucked Sammy in,” Webby says.

“What about Sammy?” I ask. “Who’s going to be here for him while you’re gone?”

“Melly,” he replies. “Sammy knows that I was going on a run, I told him before he went to sleep.”

“But what if you don’t come back?”

“I can take care of myself,” Webby says. “And nothing will stop me from getting back to Sammy.” I go to tell him that many things could stop him, and he wouldn’t be able to control them, but an elbow to the ribs from Cory stops that.

“If he thinks he can handle it, then let him come,” Cory says. “‘He’s trained, so he knows what he’s doing. Besides, it’s no different from being sent overseas. Where’d you end up, Webby?”

“Dropped directly into hostile red zones in Iraq,” he answers as he pulls up his sleeve. There’s a three inch gash on his forearm. “Took a piece of shrapnel here.” Webby pulls his pant leg loose from his boot and points out a bullet hole in his shin. “Shattered the bone here and got six plates along with thirty two screws to put me back together. Earned me an honorable discharge, but at least I came home alive before the outbreak happened.”

“You sure you can handle this?” I ask as I eye his leg. Webby tucks his pant leg back in and scowls at me.

“Fucking positive,” he hisses. “Now, let’s get moving before Ollie has all the fun.” Webby looks away from me, and to the top of the gate. “We’re ready Commander.” I see Morales peer down at us from the top of the tower.

“Bring her back boys,” Morales orders.

The fatigued men salute him before the gate clicks open. Wally takes the front, Ace behind him, with Patsy and Webby making a triangle with Ace. The twins and Tommy make another trio, while Cory, John and make a third. Why we travel in triangles, I’m not sure, but I’m not stopping this train before it leaves the station. Every second we sit around here conversing distances us further from Olivia, so I’ll hold my questions until we either find Olivia, or stop for a break.

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

“How much further?” Cory asks.

“About half a mile,” Wally answers. “She had about an hour’s head start on us, so I’d say we made pretty good timing.”

I guess we have, but it could also be said that three hours of marching in the dark to get within a mile of Olivia’s position on the map was pretty damn long. And a little scary, not that I’d admit it out loud. I haven’t been out after dusk in almost two years, so it was a little nerve wrecking to be out in the freaking forest with only the moonlight to guide us. The good thing is that we haven’t seen a single sign of wheezers. When I asked Patsy about it, he confirmed Olivia’s statement about the infected avoiding water. And since we’re surrounded by water on three sides, I guess that explains the reason for the lack of the wheezing bastards.

Which is a good thing because it’s scary enough being out in the middle of nowhere without adding the blindsiding assholes to the mix. The sun’s finally cresting the horizon by the time Wally holds up his hand for us to halt.

“I don’t fucking believe it,” John mutters.

“My fucking car,” Cory says.

Car? I bend to the left in order to see around Webby’s giant ass in front of me. And there it is, a sleek black Jaguar on the side of the road as if it weren’t hijacked over two weeks ago. The Jag looks no worse for wear, but it is abandoned in the middle of nowhere.

“This is where Olivia is?” I ask and glance around. I only see the deserted car. No people in sight.

“This is the tip I gave Ollie, since I thought Blondie was a hostile,” Webby says. “Some random chick showed up about a week ago claiming to be a friend of Ollie’s.”

“When I asked her where Ollie’s from, she said Revere,” Patsy says.

“Ollie ain’t from fucking Revere,” Ace says. “She’s from Boston.”

“She could walk to fucking Fenway Park,” Webby says.

“Yeah, we know,” I say. “But what does Olivia’s old address have to do with anything?”

“Before Ollie first arrived at the compound, our security’s main priority was to keep the infection out and give sanctuary to all surviving individuals,” Wally explains. “Ollie’s the one who told us about the hostile survivors.”

“So, we instilled a few more defensive maneuvers,” Ace continues. “Our gate used to be accessible from both sides, now we have a round the clock guard that monitors who goes in and who goes out. They have to type in three different codes to get the locking mechanism to unlatch the door.”

“Then we have our codes,” Patsy explains. “Each troop leader gets a different number every time they go out, if they don’t know the number when they come back, they don’t get in. That way if some hostile tried to use the old number, it would have already been changed.”

“Charlies or Freds?” John asks.

“Friendlies or foes,” Webby answers. “Another one of Ollie’s tricks. Her strategies are also how she got her name, ‘Ollie Ollie oxen free.’” The remaining condo group members nod at that. “But back to Revere comment, Ollie’s sent us exactly three people. No more, no less. All of which she gave the third degree to before telling them our location. Along with the location, Ollie gave them answers to three questions, if they knew the answers, they got in, if not, they were sent away. Ollie told them where she’s from which is 4299 AB Westland Ave, Boston, MA, her birth date, which is February 14th, 1995, and her favorite Disney princess which is Belle. Ollie told us which questions to ask and the answers to them, she also said that only people who could answer them correctly were ones that she sent personally.”

“Since Kelly didn’t know the answers, you sent her away,” I say.

“That, and the fact that she seemed a little unbalanced,” Ace says. “Yeah, a lot of people are unbalanced since the outbreak, but she was certifiable. Saying that Ollie ‘was a witch, and that she had to sacrifice her to the devil so that he would call his minions to return to hell.’” The fuck?

“But we knew better,” Patsy counters with a smirk. “Our Ollie wouldn’t have let some loopy bimbo to get the jump on her.”

“Actually, Olivia was on bed rest when Kelly set the house on fire,” John counters. Wally stops our forward movement abruptly and the four compound members stare at him with rapt attention. “Oh, you didn’t know about the fire?” They shake their heads. “Well, Kelly, that’s the loopy blonde, she set the house on fire that we were staying at. Olivia got a piece of glass stuck in her throat and couldn’t breathe right, so we stayed at a ranch for a few days. When we wouldn’t let the crazy bitch near Olivia, she decided to take matters into her own hands with an attempt at homicide.” John points at my burns, along with Cory’s healing ones. “They got hit with the cross fire.”

“I told you we should have questioned the psycho,” Ace hisses at Wally. “She knew enough about Olivia to give a description which was ‘raven haired slut with fake tits.’” Tissue tits wishes that they were fake; Olivia’s are 100% natural and unwanted. “That alone should have keyed us in for taking her in for investigation, but Morales said that it was too much of a risk to bring her in without Olivia’s forwarded consent.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t,” I say. “She’s obnoxious as hell, a stage five clinger, with a touch of murderess on the side.”

“Where’d she go then, if you didn’t bring her in?” Cory asks casually. “I’d like to have a little chat with the blonde.”

“Dunno,” Webby replies. “She came in this Jag, but the car’s only moved about thirty miles south from the compound.” Webby eyes the Jaguar with distrust. “I’d say that she didn’t go too far.” Patsy pops open the driver’s side door and leans in.

“Keys inside,” he says and flips it once to see the lights come on. “No gas. I’m guessing that’s why she left it.”

“Pop the trunk,” Oscar orders.

“This bitch stole some of our shit and we wanna see how much is left,” Carlos explains when Patsy gives him a curious look. Patsy shrugs as he presses the button for the trunk. Oscar lifts the lid, and immediately starts laughing.

“What’s so funny?” John asks.

Carlos peeks inside and begins laughing too, so I walk around the car to see what it is for myself. Peering around the twins, I see a balled body hogtied with rope and with duct tape over her mouth. Up further is a tangled mess of greasy blonde hair and bloodshot eyes that are currently glaring at me through one swollen eye, that I’m guessing is courtesy of Olivia. But that isn’t what’s so funny, it’s the sign that’s pinned to the tissue filled chest.

‘Saved her for you, Mouth. Hopefully you find her before she pisses in Cory’s car, because I’m pretty sure that even Lysol couldn’t handle this skank’s mess.’ I laugh as I pick up the receipt Olivia used to write her note, until I feel something weighted on the back. ‘P.S. tell Webby that I don’t like being tracked like a fucking dog, and to work on his stealth moves, since they absolutely suck. He’s about incognito as a shark in a seal tank. Even Sammy seen his big ass slip this little fucker into my pocket.’

Taped to the back of the receipt is a tiny chip that’s blinking. Blinking just like the little dot we’ve been following for four freaking hours. The same little dot that is now stationary, which means that we’re at a dead end.

“She played us.”

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

Chapter Sixty-Eight:

“What do you mean, she played us?” John demands. I hold up her scribbled note.

“She wanted us to find Kelly,” I explain and point at the glaring body in the trunk. “But that’s as far as she wanted us to go.” I pull the tracker off the paper and hold it out in my palm.

“Fuck,” Patsy says and I nod.

“She knew that you put this in her pocket,” I tell Webby. “But she kept it on her until we got here.” I nod my head at Kelly. “Now she’s truly on her own, just the way she wanted it.”

“Fuck that,” Cory hisses. “I don’t need some fucking dot to tell me where to go, I’ll find her myself.”

“We will,” I say. “But it’s just gonna take longer. And then we have to drag this bitch along with us.”

“Why not just leave her?” Carlos proposes.

“Let her rot in the trunk,” Oscar says. “Seems fitting punishment for her, after all, she’d be rotting in a jail cell if there were one still operating.”

“Nah,” I reply. “I wanna ask her if she knows which way Olivia headed.” I glance at the bound woman. “You want to get out of the trunk?” There’s a muffled response. “Then you’ll tell me where Olivia went, and I’ll let you out of the trunk.” Kelly nods, and I go to pull her out, when John does some pulling of his own. He drags me several feet away before talking.

“What the fuck, Jared? She tried to burn Olivia to death, and you’re just going to let her go?”

“Who said I’m letting her go?” I ask and cross my arms. “All I said is that I’ll let her out of the trunk, I never said that I was releasing her.”

“Then what will you do with her afterward?” John inquires and I shrug.

“Toss her to a pack of wheezers, cement her shoes and toss her in a lake, string her up as a piñata, I don’t give a fuck, so long as I never have to look at her again.”

“Fine, let’s do this then,” John says.

I nod and we walk back over to the car. There, I reach inside and grab Kelly’s arm, it’s a little awkward to maneuver her out, seeing as she’s literally hog tied with both her hands and feet bound together behind her back, but I manage it even with my busted fingers protesting the movement. Carlos grabs her knees while I hook my arm under her arms as we lift her out of the trunk and set her on the ground. I wanted to just roll her on the ground, but then I remembered that we need answers out of her and she’ll be more accommodating if we don’t throttle her until after questioning.

Crouching down, I peel back a portion of the duct tape with my left hand and yank it the rest of the way, there really is no better way to remove it. Okay, fine, I could have taken another thirty seconds to pull it gently, but why should I? This crazy bitch is the reason Olivia had to have her fucking throat pried open, Cory and I got burned, and why we lost the hens and Lenny. Yes it’s a stretch, but if Kelly hadn’t burned their shit, we would have never even gone to the fucking outlets from hell, and Marissa wouldn’t have been bitten. So, I hold this bitch accountable for three deaths.

“Where is she?” I demand. Kelly scowls at me.

“How about a ‘Hi Kelly,’ or a ‘glad you made it’?” Kelly asks. Jesus Christ, when’s the last time she brushed her teeth? I take a step back to get away from her muck mouth that’s unleashing shit that could peel wallpaper.

“Um, no,” I reply. “I’m not glad you made it and you lost the right to pleasantries when you burned down my fucking house.”

“That wasn’t your house,” she says.

“Were we staying in it?” I ask she nods. “That makes it mine, but that’s beside the point. You’re being a murdering arsonist doesn’t matter right now. What does matter is finding Olivia, now tell me where she went.”

“So, it’s all about the slut still,” Kelly says and there’s a crazed gleam in her eye. “You should have let her burn Jarry, she’s evil. Devil’s spawn that seduces you to do her wicked bidding.” I slap the duct tape over her rancid mouth.

“We’re not listening to your psychobabble, so shut the fuck up,” I order. “Point me in the direction Olivia headed, and we’ll be on our merry way.”

Kelly’s eyes further squint to a scowl that shows her crow’s feet. How we ever thought that she was twenty is unbelievable. Probably all the makeup she used and the bleached hair, but this bitch ain’t twenty-seven either. I’m guessing it to be around thirty-three-ish with the amount of lines her face has accumulated and her roots are an ugly mousy blonde color mixed with grey.

“Which direction, you hag?”

“It might be easier to tell you the direction if you didn’t tape her mouth,” Patsy says dryly. “Or point out the direction if she were able to move her hands.” Oops, forgot about that. Still no way I’m cutting her loose though, I’ll deal with psycho talk as opposed to crazed actions, so I loosen up the tape again.

“Where?”

“I’m not telling you,” she says with a smug smile.

“T-tell us w-where she w-went,” Tommy demands. Kelly’s attention snaps to him.

“Look, it’s the devil’s whore’s retarded minion, Studdering Stanley,” Kelly says with a cackle. Tommy’s face flushes as he tucks his chin in his jacket collar. I grip the bitch’s chin and turn her attention back to me.

“He’s not retarded, you cunt, he’s different,” I hiss. “You leave him the fuck alone or I’ll let him try out some of his medical knowledge on you, got it?” Kelly’s eyes widen a little, but I don’t get a further response. “That’s not an answer, would you like to meet Tommy’s scalpel, or not?”

“N-no,” she stutters out.

“Oh look, it’s Stuttering Skank,” John says. “Did S.S. slut face happen to see which way our beloved angel named Olivia wandered off to?” Kelly growls at him.

“You’re mine,” she snarls.

“Fuck off and answer the question already,” John says. “I’ve had enough of that haggard mug looking at me.” Kelly bares her stank teeth at him, and he takes a step back.

“Enough,” Cory says and shoves me out of the way. He gets three inches away from Kelly’s face, either ignoring the stench coming off of her, or not caring as he grips her hair and pulls her up to meet his furious gaze. “You tell me where the fuck she went, or I’ll string you up by your intestines and leave you for the bears.” Kelly audibly swallows.

“I-I didn’t s-see,” she whispers.

“You sure,” Cory demands. “Because I can smell a fucking lie off of someone.” Kelly’s eyes widen even more. “That’s what I thought, tell me what you know, and I might let you live.”

“She s-said something a-about h-hillbilly assh-holes,” Kelly says.

“Mother fucker,” Cory mutters as he tosses Kelly aside. “I know which direction.”

“Kittery?” I ask and he nods. “Looks like we’ll need the van.”

“Who got the keys?” Carlos asks.

“Olivia’s the last one that drove,” Oscar replies.

“Fuck, did she take them then?”

“Nope,” Cory says as he jingles keys in his hand. “I took them. Now let’s get moving.”

“What’re doing with Arson Annie?” Wally asks.

“Shove her in the trunk,” I reply with a shrug.

“Take her with us,” Cory says. “We’ll toss her on the side of the road if we must, but that bitch isn’t desecrating my baby anymore.”

“Fine,” I agree. “But you’re carrying her.”

“No, I’ll untie her legs, and she can walk,” Cory counters. He crouches down in front of Kelly. “And if she tries to run, we’ll go with plan b, you remember what that is? It involves intestines.” Kelly nods vigorously. “Good, that also goes for talking. You don’t talk unless spoken to, and only then to answer our questions. One comment about Olivia, or anyone else, and you’ll be swinging like a piñata.” Once Kelly gives her nod of consent, Cory pulls a knife from his holster and cuts away the triple knot in the back. Adjusting it slightly, it now only binds her hands.

“You sure that’ll hold?” Ace inquires with a look at Cory’s knot.

“I’ve been hog tying cattle since before you were born,” Cory says.

“That would make you two,” Patsy says and holds up his fingers. “Pretty damn talented to be able to rope a cattle, drag ‘em in, and tie him when you’re barely able to toddle.”

“Stop being some damn technical,” Wally orders. “If he says it’ll hold, it’ll hold.”

“It will,” Cory confirms. “Now can we stop the damn chit chat and get a move on already?”

“Back in formation,” Wally calls out. I raise my hand, to which Wally rolls his eyes and points at me.

“What’s with the triangles?”

“It allows the one leading the way to take point, but doesn’t restrict the sight of the ones following,” Wally answers.

“And allows more people to watch the back,” Webby adds. “Multiple sets of ears to hear whatever might be sneaking up on you.”

“That makes sense.”

“Any more questions?” Wally asks. Everyone shakes their head. “Then, move out.” Wally points at Cory. “You take point.”

Cory nods as he jogs to take Wally’s position while Wally takes up Cory’s. I grab hold of Kelly’s rope and tug her to her feet. She has no duct tape over her mouth, but she hasn’t said a word. I don’t know if she’s finally learned to shut the fuck up, or if it’s the fear for her life that’s making her mum, but whatever it is, it’s working. I tie the end of the rope to my pant loop and motion for her to get in front of me. Surprisingly, she does. Hell, if she stays this compliant, I may just let her live after all.

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

Then again, maybe not. It took us two hours of trudging through the woods, but we finally made it back to the van without any hiccups. It was when we were on the road for an hour, that Kelly’s chatter began.

“Where’s Chelsea? Is this blood? Where’s that bitch, Marissa? Whose blood is this? Is anyone listening to me? Hello? I’m talking to you.”

“Did we already forget my rules?” Cory calls from the front. Kelly immediately snaps her mouth shut. “That’s your only warning. No talking, unless someone asks you a question.”

Kelly nods and sits back in the seat Chelsea had her last stand in. The boys may have cleaned it with every cleaning product they could find, but the fabric on the seat stained anyway. Which would be why Kelly made a disgusted face, and began firing off her own game twenty-one questions; none of them she received an answer to.

We have eleven passengers this time, that being Cory and Tommy up front, John and me behind them, Carlos and Oscar behind us, Wally, Webby and Ace in row three, leaving Patsy with Kelly in row four. At least he has a seat between them, but I have seen the friendly, if somewhat of a wise-ass, scowl at the babbling blonde. It seems that even his tolerance level is breached when it comes to screeching voices that sound worse than nails grating on a chalkboard.

“How much longer we got, Tommy?” John asks.

“Five hours,” he answers.

That’s another change that I’ve just started noticing. John and Tommy have made up, as far as I knew, they haven’t spoken since Tommy punched John and blamed him for Leonard’s death, but they must have made up without an audience since their back to rights. Which is a good thing. Tommy’s shy enough, and to have tension with one of the few people that you can converse with without fear of stuttering, then it actually bites you in the ass.

“Another five hours until we reach the outlets,” John says. “But where do we go from there? And how do you know that’s where she went?”

“We were all a little distracted the last time we left the outlets,” Cory says. “But when we came the last time, Livs and I made a supply run of our own.”

“You fuckers left the van?” John interrupts and immediately looks at me. “What about you? You go on a shop a thon too?”

“No, I filled the tanks,” I reply. John glares at me, so I hold my hands up in a ‘what’ gesture. “Would you have rather me gone shopping?”

“No, I would have rathered you sit your burned ass on the seat like I told you to,” John retorts.

“Whatever, Cory tell him the rest already,” I say.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Cory hisses and glances at me in the rear view mirror. “You’re still on my shit list.” I wave my hand at him, I’ll make it up to him somehow. “Anyway, I’ll tell it because John asked me to, not you Freddy. Liv and I made a run inside. We went to the pet store, Spencer’s and Wilsons. Livi wanted to change into her new gear, so I let her go inside the restroom alone. Little did I know that some fuckers were either inside already, or they came through the opposite entrance, however the fuck they got in, they seen Livs and decided to have a little play time. Olivia wasn’t a willing playmate, so I ran in when I heard glass breaking. Livs had one dead on the floor, another near death, one cupping his balls and the last one who was holding her arms was sporting a black eye.”

“That’s my baby girl,” Wally says. I can’t see his face, but I can hear the proud grin in his voice.

“So Ollie kicked ass,” Patsy says from the back. “It’s what she does, but what makes these assholes any different from any Tom, Dick or Harry?”

“I don’t know,” Cory says with a puzzled expression. “But Kelly said something about hillbilly assholes, and they were the first thing that came to mind. Livi never talked about them, since she had her trach tube in, but she must’ve known them from somewhere. Why else would she have brought them up?”

“She never talked to me about them either,” I comment. “And that coincides with her not wanting us involved, so if they were connected to Cole in some way, that would make sense. What I don’t get is what the fuck they’re doing all the way up here.”

“Supplies must be getting sparse,” Webby says. “Did you have to spread your hunting grounds?”

“Well, yeah,” I say. “So, I guess that would make sense.”

“Especially with the amount of people he has to support,” John says. “Fifty of them were on a single raid for fifteen people, how many more does he have to spare?”

“Fuck, we could be going up against a hundred easy,” I say.

“I’d say that’s why Ollie didn’t want anyone going with her,” Ace remarks. “After all, if you only have yourself to accountable for, you don’t have to worry about getting anyone else killed.”

“Not to mention she doesn’t give a shit what happens to herself,” I say bitterly. “She gave up on life the day she lost everything.”

“Alright, enough of this depressing bull shit,” John orders. “Tommy, pop one of Livia’s CDs in before we start applying massive amounts of black eyeliner, nut hugging skinny jeans, and being a pack on whining emo bitches.”

“True dat,” Patsy says. “My balls like to breathe and dark makeup doesn’t go well with my complexion.”

“Nothing goes well with your complexion,” Ace mutters.

I hear the distinct sound of a punch landing somewhere along with a grunt before Tommy manages to pop in one of the discs Olivia left in the glove compartment. Afroman’s “Because I Got High” comes out of the speakers.

“Oh my god, it’s Patsy’s theme song,” Webby says and starts singing the lyrics.

“Fuck you Webby,” Patsy says. “My stash is gone, you asshole.”

“And you still don’t clean your bunk, you lazy bastard,” Ace says.

“Bunk?” John asks. “I thought you all got kick ass cabins.”

“Nah, that’s only a temporary incentive,” Wally says.

“The fuck?” The twins ask in unison.

“You boys ought to have read the fine print and enjoyed it while you could,” Patsy says. “Queen Cougar only rewards you with it for a week for enlisting as a guard. After that, it goes to whoever her boy toy of the minute is.”

“You mean, that’s the luxury suite she was offering?” I ask.

“Yup,” Ace replies. “So, whoever’s desperate enough for a hot shower, or hankering for a little COD action, sacrifices their body to being filleted by the viper.”

“Or they’re doing it for less selfish reasons,” Wally counters.

Wally sounded morose, so I look back and see him give a discreet look at Webby, who’s currently finding the lines on the road to be very interesting. Obviously there’s a story there, and once I have Olivia safely ensconced back in the compound, I’ll delve into that.

“How’d she wind up being in charge?” I inquire. Wally looks forward before answering.

“She was one of the head of researchers,” he says.

“Research?” John asks and Wally nods.

“One of the people who came up with Gene K,” Ace explains. “Her and three others were transported north when the volunteers first started showing symptoms. The compound was already built. It was originally a base for sea planes, but they converted it to a refuge.”

“They were supposed to come up with a vaccine,” Wally continues and points out the window at the wheezer chowing on a deer in the middle of the road. “Obviously, they were unsuccessful.”

“So, why is she in charge if she sucks at life?” John asks.

“She claims that she has superiority because she was appointed by the government,” Webby spits out. “Her and Morales have gotten into numerous arguments over the fact the government has been dead and buried for nearly two years, but somehow she’s still holding the reins.”

“She’s a bitch,” I say. “I’d of thrown her over the wall months ago.” Wally shrugs, as does Ace, Webby clenches his jaw and returns his attention to the window, while Patsy picks his fingernails. “So, you tried it already?”

“Three times,” Wally answers. “We tried a vote, somehow she came out on top, which I still believe she rigged. Then we wanted some kind of council to be appointed so that we could have some kind of a say, that was ixnayed. Finally, we called for a VP. We got that one, which is Morales, but it’s just an honorary title. He has no more pull than the rest of us.”

“Well, that sucks,” I say. “Why try the passive route? Just use force and physically remove her.”

“That creates anarchy,” Cory replies. “You show people that you can get your way by tossing someone from head chair, it makes them think that they could do the same. Instead of fixing one problem, you’ve actually created six more.”

“That’s how civilizations collapse,” Wally says. “Without a functioning system in place, or one that’s questionable at best, the whole structure collapses. It starts at the bottom, and works its way up, until there’s nothing left but a pile full of rubble.”

“I suck at Jenga, so that probably explains why I’ve never gone into politics,” John says and several people laugh.

“Can we make a pit stop? I have to tinkle,” Kelly says from the back. I think that’s the quietest she’s been in the six months that I’ve known her.

“You can hold it,” Cory replies.

“But I have to go really bad,” she whines.

“And I really don’t give a fuck,” Cory says. “You can wait, or piss in the chair if you have to. We have shit to do, and it’s past time that you’ve realized that the goddamn world doesn’t revolve around you.”

“But it revolves around Olivia, right?” Kelly retorts.

“Absolutely,” Cory agrees. “Olivia tells the sun to go up, to go down, or to fuck off, and you know what? It listens, unlike you.”

“That’s because she’s the devil’s whore,” Kelly snaps. “She’s the reason for the apocalypse. Just ask Jesus, he talks to me.”

“Gag that crazy bitch!” Cory orders.

“No!” Kelly shrieks. “You have to listen to me. Jesus told me that she has to die. Once the slut is returned to hell, the devil will call back his demons. It’s the only way.”

“Patsy!” Cory shouts.

“I’m on it already,” Patsy calls back. I hear scuffling from the back seat.

“Don’t touch me, hell spawn!” Kelly screeches.

“Bitch please, I’ve attended church more times in a month than you did in your entire miserable life,” Patsy says.

I hear more scuffling and muffled barbs being thrown before they’re drowned out in the radio noise. I don’t know what Patsy did to her since I don’t have x-ray vision and can’t see through three rows of seating, but whatever it was, it keeps Kelly quiet. With her silence, the car load is only filled with the music coming through the speakers.

We drive another three hours like this, listening to Godsmack, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, The Temptations, The Cranberries, Luke Bryan, Johnny Cash, Lil Jon, LMFAO, Sean Paul, and others that I don’t recognize. I’ve probably never heard a more varied mix in my life, but at least it keeps me distracted. Which I’d rather be, as opposed to focusing on the fact that Olivia’s out there alone, chasing down a serial killer with a death wish of her own. And there goes my peaceful distraction.

What if we don’t find her? Or, what if we find her, but it’s already too late? That she’s already followed through with her reckless mission, and is lying dead in a ditch right now? Or there’s the possibility that she’s even more emotionally damaged than she already was, and we have to put her on suicide watch for life. There’s also the fact that she’s just recovered from life threatening conditions, and might be pushing herself beyond her limits before she’s physically capable of performing to the best of her abilities.

It’s past dusk when Cory slows the van down and pulls into the outlet stores’ parking lot. It’s the same district that we shopped in two weeks ago. The same one that we fled for our lives with dozens of wheezers on our tail. And the same one that looks like it was deserted after a sold out Christmas; which the world pretty much did, so I guess that it tells the story truthfully.

“Now what?” John asks.

“We hunt,” Cory answers.

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

Chapter Sixty-Nine:

“We’re going to split off into teams of three,” Wally announces. “Since the four of us have walkies, I’m pairing each group with one of members from the compound. Carlos and Oscar, you’re with Patsy. Tommy and John are with Ace. Cory and Jared will be with me and Webby. As for the blonde, who wants her?” Everyone looks away.

“Couldn’t we just leave her in the van?” Patsy proposes.

“No, she could escape,” I say and rub a hand down my face. Why didn’t I think of this before I decided to bring her? “I guess that she’ll have to come with us.” Webby groans, I feel his pain, but there’s no other option.

“Fine, let’s just get moving,” Cory says. He then looks at Kelly with a hard look. “But if she interferes with me finding Livi, I will personally feed her to the pack of ravenous wheezers.” Kelly gulps and moves to step behind me.

“Don’t be trying to hide behind me,” I say and step to the right. “You dug your grave, now lie in it.” Kelly tries giving me her plastic pout. “Yeah, that doesn’t work, so don’t even try.” With that, she glares.

“Asshole,” she hisses.

“Bitch,” I retort.

“Faggot.”

“Skank.”

“Bastard.”

“Cunt.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Cory shouts. His voice echoes in the parking lot, making me look around wildly, but he isn’t done there. He walks over and gets right in my face. “Remember what the fuck we came here to do, or get your ass back in the van. And take the bitch with you to have your little name tossing contest on your own damn time.”

“I’m done,” I say and he steps back. I grab hold of Kelly’s rope and tie it to the loops in my waist band. “I got the dog, now let’s move.”

“Make sure your walkie is turned to channel three,” Wally says to Patsy and Ace. They each grab the handheld devices off of their belt holsters before nodding to say they’ve got it set right. “We got this quadrant, so Patsy take your group up to the Tanger Outlet, and work your way down to the restaurants.” Patsy nods before Wally turns to Ace. “You’re in Kittery Outlets 1, 2 and center. You’ll meet up with Patsy in the middle at the seafood joint.”

“Sounds good,” Ace says. “So, you guys are covering left?”

“Yeah, we got more, so we can more ground,” Wally replies. “Keep your walkies close, and on. If you find anything, call it in, same goes if you get held up.”

“Time?” Patsy asks as he checks his watch.

“Two hours,” Wally says and checks his own watch. “22:00 hours we’ll meet back here at the van.”

“Alright, see you boys in a few,” Patsy says and he collects the twins.

They all start jogging off to the right side of the street before disappearing in the dark. Ace heads off to the right with John and Tommy, but they head south, while Patsy went north. This leaves Cory, Webby, Wally, and me chained to the bitch, to take the outlets that we shopped in last time.

Wally takes point, having Wally at his left, Cory his right, with me in center with Kelly trailing behind. So long as she doesn’t drag her feet, or start yapping, I think we’ll be just fine.

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

It takes about fifteen minutes, but we finally reach Wilsons Leather. We decided to start of here and search for clues, since it was the restroom around the corner from here, that Olivia had her run in with the ‘hillbilly assholes.’ If I had been here that day, instead of cooped up in the fucking van, I would have been there to see these assholes. That way I might have been able to pick up clues in person, but I can’t hit rewind as much as I might want to.

Hell, if I could just rewind a few hours, I would have chained myself to her ankle so that I would be wherever the fuck she disappeared to. Why couldn’t those douche bag scientists focus on come up with something useful like a time machine, instead of the goddamn mutation? Then we wouldn’t be here right now. Actually, I wouldn’t wish for that because I’m a selfish prick, who would rather the world be in shambles, just so that I could have gotten to meet Olivia. And if that makes me immature, then so be it.

Following Wally’s lead, we approach the doors to the bathroom stalls. Stepping forward, Wally knocks on the door. What the fuck is he knocking for? Seeing if someone nonexistent person is in there taking a dump? I’m about to ask, when I hear something knock back. Yes, I said knock back.

“We got company,” Wally announces unnecessarily.

“Well, open the fucking door so that we can beat some answers out of them,” I say. Webby shakes his head at me. “What, they already know we’re here, so let’s just go in and kick some ass.”

“They aren’t human,” Webby says. I look at him like he’s fucking lost it. “They’re infected.”

“Wait a minute, you’re telling me, that some infected thing is in there right now, and is what knocked in response?” Webby nods. “The fuck?”

“They can mimic noises,” Wally explains. “Kind of like how we used to teach chimps sign language, the wheezers can learn too.”

“Can they open door knobs too?” Cory asks with a look at the handle.

“Nah, they aren’t that advanced yet,” Webby answers. “We’ve only seen them knock or clap.”

“Why would you teach them at all?” I ask. Wally and Webby shrug.

“Wasn’t us,” Webby replies and turns back to the door. “Just get ready, because I can hear more in there than just the knocker.”

I see everyone pull out some type of weapon, Cory his knives, Wally a silenced gun, Webby a freaking taser, and I pull out my own bowie knife. I grip it with my left hand, since my right hand is still busted, and the mother fucker wouldn’t quit bitching at me to cut the shit. I can handle myself just as well with my left hand anyway, but I prefer using my right; I guess I’ll have to remember that the next time I have a temper tantrum.

“Everyone ready?” Wally asks.

A chorus of ‘Yes’ goes around, before he opens the door. Stepping to the right, Wally lets the first one come out, and Webby tases the bastard. Obviously, it doesn’t kill the wheezer, but it does drop him. Behind the convulsing creature on the ground are three more wheezers. Since its nighttime, they’re the type two ones, the night feeders who are fast as hell. The one that runs across the back of the seizing bastard on the ground is on all fours, and leaps forward in an attempt at tackling Cory. That hairy bitch earns a knife through her jaw for the offense.

The bloated thing behind her is almost upright, but his shoulders are hunched forward slightly, sort of like a humpback. Quasimodo makes a move to lunge for Wally, but he pulls the trigger before the asshole’s stank mouth can fully open. Wanting to end this shit, I step forward, only to be pulled to an abrupt stop. Following the source to that hindrance, I see Kelly tugging on the other end of the rope.

“Quit it!” I demand.

“I’m not going in there!” Kelly shrieks.

“You’ll do whatever I fucking tell you to,” I hiss.

“I won’t!” Kelly screams, and starts pulling with all of her insignificant strength. “I won’t do it!” I ignore her protests and turn back to the wheezer, only to find that I missed my chance to take him out. Webby reloads his taser, and wipes the knife in his hand clean on the fallen wheezer’s scrap of a shirt. She’s lucky there weren’t more, or else I could have been eaten due to her dumb ass.

“You should untie her,” Webby says with a pointed look at the rope. “She’ll get you killed.”

“Then what do should I with her?” I ask. “If I untie her, she’ll just run.”

“Let her,” he says carelessly. “She won’t last more than ten minutes on her own, so why offer her your protection. Cut her loose, and let her stupidity kill her.”

“Yeah, that ain’t happening,” I counter. “This bitch tried to kill Olivia, and if I were to let her go, her crazy ass will just stalk us back to the compound and try again, or she’ll tell others about your location.” Webby glares at the blonde and steps forward.

“You fuck with my girl?” Webby asks. Kelly shakes her head back and forth. “I believe you did.”

“I-I di-didn’t,” Kelly stutters. “Sh-she’s not a g-girl, she’s the d-devil.” Cory walks over and ends the bull shit once and for all. He takes his knife, slashes the rope in half and drags Kelly along behind him.

“You just earned yourself a ticket to a wheezer buffet,” Cory says. Kelly immediately starts crying and screaming, so he stops long enough to stuff something in her mouth, before entering the bathroom.

“We should have just shoved her in first,” Webby says.

“Yeah, but then her screaming would have attracted more.”

“That’s what these are for,” he says and shows me, of all things, a fucking spray bottle. Webby must see my dumbfounded expression, because he grins. “You’ll see soon enough.”

“After witnessing Olivia’s whistle trick, I wouldn’t be surprised if a fucking bubble gum wrapper could distract a wheezer.”

“Hey, maybe you should work for our tech department,” he proposes. “I’ve seen weirder shit than that come out of there.”

“‘Tech department,’” I repeat and he nods.

“Yeah, they design weapons, sources of power, machines, and all types of other shit that we could use.”

“You probably want Cory in there then,” I say and jerk my chin at him. “He was our architect back at the condo.”

“Ollie said the same thing,” Webby says with a smile at her name. He then shakes his head. “I can’t believe she caught me.” I look at his tall form, I’m 6’2”, so I’m no shrimp, but this bastard tops me with at least two inches. Webby catches my raised eyebrows. “Fine, I’m kind of hard to miss, but I tried to distract her with Sammy.”

“Her note said that Sammy saw you too,” I point out.

“He saw Santa too,” Webby says with a laugh. “Guess I should quit trying to be sneaky, huh?” I nod my agreement. “You’re the one with the sister, right?”

“Yeah,” I answer, confused by the question from left field. “Why?”

“She talked about you a lot,” he answers.

“Who?”

“Ollie,” Webby replies.

“Really?” I ask, and I display my own excited Yorkie expression this time. “What’d she say? Was it good, bad? Was she pissed? Planning on snuffing me with my pillow? What?”

“Jesus, slow down,” Webby orders as he holds up his hands. “She just said that some asshole tricked her into trusting him, only to turn out like every other bastard she’s met.” Well, there goes my excitement. “But that was before her talk with Melly.”

“Your grandma?” I ask and he nods.

“She gives good advice,” he says. “Trust me, I would know after being raised by her. Anyway, Olivia was pissed, then confused, and by the time she walked out of my cabin; she had figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“That you were scared, and decided that being a complete douche, would be the better option,” Webby tells me.

“That about sums it up,” I agree.

“Figured that,” he replies. “Just don’t do it again, she’s a great girl and doesn’t deserve to be mind-fucked with head games.”

“I won’t,” I promise. And I’m telling the truth, because I’m done with circling my feelings. It gets me nowhere and hurts those around me. I glance up a couple inches to meet Webby’s brown eyes. “So, you were never interested in her?”

“I thought I was,” he says. I look at him to explain. “When she first came, I was kind of struck by her, you know?” I nod, because Olivia has that effect on people. “I mean, some gorgeous chick doesn’t come popping out of the woods every day, but then when she was able to talk? She was funny as hell, smart as a whip, and could knock someone down four pegs with a single word. And then there was the way she was with Sammy.” Webby smiles when he mentions his son. “His own mother didn’t want him, but Olivia took to him like he was her own. He was actually the reason that she started talking to me in the first place. Before that, she wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes, would jump at every noise, and would only talk to Ally.”

“But when Melly went over with Sammy, she started paying attention to more people,” Webby continues. “Melly, she was a dance instructor up until the lockdown. When Ally mentioned Ollie’s love of dancing, she decided to take it upon herself to pull a ‘sister of the art trade’ into her ranks.”

“So, how’d you figure out that you weren’t interested?” I ask.

“A kiss,” he answers. Well, I really didn’t need to know that, because now I want to punch the dude, when I was just starting to like him. “Don’t give me that look, it was one time, and I was the one who initiated it.” So, not helping. “Let me explain before you decide to hit me.” I curl my hand at him to get on with it. “It was, I don’t know, six weeks after she got there, when I found her crying. Now, I’m a dad, so I know how to comfort someone, and decided that I could give it a go with her too. Anyway, we got to talking about what upset her. It took a lot of coaxing, but she finally told me that it was her brother’s birthday. She was saying how she got separated from him, and hadn’t seen him in almost ten months, so she figured that he was either alone, or dead by then.” Webby looks at Cory, who’s searching the corpses’ pockets on the floor.

“I guess he didn’t die,” Webby says.

“Nope, he was with us,” I reply. “Back to the kiss.” Webby rolls his eyes.

“I’m getting there, relax,” he tells me. “Since she was sharing, I decided to share a bit about myself. I told her about my one and only train wreck of a relationship, and how I wouldn’t change having Sammy for anything in the world, but wished that he had a different mom, kind of like her. Yeah, it was kind of cheesy, but she really would be a great mom; which is probably why I got in my head to try and make her Sammy’s step mom.”

“And it obviously didn’t work,” I say and he nods.

“Nope, there was just nothing there,” he replies. “I’m obviously attracted to her, any straight guy would be, but that’s it. It’s kind of like having a hot friend, that you know is attractive, but you just don’t have those kinds of feelings for them. Which is pretty much Olivia told me. She said something like, you can find tons of people whom your attracted to, some of which you might even despise, but when you find a girl who’s able to knock you on your ass with a look or a simple kiss; then you’ve found the one for you.”

“Did she tell you about Travis?”

“Some,” Webby answers. “I know that he was her first love, and that he died; but that was pretty much it, since she didn’t stay much longer after that. It was, I don’t know, the beginning of March when she left the first time. Then it was just sporadic visits that lasted a few days, before she’d disappear again. That was another factor that decided she wasn’t the one for me. I already had a runner, I couldn’t deal with another.”

“Yeah, well I’m chaining myself to her foot. That way, she’ll either have to hack mine off, or chew through her own, to get away again.” Webby laughs at that.

“So, I guess that she’s the one who knocked you down?” Webby asks, and I nod. “Damn, I knew you were different.”

“Different, how?”

“Yours is the first group that she’s hand delivered to us,” he replies. “At first, I thought it was because of Cory, but when she wouldn’t stop talking about ‘Jared’ this, or ‘Mouth’ that; I figured that someone finally caught her attention.”

“As her friend,” I mutter. Webby shakes his head.

“Give her time, she’ll eventually figure it out,” he says.

“Hopefully, but we have to find her first, before she does something stupid.”

“We’ll find her,” Webby says with conviction.

We better, or else I’ll burn the fucking world to the ground until I do.

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

Chapter Seventy:

“Find anything?” I ask.

Cory and Wally are both on the floor, digging through the pockets of the half eaten corpses, while Kelly’s cowering in the corner with a sock in her mouth. I’m guessing that she’s finally starting to take Cory’s threats seriously. Wally glances up, holding a flip out wallet in his hand.

“Hard to tell,” he answers and shakes the wallet, so that it flips open. “A name really doesn’t do us any good without a data base to run it through.”

“How about an address?” Cory inquires as he passes another wallet to Wally. “This one is the next town over.”

“But it could just be from an infected,” I point out.

“Or a local,” Webby adds. “What says he had anything to do with Cole?”

“I recognized him,” Cory replies as he points at what’s left of a guy’s face. “Livi stabbed him in the throat, so my guess is that she knew him, or he did something to her.”

“Maybe,” Wally allows. “He might have just been involved in an unrelated incident.”

“Whatever,” I say. “It’s a start, that we didn’t have.”

“Do we call it in?” Webby asks. “That way we can check it out tonight.”

“We’ll finish the run through on our side, if that’s all we find, then we’ll call it in,” Wally says. “Until then, we treat this as inconsequential.”

“Fine,” Cory huffs as he shoves the wallet into his back pocket. He stands and brushes his hands off, as he says the next part. “But let’s move on. There’s nothing else that these bodies have on them.” Wally nods his agreement before standing as well.

“We have another quadrant to cover up north,” Wally says. “If we go out that door, it should lead to an alleyway for the loading docks. We’ll use it as a shortcut, and swing around the other side.”

Everyone nods their agreement, and that’s when we hear a loud static noise come buzzing out of Wally and Webby’s walkies at the same time. Wally reaches his first, and pulls it off of its clip.

“6567, Donaghue speaking,” the walkie cracks out a voice sounding like Patsy. “Calling for Captain Walter Briggs, 2525.” Wally hits a button to reply.

“2525, Walter Briggs,” he says. “What do ya got?”

“Large concentration of infected forces spotted in west quadrant,” Patsy answers. “Cannot reach appointed rally point, permission to abort?”

“Permission granted,” Wally says. “Retreat to east entry point through green territory. Do not engage infected.”

“Copy,” Patsy says. “4132?”

“On it,” Wally replies. “Over and out.” Wally hits another button on the walkie, before speaking. “4132, this is 2525. Sightings of infected in west quadrant have been reported, abort rally point.”

“4132, Hutchins speaking,” Ace’s voice says. “Report heard loud and clear, rally point aborted. New coordinates?”

“Mother Goose, calling her ducks home,” Wally replies.

“Copy,” Ace says and the walkie clicks off.

“So, where’re they going?” I ask.

“The van,” Wally answers. “We’ll head there soon, let’s clear this side first.”

He starts moving toward the bathroom entrance on the other side of the room with us trailing behind him. Cory walks over and unties Kelly’s rope from the pipe he knotted it around, before joining in. Wally pauses to knock on the door, and listen for a few seconds, then he opens it slowly. When nothing tries bum rushing the door, he opens it a little more and peeks his head into the dark corridor. Giving us the all clear, he slips out and we each follow after him.

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

Wally keeps his pace a steady jog, but stops at every corner to peer around it, before signaling that it’s safe to move onward. The alley way is littered with trash, which has been strewn around after nearly two years without janitorial maintenance to take care of it. There isn’t really an odor to it, since whatever has spoiled, spoiled long ago and is no more than faded garbage, or has been eaten by some type of animal already; be that wheezer or wildlife.

With Wally keeping us moving, we reach the last quadrant of the outlet malls in ten minutes. It’s kind of like a series of strip malls all located on one road, so we peer through the store fronts’ windows for any signs of movement. We spot several with wheezers inside, but we avoid those completely, no need to attract a crowd like the last time.

Reaching the final store on this strip, Wally peers through the dark window. I don’t know how he can tell what anything is without shining a flashlight on it, but I’m guessing that he’d rather risk eye strain, than spotlight a wheezer and alert them to our presence. I’m good with that plan, because I’d much rather be able to move on from here as soon as possible, and check out Cory’s lead, since it’s the only one that we’ve got.

“Looks like we got us a couple of live ones,” a voice announces behind us.

I spin with my hunting knife in one hand, and my 9mm in the other, to find a greasy haired guy with a pot belly, holding a gun of his own. Beside him are four other men, all of which are dressed in fatigues, and covered in filth. I don’t know if it was purposely applied for camouflage, or if they just haven’t bathed, I’d bet money that it’s most likely a combination.

“And they’ve already done half the work for us,” another of the men says as he licks his lips at the bound Kelly.

“You can have her,” I say with a shrug. “But I have to warn you, she never shuts the fuck up.” I hear Kelly mumbling something behind the gag, but I can’t tell what, nor do I care. I just want to get these guys talking, and maybe if they think that we’re of a similar mold, they’ll see us as allies and spill the goods.

“Oh, we don’t mind a talker,” one of them says with a wave. “There’s always a way to train ‘em.”

“And she’s a screamer,” I add.

“All the better,” another says with a lascivious grin. “I like it when they scream.” Sick fucker. Even with the amount of hate I feel for the blonde bimbo shivering behind me, I wouldn’t hand her over to these depraved fucks; but maybe if I can make them think I would, I can get something out of them.

“How about a trade?” I propose. “You get her, and we get shelter.”

“Nah, we don’t like sharing,” the original one with the pot belly says as he cocks his weapon. “We take what’s ours.” He points the gun at my head. “And leave the useless trash behind.”

“Well, then I guess that we’ll have to leave your carcass in the dirt,” Patsy says as he holds his gun to the guy’s temple. “‘Cause you have to be the biggest waste of life around.” I glance at the bodies I saw the twins take down and grin as the potbellied pig in front of me, loses his cocky expression.

“Your friends were of a like mindset, so their chosen option was death,” Patsy continues. “What will yours be?”

The raider tries to catch Patsy off guard with a wild swing, but Patsy leans back to avoid it, before kicking his leg forward to boot the guy in the gut. The raider’s gun goes flying to the right, while Patsy lunges forward to jump on top of him. I run toward the pair to help subdue the fucker before he can get away, taking his intel with him.

“Patsy, knock him out,” Wally orders. “We’ll drag him, and he can take us to wherever they are.” I reach the struggling pair, well, actually it’s just the raider that’s struggling, since Patsy hasn’t even broken out a sweat. He has the guy pinned with a knee on his throat, but when he hears the order; he pistol whips the guy on his temple, knocking the raider out cold.

“He’s out,” Patsy says.

“Good, let’s move him quickly,” Wally says. “We made a lot of noise, and it’s attracting a crowd.”

I turn around, to see Cory, the twins and Webby holding off a pack of wheezers. Cory’s hurling knives, the twins are firing off silenced weapons, and Webby’s using that spray bottle thing he showed me earlier. I can’t tell exactly what it does from here, but whatever it is, it’s holding the wheezers back by ten feet like an invisible barrier has been put up. It has to be the craziest thing I’ve ever seen, but it works, and I definitely want one of whatever the fuck it is, as soon as we get back to the compound.

I turn my attention back to Wally and Patsy, so I can pick up the unconscious raider’s feet, while Patsy takes his arms. Wally takes point with a spray bottle of his own, which he holds in his left hand, and a gun in his right. He walks right over to where our troops are, and up to the pack that’s lined in front of them. Wally begins spraying the bottle, and the wheezers retreat further with screeches as they cower away from him. It’s like he’s holding up a cross to ward off vampires, I know; a bizarre comparison, but I can’t think of anything else to describe the phenomena that I’m witnessing of the wheezers turning tail, and running away on all fours.

Hell, I shouldn’t be surprised after Olivia’s whistle trick, but I wish that I could have figured out one of their weaknesses a long time ago. It would have made gathering trips a hell of a lot easier if I had a nifty back up trick to save my ass, as opposed to running for my life; which is essentially what I would have done if I were here alone right now. So, Olivia’s rescue mission has been a great learning experience for me.

Wally keeps his spray bottle out for the duration of the trip back to the van, but he upped his pace after we cleared any signs of visible wheezers. Patsy and I traded off with the twins about halfway, so that we didn’t have aching arms by the time we reach the van. Ace, John and Tommy are already there, all of which are standing around it with their weapons drawn out. When they notice our group incoming, they jog out and take the unconscious body from the twins and carry it to the trunk before shoving it in, as if it’s just another day at the office for them to shove a body into a trunk.

“We good to go?” Ace asks, as he shuts the door.

“Yeah, we’ll find a place to hole up,” Wally answers. “We’ll wake him up for questioning, and see where to go from there.”

“Sounds good,” Ace says and holds his hand out to Cory. “I’ll drive.”

“Fine with me, ain’t my beast,” Cory says with a shrug, and drops the ring of keys into Ace’s extended hand. “Just don’t drive us into a damn ditch, I don’t feel like pulling that two ton monster out.”

“I’ll keep her on the pavement,” Ace promises.

After Cory’s nod, Ace climbs into the driver’s seat. The rest of us pile in, leaving me a seat near the front, and Cory a seat in back with Kelly. I still don’t know what the hell to do with her. We can’t just cut her loose, because she’ll just find her way back, and unleash the crazy on us. I also can’t just kill her, I know that she committed a crime with intent to harm us, but I can’t do it. If she were to hold a gun to my head, obviously I would retaliate with intent to kill, but when she’s just sitting there, it feels like murder rather than justice. I’ll figure what to do with her eventually, for now, she’ll just have to sit tight and wait for sentencing.

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

Chapter Seventy-One:

“You have a place in mind?” I ask Ace.

“Nope, just winging it,” he answers as he pulls out of the parking lot. “Not like there aren’t enough houses to choose from.”

“Sounds good,” I say. “Just make sure it’s close, we don’t want him coming to before we have him subdued.”

“Where’d you find him?” John asks from the passenger seat.

“He found us, actually,” I reply. “Him and a few of his buddies thought to pull a snatch and grab on Kelly, but Patsy and the twins put an end to that shit.”

“Not that we couldn’t have handled it on our own,” Webby interrupts. “If you’d have just kept talking, we were already in position to take ‘em out before we saw Patsy and the boys.” I turn to see the twins.

“Where the hell did you guys come from anyway?” I ask. “I didn’t even see you until the bodies went down.”

“We actually followed them,” Carlos answers.

“We saw them coming out of one of the stores with a ton of bags,” Oscars says. “They were loud as hell, laughing about how they couldn’t wait for her to model the shit for them.”

“Her? Who’s her?” Cory shouts from the back. “Is it Livi?”

“That was we thought,” Patsy says. “So, we followed them hoping to hear more, but when they saw you guys; they quit talking, and turned their attention to you.”

“Well, we’ll get the information out of this bastard,” I say. “Even if I have to cut it out of him, like Olivia did to Red.”

“Who the fuck is Red?” Ace asks.

“Some bitch that Olivia had a problem with,” I answer. That’s all they need to know, until Olivia decides to tell them herself if she ever wants to.

“A pumpkin carving whore,” John retorts. Or until John decides to spill the beans. I smack him on the side of the head, so he turns to me with furrowed brows. “What was that for?”

“You don’t talk about that kind of shit, without her giving you permission.”

“Why, they already seen her throat,” John counters. He points at Webby. “You dragged her in, even when there was a possibility that she had been bitten.”

“Mauled, more like it,” Webby says. “Her whole throat was one big, gaping wound that was dripping pus everywhere, and it smelt like rot.”

“But he still dragged her in anyway,” Patsy says. “Ally said that it wasn’t a bite, and Webby took her word for it. Webby took a lot of shit from Dennington about it, but he did it regardless.”

“Good thing, too,” Ace says. “She would have died otherwise. Habish said that she had a blood infection, and her trach tube wasn’t sterilized. It was just a piece of fish tank equipment that was shoved into her, which was probably why she had an infection in the first place.”

“Can we not talk about this?” I ask. “If I hear anymore, then I’m gonna kill the guy in the trunk, before we get the information that we need out of him.”

“Fine,” John says. “We’ll talk about it when you’re not around.”

“Fine,” I agree. “Anyway, how can you tell that it’s safe to camp somewhere for the night?”

I’m curious since Olivia’s been taking us to her safe houses, and the only one I picked out myself, was the ranch. It kind of makes me feel inept that I don’t have the experience these guys have, since I’ve spent almost two years in the relative safety of my childhood home, but it was what I thought to be best. And it did serve us well, so I guess it was an alright decision.

“No place is a guarantee to be completely safe,” Patsy answers. “We go in to a place and clear it, which I’m sure you guys have done at some point.” I nod to confirm that we have in the past. “But there are risks that come with everywhere you live, be that a chink in the armor which opens you up to an external threat, or a snake in the chicken coop; you just have to be able to care for yourself, and you’re good.”

“And which one poses a problem at the compound?” I inquire.

“Well, there’s the possibility of being raped by a horny cougar,” Ace says. “But overcrowding is our main concern. We’re only equipped to handle about a hundred people.”

“How many do you have?” John asks.

“Before you, there were eighty six,” Webby replies. “After, ninety-eight.”

“They’ll start double booking cabins soon,” Wally adds.

“Or boarding them at the infirmary,” Ace says.

“Can’t you just build more cabins?” Carlos asks.

“You got plenty of space,” Oscar points out.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Wally replies. “More people means that you need more of everything, not just space. You need more food, more power, more defense, more, more, more; until the entire system collapses, since it can’t sustain itself any longer.”

“So, what will you do to prevent that?” I ask. “Turn them away?”

“We’ll have to,” Ace says. “I know it seems heartless, but we can’t take the risk of us all dying, just to squeeze in another fifty people. They’d have a better chance outside our walls, than inside with all of us struggling. It goes back to that whole anarchy concept, if supplies are scarce, people will start fighting each other for them; and internal conflict only opens a gap in our chain for another threat to slip through.”

I understand, and agree with what they’re saying, even if it is a hard pill to swallow. I took more people in then the condo could support, and we all suffered. Sixteen people were squished into a three bedroom unit, more than half of us were sleeping on the floor, food was rationed, and our garden’s soil was being depleted of nutrients for growing too many plants in such a small space. There were so many things wrong with our setup that I’m surprised that we lasted as long as we did. Hell, had we not moved on, we would eaten ourselves out of house and home, before the wheezers got the chance to break through our barriers. I don’t regret taking anyone in, well besides Kelly, but I wonder where I would have drawn the line had we stayed. Would I have continued bringing in more strays like a crazy hoarder, or would I have barred entry to more survivors?

I don’t know, and I don’t think I want to know what I would have done had the situation arisen. I would hope that I would have barred more occupants from gaining entry, but I’m not sure. As Olivia said, I care too much. Before, whenever I seen a stray animal on the street, I brought the flea ridden thing home with me; only to have my father kick it outside again. Of course, I would go collect it and bring it to a shelter, but had he not kicked the neglected animal out; I would have probably kept them all. I’m the male version of the crazy cat lady, only I collect survivors.

I’m jostled out of my mental vision where I’m leading my endless herd of faces through the gates of the bursting at the seams condo, when the van rolls to a stop. I glance out my window shows the sun’s rays highlighting a two story Georgian style house. I don’t see any close neighbors through the trees, but since we’re in Maine, more houses could be hidden in the foliage.

The slider opens and we all pile out single file, with Cory keeping tabs on Kelly. I walk around to the back with John to help carry out the raider. Webby opens the door, to find that the raider is still unconscious. It seems a damn long time to be out, so I’m a little concerned that Patsy may have overdone it with whatever technique he used to knock the dude out; but breathe a sigh of relief when I see the steady rise and fall of the raider’s chest. I grab the dude’s legs, and John takes a hold under his arms, before we follow Webby’s footsteps to the house.

Tommy, Patsy, Wally and Ace went in the check it out, so the twins, Cory, Kelly, Webby, John and I all wait outside for the all clear. It takes a few minutes, but eventually Wally calls down that it’s good. Webby leads us toward Wally’s voice, so we enter a dining room and see that Patsy has a chair set up with duct tape and rope on standby. A similar chair has been set off to the right, but this one has the addition of socks, so I’m guessing that one’s for Kelly. And I’m proved right when Patsy picks up the sock, looks at Kelly, and grins.

“I’m going to take great pleasure in taking away your ability to speak,” Patsy says as he steps toward the blonde. Kelly tries to back up a step, but Cory grabs hold of her wrist and passes her off to Patsy. Patsy then proceeds to use rope and three rolls of duct tape to attach Kelly to the chair. When he’s done, he holds a hand up to his ear, closes his eyes, and sighs. “Blessed silence.”

“Not for long,” Ace warns as he walks back into the room with a bucket. “I’m just about to wake our captive.” He continues toward the raider, which Webby and Wally have tied up, and hurls the contents of the bucket at him. The guy starts sputtering and swearing indecipherable threats.

“Shut up,” Patsy orders, as he kicks the legs to the chair. It tips back, but rights itself, and catches the raider’s attention.

“You’ll pay for that,” the raider hisses.

“I don’t believe that you’re in a position to be threatening people,” Patsy counters. “So, how about you shut your fucking mouth, answer our questions, and we might let you live.”

“Fuck you!” Raider man shouts.

“That’s strike one,” Webby says as he steps forward. “Three strikes, and you’ll be missing a few parts.” Webby glances pointedly at the guy’s lap. “I’m sure that no man would want to live without a particular piece of equipment, so how about you play nice, and you might get to keep yours?” The guy gulps, and Webby grins. “That’s what I thought. How about we start with something simple? What’s your name?”

“H-henry,” the raider stutters.

“Sounds made up to me,” Wally remarks.

“It’s not!” Henry protests. “It’s even on my driver’s license. Just check my pocket.” Patsy looks to Wally, who nods, before doing as the raider suggested. Patsy reaches into the guy’s front pocket, and comes out with a wallet.

“Henry Collis, 42 years of age, 6’ tall, 200 pounds, married, organ donor, resident of Framingham, Massachusetts. What’re you doing all the way up here, Henry?”

“My group, we needed supplies,” Henry answers. “Our leader split us into groups, one went north, and one went west.”

“You’re a long way from home,” Ace says.

“That hasn’t been home for almost two years,” Henry says. “I’ve been up this way for months.”

“So, you’re camp is up here?” Wally asks. Henry snaps his mouth shut. “Now, don’t be getting shy on me, where’s your camp?”

“I can’t say,” Henry replies. “He’ll kill me if I do.”

“And we’ll kill you if you don’t,” Cory retorts. He takes a step forward, grabs Henry by the scruff, and gets right in his face. “Tell us what we wanna know, or I can guarantee you will suffer the most drawn out, painful death, that you can imagine. And even that won’t compare to what I’ll do to you.” Henry’s breathing audibly increases.

“A-alright,” he whispers. “C-can you b-back up, a-and I’ll a-answer?”

Cory releases his hold, but only stands upright, as opposed to backing off. I would guess that it’s to intimidate Henry, but you can see from the fury radiating off of Cory, that he can and will tear this man limb from limb if he doesn’t get a location right this second. And even that might not be enough to spare Henry’s life.

“Who’s your leader?” Webby asks.

“He goes by ‘Boss,’ but I’ve heard the others call him ‘Cole,’” Henry says.

“Where and when did you meet him?” Wally asks.

“About six months ago,” Henry answers. “Down in Reading, Mass.”

“And your camp has since moved?” Patsy asks.

“Yeah,” Henry says. “It’s moved further north, to Amesbury, Maine.”

“Is it still there now?” I ask.

“It is,” Henry replies. “Cole got a tip about another military compound up this way, and wanted to try to take it.” Ace stomps forward, grabs Henry’s collar, and points a finger at the fatigues that the raider’s wearing.

“It looks like you’ve already taken a compound,” Ace hisses. Henry goes to shake his head to deny it, but Ace ignores him. “How many of us have you killed? How many civilians? We give our lives to protect you, and you betray us like that?” Ace starts shaking him as he hisses out more questions.

“Adam, that’s enough,” Wally orders. “Focus on what we need, and then we’ll leave this piece of shit by the side of the road.” Ace nods and pushes away from the captive. “Henry, where in Amesbury is your camp located exactly?”

“The country club,” Henry says. “You pass the cemetery, and it’ll be on your right.”

“How many of you are there?” Webby asks. Henry looks at the ceiling as if thinking, but takes too long for Cory’s liking, so it earns Henry a cuff to the head.

“A hundred?” Henry guesses with an attempted shrug in his bound state. “Can’t be sure.”

“All men?” Cory inquires.

“Nah, there’re women too.”

“But are they captives, or raiders?” Cory demands. “Does one of them have black hair, and grey eyes?” Cory holds his hand up below his shoulder. “She’s about yay high, and curses like a sailor...”

“Ah, the new girl,” Henry says as grins. “We found her at the outlets a couple hours before we saw you. Hal and Xavier said that they would take her back, so Chulo, Dil and I stayed behind to get the supplies that we needed, and perhaps a few extras.” Henry licks his lips. “Hal said that she was one of Cole’s, but I know that a few of the men were already marking their calendars for guard duty with her, if you know what I mean? The tits on her, a man could bury his face in there and get lost, and that ass...”

Cory dives at Henry at the same time I do, so the three of us go down in a crash. My fist is swinging, and I hope it’s making contact with Henry and not Cory, but I don’t stop to check. Especially, when I feel one or two wild punches from Cory hit me. I’m not sure if they were accidental, or if he felt like punching me too; either way, it isn’t stopping me from beating the fuck out of this douchebag. After I land another fist to the guy’s nose, I feel hands grab me and pull me off. I see Cory get the same treatment, so the bloody raider is left on the floor, while we get dragged from the room.

“Jared, calm the fuck down,” John demands as I continue to struggle against the arms restraining me. “We got what we needed, now let that fucker rot, so we can go get Olivia. Every second we spend sitting here, is more time she’s stuck with Cole.” At the mention of Olivia’s name being said anywhere near Cole’s, I calm down. “Good, now go get in the van, we’ll be out in a sec.”

“Not a ‘sec,’ right the fuck now,” I counter. “Or I’ll leave your asses behind.”

“We have to get Kelly first,” John says. I shake my head.

“Leave the bitch,” I say.

“You know we can’t do that,” John replies. “She knows about the compound, so she could escape and come for us.”

“Then put a knife in her, I don’t give a fuck.”

“You don’t mean that,” John says. “I know that you want to get to Olivia, but we have other stuff that needs to be done too.”

“Olivia’s more important than that shit,” I hiss. “Do you have any idea what they could be doing to her right now? What they’ve already done to her? She can’t take any more of that shit!” I don’t realize that I’ve been shouting, until the wheezers come running out of the woods. “Fuck. Wheezers!”

John immediately pulls out his magnum, but I reach inside my jacket and pull out my whistle. Placing it in my lips, I give it a strong blow, and see the eight mutated wheezers slide to a stop. They lift their arms from the ground, and face plant in the dirt when they go to cover their ears. I see the others come sprinting out of the house, as I pull out my knives and run toward the downed creatures.

I keep a steady blow going as I cut the distance between me and the infected. Getting within range of hurling my ginsu knives, I throw them at their heads. I’ve taken out four of them by the time I see Patsy dive on top of one, and twist it’s head. I hear a nauseating crack before the wheezer ceases movement, and Patsy moves on to the next. Ace has a cleaver that he hacked the last one’s skull with. I look around to double check that he was indeed the last of the wheezers that I seen, and find that my count was off by one. Cory’s walking out of the house, but since he’s dragging Kelly; and the bitch is putting up fight as usual, his back is toward the wheezer coming up from behind him. I don’t waste time shouting his name, I just run.

Sprinting as fast as I can, I reach Cory, push him to the right; and try to push Kelly along with him, but she pulls back. Right into the wheezer, that was going to miss his dive, if she had just followed my guide for once in her life. The shriek that comes from her throat, is the worst sound I’ve ever heard. It’s a combination of nails on a chalkboard, a cat fight, and a fog horn.

The hairy wheezer tackles her, and has his teeth imbedded into her neck before they hit the ground. His clawed hand is scratching at her face as he tries to grip her thrashing form. There’s blood pouring from the wound on her neck, and the scratches are starting to bubble up with unspilled blood. It’s still a red color, so she isn’t an animal yet, but it’s only a matter of time before the infection runs its course.

Yeah, I could have probably pulled the wheezer off of her by now, but this is karma. One, she’s been a hateful bitch since day one. Two, she tried to burn my Tomb Raider to death. And three, she had this coming. If she had just gone with the flow for once in her life, she wouldn’t have been served as an entree to a wheezer buffet right now.

When the wheezer tears into the front of Kelly’s neck, silencing her screams, I decide that’s enough. Stepping forward, I bury my hunting knife in the base of the feaster’s skull, before kicking him off of Kelly. She’s gasping for air, similar to how Olivia was when this bitch tried to burn her to death.

I should just let her choke on her own blood. Hell, I would love to let her suffer the death that she created for herself, but I’m not sure if that would be a mortal wound for her; or if the mutation will repair it. I can’t take the chance that the Gene K cells will turn her ape, therefore allowing her hunt survivors down in her new animalistic form; so I ignore her pleading eyes, and finish the job that the wheezer started.

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

After I ended Kelly, we all piled into the van and Tommy took the wheel. Carlos and Oscar drew out our route to the country club using back roads, so it should take us a little over an hour to reach our destination. Hopefully, the raiders will still be there, and we’ll be able to find Olivia. We’ve already been in the car for half of the journey, most of us sitting silently; that is, until I hear Cory’s whispered thanks from beside me.

“Thanks.”

“For what?” I ask.

“You saved my life,” he says.

“No, I just prevented that bitch from trying to kill you a second time.”

“Still saved me,” Cory counters.

“Fine, but you’re not welcome, since there’s no need to be thankful to me. Had I not lied to Olivia, none of us would be here right now, we’d be with her.”

“I’m not so sure,” Cory says, making me look at him. “I think that Olivia always planned on going out alone, she just went along with the idea of letting me go with her to appease me, but when it came down to it; she would have just snuck out like the guys said she did before.”

“Why do you think that?”

“She still feels responsible for Travis’s death,” he answers. “She told me about what happened, and it was Travis’s decision to go out. Yeah, she agreed to let him, but he still chose to do it. And even if he didn’t choose to leave our house, the raiders would have found their way in somehow. Livs said she heard them talking about how they were watching us for weeks.”

“Weeks?” Cory nods. “Why would they watch you for weeks?”

“Maybe to see if there were more of us?” Cory propose. “Or what skills we had? I don’t know, but I do know is that they made sure I left, before they went in.”

“Don’t start with that ‘it’s all my fault’ bull shit again,” I say when I see his crushed expression. “You didn’t know that you were being spied on, Travis didn’t know what he was walking into, and you were all unprepared and outnumbered anyway.”

“I know,” he says. “And I do, but it still eats at me, you know? The ‘what ifs’? What if they told me about Liv’s pregnancy before I found the prenatals? What if I stayed? What if Livi told Travis no? What if Travis stayed inside and protected Livs? I know it’s wrong to be angry with the dead, but I was pissed at him for so long. I mean, how dare he leave us? How dare he abandon Livi and his baby?” Cory shakes his head.

“The shit that my head came up with was ridiculous, but that’s what happens when you’re alone. It’s quiet, so you’re left with just yourself for company. With the large amount of internal arguments that I was having daily, I thought I was going crazy for a little while. I would go from being pissed at Travis, to being angry with Olivia, then blaming myself. I was so confused as to who was winning the argument; that I had to focus on something else. I tried focusing on finding Livi, but it wasn’t enough. Two months of nothing, not a single clue as to where she was, or if she was even alive, it started to become an impossible quest. But when I met you, Sarah and John, you were the something else that I could focus on. My second chance, and I don’t think that I could ever repay you.”

“You already did,” I say. “You taught us how to survive, and I’d like to say that you were my friend up until about a week ago.”

“Yeah, well shit changes,” Cory says. I look at him, and see a quirk in his cheek, that I’ve seen him use when he’s teasing Olivia. I punch him in the shoulder.

“Asshole,” I mutter and hear him laugh. “I hope you know that shit is going to change, as soon as we get back.”

“What do you mean?” Cory asks.

“That you’re going to see a hell of a lot more of my mug around, if you want to continue being Olivia’s guard dog,” I answer. “After all, she and I are booked in the same cabin, I plan on making her happy, oh, and we’re married.” Cory nodded at the first two, but raises his eyebrows at the last.

“Yeah, I heard about that,” he replies. “And the fictional bun in the oven.”

“How’d you hear about it?” I ask.

“I think that everyone heard about it,” Patsy says from behind me. I turn in my seat to face him, before he continues. “‘Mrs. Benson, I demand that you get down from that table this instant. You’re carrying a child that you should be taking precautions with, not dancing across tabletops!’”

“Oh my god, she didn’t,” I whisper.

“She did,” Patsy says with a grin. “Dir-ec-tor Dennington got her megaphone out, and shout that out across the Mess Hall.”

“What’d Olivia do?”

“She got this confused expression on her face, so Dennington congratulated her on her nuptials, and the pregnancy. That was when Olivia started laughing her ass off,” Webby replies.

“When Dennington repeated her order,” Ace picks up. “Ollie hopped down, pat her stomach and said, ‘But Junior likes to dance. Are you gonna deny a neonate his first wish?’”

“‘You have to show the child who’s in charge, before it’s too late,’ Dennington replied,” Cory says. “When Olivia said that ‘it wasn’t 1862, and for Dennington to get with this century,’ Denise stormed out of the room.”

“So, I take it that Olivia isn’t a fan of the director?” I ask.

“Nope,” Patsy says. “Didn’t like her from day one, but the feelings are mutual.”

“Oh well, you win some, you lose some,” John says.

“And it looks like we’ll be doing either in just a few minutes,” Oscar comments.

“Because we’re here,” Carlos adds.

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

Chapter Seventy-Two:

My head snaps toward the window and I peer out. It’s midafternoon now, so I can see the dense tree line that Tommy pulled as alongside, but I can’t see anything beyond that.

“Where is it?” I demand.

“It’s a quarter mile down the road,” Wally says. “But we’re getting out here and walk down closer to it, so that we can see what we’re dealing with.”

“But we’re still going in today, right?” I ask. “We’re not putting it off?”

“No, we’re not putting it off,” Wally confirms, and I feel my blood pressure decrease slightly. To come all this way, just to sit around and wait, would have driven me crazy. “We just need a better idea of how to breach our way in.” I nod to say that I understand.

“That means no running in Rambo-style,” John says from beside Patsy in the back. I turn my head back to glare at him. “Don’t give me that look, I know you, and the first thing that you’ll do if you see something that you don’t like; is to run in and get yourself, or someone else killed.”

“I won’t,” I promise.

“That means anything,” Wally repeats and I nod again. “Even if it happens to do with Olivia, we stick with the plan.”

I clench my fist, but nod my consent. As much as I don’t like it, and I don’t, I know that I have to do as they say. First off, because if I don’t agree, they’ll just knock me out and stuff me in a trunk. Secondly, it could endanger the group. And thirdly, it could harm Olivia, and I would never put her in harm’s way.

“Alright, we’re going scouting,” Wally announces. “I want the same three teams in different locations. Each will take a position, and try to find out as much information as you can. Count the people, any weapons that they might use, and see if there’s any holes in their defense that we could use. No engaging with the enemy, not for questioning, or for attack until we regroup and strategize. Understood.”

“Understood,” the former military members respond, while the rest of us just say “Yeah.”

“Then move out,” Wally orders. “Keep your walkies on, and we’ll meet back here at 8:00 hours.”

Ace collects John and Tommy, while Patsy takes the twins. I’m guessing that they already planned which spot that they would spy from, because they split off in different directions before they disappear in the thick foliage. Wally lines us into our triangular position, before he too heads to the woods. It’s only about fifty steps into the woods that we reach the end of the tree line, coming up the edge of the green of a golf course.

Even with neglected maintenance for the last two years, the grass is still surprisingly green and lush, if somewhat wildly long since it hasn’t seen a mower in a while. It’s about half a foot tall in spots, but you could still tell that it was a golf course at one time due to the sand pits that have weeds popping out sporadically. Some areas are sunburned, but the majority is still intact, so I’m guessing that they used some kickass fertilizer when they planted it.

I turn my attention back to  Wally, when I see him crouch down and step back into the tree line. He only goes about four feet in, so that we can still see the golf course, but we wouldn’t be identifiable unless you were close, or someone was paying close attention. I’m hoping that their security sucks, but Wally doesn’t seem too concerned, he just keeps his pace steady and moves onward. Webby’s making the left corner of the triangle, and Cory’s center, leaving me the right corner, but we each spread out a little farther to try and blend in with our surroundings.

With the Wally and Webby in green fatigues, their clothing serves its purpose as a camouflage; while Cory’s sporting a worn pair of jeans and his brown leather coat, and I have grey cargos and my black leather jacket. You could say that black sticks out like a sore thumb in the woods, but it will blend in the darkness which should be taking over soon. Seeing as it’s the beginning of October, we’re well into fall now, so the sun is going down earlier and I know that I’ll be happy for the layer of protection against the chill that has been sweeping in at night.

No, it’s not about to snow any minute. Actually, I take that back, since you never know with New England’s fickle temperament; but I don’t think that it’ll be snowing for at least another month. It’s just about seventy degrees at night now, so a light jacket or sweatshirt would be fine. Fall has always been my favorite season because of its mild temperatures, and then there are the colors that are in the trees.

Like right now, for instance. As we walk, you can see some of the leaves are like someone painted streaks of yellows, oranges, and reds of different shades. Some being a rich red color, while others a pale yellow. Some even have a little bit of green left over, so you get a kaleidoscope of colors with one glance. Which would probably be why Wally spots the dude wearing a dirty orange jumpsuit in the trees.

It sticks out like a sore thumb, when he’s sleeping in a tree that’s mostly green with a spot of orange near the top. Why the idiot chose this tree, when the next one over is almost completely orange, is a mystery to me, but I’ll take it. We could have walked right by him, or been spotted if he’d chosen a different spot. But since the moron didn’t take care when he chose his napping position, it enables Webby to spring up through the branches, and slit the guy’s throat silently. Webby then climbs down just as silently, with the raider’s silenced rifle that has an attached scope, in hand.

I want to ask why he just killed the guy, instead of pulling answers out of him first, but I don’t. They’re the professionals, so if they’d rather scout out the camp for themselves, rather than take the word of the enemy, that’s their prerogative. Actually, when I use my brain and think about it for a minute, I figure that the decision to terminate the dude was the better option. Had we woken the raider up, he could have alerted his buddies, and then we would have been fucked; so I can see why Webby acted as he did.

Even if others may see it as the wrong thing to do, morally speaking, I’m learning that we have a new set of moral codes to abide by. Ones where it’s acceptable to take an enemy out. before they have the chance to get at you, or to walk into a situation where you know that you are going to have to take life to save another’s. These guys are already accustomed to this kind of thinking with their previous professions, and being sent into hostile zones, but I haven’t. The only human lives that I had to take, were back at the condo when the raiders came in. And even then, they were masked, so I was able to pretend that it was like a video game. Yes, I know that I’ve killed countless infected, but they were different, they were more beast than man.

Hell, when I think about it, so aren’t the raiders. What makes them any different than the wheezers? Sure, they use guns or other weapons to kill, but they’re still taking lives of innocents. But these fucks don’t have an excuse. The wheezers do, so I’m starting to understand how Olivia doesn’t think of them as monsters but victims. And she’s kind of right. They didn’t ask to be infected, they were either attacked, or volunteered for a treatment promising an end to their terminal illness. Well, they got their wish of being cured of cancer, but I’d say that the side effects definitely outweighed the benefits.

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

We continue following Wally’s lead through the woods for about another mile without spotting another guard. Seeing as they only had one in the two mile span that we’ve walked, I’m taking it as they’re either cocky and think that no one will dare attack them, or they don’t have the people to spare. I’m hoping that it’s the latter, but guessing that for these douchebags, it’s the former.

Henry did say that they had about a hundred, but I wasn’t convinced. Every piece of information that we’ve been given during questioning has either been a lie, or said out of spite, so you have to take their responses with a grain of salt and go with your gut. And my gut’s telling me that we had another liar. Yeah, he told the truth about his name, but the rest of it could have just been said to try and save his balls, literally. I know that if someone had threatened my man piece, I would have sung like a canary, but that doesn’t mean particularly mean that the shit I’d have spouted off would have been true. I could have made it sound believable, and so couldn’t Henry.

Wally signals for us to stop, and he crouches low, before approaching the tree line again. He doesn’t go through this time, he just separates a branch or two, and peers around for a few minutes. Once he’s satisfied, he silently walks back to us and jerks his chin for us to move further into the woods. We’re about a hundred feet farther in the trees before Wally motions for us to stop and gather in close.

“They got tents step up around the club,” Wally says. “From the amount of them, I’d say that Henry’s guess was exaggerated.” Thank god. I don’t think that the eleven of us could have taken on a hundred men. “But it’s still about sixty people. Most of them men, but there are women, and from the looks of it, they’re raiders and not being held against their will.”

“Any prisoners?” I ask and Wally shakes his head.

“Not that I can see,” he answers. “But that doesn’t mean that there aren’t any. They may have them inside the building, since I seen them moving in and out of there.”

“Livi?” Cory asks and Wally shakes his head again. “But that’s okay, right? She could just be inside?”

“She’s fine,” I tell him and squeeze his shoulder in support. I see some of his tension ease, maybe because he’s not alone this time? I know that this must be raging hell on his nerves if it has me as twisted as it does. I nod at Wally to continue his assessment, the faster we know what we’re dealing with, the faster we can regroup and strategize.

“I think that we should spy from the tree line until it’s time to meet at the rally point,” Wally suggests. “The more information we have on them, the more prepared we’ll be.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I agree, and see Webby and Cory nod their consent with the plan.

“Good, I want you and Webby to go back through the trees, climb one, and scout from the branches,” Wally says. “Cory and I will go further down. When it’s time to move, I’ll buzz the walkie, so make sure it’s on low.”

Webby pulls his walkie from his belt and flips the switch. After making sure that the volume is low enough to be heard by Webby, but not the raiders, Wally and Cory head off to the left, while Webby and I move back to where Wally peered through the trees. Webby picks a tree that’s a little farther in, and points for me to take the one neighboring it. Now, I haven’t climbed a tree since I was thirteen, but I have used a trellis to escape from a girl’s bedroom when her dad came home, so I know how to climb. I use my retreating skills, and offer a mental thank you to Mr. Browning for coming home early and forcing me to acquire climbing skills at a rapid pace.

Once I’m settled about twenty feet off the ground, I lean back against the trunk, and widen the strap to my thigh holster to tie me to the tree. I don’t think that I’ll be falling anytime soon, but I don’t want to take the chance of falling from this height. Satisfied that I’m not going to take a tumble, I turn my attention to the camp. There are several trees in front of our position, so I only have about a four foot gap to peer through, but it’s enough to see some of the action.

There are about three dozen tents set up around a massive bon fire in the middle. It looks like they’re burning chairs, why the hell they would burning furniture when it isn’t even that cold, is beyond me. I can see the ant-like men buzzing around to do whatever they’ve been ordered to do. Most are wearing fatigues, like the ones from the condo attack, and Henry, but I’ve seen several wearing the orange jumpsuits like the one Webby killed in the woods.

Even from this height, I can see the black writing on the suits, marking them as former prison inmates, but I can’t read from where. Maybe Cole escaped with a few friends? Or he picked up a few fellow convicts along the way? Or it could just be that they use them as a poor attempt at camouflage, whatever the reason, their previous convict status is null and void. They are all criminals in my mind, regardless if they have a formal record or not.

They’ve burglarized, murdered, raped, and tortured anyone they’ve come across, and so they must all be exterminated. Just because the former system collapsed, doesn’t mean that you get to act like an animal and get away with it. People like these don’t deserve to live, never mind prosper in the world. I cannot, and will not allow it.

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

Chapter Seventy-Three:

“Jared,” Webby whispers. I turn to look at him, and have to blink a few times for my eyes to adjust to their new target. They’ve been straining to make out the raiders in the dark for the last hour, so it takes a few seconds for me to see the dark shape in the branches.

“Yeah,” I whisper back.

“Just got the call, time to head in.”

I nod, then remember that he probably can’t see it, so I verbalize my answer and climb down from my perch. Webby meets me at the bottom, before he heads in the direction from which we came. It takes about half an hour to reach the van, but I can see that a few of the others have already arrived. Ace and the twins are there, so we’re waiting on Patsy’s group, along with Wally and Cory.

“How many did you guys count?” Webby asks.

“I counted forty-three out back,” Ace answers.

“I got twelve going in and out,” Carlos says.

“And I got sixteen out front,” Oscar adds.

“All hostile?” I ask.

“Yeah, they all were armed,” Ace says. “But I only seen handguns or knives, no automatics.”

“I seen automatics,” Patsy says as he steps through the trees.

“And explosives,” John says from behind him. Tommy nods his silent agreement.

“Can we get at either?” Webby asks.

Patsy grins and reaches around to pull his backpack in front of him. It couldn’t even be zipped, so I see the muzzle of the gun, before he pulls it from his pack. It’s a freaking AK-47, no, I’ve never used one, but I recognize it from a few of my video games. And Patsy ain’t done there; he sets the AK down like it’s the most fragile thing in the world, before digging through his pack. His hand comes out with three different kinds of bombs. Ace immediately goes down on his knees beside Patsy and snatches one from his hands, before rubbing it against his cheek.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” Ace whispers. I raise my eyebrows at the reverent way he’s handling a fucking bomb, but don’t say anything. If he’s that attached to the damn thing, then he must know how to use it to our advantage.

“What kind is that one?” Carlos asks.

“Smoke, or Flash?” Oscar inquires.

“A little of both,” Webby replies. “They call it a concussion.”

“Oh, they had those in COD,” John says.

“Yeah, but these are real,” Patsy counters. “And they can fuck you up if you don’t know how to handle them, so these babies will be stayin’ in the hands of the professionals.”

“Awww,” John whines.

“Get over it,” I say and he flips me off. “I don’t want my eyes burnt out because some amateur didn’t get his way.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Patsy agrees as he stands. “Hey, Cap, catch!” Patsy hurls something the size of a baseball over our heads, so I turn and watch it sail into Wally’s outstretched hand. Wally glances at the object and grins.

“You greedy bastard,” Wally calls back. “Didn’t I say to wait to engage the enemy.” Patsy holds up his hand.

“I didn’t engage the enemy,” Patsy denies and points at the twins. “Did I?” They both shake their heads in the negative. “See, I merely used my stealth of a cheetah, to swoop in and borrow a few things. They didn’t have any sugar, but I figured that these were a nice consolation prize.”

“What else did you get?” Wally asks as he walks over to the backpack that Ace has since spread across the grass. “Okay, you’ve got the concuss grenades, flash bangs, an AK-47, and frags.”

“And your C4,” Ace says as he points at the thing Patsy threw to Wally.

“And I’ve got my C4,” Wally confirms. “I have the perfect spot for it, too.”

“Where?” I ask.

“You’ll see,” Wally replies with a crooked smile that looks half crazed, half genius. “Now, for a plan. What’s your tally?”

“Forty-two, twelve and sixteen,” Webby repeats. “So, at least seventy known targets.”

“Where’s the highest concentration?” Wally asks.

“The bonfire,” Ace says.

“Exactly,” Wally says. “So, what we’re going to do is get them move away from the club, and into the trees. We’ll have better protection, and can use the dark to our advantage. Make them think that there are more of us than there are.” Wally waves the device in his hand. “We’ll lure them into the woods, but I’ll rig a few of these for them to stomp on. Obviously, it won’t get them all, but we should be able to take a good portion out with this. I want to make them come out as far as we can, so I want you, Patsy, to lure them to us.”

“I can do that,” Patsy says with a nod.

“Good, just do it quietly, and try to attract as many as you can,” Wally says. “If we can drag them out in stages, it will be less noticeable.”

“How about we have a few distractions?” Ace proposes. “We have our fastest runners in three different spots, so more men will give chase, and they’ll be split.”

“We could do that,” Wally agrees. “Who’s a fast runner?”

“I did track in high school,” Oscar says. “And I was chasing perps for ten years, and never let one get away.”

“Good, who else?” Wally asks.

“I can do it,” Webby says.

“Alright, so the three of you will get them to follow you into the woods,” Wally says. “I’ll set up my traps, Ace, I want you to rig a few for you and Patsy.” Ace nods. “The rest of us will take down whatever remains, before we try and take the clubhouse. I’m guessing that’s where Ollie is, and the lead asshole, so I want to do this as quietly as possible; that way we can take them unawares.”

“Alright,” Patsy says as he rubs his hands together. “This should be fun.”

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

Apparently, Patsy’s idea of fun, and mine differ greatly. It took about an hour to set up the traps, most of which I just had to sit there and watch, so it was doubly boring. Which meant that it left me to my worries without a distraction. The whole time they were tying up trip wires, I was freaking out.

What if I accidentally tripped one, and got blown to smithereens? What if we underestimated them, and we end up captives? Then Olivia will have to witness eleven more deaths, which she will feel personally responsible for. She’s already convinced that she has the blood of Travis and her baby on her hands, so how many more will she manage to convince herself that she’s accountable for?

We all knew the risks before we left the compound, and it was our decision to do so. If we are injured or worse, that’s on us, not her, but it won’t matter to Olivia if something happens to one of us. With that reminder, I decide to do anything in my control to prevent that. I know, I know, I’m not Superman and can’t protect everyone. But I can protect one. I glance at the man in question, an older copy of the fiancé and her brother in every sense that counts. She may be friends with the rest of us, but she’s known Cory her whole life.

If something were to happen to one of us, she would upset, but she would recover. But if something were to happen to Cory? I don’t think that what little’s left of the ‘Livi’ in her would survive. Her carefree nature would die, leaving only an empty shell of a person, who despises the world, but hates herself more. She’s already contemplating suicide, which is what prompted this emergency mission, but I know that she would follow through with it if Cory was harmed. So, I won’t allow it to happen, no matter what the cost might be.

“You ready, Jared?” Cory asks. I nod my head at his question. “Good, pick a tree and stay in it. I don’t want your burnt ass injured anymore, Livs will kill me.”

“No, she won’t,” I say with a wave at him. “I’ll be fine anyway.”

“Oh, I forgot you were freaking invincible, excuse me,” Cory says.

“That’s right,” I agree. “And don’t you forget it.” I can’t see it, but I can almost hear him roll his eyes.

“Just pick a damn tree,” Cory orders. “Wally’s ready, Webby’s in place, and we’re waiting for our cue.”

“Alright, I’m going,” I mutter as I walk to the nearest trunk that I think will hold my weight. I hear leaves rustling behind me, meaning that Cory has also climbed into his position, so I hop up and climb as far as I can.

“Nice spot,” Wally’s voice says near my ear. I jump, almost falling from my branch, but Wally chuckles as he grabs my collar and sets me firmly near the trunk. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

“I could have died.”

“You still could,” Wally retorts. “You prepared for that, kid?”

“I knew what I signed up for,” I say.

“Good, because this doesn’t look good,” he replies. “I’ve fought under tough circumstances before, but the numbers definitely don’t add up in our favor at all.”

“So, then we’ll take out as many as we can, and hope for the best.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Wally says. I hear his walkie crackle, followed by rustling of Wally’s coat as he fishes it out.

“6567, Patsy in position,” the walkie says.

“Copy that,” Wally says.

“4132, Speedy set to go,” Ace’s voice responds.

“3901, Webby’s green,” Webby replies.

“2525, go for gold,” Wally says. The walkie choruses ‘copy that,’ before it clicks off. “Hope you’re ready, ‘cause you’re about to get a crash course in training.”

“Please, I was born ready,” I reply.

“Christ, save us all,” Wally mutters.

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” I mimic in the word’s Mrs. Moure.

“Fine, Jesus Christ, please save us all. Better?” Wally asks.

“Better.”

“Didn’t know that I had a freaking holy roller in the bunch,” he says.

“I’m a good little Catholic,” I say and hear Cory laugh from somewhere nearby. “Go to church every Sunday, and everything. Sure, the priest tries to bite me, but I did miss out on my last confession, so it’s understandable.”

“Well, I guess that explains it,” Wally says.

“Explains what?”

“Why she calls you ‘Mouth,’” Wally explains. “You just keep running it.”

“Well, get used to it,” I say. “‘Cause you’ll be hearing it plenty more in the future.”

“Once again, Christ save us all,” Wally says.

“Amen,” Cory replies.

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

Chapter Seventy-Four:

I do manage to shut my mouth for the next time minutes. I figure that it would probably be best to listen for running footsteps, as opposed to babbling nervous nonsense. So, that’s probably why I once again almost fall out of the tree, when Wally’s walkie goes off.

“Ah, Cap, we got a problem,” Webby’s voice announces. My heart rate increases to dangerous heights, and I have to fight to urge to snatch the walkie from Wally’s had and demand answers.

“What kind of a problem?” Wally asks.

“The dead kind,” Ace replies. Is it possible for a physically fit twenty-three old man to have a heart attack? I believe so, because my heart is beating out of my chest like a cartoon character.

“Explain yourselves,” Wally demands. That’s more like it, he was being too lenient with these fucks.

“They’re dead,” Patsy says.

“Who’s dead?” I ask. I hear a click before Wally repeats my question.

“Who’s dead?”

“Who else could they be?” Patsy retorts.

“Donaghue,” Wally hisses.

“The fucking raiders!” Ace shouts his response through the walkie. “They’re all dead.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Wally says.

“They’re dead,” Webby repeats.

“But how?” Wally asks.

“Don’t know,” Ace says. “No gun shots, no knife wounds, they’re just dead.”

“No, I got some drool coming out of this one,” Patsy announces.

“This one’s foaming too,” Webby adds.

“Alright, all of you shut up, we’re coming down,” Wally says.

He ignores their replies, and scrambles down the tree. I quickly follow after him and see Cory’s already at the bottom. I can’t read either of their expressions, but I can see from their profiles that Cory’s brow is furrowed in confusion, and Wally is tense in the shoulders. Wally doesn’t order us to wait, so we follow after him. I keep my steps exactly where he places his, so that I don’t trip a trap, and from the sound behind me, Cory’s doing the same.

Since we climbed pretty deep into the woods to lay in wait of the raiders, it takes us about twenty minutes to reach the tree line. Wally doesn’t pause this time, he just punches the branches out of his way and stalks out into the open. I follow his lead, and walk out onto the cracked pavement of the former parking lot. I can see that the bon fire has died out a bit, so I’m curious as to the cause. Did they die a while ago while we were rigging our traps, and haven’t fed it? Or did they let it die off so that they could go to bed? It’s after midnight, so that’s a possibility.

I guess that we’ll never know, since the raiders are indeed dead. I stepped over at least a dozen bodies, but I’m no medical expert, so I couldn’t even take a guess as to the cause of death. Since the moonlight is streaming down better out in the open, I can see that Wally hasn’t a clue either. He stands from the body he was examining and continues on to meet the others.

“Any idea what happened to them?” Wally asks. Head shakes go around, while others shrug.

“P-poison,” Tommy replies.

Ten pairs of eyes turn to stare at him. I can tell by the stiffness that overtakes his posture, that he regrets answering, because it made him the center of attention; putting a metaphorical spotlight on him without any option other than to answer the question. I see Tommy clench his fists at his side, and take a deep breath, before speaking.

“Poison,” Tommy repeats. “Foaming at the m-mouth, vomiting, d-discoloration of the e-eyes.” He points at the examples of each in the raiders. “I s-suspect that s-someone put it in t-this.” Tommy leans down and pries a bowl from a raider’s stiff fingers. He lifts it to his nose, and nods. “P-poison.”

“So, it’s like a cult then?” Patsy asks and Tommy shrugs as he tosses the bowl down.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Ace counters. “They were eating and having a good time, so I don’t think they knew that it was poisoned. In cults, it was usually the Kool Aid.”

“‘Oh yeah,’” John says in an imitation of the red pitcher of punch from the commercial.

“Okay, so they were poisoned,” Wally says as he rubs his temples. “But by whom?”

“Olivia,” I answer. As soon as Tommy suggested it, it sparked a memory of a conversation I had with her. When they all turn the spotlight on me, I explain. “She told me about how she added a few extra ingredients to their food before, so it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if she did it again.”

“Then, where the fuck is she?” Cory demands. I look at the clubhouse.

“I’d say in there.”

“Fine, let’s go check it out then,” Cory says and moves toward the club. Only to be stopped a second later by Webby laying a hand on his arm. Cory glares at him in response.

“I wouldn’t go running in there if I were you,” Webby warns.

“Why the fuck not?” Cory demands. “They’re all dead.”

“Not in there, they aren’t,” Webby replies.

“Jesus Christ, how many are there?” Carlos asks.

“It looks like she missed a dozen,” Webby says. “And there are still six out front that are still alive and kicking.”

“Alright, bring it in,” Wally orders. Everyone huddles around him, before he continues. “Ace, I want you to take Tommy, Carlos, John, and Webby into the woods. Patsy, I want you to be the runner with Oscar. I’ll take these two and we’ll do some recon through the window. Any trouble taking out the lifers, call it in and we’ll give you backup support.”

“Time?” Ace asks.

“Just get it done,” Wally says. They all nod and some head off toward the woods. Patsy hands over his Ak-47 to Ace, and Webby slings his sniper over his shoulder, before they jog to catch up with Tommy, John and Carlos. Wally turns back around to face Cory and I. “Let’s get this over with.”

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

Peering through the window, I see the dozen or so men that Webby was referring to. Since the clubhouse has so many windows to look in, I took the dining room, Cory took the gaming area, and Wally took the pub. From my window, I can see both the bar, and smaller dining tables that have been pushed together to create one elongated surface. On which, is an array of food.

Even from here, I can see baskets of burnt bread, some type of charred meat, and a soup pot filled with some unidentifiable substance. My guess is that Olivia either did not prepare their meal, since they’re still alive and she’s an excellent cook, or she purposely screwed up their dinner just to piss them off.

I haven’t seen a glimpse of her yet, but I know that I’ve got to have patience, especially when I take into account that I’ve only been sitting here for five minutes. There’s also the high probability that she’s chained up somewhere, as she spent her last turn in captivity. If that is indeed the case, I’m going to chain the son of a bitch up, and perform a few discipline techniques of my own. And  if I’m not mistaken. I believe that I’m looking at the fucker responsible right now. He’s at the head of the table, and it’s not for the same reason that I used to pick that spot.

While I chose the position so that I could converse with each person without other people having to move out of the way, or crane their necks in uncomfortable positions; this douche bag like’s the implicated power the chair represents. That he’s above everyone else at the table, so he deserves the head position, like a freaking mafia king or some shit. Well, his crown is about to be tipped off, burned, and pissed on; so I hope he enjoys it for the last few seconds that he can.

The man that can only be Cole, since I vaguely recognize him from the news reports, looks no different from the time he appeared on the front of the Herald. He’s in his early thirties now, but you wouldn’t guess it if you looked at him; which was another factor that contributed to him being on the run for so long. Witnesses guessed him to be in his late teens, to early twenties, so they couldn’t get a good description to give to the public. His hair is a mix of dark brown, with highlights of gold, and he has a handsome, if somewhat boyish face.

The one characteristic that pinpoints him as anything but the boy next door, would have to be the black eyes that Olivia told me about. And they are actually black. Even from here, they look like twin pools of darkness that god knows what is lurking behind. He’s the only one that looks clean, and his clothing even looks freshly pressed; so he still takes pride in his appearance, even if there’s no one left to impress. Or maybe there is? Maybe he likes dressing separately from his cronies, as a way to remind them of their place? Who knows what bizarre shit his deranged mind comes up with?

The room is buzzing with men and women conversing. Most of them are men, but there are three women in the mix of fourteen seated at the clustered tables. I wonder if any of them were the ones Olivia spoke of? ‘The laughers’ as she referred to them. I’d say that it’s probably a fifty-fifty chance that they could be some of the women that helped beat Travis to a bloody pulp, or they could just be new batch of sickos. And they must be demented if they’re part of this freak show, and aren’t tied up like helpless victims. Some of their depravity is even being revealed at this very moment.

One of them has a live rat pinned to the table by knives. Yes, you heard me right. The crazy brunette has the rat tacked down by four knife points dug through the rodent’s paws and into the table, as she pokes its stomach with a fork. That’s how I know that it’s alive, since its tail is flicking back in forth in a motion that reminds of Morris when he’s agitated. Finally having enough fun, the sick bitch spears the rodent with her butter knife, making the rat exit this world with a painful squeal. And that’s where the laughing starts. It sounds similar to a witch’s cackle, and can be heard loud and clear over the male voices talking, without a single pause in their conversation; I guess that the pointless torture of animals at the dinner table is commonplace with this pack of psychos.

It takes me a few seconds to tear my eyes away from the disgusting individuals, but when I do, I see one half of a double door swing open. When I see the small shape, and the dark hair reflect the candlelight; I know it’s her, and I have to dig my toes into the dirt to stop myself from diving through the plate glass window. I almost bite clean through my tongue, when my mouth opens to call out her name; but I snap it shut in time, and allow myself to just watch for now. Patience, I know that it’s never been a strong suit of mine, but when it comes to Olivia; I know any amount of time I have to wait, will be well worth it. That goes double when my impatience could incidentally harm her in some way.

Keeping my eyes trained on the dark outline coming around the counter to the bar, I see that her shape is off. The reason becomes apparent a few seconds later, when she rounds the counter and has a tray like Cinderella in her hands. It’s overflowing with shit, but that isn’t what captures my attention. It’s the fucking collar on her throat that does. No, it’s not a fashion necklace, it’s a dog collar. A choker collar, to be exact. And who happens to be holding the chain to that collar, head dick himself. Deep breaths are my best friend right now, because if I don’t use some kind of technique to release the fury boiling inside; then I’m going to go rabid squirrel monkey on these fucks, and eat my way through this wall, before ripping their hearts out with my fist.

I peel my eyes off of the collar and check out the rest of her. I can only see from her shoulder up since the tables are tall, so I can see that her hair is unbound, her face looks unmarred, as do her arms. Wait a minute, arms? I’ve never seen her freaking arms before. When Olivia rounds the table to serve mugs to the right half of the table, I see why they are plain to view. Actually, why pretty much all of her is plain to view. She’s wearing a silk nighty that barely covers her ass, its spaghetti strapped, and she doesn’t have a bra on. It’s sixty freaking degrees out, and they have her dressed like this? What the fuck?

I’ve had enough of this shit, and reach for my gun, only to have my hand grabbed. I turn with my fist raised to knock the fucker out who dared to touch me, only to have that too grabbed. It’s near pitch black in the bushes that I’ve been spying from, so it takes me a minute to quit fighting the hands, and hear John’s voice tell me to calm the fuck down. I flip my flashlight on and shine it at his face.

“When the fuck did you get here?” I hiss at him.

“About twenty seconds ago,” John answers and gives a pointed look at the window. “And I’d say that I’m just in time to stop you from doing something stupid.” I look away, since I know he’s right. But if he cared about her the same way that I do, then he would understand. “Why don’t you go to the car? We can handle this.” My eyes snap to his, and I shake my head rapidly in the negative.

“No fucking way,” I retort. “I can be patient, I promise.” John stares me down, when he sees that I’m serious, he nods. “How’d it go with the ones out front?”

“Piece of cake,” he says. “Six of them, against seven of us, plus our grenades? It was no competition.”

“Noise?” I ask with raised eyebrows, because I didn’t hear so much as a tree branch snap.

“Silenced weapons,” John says. “The flash bangs and concussions are quiet, we decided to stay away from the C4 because it would have drawn attention to us. We used some old fashioned stealth maneuvers.”

“Good job,” I say. And they did do a good job. Had they made noise and tipped off the assholes inside, we could have bitten off more than we could chew, but as it is, we still have the element of surprise on our side. Hopefully it can stay that way.

“So, what’re we watching?” John asks as he slides toward the window. I hear him suck a breath through his teeth. “Never mind, let’s find a new channel.”

“Why?” I ask and make a move to go closer to the window, only to have the giant bean pole step in my way.

“It’d be best if you don’t watch,” he says.

“I can handle it,” I remind him.

“Fine, first sign of a move without explicit permission, and I’m knocking your ass out,” John warns.

“Whatever,” I say and shove him aside.

John takes up a position next to me, while my eyes scan the room to find Olivia. It doesn’t take long, when I see a black haired bitch grab Olivia’s hair and pull her face down to her level. She points at the food, and Olivia nods, before the black haired woman releases her. Olivia continues down the line, placing mugs as she goes. After she sets her fourth mug down, some ape looking mother fucker smacks a hand across her ass.

Olivia pauses, and I see her knuckles turn white, as she grips the tray. With her chest unrestrained, I can see it expand with a deep breath, before she exhales. Her deep breathing technique obviously didn’t work, because she drops one half of the tray; spilling the contents on the floor, then turns her body at the same time she swings the tray, nailing the asshole on the back of his head.

The raider’s head dips down with the movement, smacking his face into his plate of food, before it comes back up. I hear several of the men chuckle, but Olivia isn’t laughing. I see her mouth pinched tight and her eyes glaring at the back of the man’s head. The greasy haired raider, lifts his head from his plate, and spits as he wipes his bleeding lip with the back of his hand. Lunging quickly, the raider manages to grab a few inches of Olivia’s hair when she dodges, and curls his hand in it, drawing her forward. As soon as she’s within striking distance, the raider lifts his fist, and doesn’t hesitate to punch her. When I decide to break my promise, and kill the mother fucker, John grabs my arm.

“Wait,” he orders. “You can kill him later, if you go in now, she could get hurt.”

“She’s already getting hurt.”

“And she’ll get hurt worse if we run in there with our guns halfcocked,” John says. “Wait for the fucking signal.”

“Fine,” I spit out. “But that fucker’s mine.”

John nods, and turns his attention back to the window. I follow his lead, and look inside. How Olivia disengaged the fucker’s fist from her hair, I’ll never know, but when I look back in the window; I see her cheekbone is already swollen, and her grey eyes are blazing fires down at the bloody guy on the floor. Her victory is short lived, when Olivia’s head snaps back. Even she’s taken aback by it, but her body moves with the motion. It’s awkward, and when I see her grip at her throat, I know the reason for it. She’s being called by her puppet master.

With the rapid pace that he’s pulling, Olivia’s stumbling over her feet to keep up, until she falls onto her knees, and is dragged several feet before she manages to get on her knees and crawl. I keep it in check this time, even before I feel John put a restraining arm on me in warning. I’ve already got two strikes, if I get a third, I know that John will call Patsy over to knock me out with one of his near lethal blows. And there’s no way in hell that I’m missing out on killing these fucks, all because I couldn’t wait.

Olivia final reaches Cole’s chair, and he grips her hair, to pull her face up to look at him. I can’t hear what he says, but I see Olivia throw daggers with her eyes at him. When she doesn’t respond, or do what he wanted her to, he grips her cheeks and digs his fingers into her flesh. Olivia again refuses to do whatever he wants, so he raises his hand to backhand her. Before his hand makes contact, Olivia’s hand comes up and she does some assaulting of her own. I see a flash of her meticulously painted red polish come up and drag across his hand. When Cole’s hand retreats in surprise, Olivia grips the chain and jumps to her feet. Moving quickly, she dashes around to the back of Cole’s chair, wraps the chain around his neck, and pulls tight. That catches some attention.

The men sitting at the table immediately jump to their feet, and move to intercept. Olivia boots one in the stomach, another in the balls, all the while choking the shit out of her tormentor. It’s when Four men move at once that they’re able to remove her. One of them pries the chain from her Kung Fu grip, two of them grab her elbows and twist, while the last one wraps his arms around her waist and pulls backward. Olivia fights them with everything she’s got, wild arms, controlled kicks and head butts are no match to the endless streams of men and women that jump in as one goes down; which is about three more that she manages to drop, before they get another set of men to grab various places of her body and haul her toward the door.

“Basement!” A strained male voice shouts. “Have it your way, Livi! I tried being nice, but you like to do things the hard w...!”

Cole’s voice fails as he starts coughing. The man that was sitting to his right, pounds a fist on his back. Cole waves him off and throws himself back against his chair. The three women all flock to him, each with a cup held out in offering, to which he ignores, before they abandon that and the fawning begins.

“Are you alright, Boss?” The blonde woman asks.

“I can’t believe she did that,” the brunette one says.

“I’ll fucking kill her!” The last one shouts. Cole’s eyes, which were closed, snap open and he glares at the last one. Reaching forward, he grabs a handful of black hair, and pulls the woman toward him.

“You will not touch her,” he hisses through his teeth. Curly black hair bobs, before he continues. “She’s mine, and eventually she’ll know it too.”

“Y-yes, B-boss,” she says shakily. Cole throws her aside and waves the other women away.

“Out with you all,” Cole orders. “I’ve had enough of you this evening.” All of the people in the room move to exit, but Cole calls one back. “Tim, you stay.” The one that pounded a fist on his back, scurries back to his seat, and if I’m not mistaken, the numbskull bites back an arrogant smile at the special treatment. Once the men and women have left the room, Cole looks at Tim. “Why must I deal with such incompetence?”

“I don’t know, Boss,” Tim replies. Or should I say ‘The Don’? Olivia was spot on in her description of this dude, since him and Brando could have been mistaken for twins once upon a time. Too bad Brando was a kickass actor, and this dude’s a pansy mother fucker. Such a waste.

“Neither do I, Timothy,” he says. Oh my god, who the fuck names their kid Timothy? And how ridiculous is it that he’s Timothy? If he were even remotely like his lookalike’s mafia persona, no one would be able to take him seriously with a name like that. “All I want is a little loyalty, and some of the respect that is my birthright. Is that really so much to ask?”

“No, Boss, that’s not much at all.” Kiss ass. While he’s at it, why doesn’t he just get down on his knees and suck his cock for him?

“And then there’s Livi,” Cole continues. He pauses as he closes his eyes and lick his lips. My skin crawls as his hand caresses the arm of his chair while he’s lost in his memories. Finally getting back to where he left off, Cole opens his eyes. “I give her shelter, clothing, my protection. Anything a woman could ask for, but is that enough?” He doesn’t wait to hear the reply that Tim is nearly bouncing on his seat to give. “No, it’s not. She still fights me.” Cole smiles at that, and rubs the red marks on his neck and the claws on his face reverently. “But I do so love a fighter. It makes their surrender, all the sweeter.”

“Sick fucker,” John mutters.

“What will you do after she surrenders to you, Boss?” Tim asks. “Find a new one, like before?”

“Oh no,” Cole answers. “I like this one too much for that, I think I’ll keep her.”

“Yeah, that so ain’t happening,” Ace announces.

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

Chapter Seventy-Five:

“Asshole, why the fuck did he get to go in, and I didn’t?” I ask John. John’s mouth is gaping at Ace, whose glaring at Cole with murder in his eyes. I elbow John to get his attention. Finally coming to, John reaches down onto his belt loop, coming up with a walkie.

“They were supposed to call,” John replies.

“Well, they didn’t,” I retort.

“That’s because he’s our distraction,” Wally announces from behind us. I jump a little, but scowl when I see his teeth flash in the dark. “He said he was tired of waiting, so I sent him in.”

“Then what’re we doing out here?” I demand.

“We’re going in,” Wally says. “But we need to find where Ollie is, before we go in with guns a-blazing. A stray bullet could take her out.” I swallow hard at that possibility, before I nod. “Since you’re so gung-ho about going in, and I don’t feel confident in restraining you for another second, how about you take Patsy and find a way into the basement?”

“Fuck yeah,” I agree.

“That’s what I thought,” Wally says dryly. “Alright, Patsy was scouting around to find a way in, so I’ll take you to him.” Wally turns his light on to show me his serious face. “But you listen to him, and do it quietly. We’re still outnumbered and surprise is all we’ve got going for us.”

“Got it,” I say. Wally stares me down, before nodding.

“Good. John, stay here and wait for the call to move,” Wally says. “Jared, come with me.”

I move quickly to follow at Wally, diving under branches and fighting the urge to push his back to hurry him along. Finally, after four and a half years of jungle cutting, we emerge from the lilac bush that I was using as cover. Wally turns right and hugs the building’s wall as he continues on. I follow his example, staying tight and crouching low, as I match my pace to his at a mild jog. At the end of the building, Wally stops and peers around the corner, before stepping forward.

“You got a way in?” Wally asks. I turn the corner, and see that the question was directed at Patsy.

“Yeah, old wine cellar,” Patsy answers and jerks his chin down toward the left. “I opened it, so it’s ready for whenever you want me to go in.”

“You aren’t going in alone,” Wally says and hikes a thumb at me. “If I don’t make him do something, he’ll wind up getting himself killed.”

“Alright, so I got the suicide bomber, just great,” Patsy mutters. I flip him off. “Fine, but you toe the line, or I’m knocking you out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say with a wave at him. “Let’s get moving, before I decide to drive the van through the French doors.”

Patsy gets moving, with me directly on his heels. I’ve had enough of this waiting shit, and the longer Olivia stays chained away in a basement like some rabid animal, the more my blood boils. I’m approaching nuclear levels by the time Patsy reaches for the door handle. I can see that the padlock has been set aside on the ground, but I can’t tell if it was picked or chopped off, no matter, it gains us entry and that’s all I care about. Patsy stares at me and mouths a three count, before pulling the door up, so that it swings toward us. It’s one of those horizontal doors that leads to rickety steps, which I can see the planks of when the moonlight streams in. Thankfully, no bullets come flying our way; which is probably what Patsy expected, since he had his gun trained in the tunnel, but draws back when no one fires in our direction.

“Stay behind me,” he orders.

I nod for him to go ahead, and he makes his way down the stairs. I tense when I hear one of the planks creak. Patsy pauses, and we both listen for any footsteps indicating that we’ve been caught. When we hear nothing but a leaky pipe, Patsy continues on. Because I know which stair makes noise, I skip it and keep my step as light as possible just in case; since I outweigh Patsy by about fifteen pounds, so what might creak for me, might not have been disturbed by him. I don’t know if it was wasted effort or not, on account of no noise emerging from the rickety steps, but we reach the bottom without any hiccups.

Patsy points at me, and then hugs the walls, showing me to stay close to the shadows. I jerk my chin, before doing as he said. The further we move in the dreary cellar, the less moonlight is there to guide our way. It’s a strain on the eyes, but I can deal with it, especially when we come to the end of the narrow hallway, and I see light flickering off to the right. Patsy’s head turns and observes it too, before turning in that direction. There’s an opened door down that way which the light is streaming out of, casting a warped rectangular shape on the dirty cement floor on the cellar. We continue following it like a beacon, until we see a shape pass by the door, a decidedly human shape that’s too large to be Olivia.

“So, you like it rough then?” A male voice asks, making my whole body seize up. “I can do rough.”

“So can I,” Olivia replies. I hear the sound of something crash, and flesh hitting flesh, prompting me to try and push past Patsy.

“Wait,” he hisses.

“No fucking way,” I snap back, and shove him more firmly this time.

My extra inches in height and pounds allow me to physically remove the pesky barrier in front of me, and eliminate the distance between me and the door. The door’s already open, so I turn with a knife in one hand, and my 9mm locked and loaded in the other; to find one guy bleeding from his head on the floor beside a busted lamp, and another that Olivia’s straddling the neck of with her bare thighs. I hear an audible crack, before the body underneath her stops moving and goes limp. She must’ve heard mine and Patsy’s footsteps, because she immediately turns and lunges with a fork in her hand. When she sees who it is, her hand freezes mid-stab about a fraction of an inch from my eye, and adopts a confused expression as she looks back and forth between Patsy and me.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Olivia demands.

“Hello, to you too, Ollie,” Patsy says.

“Spider,” Olivia says. Patsy looks around wildly, before scowling at the chuckling Olivia. “Seriously, what the fuck are you doing here?” In answer, I reach into my coat and pull off my necklace. Olivia eyes it, as I unclasp the chain and slide her ring off of it. I slip the whistle back around my neck, before stepping toward her and grasping her hand. I look up to meet her eyes as I restore her ring back to its proper place.

“Returning what’s yours,” I say.

Olivia goes to open her mouth, so I slide my hand to the back of her neck, and pull her halfway to me. My lips descend on hers, just as she gets the ‘W’ out on whatever question she was about to ask. Olivia’s lips remain immobile with shock for a second or two, before her hands grip the sleeves of my jacket and she responds. She’s tentative at first, with a barely there amount of pressure; but when I take her arm and wrap it around my neck, she goes up on tip toe and responds in kind. That’s when I hear a throat clear behind me, so I pull back slightly and meet her eyes.

“And I’m doing what makes me happy,” I continue. “You make me happy.” Olivia’s grey eyes search my face, for I don’t know what, before they come back to meet mine.

“You deserve more,” she says. I shake my head and cup her cheek.

“I don’t, and I’d want you regardless.”

“But I’ll always love Travis,” Olivia whispers, and her eyes get pained.

“That’s fine with me, I don’t want to evict him from here,” I say and place my hand over her heart. “I’m just asking for him to make some room. Your heart is so big, Travis may have a chunk, but Cory has a spot, Morris does, Ally, Sammy, Webby, the guys. All of these people have a place, do you think that I could steal a corner somewhere? That’s all I need.”

“What if that’s not enough?”

“It will be more than enough,” I say and place her hand on the pounding heart in my chest. “Do you feel that?” Olivia nods. “It felt like I was stabbed in the here when I hurt you. And when I found you gone?” I shake my head. “I don’t want to feel that way ever again.”

“As touching as this all is,” Patsy comments from behind me. “We still have some raiders upstairs, so do you think that you can save the mushy shit for later? Preferably when I don’t have to see it? All this commitment crap, is giving me the heebie jeebies.” Olivia ignores him, and keeps her eyes locked with mine.

“I can try,” she whispers. Brushing her hand across my scabbed brow, she says the next part more firmly. “I want to try, and I want to try with you.”

“That’s all I can ask,” I say and ghost my fingers over her bruised cheekbone. “Now, let’s go kill the fuckers who did this, so we can go home.”

“I like the sound of that,” Olivia says with a smile as she slides back down to her flat feet, which I see are bare, along with most of the rest of her. Her skimpy nightie is a light pink, and transparent; so I can see every goose bump and scar on her flesh. I quickly slide my leather jacket off and around her shoulders.

“Here, you’re going to catch your death, before we even make it upstairs,” I say.

The jacket is huge on her, so it drapes off of her shoulders, and reaches to her knees. Olivia looks down at her attire, and her face burns before she pulls my coat around her firmly, and tucks her face into the collar. I reach inside and tip her chin up to look at me.

“Don’t you dare be ashamed, make him pay for it.” Olivia squares her shoulders, well as square as she can make them with a thirty pound jacket hanging from her small frame, slides the jacket from her shoulders and passes it back to me.

“I’ll get clothes later,” she tells me. I nod, and Olivia walks over to one of the corpses on the floor. She kicks his body to flip him, before reaching down on the belt loop of his fatigues and unhooking a knife holster. She straps that to her thigh, before walking over to the other body and fishing into the raider’s breast pocket. Her hand comes out with a single bullet that I would know from anywhere.

“Where’s your gun?” I ask.

“I broke it on some fucker’s nose,” Olivia says with a shrug. “Oh well, it’ll work just as well from this one.”

She holds up a handgun that she stole off the dead raider. I hear a click indicating that she hit the clip release, before she pops the bullet into the magazine. Reloading the clip, Olivia checks the safety and clears the chamber. Once it’s restored to rights, she steals the gun’s holster from the raider with the bashed skull, and slides it on her shoulder.

“Alright, I’m ready,” she announces as she stands.

“Machie?” Patsy asks.

“Machie’s in a safe place,” Olivia answers. “I’ll get her back later.”

“Good, I like the old broad,” he replies.

“Hey, she may be long in the tooth, but she’s served me well,” Olivia defends. “You remember that next time she saves your life.” She moves toward the door, and I start to hear rattling. My eyes snap to the door, expecting to find a raider coming, only to see a chain trailing behind Olivia from her dog collar. I go to ask her why she hasn’t removed it, since they can usually slide right off, but then I see the lock holding it together on the side of her neck. Well, that sucks. Hopefully we have a bolt cutter back at the compound.

“Yeah, yeah,” Patsy says as he waves her off. “Now, shut up, before you get us all killed.”

“Why bother?” Olivia asks. “I already killed these assholes.” She points at three corpses on the floor; one has a steak knife in his chest, another the back of a hammer imbedded in his forehead, and the last one has a fork sticking out of his eye.

“Nice arsenal,” I say.

“Yeah, I had to work with what I had on hand,” she says with a shrug. “Since everyone was a little preoccupied fawning over Cole, I managed to grab a few things along the way. The hammer was on the shelf.” Olivia points at the shelving unit as we pass. “And the cutlery is self-explainable. I wish I had more of my cocktail mix, it would have been so much easier and a lot faster that way.”

“So, it was you outside?” Patsy asks and she nods. “Remind me to never eat anything you make.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I warn. “She’s an excellent cook.” Patsy raises an eyebrow at me. “She is.”

“Then what was that shit she served upstairs?” Patsy inquires.

“That, dearest Patsy, was the shit that they deserved,” Olivia answers. “I even spit in Mariella’s food, and added a mashed up cockroach to the other bitch’s soup. The poor rat didn’t deserve that.”

“Mariella,” I repeat. “Are the other ones up there too?” Olivia pauses in her quick movement down the hall, to look at me.

“Amanda is,” she says. “But Carly I already took care of, Felicia was killed during the raid at the condo, and Heather was eaten by wheezers a couple of months ago.”

“Felicia was at the condo?” Olivia nods.

“Yeah, I said that I was going to sleep in the hallway, but really I was checking faces,” she replies. “Carly, after some resistance to questioning, told me about Heather’s unfortunate demise.”

“How sad,” I say. “Poor Kelly suffered the same fate.”

“Oh darn it,” she says with a snap. “I was hoping she and I could become friends.”

“Oh well, maybe next time,” Patsy says. “Now, can you tell me why we’re heading in the opposite direction of the stairs?”

“We need something before we go up there,” Olivia answers as she continues down the hall. She takes a flashlight from Patsy, before she opens a door at the end of the hall. “There you are I knew I’d find you.”

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

Chapter Seventy-Six:

Patsy and I follow her into the room, and turn to the right, to see Olivia approaching someone huddled down on the floor in the corner. When the person turns to face her, I see blood dripping from her teeth, as she drops the rat she was chewing on.

Victoria, or should I say Wheezer Victoria; growls at us and tries lunging forward, but is stopped by the chain that’s wrapped around her neck. Olivia ignores that, as she walks past Victoria and grabs down a pole that was hanging on the wall. I flash my light in her direction so that I can see the new version of Red. Her red hair is patchy, and her pale skin is filthy, but unmarked with the exceptions of a bite on her forearm and neck.

I’m guessing that Olivia’s tape job protected her from having the wheezers feast on her, but at least it affected the bitch. I guess that it could be said that this is a worse punishment than death, because I know that the viral course isn’t pleasant from witnessing it a few times with the bad strays I brought home. And of course witnessing Marissa and Chelsea lose the battle over control of their bodies. The news said that it attacks the brain first, so the people have no recall of their former selves, and merely function enough to use instincts, such as eat and sleep. Eating being the higher priority; as can be seen when Victoria abandons her meal of rat for larger prey, such as Olivia, since she’s closest.

“Now, if you can behave, we’re going for a walk,” Olivia says as she steps toward Victoria while holding out the pole. “Do you think that you could handle that?” Victoria swipes at her in response, making Olivia tsk. “Uh-uh, we’ll save that for Greg the Gooser.”

“Wait a goddamn second,” Patsy demands. “You want to bring that thing upstairs with us?”

“Yeah,” Olivia replies as she shrugs her shoulders. “What better to use as a shield?”

“Where’s mine?” Patsy asks with a pout.

“Sorry, Patty, only got one of these,” Olivia says and holds up the pole, which I now see is the same one an animal control officer would use to control an aggressive dog.

“Ah shucks,” Patsy says as he snaps his fingers. “Always wanted myself an exotic pet, and now I’ve missed my chance.”

“Next time,” she promises. “Now, I have to wrangle me a feral ape.” Olivia sticks the pole out and hooks the noose around Victoria’s neck. Victoria scratches at it for a few seconds, before returning her attention to trying to take a bite out of her wielder.

“You sure that’s safe?” I ask uneasily.

“It’s fine, Mouth,” Olivia says. I stare at her to see if she’s just saying it to shut me up, since last I knew, she didn’t care much for life. She meets my gaze, before reiterating. “I said I wanted to try, Jared, I won’t do anything stupid.” With the double reassurance, the reminder of her wish to try, and the use of my name; I feel confident that she knows what she’s doing, and doesn’t have a death wish.

“Alright, wrangle yourself an ape, and let’s do this thing,” I say. Olivia nods as she pulls the noose tight on Victoria’s neck. She gives it a tug to make sure it’s snug, before she walks over to the wall and grabs a set of keys off of the hook.

“Catch,” she says as she tosses the keys in my direction. I snatch them up and look at her. “I’ll keep her over here, but I need you to go in the corner. On the same lock as her chain, there’s another set of keys, so unhook her from the pipe and grab them.”

“What’re the keys for?” Patsy asks. Olivia points at her own neck, and that’s all I need to know.

“Alright, tell me when,” I tell her. Olivia pulls Victoria closer to her, so that the chain is at its limit.

“Now,” she orders.

I don’t waste any time, not because I’m afraid that Olivia can’t handle Red, but because I want to get that dog collar off of her as soon as possible so that we can go upstairs and kill the bastard running this freak show. I skid to a stop in the corner, and leaf through the keys. Since the hole to the lock is small, I cut the choices in half and try one of the six on the ring of keys. No go on the first one, same for the second and third. Four and five are no different, and that leaves number six. I flip the ring around and try to fit it in the lock, sighing with relief when it glides in and twists easily.

“Got it,” I say as I stand with the new set of keys. Vicky’s stringy hair snaps in my direction, before she starts crawling her way toward me.

“I don’t think so, bitch,” Olivia says as she drags her back. “He dumped your skank ass, take the hint already.”

“Hey,” I deny. “I was never with that.” I point at the beast salivating with hunger.

“Were too,” she counters. “I even heard it with my own ears.” Oh my god, kill me now. Ignoring the blush, that I’m hoping the darkness conceals, I reply.

“That was desperation. I was celibate for over a year, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I would have started humping inanimate furniture.”

“Ah, come on, Ollie, give a guy a break,” Patsy says. “A year? That’s like forever to a dude.”

“Whatever, he was still with that,” Olivia jerks her chin at Red, before shivering.

“I wasn’t with her with her,” I counter. “She was just there, and I’ve never even been in a relationship before.”

“Then what do you want with Ollie,” Patsy demands with a warning glare thrown at me.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” I say. “But I want it all with her, or as much as she’s willing to give.” Olivia gives me a shy smile; it shows that she’s willing to give us a shot, even if she’s not entirely convinced that it’ll work. Her uncertainty is fine; I’ll prove it to her and make it work.

“Ollie, it looks like you’re gonna pop this guy’s relationship cherry, so go easy on him,” Patsy says.

“I’m a newb myself,” she says with a shrug. “Travie was my one and only boyfriend, so, maybe we could learn together?”

“She just said newb,” Patsy says as he grins at Olivia. “I freaking love this girl.”

“Love ya too, Patsy,” Olivia replies. “Now, come hold this bitch, she weighs a ton.”

Patsy moves behind Olivia and takes hold of the handle to the catch pole, before she slips under his arm and walks over to me. She holds her hand out for the keys, but I ignore it and tilt her chin back gently to do it myself. I flash my light at her neck so that I can see what I’m looking at, and grip the padlock. It’s the same simple design as the one that was containing Victoria, but I have to fish through several keys on the ring before I can find the right one. Once it’s unlocked, I chuck the hunk of metal on the floor and slide the chain from her neck. There are red spots marring the already scarred flesh, which serves as a reminder that we still have the prick responsible to deal with upstairs.

“What’s the plan?” I ask as I ghost my fingers over the chafed skin.

“As of right now,” Olivia says. “I’m winging it. I had the poisoning plan down before you guys showed up, but then I lost my temper; so I was just kind of going with the flow.”

“So, you kicking ass upstairs wasn’t part of your plan?” I ask.

“Nope,” she replies with a shrug. “What can I say? I have a low tolerance level.”

“No blaming you, the douchebag deserved it.”

“Yeah, but I almost got myself locked up,” Olivia counters. “And if they succeeded...” She trails off, and I see her eyes glaze over a bit, so I take hold of her hand, and lace my fingers with hers.

“They didn’t,” I whisper. “You fought back, and we were here to support you, regardless.” Olivia nods.

“You’re right, but I need to work on that, because you guys might not be there next time I screw up.” I cup her cheek.

“Everyone screws up sometimes, we’re only human. We just have to brush ourselves off and try again.”

“This is all very touching, but do you think that we can move this along?” Patsy asks. “The beast is getting a little restless, and I don’t feel like being lunch to a ginger.”

“You do realize that you’re a ginger, right?” Olivia asks. Patsy puts an offended hand on his chest.

“How dare you?” Patsy inquires. “I’m not a damn ginger, I have auburn hair.”

“Still a shade of red, copper crotch,” she replies.

“It’s almost brown, Esmeralda,” he counters.

“I’m not a damn gypsy, you ginja ninja,” she retorts.

“No, but you are French, you hairy monkey,” he says.

“Oh, hell no,” Olivia says as she steps toward him, even when he’s holding Vicky. “You did not just call me hairy, you jolly ginger giant.” I gently clasp my fingers around her elbow.

“You can kick his freckled ass later,” I say. “Right now, let’s get upstairs and end this shit.” Olivia points two fingers at her eyes, and then at Patsy.

“This ain’t over,” she warns.

“You’re damn right it isn’t,” he agrees. “I call first training session, as soon as we get back.”

“You’re on,” Olivia promises. “Now, give me my damn shield.”

She walks over to reclaim her dog catcher, and directs Victoria toward the door. The infected creature resists the movement, but after relentless prodding, turns forward and follows Olivia’s lead. We head back in the direction we just came from, passing the door that we found Olivia in, before she continues on.

“No, no snacking,” Olivia orders Victoria when she makes a lunge for the corpses on the floor. Victoria’s hand makes contact with the boot of the one with the steak knife in his chest, before Olivia pulls her away. “You’ll spoil your appetite, and I have plenty of disgusting men for you to munch on. Now, come on, you greedy bitch; you can wait five more minutes, it won’t kill you.”

“You do know that she can’t understand you, right?” Patsy asks. Olivia pauses to glance at him.

“Wanna bet?” Olivia asks.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Fine, if I’m right, then you teach me your sensei’s knockout technique,” she says. “But if you win, I’ll convince Gia that you aren’t that bad.”

“I don’t need your help,” Patsy retorts.

“Have it your way,” Olivia says as she starts walking again. It takes less than a millisecond for Patsy to reply.

“Fine, I agree to your terms,” he mutters. “Now, show me that she understands you.” Olivia flashes him a triumphant grin.

“She can’t, but I still won, ‘cause I got you to admit that you like Gia,” Olivia says and skips down the hallway.

“I did not,” Patsy denies as he chases after her. “I merely said that I would agree to your terms. Nowhere in there did I admit, or say anything about Gia.”

“Pat-sy and G-ia, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” Olivia sings as she skips. “First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a ginger in a baby carriage.”

“Nuh-uh, no love, no marriage, and no damn kids!” Patsy replies.

“You’ll see Patty, you’ll see,” she says. “Now, be vewy vewy quiet, I’m hunting wabbits.”

“Sure, Fudd, you hunt your damn wabbits,” he mumbles.

Olivia continues to the end of the hallway, and off to the left. When I turn the corner, I see that there’s a set of wooden stairs, that thankfully look a little more preserved than the set Patsy and I used coming in. It’s proven to be so, when Olivia has me and Patsy back off so that she go first and lead Victoria after her. Icky Vicky protests the backward movement, but Olivia pulls on the pole, and Red doesn’t have the ability to resist. Reaching the top of the stairs, Olivia turns the knob slowly with her left hand and keeps a firm hold on the dog catcher with the other.

Giving the door a small push with her foot, she peers through the crack, and listens for a few seconds. Satisfied with what she sees and hears, Olivia pushes the door open a little more and slips through, dragging her wheezer shield along with her. Olivia disappears for a minute before we see her hand wave us to come up. Patsy goes ahead of me, so I’m the last to reach the landing, which is essentially another hallway upstairs. I can see off to the left that there’s a set of double doors like the ones I saw Olivia come out of earlier, so I’m betting that way would be the kitchen. I was expecting at least one guard to be at this door, since Cole seems like the kind of guy that would appoint several men to guard his most precious possession; meaning Olivia, but I don’t see anyone.

It’s when I look to the right, that I see the man with a slit throat, slumped over in his chair. And another one bites the dust. Counting the ones Olivia took out downstairs, which was five; plus this one, that means that there are at least six other men inside by Webby’s count. Not too bad of odds for us to end this quickly, and with minimal risk of casualties on our side.

Olivia taps a finger to her mouth as she passes Patsy the dog catcher and points for us to go into a room across the hall. I’m about to protest that I’m not about to hide in a room while she goes off alone, when I hear footsteps. A light shove from Olivia forces me in the direction of the appointed door, but I grip her hand and try to pull her along. Her eyes flicker between me and the hallway, before she signs out something. Having read her hand signs for almost two weeks, I know that she’s saying that she has an idea.

Olivia points at the body, then me, and finally the door. I nod in understanding, and grab the body on my way toward the room that Patsy went in with Vicky. Olivia pulls the door shut behind me, just as I hear the footsteps getting louder; indicating that whoever was coming is getting closer. I pull the dead raider out of the way, and press my ear to the wall.

“What the hell are you doing up here?” A male voice questions. It’s followed by stomping footsteps coming down the hallway.

“I needed to use the restroom,” Olivia answers.

“Too damn bad,” he retorts. “Get the fuck downstairs, before I toss you down them again.”

“No thanks,” she says. “It’s dirty, and there are spiders down there. It’s gross.”

“It’s dirty,” the raider mocks. “Afraid of a couple of spiders, are we? I’ll give you something to be afraid of.”

The steps pound further in Olivia’s direction, and I hear flesh being hit. I don’t know who’s hitting who, but I’m not just gonna sit here while Olivia fights some asshole who is undoubtedly double her size. I go to pull the door open, only to have it swing open with Olivia pushing the raider directly at Victoria. The wheezer pounces on her meal, making the guy open his mouth on a shout. Said shout is lost somewhere in his throat, when Olivia sinks her knife in it.

“Toss me down a set of stairs, you prick,” she hisses and kicks the still struggling raider in the balls twice. “Goodbye, Hal, you spineless mother fucker.”

Even as he’s bleeding out life’s blood on the floor, I see the raider’s eyes scrunch in pain from her assaulting his dick. Victoria laps at the bite she gave the guy, before ripping off a chunk of flesh from his shoulder. His orange jumpsuit, which I can now read the MCI-Cedar Junction; a maximum security facility in Massachusetts, gets dyed a deep red color. From the amount of blood that’s flowing from Olivia’s knife, and Victoria’s chow fest, I’m not surprised that the guy dies within thirty seconds.

“Cedar Junction,” I say and point at Hal.

“Yeah, he’s one of the ones who escaped with Cole,” Olivia replies as she swipes her knife clean on Hal’s pant leg.

“So, he was here before?” I ask. Olivia nods to confirm it.

“Yup,” she says with a pop on the ‘p.’ “His crimes were numerous, but his penance was small, as was his penis.”

Olivia stomps on his crotch, even when the guy is already dead, so I take it that particular piece had a part in her torture. I feel like bringing him back to life, just so that she can hurt him more, but there are still plenty of the fuckers left that she can make pay for their crimes against her.

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

Chapter Seventy-Seven:

“Are we leaving her to feast then?” Patsy asks, as he watches Vicky dig into Hal’s stomach.

“No, we’re gonna interrupt her meal, but we’ll give her seconds,” Olivia answers. She holds her hand out to Patsy. “I’ll take her.” Patsy hands over the pole, and Olivia drags Victoria off of the body. I look at Hal’s body.

“Should we stab his brain?” Olivia cast a quick glance at Hal, and shakes her head.

“No, he was too far gone for the blood to heal anything,” she says and points at his blood. “If that had started tinting black, then he might have turned, but it’s still red.”

I nod in understanding, since I’m not accustomed to seeing the infection run its course in person. Usually I kill the person after they’ve already turned animal, but I’m learning. I’m also curious as to how the infection affects the person; meaning what decides which type the person gets. Is it the attacker that decides it, or is that person’s genetic makeup? Good question to ask Olivia, since she seems to know a lot about them, but I’ll have to hold it off for now.

“If we cut through the kitchen, we can head toward their sleeping quarters faster,” Olivia says. “I don’t know where Cole’s is, but I had a tour of the lackeys’ earlier.” The fuck? I take the pole and pass it back to Patsy, before cupping her bruised cheeks, and tilting her head back.

“You alright?” I ask and search her face. “Any of these fuckers touch you? If they did, I’ll rip out their intestines and strangle them.” She places her hand over mine, and gives her head a slight shake.

“Later, alright, I just want to get the fuck out of here,” she says as a non-answer. When she goes to break the contact, I duck down to her level and hold her gaze.

“I wanna know.”

“Please,” she whispers and her eyes fill with tears. “Can we just go?” I nod and pull her in for a hug.

“We can go.” I feel Olivia bury her face into my chest, and take a deep breath, before stepping back.

“So, are we going through the kitchen then, or are we just gonna take them head on?” Olivia asks. She keeps her eyes trained on her knife, and holds the handle in a white knuckled grip, so I know that she’s trying to focus on there here and now.

“Whatever you want to do,” Patsy replies and hands her back Vicky when she reaches for the pole. “But let me give the Cap an update, I haven’t talked to him since we found you in the basement.” Olivia nods her consent and leans back against the door, before closing her eyes.

“You sleep at all last night?” I ask as Patsy radios in our status. Olivia, with her eyes still closed, shakes her head.

“Haven’t slept in three days,” she says.

“Sorry.” She opens her eyes and tilts her head to the side.

“What’re you sorry for?” Olivia asks.

“Because if I weren’t a dick, then I would have been there to keep you company.”

“It’s fine,” she says with a wave. “I can’t be dependent, it’s not healthy.”

“What if I’m the dependent one?” I ask. Her eyes come back to meet mine.

“Are you?”

“Absolutely,” I agree. “I haven’t been able to sleep without my comfy cuddle buddy, which happens to have a built in heater.” Olivia laughs at little at that. “I’m serious, do you have any idea how uncomfortable it is sleeping on a lumpy couch? It sucks and I kept waking up shivering.”

“Maybe we could fix that when we get back?” Olivia proposes. “But only if you can’t handle the lumpy couch, and I can’t have you getting sick on me. After all, what will little Junior do without his daddy?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I say and rub the back of my neck. “But Dennington wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I thought me being taken might throw her off.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says with a smile. “I thought that it was pretty damn funny, just next time, you might wanna let me in on it, alright?” I nod, isn’t this girl just about perfect? “Did it work?”

“Um, no, she still wants to break her off a piece of my Kit-Kat bar.” Olivia laughs, drawing the attention of Vicky, but she shakes the pole until Red settles back down.

“Don’t worry about Denise,” she says. “She’s already on my shit list for what she’s doing to Webby, so I have no problem snatching that bitch bald.”

“I heard a little about that,” I say. “What is that she’s doing to Webby?”

“She’s blackmailing him,” Patsy replies. I turn to face him, and he tucks away his walkie before continuing. “Did you notice anything when you were at the compound?”

“That you guys have an aversion to introductions?”

“There’s that,” Patsy agrees. “But what about the people, did you see a pattern?” I think back to the people I saw.

“The women are ravenous for male attention,” I say.

I see Olivia’s face go blank, I can’t tell if it’s to hide jealousy; which I’m kind of hoping for, or anger that I might have been uncomfortable in our new home. Olivia seems more of the type to care about my comfort level, but it would be nice if she felt territorial over me. Not in the, ‘I’ll stab a bitch for looking at you,’ kind of way, but the ‘That’s my man, bitch’ kind of way. Shut up, I want her to want me as much as I want her, and what better way to show it, than by glaring at any female who comes within six feet of me?

“Not that I want anything to do with them,” I continue. “But they seemed to mug any male under thirty who walks through your gate.” I point at my face. “Have you seen me recently? I’m not the best thing since sliced bread, but they were acting like it.”

“Yeah, we’ll come back to that at later date,” Patsy says. “Back to the comment about under thirty. How many people did you see that were over forty?” I think back to the Mess Hall, since that’s where I saw the most people. I remember Melly, and...that’s it. Just Melly was over forty, where the hell are the rest of them?

“Just Melly,” I say, and then I remember the commander. “Morales, too. We brought Whit and Mike with us, and they’re over forty.”

“Okay, concentrate on Melly,” Patsy orders. “Why do you think that she’s the only person over sixty that’s with us?”

“Because she’s a survivor,” I puzzle out. “Elderly don’t last that long outside the walls, but she’s not that old, and she had Webby to help her.”

“And she had Webby to help her,” Patsy repeats. “He helps her by gaining her immunity from being exiled into the wilderness.”

“What?”

“Webby fucks Dennington so that his grandmother can live at the compound,” Olivia says, putting it bluntly. “If he didn’t, Denise would have tossed her over the wall over a year ago; just like she did to the other twenty. But that was before I got there, because if I had witnessed her committing eldercide, I would have tossed her old ass over myself. When I was there, I warned that wrinkly bitch to back the fuck off, or I’d rip her throat out with my ‘savage’ teeth; and she did.”

“But when Ollie left, the threat went with her,” Patsy explains.

“So, now that I’m there for the duration, the first thing I’m gonna do, is bag me a hag,” Olivia says.

“You really think stirring up the pot is the best thing for you to do?” Patsy asks. “She already don’t like you, and now you have more people that Dennington can use against you.” Patsy points at me. “You got him and his group, then you got Ally, and Benny, Nikita, and Jameson...”

“I know, Patsy,” Olivia says. “But what the hell am I supposed to do? Sit back and watch that bitch abuse her power? I can’t do it.”

“You won’t have a choice,” Patsy counters. “And neither does Webby. Just leave it alone. If you fuck with her, she’s not just gonna lie back and take it, she’ll retaliate, and you won’t be the one she takes it out on.” I see Olivia close her eyes and her fist slam backward into the wall.

“You’re right,” she says through clenched teeth. “I fucking hate it, but you’re right.”

“I know it sucks,” he says. “But it is what it is. And if it weren’t her, someone else in that position would be doing the same thing. Dependence sucks, but we deal with it to survive.”

“What if it’s not enough to just survive?” Olivia asks. “What if we want to live?”

“Breathing’s all we got for now,” Patsy says. “Now, we gotta go out there, and stop a few assholes from having even that. Wally gave me the green light, and they’re gonna start working their way in from the front.” Olivia nods.

“Good, let’s do this shit,” she says and pushes off the wall. “Hope you got some room, Icky, ‘cause there’s plenty more where that came from.”

Victoria wheezes in response and drags her feet after Olivia. From her slow gait and lethargic state at night, I’d guess her to be a Gene K wheezer. If she were a Gene K+ or a new mutation, she wouldn’t have just sat there and been satisfied with the meal she ate; she would have been lunging at us relentlessly. It makes sense if she were infected by a daytime wheezer, since we left her in the early morning, so those were the ones that would have breached the barrier. So maybe the type of wheezer, does affect the type a person would turn into?

“Hey, Olivia?” I ask. She takes her hand away from the door knob, before turning to look at me. I point at Vicky. “Does it matter which one bites you, or does each person’s DNA decide which type of ape you become?”

“I haven’t really studied it,” she replies. “But the ones that I’ve seen, generally become whatever bit them. What about you Patsy, you see anything contradicting that?”

“Nah, pretty much the same,” he says. Olivia shrugs.

“For now, we’ll stick with that,” she says and I nod.

Olivia turns back to the door and grips the knob. She again peeks out and surveys the hallway before slipping through the cracked door with Victoria in tow. A hand signals for us to follow, and Patsy goes after me this time. I hear him shut the door behind us as Olivia continues down toward the double doors. Approaching the swinging doors leading into what I suspect is the kitchen, Olivia places her ear to it. Nodding at what she hears, Olivia shoves Victoria in front of her and goes into the room. She holds the door open with her foot, so Patsy and I slip through before she closes it gently with her hand.

“One guard,” Olivia whispers. “He sits on the other side of the wall.”

She points at the door across the massive kitchen area. There’s a long prepping table, three stoves, and six ovens, so this place was equipped to feed a ton of people. There’s also a strong smell of burnt bread in the air that’s left over from Olivia’s purposely botched meal. I also spot a huge soup pot on one of the stoves. I jerk my chin at it, and make a dead face. You know, the one where you tilt your head, stick your tongue out, and cross your eyes; since every person who dies has that same possessed expression on their face. But Olivia gets what I’m asking, and nods to say that it is the pot she used to poison the raiders out back.

Pushing Victoria along, Olivia cuts across the kitchen and heads toward the opposite side’s swinging doors. Patsy and I follow after her, and she passes me Victoria’s pole before placing her ear to the door. The only noise that I can hear is the ticking of the clock over the door, which must have amazing battery life to still be functioning. It also tells me that its 4:15 A.M., so we’ve been here for over six hours, thirty minutes of which were with Olivia. Who knows what time she arrived here, but I can tell that she’s more than ready to leave, especially when she pushes through the swinging door, and hurls her knife at the sleeping guard; guaranteeing that he won’t be waking up anytime soon with her dagger embedded in his eye socket.

Leaving her weapon where it lies, she takes back control of Victoria and walks toward the right in the two way hallway. I can see three doors down this way, but she walks straight past the first, and stops at the second one. Olivia looks at us, and signs for us to ready up, before placing her hand on the handle. Patsy pulls out his silenced handgun and one of the bombs in the other. I can’t tell which right now, but I guarantee that I’ll be finding out shortly. I too take out my silenced handgun and a knife, I have my crossbow strapped to my back, but I’d rather have the faster fire rate. Patsy and I signal that we’re ready, and Olivia turns the knob.

Pushing the door with her foot, she forces Vicky in first, and steps quietly into the room. It’s pitch black in here, so I can’t tell what kind of room we’re in, but I can hear someone snoring like a chainsaw; meaning that there’s at least one raider in the room with us. I hear something pop behind me, and turn with my knife raised, to see Patsy shake out a glow stick. He eyes my knife, and hands me the glow stick, before pulling out another one for himself. It’s one of those kinds that they give to kids on the fourth of July, so it only provides a little light, but it’s better than nothing. It’s also on a cord, so I wrap it around my wrist so that I can keep both weapons out.

Using the glow stick, I wave my wrist at the floor to see where I’m headed. There are boots, clothes and food wrappers all over the floor, so I sidestep anything that could potentially make noise. When I see a torn pair of Hello Kitty underwear mixed with the other shit on the floor, which I recognize as Olivia’s from back at our cabin, I stop abruptly. My fingers clench around the handles I’m holding, and my vision starts turning a little bit hazy.

Patsy bumps into me, and I stumble forward a step, but manage to catch myself before I face plant into the pile of dirty laundry. I feel Patsy tap my shoulder, so I glance over at him, and he holds up his hands to ask what the hell I’m doing. In answer, I point a finger at the ripped panties. He shrugs, not understanding the significance of a pair of women’s underwear, since there are female raiders that live here; but he gets it when I point in Olivia’s direction. Patsy’s normally jovial face, hardens and his green eyes appear to be as cold as glaciers.

Brushing past me, Patsy starts shining his glow light around the room. When he spots a sleeping body, he heads over and pulls a knife from his belt loop. Already knowing what he’s planning, I raise my light and flash it around the room to find a slumbering asshole of my own to deal with. These pigs deserved to be slaughtered, and I know that I won’t feel a single ounce of remorse when this shit is over. If that’s the wrong to think or feel, I don’t give a fuck. These bastards touched my Tomb Raider, and will pay for it with their lives.

I stop my frantic searching, when I spot some mother fucking snoozing on a coffee table. He’s belly sleeping with head is laid on a pillow at the other end, so I walk around the edge and crouch down low. I want to see this asshole’s eyes when I kill him. Placing my hand over his mouth, I raise my knife to his neck and feel him jerk, when the cool metal touches his flesh. He doesn’t wake up, but his brows furrow a little at the disturbance. Putting a little force into the blade, I make a small cut that has his eyes flashing open.

“You fucked with the wrong girl, asshole,” I hiss and drag my hunting knife across his throat.

The raider’s dark eyes are wide, and he’s gaping like a fish, but he doesn’t make any noise. I know it’s a fatal wound, and he’s quiet, so I let him suffer in silence as the blood drains from his neck. When his arms stop flailing, and his dead eyes look vacantly at the wall behind me, I clean my knife on his fatigue jacket and stand back up.

I spot the greenish glow from Patsy’s light down further on the right, so I continue my search on the left. As I walk, I see more furniture like tables with cards on top, and poker chips strewn across the floor, so I guess that this was formerly a gaming room; or at least that’s what the raiders used it as. I’m about halfway through the room when I hear a loud bang outside. And when I say loud, I mean really fucking loud. Loud enough to stir the bastard I was sneaking up on.

He sits up quickly, and shines his flashlight wildly around the room. Spotting me, standing less than four feet away from him with blood covered attire; he goes to grab his gun off the table beside him on the couch. He doesn’t reach it in time, since my bullet sinks into his forehead before he gets the chance. His head snaps back with the entry of the bullet, slamming his back against the couch cushions; and his greenish camouflage gets a splash of color, with an accent of red pouring down onto coat his collar.

I hear a bullet and feel one graze my sleeve, before I dive for the couch with the dead guy on it. I grab his still warm corpse, and pull it on top of me, feeling at least three other bullets land in his body. Knowing that I can’t sit here forever, since there’s the risk of them sneaking up on me without me seeing it, or a bullet making its way through this asshole’s body; I stand while holding the dead guy in front of me.

It’s hard to maneuver his fat ass, since the asshole has to weigh at least 260, and no it ain’t muscle ‘cause I can feel his beer gut draping over the front of his pants. I only make it about four feet while dragging the raider’s corpse, until I toss it aside in favor of jumping behind a tipped over poker table. The wood cracks as the bullets sink into the table, but none are coming through yet. Whoever made this mahogany table should get a five star review for their excellent durability.

“Jared!” Olivia shouts.

“I’m fine!” I call back.

“Stay the fuck down!” Patsy shouts.

It’s a little difficult to hear them over the gun shots popping off and the glass breaking, but I could pick out Olivia’s voice in a wind tunnel, and Patsy’s only about ten feet away. As soon as I heard his order, I glanced to my left and seen him behind a tipped over couch. I’m still looking at him, when he swaps hands with a grenade, and tosses it over his shoulder. Hearing a crackling pop, followed by a flash, I know that he used a flash bang. I use it as cover to run my way over to join Patsy.

“I said stay the fuck down,” he snaps.

“I’m all set with having splinters stick out of my ass,” I retort. Even with all the shit going on around us, I hear Patsy’s chuckle.

“Fine, then take one of these, and blind these mother fuckers,” he says. I put my hand out, and he places a grenade in it.

“I though you said that these were for professionals only.”

“Change of plans,” he replies. “Stay behind the couch, and just toss it over your shoulder when I say.” I nod at the directions and wait for the signal. Patsy pulls his AK-47 off of his shoulder and checks the clip, before snapping it back into place. “Alright, on the count of three. One, two, three...”

I toss the grenade over with my right hand like I seen him do. Patsy stays down long enough for the flash, then goes up on his knees and fires off rounds. He only does a small burst of the automatic weapon, before popping back down. Reaching into his bag, he passes me another of the flash bangs.

“I only got two left, but I want to finish these fuckers with this one,” he says.

“How many are there?” I ask. “Webby said that there were only twelve inside.”

“His count was off by about double,” Patsy says. My eyes widen a little. “Yeah, he probably seen a dark room, and skipped it. Can’t blame him, ‘cause I didn’t think there were that many either.”

“Great, where the fuck is Olivia?”

Patsy hikes a thumb over his shoulder, so I look around him to see where he’s gesturing. I spot Vicky first, since her straggly red hair picks up the shine from the flashlights. Red’s currently chomping down on one of the raider’s faces, while her pole is being directed by Olivia. She has her arm, that’s holding the pole, hooked around the side of an armoire, as she stays behind a buffet table. She’s small enough to duck behind it, but it’s not tall enough to stop someone from jumping over it. Like the asshole who looks to be thinking of attempting right now.

“Patsy, take the fucker out at nine o’clock,” I say.

“Toss a flash, and I’ll turn him into Swiss.” I nod and wait for his three count, before tossing the grenade in that direction. The flash lights up the room like lightning, and Patsy jumps up to his feet and bombards the corner with a burst of his AK.

“Got ‘em, let’s move,” he says. Patsy reaches down to grab his bag and loop it over his shoulder. I pick my knife back up, and wait for him to tell me which direction. “You can get up now, these bastards are done.” I stand back to my full height, and roll my shoulders.

“Olivia?”

“Right here,” she says as she steps out from behind the table. Olivia has a flashlight in her hand, which she flashes over at us, before she continues. “I miss Machie, it sucks to just sit back and wait, and these assholes don’t play fair.”

“All’s fair in war,” Patsy says.

“Good thing I’m retiring then,” Olivia replies as she pulls Vicky off of a raider. He was still alive, so she walks over and sinks her knife into his eye.

“You mean that you’re done with this shit?” Patsy asks as he points around the room. “I thought this was your forte.”

“Nope, I’m sick of being covered in blood, and having fuckheads shoot at me.”

“So, what’ll you do when we get back?” I ask.

“Cook?” Olivia says with a shrug. “Garden? Teach freaking ballet, I don’t care, so long as it isn’t this.”

“You’ll be bored out of your mind in under a week,” Patsy counters as we make our way over to her.

“Maybe,” she allows. “But I’m gonna give it a shot. Or at least take a breather, before I join back up.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” I say.

“Me too,” Olivia says. “Now, let’s find Cole.”

“No need to find me, sweet Livi,” a male voice announces. “For I have already found you.”

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

Chapter Seventy-Eight:

“Cole,” Olivia hisses as she looks to the left.

We’re still about twenty feet away from her, when my head snaps to view the man who entered from the other side of the room. I follow her gaze, and find the murderer from the newspapers. He’s still in his pressed suit that he was wearing for dinner, but his hair has been mussed, probably from Olivia strangling him with her chain.

“Who are your friends?” Cole asks.

“None of your fucking business,” she retorts.

“I believe it is,” he says with a smooth voice. This asshole could give Akio a run for his money with the cultured tone he’s using. He sounds kind of like a gentleman from the nineteen hundreds, but I know for a fact that this douchebag ain’t no damn gentleman. “You see, pet, they’ve broken into my home, and killed my men, so I think that it’s only reasonable if I kill them.” ‘Pet?’ Seriously? Who the fuck is this guy?

“I’m not your fucking pet,” Olivia snaps.

“Ah-ah, temper temper,” Cole says as he ‘tsks’ at her. “Do we need to have another go with the flogger?”

“I got a better idea,” Patsy says. “How about I hold you down, and Olivia can dish out some punishment of her own?”

“See, that’s what’s wrong with men these days,” Cole says and points at Patsy. “They’re too soft. Women need a strong hand to keep them under control, without it, they’re flighty and easily lost. They need a man to direct them.”

“I’ll direct you, with my foot up your ass,” I say.

“Livi, who are these men?” Cole asks.

“I already said, none of your fucking business,” she says.

“You want to repeat that?” Cole asks. His tone is calm, but his jaw is clenched.

“None of your fucking business,” Olivia repeats. “Are you deaf? Old age getting the best of you? Or is it that all the crazy bull shit bouncing around your head, is blocking you from comprehending the words coming out of my mouth?”

“You’ll regret that,” he says.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Patsy interrupts as he points his gun at Cole’s chest. “You’ll regret the day that you even looked at Ollie, ‘cause she got lots of friends lining up to take shots at you. What the fuck do you got? Corpses and body parts?”

“No, he got me.” I hear a gun cock beside my ear, and turn to look at it, receiving a pistol whip to the temple for my trouble. Mother fucker, that hurt.

“Oh, Tim, you are so going to regret that,” Olivia promises.

“Why? Is this pretty boy the new guy you’re fucking?” Tim asks.

“I ain’t no fucking pretty boy,” I retort. “And what she does, is none of your goddamn business, you Marlon Brando wannabe.”

“Brando ain’t got nothin’ on me,” Tim says. Even though I can’t see him, I know from his tone, that he’s puffed up with pride and thinking that he’s superior to the actor.

“Nah, you got that the other way around,” I say. “Brando could kick your ass six ways from Sunday, with both arms tied behind his back, and a peg leg.” I don’t hear Tim’s response, because Cole’s voice echoes across the room.

“Is he, Livi?” Cole demands. “Is he like the one who soiled my pet?”

“Nope, he isn’t,” she replies. “I don’t even know him; or the other one, for that matter. Just a couple of trespassers.”

“I think you do,” Tim says, and digs his gun into my scabbed cheek. I feel the dried flesh rip away, and the wound reopen. Olivia keeps her eyes locked on Cole, but I see her hands grip Victoria’s dog catcher a little tighter, as she takes a small step forward. “Why else would they be here?”

“Because we needed shit,” I answer. I get another whack to the head for talking, but I’ll take fifty more if need be, for Olivia to make her way to Cole. She’s already cut the distance a quarter of the way without being noticed, since these morons are distracted with their bad guy monologues.

“I ain’t asking you, pretty boy,” Tim hisses. “I’m asking the whore.”

“Rape doesn’t make her a whore, you sick fuck,” I retort.

“It ain’t rape, if she’s a whore,” Tim says. That makes absolutely no sense, if a girl says no, that means NO; but this moron just keeps talking. “After all, she was giving it away for free, now weren’t you, slut? We seen it, didn’t we Boss? She was up on the roof with the last one.”

“Yeah, we saw her in action,” Cole agrees. “But she didn’t perform the same way for me. Why is that, sweet Livi? Do you not find me pleasing?”

“No, I find you repulsive,” Olivia answers as she freezes her forward movement.

“You don’t mean that,” Cole says with a shake of his head.

“But I do,” she says. Olivia nods her head while sneaking another step closer to her tormentor. Another four feet, and Victoria will be within arm’s reach of him.

“Would I be repulsive if I were the last man left?” Cole asks.

“Yes,” Olivia replies. “Even then, you would still be the most vile creature I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

“I guess we’ll see about that,” Cole says and raises his gun at Patsy. I hear the bullet go off, at the same time I see Olivia throw Victoria at Cole.

“Boss!” Tim shouts.

Using his panic against him, I grip his wrist and twist it, before landing an elbow in his gut. I hear him grunt, but not that crack of bone I was looking for. Raising his fist above my head, I spin while holding it, turning him around and jerking his elbow behind his back. I go to kick the back of his knees out, only to have the bastard donkey kick me in the balls. Breathing through the pain, I resist the urge to cup my crotch and blink away the wetness in my eyes. No way in hell is this fucker getting a tear out of me, no matter how much my dick feels like it was steamrolled.

Even with me protesting the movement, I hunch over, and lose my hold on Tim; the low blowing prick. Using his height advantage, he grabs me by the scruff of my neck, and brings his knee up to meet in the face. I feel pain burst from my eye socket, but use my still functional right one to see where to gut punch his ass. Yeah, the balls would be a good choice, but I know that gut punches could be more damaging if you hit the right spot. I pull back my right arm, and punch where I think his kidney should be, feeling my previously busted fingers make contact with ribs; informing me that I went too high.

Even with my misdirected shot, it does damage. Broken, or even bruised, ribs hurt like a bitch. I would know, since I cracked three of them sophomore year of high school in a football game. I’m not sure which Tim is suffering from, but I use it to my advantage. Forcing my back to straighten, I use my left hand to jab him twice in the abdomen to get him to block low, before going for the knockout. When Tim’s hand moves down, I go up, and land a haymaker to his jaw.

Tim goes lights out, and drops bonelessly to the ground. I know he isn’t dead, but he’ll be out for a while, so I glance around the room. Victoria’s down, and not moving, then I spot the puddle of black blood under her head; so someone took care of her. I don’t see Patsy, but I continue searching until I spot black hair. Olivia’s fist fighting Cole, and I mean literally fist fighting.

The asshole may not be that tall, since he’s only about 5’10”, but he still has a good amount of height and weight on her; not to mention he’s a dude, and he’s punching a woman. Even if I didn’t know or care about Olivia, I would be pissed; but since this is Olivia, I’m fucking nuclear. No mother fucker is going to put his hands on her in my presence, without swallowing his goddamn teeth.

I step forward, preparing to kill this mother fucker with my bare hands, when I feel something smash against the back of my head. I stumble a few steps forward, before my vision goes black.

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

Chapter Seventy-Nine:

“Should we kill him?” A female voice asks.

“Not yet,” another says. “The boss said to wait.”

“But he’s coming to,” a third one says. “Look.” I feel a kick land in my stomach, making me grunt. “See?”

“Yeah, but he isn’t going anywhere,” the first one says. I pry my eyes open to see what’s going on, only to snap them shut against the glaring light. Jesus Christ, why is my head throbbing?

“How long are we supposed to hold him?”

“Until the Boss comes to get him,” the first one replies. “He said that he had some questioning to do, before he killed them.”

“What about Livi?”

The sneer the woman puts on this name, leaves no doubt that she doesn’t like Olivia one bit. Along with the name, my foggy brain starts connecting pieces. Compound, we finally arrived at the compound. Cougar tits, she tried hitting on me, and I had no wish to explore Cob Web Cove. Letter, Olivia left me a letter. Kelly, she was stuffed in the Jag’s trunk. Webby, he used his water bottle to make the wheezers back off. Patsy, he and I were going to get Olivia. Victoria, Tim, Cole, the pieces all come together, and one shoves its way to the forefront of my mind. Where the fuck is my Tomb Raider?

I rip my eyes open, and ignore the sensation of needles stabbing my irises, to take in my surroundings. I’m on a cold floor, and it’s damp, so I’m guessing it’s the basement. The leaky pipe in the corner is what confirms it for me, along with the tiny window on the wall. The bright light is actually the sun streaming in from that window. Why must that asshole always wake me? This time, I’m not pissed about it, since I have shit to do; but it’s the principle that counts. I’ll curse the big yellow bastard out later, right now, I have to figure how the fuck to get out of here, and who the hell is talking. They haven’t shut up, and it’s messing with my concentration.

“Can you all shut the fuck up!” I shout. The pleasure of shouting is short lived, when I feel lightning pain bounce around my skull like a pinball machine. I receive another kick to the stomach, but I’d take that over another one of those mental jabs.

“Watch your mouth, scumbag!” I take that back, I’d rather choke the bitch that’s screaming in my ears.

“Fuck you, cunt,” I retort. I expected another kick to my ribs; instead, I get a black haired bitch up in my face.

“You wanna run that by me again?”

“I said, fuck you, you fucking cunt,” I hiss out.

I see her lips purse, and her dark brown eyes narrow to slits, before I receive a wallop from a handgun to my nose. I laugh at her, since the bitch couldn’t even do it properly; sure it stings, but my nose ain’t broken. No, the honor of my reset nose belongs entirely to Cory. I feel satisfaction course through me, when I see her lose the fierceness, in favor of confusion because I’m not sniveling at her abuse. Too bad bitch, you’ll have to work for it, and I tell her so.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Mariella.”

“How the fuck do you know my name?” Mariella demands, confirming my suspicions of her identity. I make note that she’s also the bitch who ripped Olivia around by her hair when she was upstairs.

“Watch your mouth, slutface,” I say.

“Answer the question,” she snaps.

“Back your skank ass up, and I might feel obliged to answer you.” I wait for her to back the fuck off, so that I can get a better look at the room, before I answer. “Your repetitive use of nose breaking gave you away, or attempted nose breaking in my case, you weak bitch.”

“Huh?” Mariella asks.

I feel the knots of a rope binding my hands, which is a piece of cake for me, since I liked dabbling in a bit of bondage back in the day. Those days are long since gone, because I’ve seen the dark side of that particular fetish, and it makes me sick. Plus, I would never even think of try restraining Olivia, since it wouldn’t be pleasurable to her in the slightest.

I glance around the room, spotting a golf club in the corner which I could use, but I could also use the knife I feel trapped between my right thigh and the concrete floor. It’s not either of the rooms that I was in earlier with Olivia and Patsy, but I can see two doors in here that I could use as an exit; or the window I noticed a few minutes ago, if those happen to be locked. I’ll figure it after I get untied, and have dealt with the three stooges. I make sure that I have all three of the women in front of me, before I nod at Mariella, and start working on untying myself.

“That’s right,” I say as I get a loop out of the rope. “I heard all about your dislike of noses. Perhaps it’s because you hate your own? It is awfully big, so I wouldn’t blame you for holding a grudge against us perfect nosed people.” I see her scowl, and cover her honker of a nose, so I grin at her. Partly because I bashed her vanity, but mostly because I’ve already got more than halfway of this sucky tie job undone. “Did you get Big Bird’s beak from your mom, or was it your sperm donor of a dad?”

“My dad wasn’t a sperm donor,” Mariella says with a glare.

“You sure?” I ask and loosen the rope even more. “Because I would think that only a woman with daddy issues would be so dependent on a Charles Mason wannabe.”

“We aren’t a fucking cult,” the blonde one spits at me.

“Says you,” I say. “From where I stand, you crazy fuckers mindlessly follow your leader, and if he were to tell you to drink the Kool Aid, you’d all guzzle it down.”

I’ve now got the rope completely untied, so I grip it in both hands, and try to figure out the best way to take these bitches out. There are three of them, all of which have experience with beating victims to within an inch of life, but can they fight someone who can fight back? I know that I was raised with the concept of hitting a woman to be wrong, but this is life or death; and these bitches deserve a taste of their own medicine. Now, I just have to figure out which one is Amanda, so that I can leave her for Olivia to deal with.

“We don’t even have Kool Aid,” the last one counters with a smug smile.

“Then you’ll use the booze,” I say, and see her drop the triumphant expression. “Which of you is Amanda?”

“There ain’t no Amanda here,” Amanda says.

I know it’s her, because her eyes flashed when I said her name, the moronic bitch. So, Amanda is the blonde, leaving the brunette to be the only unknown in the bunch. Oh well, I have no problem killing her, especially after seeing her torture that poor rat upstairs. And I have the perfect weapon to do it with. I reach for a throwing knife, that these stupid bitches left the holster to on my thigh, and grip the handle. A taste of her own medicine seems fitting punishment.

“Sure there isn’t, Amanda.” Amanda scowls at me, but I ignore it to check out my other target. “What’s your name, stupid one?”

“I’m not stupid,” she says.

“Coulda fooled me,” I say. “My guess would have been that the three of you share a brain cell. How does that work exactly? Do you each have an appointed time to pass it on to the next, or do you have to ask for a turn?”

I can see that my speech went right over their heads, because they all have the same look on their face; one where it looks that the shared brain cell has fried in whoever’s head it was occupying at the moment. Can’t blame the tiny piece of grey matter, he had much more stupidity than he could handle all by his lonesome. R.I.P. you noble knight, your duty was wasted on this simple minded trio. When they continue to just stare at me with their squinted eyes, I look to the brunette.

“Name,” I repeat.

“What?” Dumb bitch number three asks.

“Jesus H. Christ, am I speaking a different language here?” I ask. “Habla usted español? O inglés? Or maybe I just said it too fast; let me give that another go. What...is...your...name?”

“Why do you wanna know my name?”

“Because I like to know who I’m talking to, now tell me your damn name.”

“It’s Janel,” she replies.

“Well, Janel, I hope you like Hell,” I say and sit up fast to hurl my ginsu knife at her. After throwing knives to take down wheezers for over a year, I don’t even have to look to know that it speared her eye, so that frees me up to deal with the other two. It helps that they’re gaping at me in shock, but I manage to lasso a pair of deceitful bitches. Jogging around them, I twist the rope and pull tight, knocking the two of them together.

“What the hell?” Amanda asks.

“I told you we should have killed him,” Mariella snaps. “But no, we have to wait for the boss, and now look where we are.”

“Well, if you didn’t start talking to him, then we would have been fine,” Amanda replies.

“And if you knew how to tie a damn knot, he wouldn’t have gotten out,” Mariella retorts.

“I didn’t tie it, Janel did.”

“But you supervised her, so that makes it your fault,” Mariella counters.

“If you....” Amanda’s response is cut off, by me.

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” The two of them pause their bickering, to glare at me. “Thank you, Jesus, some blessed silence at long last.” When they go to open their mouths, I hold up my hands. “Zip it. Not another word, or I’ll slit your fucking throats, and bathe in your blood.” I see their eyes widen, so I guess that they can dish it out, but can’t take a dose of their own medicine. “Tell me where the fuck he took Olivia, and I might let you live.”

“But you told us not to talk,” Mariella says. I point at her, and smile when she flinches.

“I did, and I’ll be following through with my blood bath, if you speak out of turn again.” Mariella’s tanned skin loses some color, so I point at the blonde. “You tell me where she is, right the fuck now.”

“I don’t have to answer you,” Amanda retorts.

“You do, if you want to keep your fingers,” I say and wave a knife at her. If she had an Adam’s apple, it would have bobbed up and down; but as it is, she just gulps. “Where the fuck is Olivia?”

“U-upstairs,” Amanda whispers. “B-boss was g-giving h-her p-punishm-ment.”

Not on my watch he ain’t. I pull the lassoed duo to me, and drag them toward the leaky pipe in the corner. I twist each of their arms behind their backs and perform three types of knots on each; thanking Mr. Moure as I do it for his obsessive teaching of how to tie fishing line. I know for a fact that it will hold them, because those are the same knots that worked on a two ton great white when we went deep sea fishing; but just in case I’m a little rusty in my technique, I decide to give them each a pistol whip to the temple.

“Ow, what the hell was that for?” Mariella demands, as she scowls at me. Whoops, looks like I’ve gotta work on my knockouts. Oh well, another swing won’t hurt me any, but it sure the fuck will hurt these bitches. I give her another two whacks, before she’s finally out. I check her pulse just to make sure I didn’t unintentionally kill her; I didn’t, so I move on to the blonde.

“You the one who bashed me over the head with that club?” I ask and jerk my chin at the golf club in the corner behind her. Amanda starts shaking her head back and forth rapidly, which is a dead giveaway. “Yeah, you were, maybe I’ll use that on you instead. You know, ‘an eye for an eye,’ and all that good stuff? What do you think?”

Without waiting for a response, I tuck my spare gun back into the back of my pants and walk toward the corner with the golf club. Since these chicks were smart enough to take the gun from my shoulder holster along with my crossbow, but stupid enough to leave that one along with my knives, I’m only slightly shorthanded. Why the hell would they half ass it? If you meant to take a prisoner, then you take the fucking prisoner; don’t just tie them up and call the job done, you lazy asses. I guess that it goes back to that whole, ‘we’re invincible’ thing that they had going on in their deranged brains; which was also present in their lack of guards out in the woods.

Hey, I’m not complaining, since it made this takeover a hell of a lot easier than I expected it would be. And it would have gone even better, if we didn’t get sloppy; or that damn bang didn’t go off outside. Speaking of, I wonder what the hell that was? It sounded like an explosion, but the raiders outside were dead; or so John claimed, so what the hell would Wally and the others have been blowing up? I’ll figure it out later, I decide as I pick up the golf club; right now, I’ve got a bitch to detain.

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

I’m not completely sure if I killed Amanda, but I guess we’ll have to wait and see. I kind of got a little overzealous with my swing because I wanted to bust in to break up Olivia’s ‘punishment’ as soon as possible. I’m hoping that I didn’t kill her, since I know that Olivia would like to deal with her personally; as would I, if I were in her shoes. But if I did, I’ll apologize, and point out that I did save her the other one; since I know for a fact that Mariella wasn’t dead, just unconscious.

The door on the right was locked, so I had to use the one on the left, which lead to the hallway that I travelled with Patsy and Olivia down earlier. I took the golf club with me, so I’m equipped with that, one full clip of ammo from my spare handgun, three throwing knives, and my hunting blade. I fought off wheezers with less, so I figure that I should be alright; just as long as there are no more surprises that bash me over the skull, and take me out of commission again.

I keep my steps light, since I don’t know who’s left, or how many. Plus, there’s the disadvantage of the sun being out; and since that damn blast compromised us, the element of surprise is no longer on our side. I wish I had a radio so that I could ask Wally what the fuck he’s doing, or Webby or John for that matter; since last I knew, they were the only ones with walkies left outside. Ace was distracting Cole, which he didn’t do a very good job of; since Cole managed to find us, and Patsy was with me in the clubhouse. But I remember the raider bitches said that he was being ‘questioned.’ I’ll find him too, but for right now, Olivia’s my main priority.

I reach the staircase we used earlier in less than a minute since exiting my cell, and lightly creep my way up without making a sound. I would right the contractor who constructed these stairs a nice recommendation for his superb craftsmanship, but he’s probably dead right now anyway, so he won’t be needing the work any time soon.

At the top, I press my ear to the door, and listen for any activity that might be on the other side. Hearing none, I twist the handle, and push it open a crack so I can peer out. I have about an inch to work with, but it’s enough to see that nothing’s out here; with the exception of the dry bloodstain on the carpet, and red smear across the flowery wallpaper. I’m assuming that’s from one or both of the raiders that Olivia killed earlier, but it could have been during the outbreak that some unfortunate club member had his throat torn open, who knows?

Pushing the door open wider, I stick my head out to check toward the kitchen to make sure that the coast is clear, before stepping into the hallway. Already knowing what’s off to the left, I decide to head right. There are only two doors down this way, which I quietly open to check, and move on when both are empty. At the end of the hallway, I come across the bar that Wally was watching from the outside. Remembering the layout from the outside looking in, I know that the dining area will be off to the right, so I proceed with caution in case there are a few raiders breakfasting. Crouching down low, I duck behind the wooden counter to the bar, and walk toward the dining room. I’m about halfway there, when I hear a crash.

Snapping my head in the direction of the noise, I know that it came from the kitchen, so I head that way. Creeping over as quietly as possible, I stay low as I come up to the corner of the bar. Pausing, I peer around the edge to make sure that there’s no one coming. Another crash comes from behind the double doors, but I don’t see anyone coming, so I continue forward.

Reaching the swinging door, I push it open a crack, and peak inside. I see a blur of bodies crash into the metal island in the middle, and a mop of messy red hair hit the counter. The raider on top, has his hands wrapped around the Patsy’s neck and is squeezing, causing his complexion to match his hair. Disregarding noise, I run into the room and raise my golf club. Patsy’s shade is an alarming purple by the time I bash the raider on the head, and he slumps on Patsy’s chest. Gripping the collar of the orange jumpsuit, I haul the guy off of him, and release a sigh of relief when I hear Patsy sucking up air in greedy gulps. He’s bent over, and coughing.

“You alright?” I ask.

Hearing my question, Patsy stands upright and nods, drawing attention to the red marks marring his flushed skin. Waiting for him to recover his ability to talk, let alone breathe, I sink my knife into the unconscious raider’s neck to make sure he won’t be getting back up. I don’t know what the fuck is up with these dudes and choking. I mean, back at the condo, two of them tried using that technique on me, so do they offer lessons or some shit? My guess is probably.

Along with how to take cheap shots, as can be seen with Patsy’s black eye and split lip. Patsy’s a trained fighter, so the marks on him must have been caused while he was at a disadvantage. Same with the asshole choking him, and that’s when I see his bound hands. I’m just surprised he’s alive at all, since last I knew, Cole fired off a round in his direction, and I didn’t see him after that. Pulling a clean knife from my holster, I cut his hands free.

“You good, or should you head to the van?” I ask. Patsy rubs a hand across his neck, and clears his throat.

“I-I’m good.” Patsy still sounds a bit breathless, but it’s his call. If he thinks he could handle it, who am I judge?

“Any idea where the others are?”

“Nah, I heard some gun shots, shouting, and a couple of explosions, but that’s it,” he answers. “I tried the walkie, but no one’s answering.”

“And Olivia?” I ask. “The bitches downstairs said that she was up here being punished.” Patsy scowls. “Yeah, that was my reaction too. I woke up to them bickering about what to do with me, and you’re the first person I’ve seen otherwise.”

“I saw you go down, and went to help,” Patsy says. “But these dudes came out of fucking nowhere, and I couldn’t get there before they dragged you out.”

“It’s fine,” I say with a wave at him. It’s not his fault we gotten taken unawares. We were under the assumption that we had the advantage, and we were obviously wrong to underestimate these fuckers. “Let’s just find the others and get the fuck out of here.” Patsy nods his agreement. “You got anything, or did they frisk you? The girl’s took one of my guns, but I’ve got a spare, a couple knives and this.” I raise the golf club.

“They took my shit,” he tells me. “But I’ll take this asshole’s as payment.” Patsy leans down to the corpse, and fishes him for weapons. The raider had a knife, a handgun, and a set of matches.

“What’re the matches for?” I ask a little uneasily. I’ve had enough fire to last me a lifetime.

“I plan on burning this bitch to the ground,” Patsy replies. “But we have to clear our people out first.”

“Then let’s go find ‘em.”

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

Chapter Eighty:

“So, where do we start?” I ask.

“Fuck if I know,” Patsy says with a shrug. “Just start walking, and we’ll run into someone eventually.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I nod my head at the door that I just entered through. “Seems as good a start as any.”

“Lead away, Captain Jared,” Patsy says.

“You know, it seems kinda weird that you guys know our names, but we don’t yours,” I say and head toward the door.

“Well, it isn’t that hard to figure them out,” he says. “I’m Patrick Donaghue, aka Patsy, Wally’s name is Walter Briggs, and Adam Hutchins is Ace. But I guess Webby’s kind of hard to guess as Jayce Petropoulos, but it is what it is.”

“And how’d you get your name?” I ask. I know there’s an embarrassing story attached, since Olivia threatened to tell us the story when he was bickering with John upon arrival, and I wanna hear it.

“No way, you gotta earn it,” Patsy tells me as I shove the swinging door open a bit.

“I’ll earn it,” I promise, and peek through the crack in the wood.

Spotting no movement, I shove it open enough for us to slip through. Remembering my earlier plan to check the dining area before I heard Patsy’s struggle in the kitchen, I decide that’s the way we’ll head now. I don’t bother crouching low this time, I have Patsy as back up, and if Olivia is as helpless as he was; I’m more concerned about her safety than my own. Yeah, it may be reckless and stupid, but my mind’s racing forty miles a minute, so it’s kind of hard to form a coherent thought at the moment.

Craning my neck around the wall, I see a semi empty dining room. Three men are seated at the table; where the fuck these guys were last night, remains to be seen, but I see them now. And it appears that they haven’t seen us, until I hurl a knife at the closest one’s neck. It goes through the left side, but I don’t see it come back out. No matter, the guy still slumps sideways in his chair, drawing the attention of his dining friends. One of them drops a spoonful of flakes on the table, while the other one spits out some brown colored liquid, my guess would be coffee. What I wouldn’t give for a cup of that right now?

“What the h-..” The rest of that particular raider’s question is cut by Patsy’s knife impaling his temple. The lone survivor lasts as long as it takes me to get within arm’s reach, and since he’s frozen with shock, his death is quick.

“Any idea how many there were?” I ask, and snatch up the deceased raider’s cup; which is in fact coffee. I grimace at the bitter taste, but I’m operating on three hours of sleep for the last twenty-seven hours, so anything will help.

“Um, eight?” Patsy guesses with a shrug, and grabs a handful of cereal from a bowl on the table. He continues talking while munching on a bite. “That’s what I counted back in their sleeping quarters, when they dragged you out.” We could handle a handful more, especially if they’re as easily dispatched as these clowns. Patsy tosses back the rest of his cereal, and brushes his hands together. “Let’s finish this shit, and get some real grub. I’m fucking starving.”

I nod at him, as I gulp down the rest of the lukewarm cup of Joe, and observe the other side of the dining area. Even from here, I can see that there’s a hallway that splits off in both directions. After setting the mug back down on the table, I approach the doorway and glance down the hallway, which almost mirrors the setup on the other side. I do a quick eeny meeny miny moe to decide which way, childish, but it helps me choose a direction without really choosing. Out goes, Y, O, U; and left it is. I check my holster, two knives left. I can work with two, but I have to remember not throw my hunting one. It doesn’t have much accuracy anyway, but I’d rather have that for hand to hand combat.

With that decided, I grip the handle of the golf club with my left, and hold my 9mm in my right. I never did find my crossbow or my dad’s gun, but I can’t worry about those right now. Not that I want anything that belonged to my dad right now anyway, maybe in time I’ll forgive him, but I’m still pissed; and to be honest, pretty damn hurt about that whole situation. I push that the back of my head for now, since I have enough to deal with at the moment, without adding more baggage to the pile.

I clear the distance between me and the first door in three steps, and hear Patsy pick up his pace to keep up. I glance at him, and count out three, before turning the handle, and kicking the door open. Subtlety is not my goal, so I don’t care about the one guy standing by the urinal, with his back to us, I just shoot him. It’s a dick move, but I don’t care. They’ve taken us from behind, so why shouldn’t we?

I step inside the bathroom to clear the stalls, to have some douchebag come out of one, shooting a fucking rifle. I feel Patsy kick my knees out from behind, knocking me out of the line of fire, but not before I feel a bullet dig into my left shoulder. Mother fucker, that burns. Even with me biting back curses, and blinking to clear my vision, I still manage to fire a round in retaliation. Mine misses, but someone else’s bullet finds its mark in the raider’s chest. With him down, I turn to check on Patsy, and find him with Wally, the twins and Webby.

“Where the fuck have you been?” I ask, rising to my feet.

“The better question, is where the fuck have you been?” Carlos asks.

“Yeah, gringo, we’ve been looking for your white ass for half an hour,” Oscar says.

“I was temporarily detained,” I say. “Now, which of you fucks is responsible for blowing our cover?”

“It was Bambi,” Webby answers. “We went to check it out, so that’s what took us so long to get inside.”

“Fucking Bambi,” Patsy spits out. “We almost get pinched for a goddamn deer. As soon as we get home, I’m taking my rifle and goin’ huntin.’”

“I think Bambi paid for his misstep,” Wally says.

“Yeah, we were seeing blood and fur for miles,” Oscar adds.

“It wasn’t that far,” Carlos counters. “It was more like a hundred feet, but still pretty nasty.”

“That’s great and all, but can we discuss blood spray and distance later?” I ask. “After all, we still have people missing, and I’d like to put as much distance between me and this hell hole as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, but we should stay split,” Patsy says. “We’ll take Webby with us, and you can keep the twins.” Wally nods to say he agrees with the split.

“Where’re the others?” I ask and glance at the foursome. John, Cory, Ace and Tommy are still unaccounted for. And obviously Olivia, but I know for a fact that she’s in here somewhere. The twins shrug, as does Webby.

“We lost contact with them after the blast,” Wally says. “We split, us taking to the trees, while they were supposed to come in here. If you haven’t seen them yet, I’m sure one of us will at some point.”

“How long ago was that?” I ask. I see four people, not Patsy, lift their eyebrows. “I lost a bit of time due to a golf club, so how long was it?”

“‘Bout an hour,” Webby replies. “By the looks of that shiner, I’d say you had some fun before you took a nap.”

“Yeah, a real blast,” I tell him, not bothering to conceal my sarcasm. “So didn’t Patsy. Nothing better than being strangled with your hands tied, huh?”

“Nope, you haven’t lived ‘til you experienced that,” Patsy says.

“So, these raiders like it kinky, do they?” Carlos asks, and I see a glimmer in his brown eyes.

“We can do kinky,” his twin says with a troublemaker grin matching the look in his brother’s eyes.

“Go have your fun, just don’t get yourselves killed,” I say. “After all, where’re we gonna find a replacement?”

“You couldn’t,” they say in unison. Indeed I could not, but I don’t say it, I just point at the door for them to get moving.

“We’ll see you when it’s over,” I say.

“When it’s over,” they parrot back. I think I’ll start charging admission to see them when we get back to the compound.

“Webby, you got your walkie, use it if you need to,” Wally says. Webby nods at the order, before Wally steps out with the twins. I see them head off to the left, from which Patsy and I just came, so I guess we’ll be continuing in the direction we were heading.

“How’d you guys find us?” I ask Webby, as I head toward the door.

“Well, it could have been when you were talking, or stomping around like an elephant,” Webby replies. “Or when we heard a gun go off, or when the AK started bursting rounds. Take your pick, but they drew us right this way, so I guess your mouth is good for something.”

I flip him off, but continue moving. My mouth is good for many things, none of which any person of the male variety will ever know. Still, I do keep my lips closed, and lighten my steps. Now that they heard the gun shots, they should come to us, no need to tell them exactly where we are. Like this fuck, who come’s running around the corner, skidding to a stop, and raising a gun at us.

“I got this one,” Webby says.

I duck against the wall on the right, and Patsy dives left, while Webby pulls out his taser just as the bullets start flying. Two imbed into the wall above my head, by the time I see a wire go flying down the hallway. The clip latches on to the raider’s crotch, and he seizes before collapsing on the floor. The raider continues flapping like a fish, until Webby walks over and drags his knife across the guy’s throat.

“Nice nut shot, that’s twenty points,” Patsy says. He stands from his position behind a decorative table, and we go to meet Webby.

“Yeah, you missed two eyes, and a temple,” Webby says and rises to his feet.

“Then they don’t count,” Patsy counters.

“Wally saw them…” I hear Webby say.

I leave them to talk about whatever the fuck point system they’re talking about, in favor of continuing down the hall. There are four more doors down this way, one a women’s rest room, and two that are unmarked, but I’m leaving no stone unturned. I want every one of these bastards dead to eliminate the threat entirely. In this case, I’m not so sure that removing the head will completely kill the snake, as could be seen with the raiders having a little fun on their own time back at the outlets. Plus, I bet a good portion of them have done shit to Olivia at one time or another, so they deserve to die.

Coming up to the first door, which is the women’s lavatory, I push it open without care. This is where I find two dead raiders on the floor. Both of them don’t have any injuries that I can see; no blood or sign indicating the cause of death. It’s when I step closer that I see their heads are twisted at odd angles. That’s when I feel a spark of hope, since I’d seen Olivia snap a guy’s neck with her thighs downstairs just a short time ago.

“That’s Ace’s work alright,” Patsy says from behind me. “Would recognize it anywhere.”

“You sure?” I ask. “‘Cuz Olivia just killed a guy downstairs like that.” I point at the nearest body with his head twisted to the left and up.

“Positive,” Patsy answers. He crouches low and points to the neck. “Ace’s a lefty, that’s why it went this way. If Olivia did it the way he taught her to, it would have went in the other direction.”

“Fuck,” I mumble. “On to the next.”

“At least that’s two more we don’t have to worry about,” Webby points out, as he steps into the hallway.

I shrug, it’s alright, but I care more about finding Olivia than killing raiders, since they could be dealt with after. Webby leads the way down the hallway, so I trail after him with Patsy behind me. Keeping a decent pace, we reach the next door, and Webby kicks it in. I see him pop his head in, before shaking it and coming back out.

“Empty?” Patsy asks.

“Is now,” Webby answers.

When he turns and continues moving on, I crane my neck to check the room out as we pass by. He’s right; it is cleared now, since there’re more bodies strewn about. But these ones have obvious wounds like knives sticking out of them, and gunshots. I count four, before moving on. Jesus Christ, how many followers did this guy have? With the ones Olivia poisoned outside, then the ones we’ve killed out there and in here, it’s gotta be nearing a hundred by now. And these were in addition to the ones we killed back at the condo. He’s got a freaking army at this command. Well, he did. Now, we just have to cut down whatever’s left.

“Two more,” Webby says.

“You already clear the other side?” Patsy asks.

“That’s where we came from,” Webby replies. “Seen a room full of corpses, and a couple of strays, but that was it.”

“Yeah, Patsy cleared house with his AK,” I tell him, before glancing at the red head who’s changing my opinion about people with his unfortunate hair color. “Any idea where that went?”

“Nope,” he says. “Some fucker took it with my other shit.”

“Well that sucks.”

“It’s fine, there were plenty more where that came from,” Patsy says with a grin.

“Later,” I say.

“Of course, we’ll need the van anyway.”

“Last one,” Webby calls out from down the hall. He’s only about ten feet away, but since I paused to check out the empty one, I’ve lagged behind a bit. Picking up my pace, I reach him in time to push open the last door.

“On three,” he says.

Patsy and I nod, before Webby mouths a three count. On three, he kicks the door in, to find that it’s the outer area of an office. You know, where they usually have a secretary greet you and you have to wait six and a half years before her boss gets off his ass to come and get you? Yeah, well it’s one of them. It’s not empty time, seeing as there are three raiders sprawled out on the couches. I hurl two knives at them, and see Patsy sink a third into the last one. This room’s now cleared, but we still have to check the office on the other side.

Cutting through the room, I hear voices on the other side, so I know we’ve found the place. Also coming from the room, is this weird whooshing sound, followed by laughter. So not liking the sound of that, I sprint the rest of the way and pull open the door. My eyes scan the room, finding three chairs in the center with bodies bound to them, belonging to John, Tommy and Cory. They’re lined in a row, with a handful of raiders on either side. It’s set up like a theater, so I look to the front to see what the main attraction is.

Which happens to be Olivia’s bloody back. Her arms are raised above her head and shackled to the ceiling, while her toes barely touch the ground. The nightie she was wearing earlier has been ripped almost entirely in half, and there are lash marks covering every inch of skin exposed. The nightie, which was a pale pink, is now a maroon nightmare. I snap out of my daze, when I see a hand rise above the heads in front, in prep of bringing it down on her back again.

“You swing that whip one more time, and it’ll be the last thing you do,” I announce. Six unfamiliar heads swivel in our direction with confusion evident on their faces, while two familiar one’s glare.

“You again!” Tim shouts.

“Yeah, me again,” I say. “But I ain’t hear for you, Timothy.” I look around Tim to see the whip wielding coward standing in front like he’s a fucking king. “I’m here for your master.”

“Ah, I see we have a few more guests who have come to see the show,” Cole says and turns to face me. He’s front and center, and holding the whip which is responsible for Olivia’s current state. Cole snaps his fingers. “Boys, get them some chairs. I know they don’t want to miss this, we were just getting to the best part.” When he reaches for his belt, and steps toward Olivia, I pull my gun out.

“Most of your boys are gone,” I tell him, pointing my gun at his chest. “And if you make one more move, then you’ll be joining them.” Cole pauses to glance at me, similar to how someone would look at a disgusting bug.

“You dare threaten me?” Cole asks. From his tone and lack of fear, I’m sure that he thinks he’s invincible. Too bad, mother fucker, everything dies at some point. And he’ll be dead before I step out of this goddamned pit of hell.

“Oh, it wasn’t a threat, it’s a promise.”

“As is the promise of your friends’ deaths,” Cole counters. He waves his hand at his lackey’s, and they step behind my bound crew members, while Tim steps in front of Cole like a shield.

“Come now, Timothy, there’s no need for that,” Cole chastises. “I’m sure that we could come to an agreement, civilized individuals that we are.”

“Yeah, you’re civilized alright,” I say and glance at my tied up friends with guns held to their heads, and the love of my life dripping blood on the floor. “I bet you’re on the cover to Home and Garden.”

“Was that sarcasm I heard?” Cole asks, aiming a glare at me. “Insults with a smile?”

“One in the same,” I answer with a shrug.

“I do despise sarcasm,” Cole says. “Isn’t that right, Livi?” He glances at her, but she’s facing the other direction. “Isn’t that right, Livi?” When she still doesn’t answer him, he stomps over and pulls her by the roots of her hair to look at him. “I said answer me.”

“And I said to go fuck yourself,” Olivia whispers. Hearing her answer, quiet though it may be, calms me a little. That is, until Cole backhands her.

“I’ll teach you to speak to me that way,” he threatens. “After I deal with your friends, you and I will be having a long discussion.”

“Sounds flipping fantastic,” she says. “Now, are you through? I’m tired.” Cole growls, that’s the only way to describe the noise that comes from his mouth, before he grips Olivia’s chain and spins her body around.

“We’ll see how strong you are when your disobedience pours more blood on your hands,” he hisses in her ear. This time, I see Olivia flinch. That right there tells me that he’s the asshole filling her head with that bull shit. He may be able to hurt her physically, but the only time he gets a reaction, is mentally, and he likes it. As can be seen when he smiles at her flinch.

“Which one first, sweet Livi?” Cole asks and walks over to John. He shoves the raider aside, before reaching into his suit jacket, and coming out with a gun. “This one?” Olivia’s face is completely blank as she stares at the wall to the left. “No, I don’t think he’ll do.” Cole moves on to Tommy. “What about this one?” When Olivia doesn’t so much as take a breath, he continues on to Cory.

“Now this one, I know will get a rise out of you. Isn’t that right, pet?” Olivia’s jaw clenches. “After all, he’s the one who abandoned you.” Cole leans into Cory’s face. “He even looks like the one who thought to challenge me for my property.” I can’t see Cory’s face since he’s facing the opposite direction, but I can see his shoulders lurch forward as far as his bounds allow him to. Cole laughs and pats Cory’s cheek. “Actually, that would be doing him a favor, don’t you think, my sweet? Should I let him drown in his guilt, or should I end his suffering?”

“I think you should shut the fuck up,” I interrupt. “I’ve heard enough of your bull shit, now step over here, and play dead like a good pet.”

“I almost forgot about you,” Cole says, and turns away from Olivia. “Since it seems that these men don’t belong to Olivia, they must belong to you.” He smiles, and it isn’t charming, it’s icy. “Perhaps you’ll give me some answers.”

“Nah, I’m not much of a talker,” I tell him, and hear a smothered chuckle behind me. What the fuck are they doing anyway? Let’s continue to talk to the douchebag, instead of taking them out and getting the fuck out of here? I was hoping to distract king asshole, while they cleared the hostages out, since there’s no way in hell I’m gonna start popping off rounds when we have restrained friendlies in the mix. If they weren’t hit by one of our stray bullets, then they sure as fuck would take some from the douchebag raiders.

“We’ll see about that,” Cole says. Without taking his eyes off me, he talks to Tim. “Timothy, bring me the pliers.”

“Do you honestly think I’m just going to sit here, while you start removing digits?” I ask, when Tim moves to comply with the command. “Tim, you take one more step, and Cole dies.” Tim stops immediately, and steps back toward Cole.

“You have no choice,” Cole replies. “After all, I’m the one with the cards lying at my feet.” He holds his hands out to show me his crew, John, Tommy and Cory.

“You touch them, you die,” I promise. I know I’ve said the wrong thing, when Cole grins.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about. So, which will it be first?” He places a hand on Cory’s head, and I see Cory’s blond head swivel out of the contact. Taking a page from Olivia, I try to blank my expressions. “No, I’ll save this one. I’m sure that he’ll be more fun alive than dead.” He continues on to Tommy, so I play indifference and glance behind him, trying to catch Olivia’s eye; but hers are closed. “Forget it, I’ve had enough of these games.” When I hear the gun cock, my eyes snap back to Cole, in time to see him place the handgun at John’s head and place his finger on the trigger. I hear glass breaking and gun shots, before I see John’s chair tip sideways.

“NO!” I shout and empty my clip in Cole’s direction.

Running forward, I dive over Tommy’s chair and take the unprotected bastard to the ground, since his shield; aka Tim, took the bullets meant for this fucker. My fist wallops the asshole’s face, but he still manages to catch me with a few. To be honest, more than a few. This fucker can surprisingly hold his own in a fight, but that isn’t gonna stop me from snuffing this best friend murdering bastard. I don’t know or care where the hell the other raiders are at the moment, this prick is mine.

Or he was, until I feel a something sharp sink into my stomach. Inhaling sharply at the stabbing pain, Cole takes advantage of my pause, and flips us over. The knife slides out of me; still locked in Tim’s dead fingers, so the asshole might have taken me with him after all. No matter, I’m taking this prick with me if it’s the last thing I do. When I feel his hands encompass my throat, I almost laugh. I guess I know who taught his followers how to choke people. I’m just about to break the hold like I’ve done every time one of his lackey’s tried a similar move, when I hear a whispered voice.

“Master.”

Cole’s head snaps to Olivia at the same time mine does. She’s holding the knife that Tim’s quickly setting rigor mortis fingers were just holding. How the fuck she got out of her shackles, I don’t know, since my attention was devoted to killing the mother fucker who murdered my best friend. No, not best friend, brother in every way but blood. I shake that thought away, I need to focus on the here and now, I’ll mourn his loss later. Preferably with a bottle of Jack, that way that I can cry outright, and blame it on the booze.

My hands are fisted in Cole’s button up, and my legs are half bent in prep of launching this prick off of me, when I see Olivia lower Tim’s knife and drags it across her wrist. She meets my eyes, and mouths ‘sorry,’ before switching hands and dragging it across her other one. I don’t have to shove Cole off of me, because his hands fall from my neck, and he dives for Olivia’s body as she falls; leaving me frozen with shock.

Her body tumbles to the ground with a loud thump, and twin rivers of blood flow from her wrists, staining the oriental carpeting in a maroon dye. What was the point of all of this? John’s dead, along with who knows else, and she came all the way here, just to kill herself? Just an hour ago, she said she wanted to try with me, what the fuck changed? Was my dad right? I’m not worth the effort, so just give up? I guess so, since she just killed herself to get the fuck away from here.

My vision starts getting a little hazy, so I scrub a hand over my eyes, and pull what little hair I have left with my other hand. The pain from my busted fingers, along with the sting from my scalp, is welcome. She’s pretty much left me in the position that Travis left her, and while I should be pissed, I just feel defeated. My heart has been torn from my chest and set on fire, and I don’t think that it can heal from these burns.

“Livi?” Cole asks as he picks her up off the ground, and cradles her in his arms. When she doesn’t answer him, he shakes her. “Livi!”

It’s when he starts sobbing on her chest, that I move to pull him off of her. I won’t have her body being touched by this bastard. He’s done more than enough already, and if he hadn’t fucked with her in the first place, she wouldn’t be dead right now. She’d be happy with Travis and their baby. The same ones she killed herself to be reunited with.

I don’t even have the strength to stand up, so I just crawl my way over. He’s about five feet away, but my head’s aimed down at the floor as I work my way over. There’s broken glass everywhere, and bullet casings littered across the floor that I’m trying to avoid, so my attention is completely focused on that. And that’s probably why I don’t see the movement in front of me, until I hear a voice.

“Even the most loyal of dogs, can turn on their masters.”

At first, I think it’s a figment of my imagination. I mean, I just watched my Tomb Raider give into the pain, and slit her wrists; so there’s no reason for me to be hearing her voice. I’m cursing my asshole of a brain for playing such a cruel joke on me, but my foolish eyes look up hopefully anyway, to see my dream girl hacking away at Cole’s chest. Nope, that definitely isn’t happening, because my Tomb Raider would have made him suffer, and dragged his death out. Not just stab away without aim. Imaginary Olivia’s knife is even hitting the floor beside Cole, and her accuracy is always spot on when it comes to anything but a gun, so that’s how I know that this is fake.

“Are you just gonna sit there, or are you gonna go and claim your girl?” John asks. I glance left and see his body intact, no bullet holes in his head. Yup, definitely a dream, since I just saw him get his head blown to smithereens; so his ghost can fuck off. I decide to tell him so.

“Fuck off, ghost of Christmas Past,” I tell it. “I’ve had enough of you in life, I don’t need you haunting me in the hereafter.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” John’s ghost asks.

“You, ghost boy. Fly away home, and while you’re at it, take imaginary Olivia with you too. All of you can fuck off, and leave me to die in peace.”

“Who the fuck’s dying?” Ghost John demands. I point at my stomach.

“Me,” I tell him. “I’m dying, and in my delusional state, I’m seeing ghosts. Go on and head up without me, I’m pretty sure I’m going to hell anyway.”

“You aren’t dying, you stupid fucker,” John says.

“Am too,” I counter and pull my shirt up so that he can get a better look at my mortal wound. “See.” I point to the still bleeding knife wound in my abdomen. “Tim, the fuckhead, succeeded in delivering the killing blow before kicking the bucket himself.”

“Jesus H. Christ!” Cory’s voice shouts. “Not another one of his fucking episodes.” My eyes look to the right, and I see him stomp over. Crouching down, he grips my shoulders and shakes me.

“Quit it, dead Cory.”

“Hey, Jared,” Cory says, completely ignoring my order to quit shaking me.

“What?”

“Do you remember a few weeks back when we had this discussion where you thought you were ‘gonna go ape shit in the mother fucka’?” I nod. “It’s another one of those.” I pause to take account of my current state. Rapid breathing? Check. Racing thoughts? Definite check. Panic? Fuck yes. Heart ripped out of my fucking chest? Pretty sure I saw that bastard do a gloating jig in front of me. It’s a possibility, but I won’t give it credence yet.

“So, no ghost boy for Jon Jon?” I ask Cory, since he’s the only one I trust to tell it to me straight. John would lie to reassure me of something, and I’m sure his ghost would do the same.

“No ghost boy for John,” Cory confirms. I point at my stab wound.

“What about this?” Cory laughs and pokes it. Asshole, that fucking hurt.

“That, my dear, crazy friend, is nothing but a flesh wound. Good thing you’ve been eating Olivia’s cooking, because those extra pounds gave you a little cushion.” I look at my defined abs, and raise an eyebrow at him, to which he rolls his eyes. “You’re fine, Jared.”

“What about Olivia?” I whisper. If I ask it quietly enough, whatever his bad answer is, might not come true.

“Olivia’s fine,” Cory tells me, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Scared the living fuck outta me, but she’s fine.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Patsy says.

My eyes snap to his, as do Cory’s. I push the latter bastard for lying to me. What the fuck, he was supposed to be the one I could trust. Patsy rolls his eyes at the two of us. “Not in that way, but I think she might have met her limit.” He jerks his chin behind us, and I notice that the others; this being Ace, Wally, the twins, Webby, Tommy and John, all looking in that direction.

Following their gazes, I find that Olivia is in fact hacking away at Cole’s dead body without true aim. I also discover the reason for her blind attack, is that she’s crying. They’re silent tears, but I can hear her rapid pants of breath. She’s having a fucking panic attack, and these assholes are all crowded around me? I shove up to my feet, which have miraculously gained strength since I’ve learned that I’m not mortally wounded. It’s the healing magic of truth at work here, folks. When I’m within reaching distance of her, I crouch down and say her name, because I don’t want her accidentally turning that knife in my direction. In her current state, I’m not confident that she wouldn’t confuse me with an attacker.

“Olivia.” She continues swiping her knife in downward strokes, so I raise my voice a little. “Olivia.” This time, her hand freezes, and her tear filled greys meet mine. I hold my hand out to her. “Let me have the knife, sweetheart, you got him.”

Olivia blinks at her hand, and looks at the bloody body beneath her, before throwing the knife down and lunging at me. I catch her tiny body and hug her close, not caring one bit about the blood covering her and transferring over to me. I’m just so fucking ecstatic that she’s here and breathing, that I could not give a shit less about anything else going on around me. My attention is completely on her, so when Olivia’s entire body is shaking, I slide my arm underneath her legs and pick her up. Sitting here isn’t doing anything for her, if anything; it’s probably making it worse.

I wave the rest of them to go ahead, but Patsy waves the matches at me. I nod at him, and he heads up the rear. Wally leads the troops out, and we pick our way through the carnage to make our escape. There’s a smashed window that Wally heads toward, before climbing out. I’m game; I don’t want to be in here any longer either. But the only person I’m releasing Olivia to on the other side is Cory. Wally’s followed by the twins, Tommy, Webby and John.

“You go first, Cory, so I can pass her out to you.” Cory nods, and moves to do so. I step forward and crouch down to pass Olivia out to him, only to have her cling to my neck like a monkey. Standing upright, I catch one of her hands locked around me, and massage her fingers. “You have to let go so I can pass you to Cory.” Olivia shakes her head and tightens her grip. “Olivia, look at me.” Without releasing her hold, she pulls her head back slightly. Her eyes dart around the room like a panicked bunny rabbit, so I catch her chin.

“Look at me,” I repeat, and her eyes finally settle on my face, but they’re no less terrified. “It’s fine, I’m just gonna pass you to Cory.” She starts snapping her head side to side rapidly, and her body picks up a full body tremble, so I hug her close and whisper in her ear. “You’re fine. They’re all gone, now we have to get out of here. You want to leave, don’t you?” Her head nods firmly. “Good, then I have to hand you out to Cory so we can go, alright?” I feel her take a deep breath, before nodding. “I’ll see you on the other side.” She pulls back and scowls at me. “That’s not how I meant it.”

“Hurry the fuck up, Jared!” John shouts. “This hell pit reeks of death.”

I kiss her forehead, before crouching down to the height of the window. When I pass her out to Cory, I notice her torn apart back exposed to the elements. The reminder of the fucker responsible for those lashings; has me turning to glare at his corpse. My head turns in that direction, to find Patsy pulling a butcher knife from Cole’s skull. When he sees me watching, he shrugs.

“What?” Patsy asks. “Haven’t you ever seen a horror flick? Evil always comes back for one last hurrah, so I decided it would be better if this prick didn’t get the chance.”

“Stick him twice, just to be positive,” I tell him. Patsy complies without a moment’s thought, causing me to grin at him. “You know, Patsy, you’ve changed my opinions on gingers.” When he scowls, I hold up my hands to stave off his affronted retort. “Not that you’re a ginger, since you’re auburn, but I’ve since decided that not all red heads are deceitful cunts. Some of them are actually kickass dudes.”

“Why thank you, Mouth,” Patsy says with a bow. “Now get the hell out, before you suffer a few more burns.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” I wave my hand at him, and crouch down to climb out the window. As soon as my feet touch the ground, I have five feet of pissed off pixie crash into me. Her fists pound my chest, while she glares at me. “What?”

Olivia’s hands fly all over the place, saying that ‘I told her I’d be right there, and I wasn’t.’ Why she’s signing out her words, instead of speaking, I don’t know. But that isn’t going to stop me from reassuring her.

“Sorry, I was just talking to Patsy,” I tell Olivia, and see her take a breath. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere, alright?”

Olivia nods, but there’s stiffness to her shoulders. Poor girl’s been through hell and back, twice, so I can’t blame her. Time heals all wounds. Yes, that was me talking about never recovering from my ash of a heart twenty minutes ago, so shut up. I know I’m a hypocrite, and I’m damn proud of it too.

“Well, you are going somewhere,” John counters, making me and Olivia look at him. “But she’ll be going too. All of us for that matter.” I check his face, because though he may be alive and seemingly uninjured, I seen a gun held to his temple, a trigger pulled, and him tip sideways.

“We’ll get back to you being a smartass in a second,” I say to John, as I pick Olivia up and start walking away from hell on earth. “How in fuck’s name aren’t you nothing more than splattered blood and grey blobs right now? I saw you get shot.”

“No, you saw me go down,” he says and points at Ace. “Crazy bastard threw himself through the goddamn window and tipped my chair. Took a bullet to the shoulder, but he saved my life.” I make a note to thank Ace as soon as possible. Same goes for the rest of the guys, since I know for a fact that we could have never done this without their help.

“How’d you get caught anyway?” I ask, and John waves at me.

“We’ll save that long story for later,” he tells me. “I’m tired, dirty, hungry….” He continues to list his ailments, surprisingly without a single suggestive comment. The weight in my arm reminds of a possible reason for him being on his best behavior, since the John I know would have listed ‘horny as fuck’ at the very top of that list. Which he’s still spouting off. “My ass hurts, my feet hurt, my eyes feel like a bucket of sand has been poured on them…”

“John, I may be glad that you’re alive, but don’t push it,” I say.

“You love me, and you know it, you sullen bastard.”

“Yes, I unfortunately do,” I agree, making John stumble a step.

I shrug as if it’s no big deal actually admitting my feelings, even if it’s quote-unquote ‘gay’ for a man to do so; but it’s worth it. Not only to see John’s shocked expression, but also when I see Olivia peek up at me with a smile. I kiss her forehead, knowing that when she’s ready for it, she’ll know just how much I care about her, too.

Patience, as you all know, was never a virtue I had prior to meeting Olivia. Since that fateful day, patience has come to be the virtue I value most. It’s gained me Olivia’s trust, the greatest gift I’ve yet to received, and is hopefully a gift that keeps on giving. After all, this is only the beginning, and I plan on spending whatever time I have left on this earth, truly living the life I’ve been given. And with any luck, the girl in my arms will be right there with me.

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

Character List: if applicable, alphabetical by last name

Members from Condo Group:

Chelsea Adams: twenty-two year old female; member of hens and John’s harem; airhead, avid gum chewer and obsessive lip gloss applier; assistant to Whitney; was found by Cory three months before the road trip, after she left the college’s shelter; red hair, green eyes; 5’6” tall, 125 pounds; was killed by an infected Marissa

Prior Experience: college student; no known experience with weapons

Weapon of choice: eyelash curler

Jared Benson: twenty-three year old male; leader of condo group, hunter, gatherer, and key decision maker; short, dark brown hair, blue-green eyes; 6’2” tall, 215 pounds; also known as ‘Jarry,’ ‘Mouth,’ ‘Freddy,’ ‘Kong,’ ‘Sullen Bastard,’ or ‘smartass’

Prior Experience: stock boy, high school graduate, freeloader, could handle guns and is sufficient in close combat

Weapon of choice: 9mm handgun

Morris Benson: three year old feline; black and white fur, has a hooked tail from when Jared stepped on it in a drunken stumble; has attitude problems, and holds a grudge against Jared for disfiguring him; also known as ‘Satan’s Spawn,’ ‘Mors,’ or ‘Mori’

Prior Experience: mouser, alley cat

Weapon of choice: claws

Sarah Benson: sixteen year old female; sister to Jared, girlfriend to Danny, water collector; curly brown hair, hazel eyes; 5’7” tall, 130 pounds; also known as ‘Rah-rah,’ ‘Little Sis’ or ‘PITA’

Prior Experience: high school freshman and softball player; no experience with weapons

Weapon of choice: baseball bat

Daniel Hudson: seventeen year old male; boyfriend to Sarah; gatherer, skinny jeans wearer; was found by John six months prior to road trip, little is known about his previous group; shaggy brown hair, green eyes; 5’11” tall, 165 pounds; also known as ‘Dumb Ass,’ ‘Piss Ant,’ or other choice names

Prior Experience: high school sophomore; some weapon experience

Weapon of choice: handgun

Jonathan Moure: twenty-three year old male; best friend to Jared; placter, playboy and counsel in decision making; dirty blonde hair, brown eyes; 6’4” tall, 180 pounds; also known as ‘John,’ ‘Jon-Jon,’ ‘Casanova’ or ‘Cassie’

Prior Experience: life guard, high school graduate, freeloader, could handle guns, and was good with hand to hand combat

Weapon of choice: .356 magnum

Cory Prescott: twenty-six year old male; brother of Travis, surrogate brother to Olivia, brother of Travis; survivalist; met John and Jared a year before the road trip; blonde hair, brown eyes, 6’4” tall, 190 pounds; also known as ‘GI Joe’ or ‘Betty Crocker’

Prior Experience: two tour war veteran, knife master, farming, construction, gun handling

Weapon of choice: knife

Kelly Randalls: thirty-three year old female; likes to lie about her age, constant complainer, and waster of bleach; water collector; tries to burn Olivia; was found by Jared five months before road trip; 5’7” tall, 150 pounds; also known as ‘The Bitch’ or ‘Barbie’; killed by wheezer

Prior Experience: store associate, cheer captain, no known weapon experience

Weapon of choice: vocal chords

Carlos Santos: thirty year old male; twin to Oscar, originally from Puerto Rico; hunter, gatherer and guard; found by Jared four months before road trip; short black hair, brown eyes; 6’ 200 pounds; also known as ‘Carlo,’ ‘Twin One or ‘Two,’ ‘Thing One or Two,’ or ‘Super Twin’

Prior Experience: police officer for eight years, could handle guns of any caliber

Weapon of choice: .39mm handgun

Oscar Santos: thirty year old male; twin to Carlos, originally from Puerto Rico; hunter, gatherer and guard; found by Jared four months before road trip; short black hair, brown eyes; 6’ 200 pounds; also known as ‘Osco,’ ‘Twin One or ‘Two,’ ‘Thing One or Two,’ or ‘Super Twin’

Prior Experience: police officer for eight years, could handle guns of any caliber

Weapon of choice: club

Leonard Shue: seventy-five year old male; widower and grandfather of Tommy; worked as head cook, assistant to Whitney, and could be found arguing with Akio over prescribed treatments; becomes close with Olivia; was found by Jared eight months before road trip at a corner store with his grandson; greying hair, brown eyes; 6’ 165 pounds; also known as ‘Lenny’; killed by an infected Marissa

Prior Experience: Vietnam veteran, postman

Weapon of choice: cane

Thomas Shue: twenty-five year old male; gatherer and guard; has social anxiety, making him avoid speech whenever possible to keep from stuttering through his sentences; grandson to Leonard, becomes a good friend to Olivia; described as intelligent; was found by Jared eight months before road trip at a corner store with his grandfather; brown hair, brown eyes; 6’ 190 pounds; also known as ‘Tommy’

Prior experience: construction worker

Weapon of choice: handgun

Marissa Souza: twenty-five year old female; member of the hens and part of John’s harem; uses excess amounts of hairspray and is a known shopaholic; was found by Cory three months before the road trip, after she left her college’s shelter; brown hair, brown eyes; 5’9” tall, 135 pounds; was bitten at the outlets; while infected, she killed Chelsea and Leonard; killed by Tommy

Prior Experience: graduate student, killer of the ozone layer, no known weapon use

Weapon of Choice: hairspray

Olivia St. John: twenty year old female; obtained GED, fiancé to Travis, surrogate sister to Cory, former captive, survivor; black hair, grey eyes; 5’2” tall, 140 pounds; also known as ‘Livi,’ ‘Livia,’ ‘Liv,’ ‘Livs,’ ‘Black Sheep,’ ‘Ollie,’ ‘Tomb Raider,’ ‘mi pequeño nigromante,’ ‘mamá poco,’ or ‘ángel de la oscuridad’

Prior Experience: singer, dancer, no experience with weapons

Weapon of choice: machete

Michael Williams: forty-five year old male; gatherer; suffers wounds from the raid at the condo while protecting Akio, and a concussion from infected Marissa; husband to Whitney; was found by John six months before road trip, while hiding in a warehouse; brown hair, blue eyes; 5’10” tall, 190 pounds; wears glasses similar to Buddy Holly; also known as ‘Mike’ or ‘Teach’

Prior Experience: math teacher, no weapon use

Weapon of Choice: ax

Whitney Williams: forty-two year old female; African American; wife to Mike for twenty years; mother-like figure to the group, known for giving advice; was found by John six months before road trip, while hiding in a warehouse; black hair, brown eyes; 5’6” tall, 160 pounds; also known as ‘Whit’

Prior Experience: owner of maid service, no weapon use

Weapon of Choice: aluminum bat

Akio Yamamoto: thirty-eight year old male; Japanese heritage; doctor to group; very tough to crack exterior, always serious; strong sense of honor and duty; was found by Jared a month before the road trip, while wrestling a wheezer at a grocery store; wears wire-framed glasses, black hair, brown eyes; 5’9” tall, 165 pounds; also known as ‘Doc’

Prior Experience: family physician, no weapon use

Weapon of choice: tire iron

Raiders:

Amanda: female raider who was the screamer used to gain entrance to the Prescott house; helped drag Travis in, participated in his torture, and laughed; known for enjoy watching pain being inflicted; left to burn in clubhouse

Carly: female raider who participated in ‘Screamer’ scheme; chopped off Travis’s fingers, and laughed at Olivia’s plight; Olivia mentions taking care of her, but is unknown how

Chulo: hostile raider, minion of Cole; finds Olivia at outlets, but stays behind with Dil and Henry; tries to kill Jared and others, but is killed by Oscar

Dil: hostile raider, minion of Cole; finds Olivia at outlets, but stays behind with Chulo and Henry; tries to kill Jared and others, but is killed by Carlos

Dog: hostile raider, minion of Cole; described as looking like a Chinese Crested dog; keeper of Olivia who used to take pleasure in inflicting pain on Olivia because he had erectile dysfunction; Olivia chopped him to pieces to make her escape

Donald: hostile raider, minion of Cole; keeper of Olivia who was executed by Cole for being caught while raping Olivia

Dr. Derange: former doctor who was sued for malpractice; member of hostile raiders; responsible for botched tracheostomy on Olivia; Olivia slit his throat with his scalpel to escape

Eddy: hostile raider, minion of Cole; guard who tormented Olivia; Olivia hacked him to death to retrieve her engagement ring and escape

Felicia: female raider who participated in ‘Screamer’ scheme; beat Travis during raid at the Prescott house; killed during attempted raid at the Benson condo

Frank: hostile raider, minion of Cole; part of the group who tried to take the condo; terminated by Olivia

Greg: hostile raider, minion of Cole; receives a broken nose when he smacks Olivia’s ass; also known as ‘The Gooser’; killed by Olivia

Hal: hostile raider, minion of Cole; finds Olivia at outlets and brings her back to Cole; killed by infected Victoria

Henry: hostile raider, minion of Cole; finds Olivia at outlets, but stays back to collect supplies; tries to kill Jared and others, but is stopped by interference from Patsy and the twins; taken hostage and questioned about whereabouts of Olivia; killed by Wally

Heather: female raider who participated in ‘Screamer’ scheme; beat Travis during raid at Prescott house; is said to have been mauled by wheezers

Janel: female raider, follower of Cole; newcomer; killed by Jared

Jorge: hostile raider, minion of Cole; guard who was executed by Cole for being caught while ejaculating on Olivia

Kale, Kenneth, Mark and Terrence: male raiders whose corpses were hung outside of the Benson condo

Mariella: female raider who participated in the ‘Screamer’ scheme; broke Travis’s nose, and laughed as she watched Olivia being gang raped; left to burn in clubhouse

Paul: hostile raider, minion of Cole; keeper of Olivia, who was executed by Cole for being caught touching Olivia’s chest

Cole Sanders: suspected felon who escaped from prison after outbreak; current leader of hostile raiders; mastermind of the ‘Screamer’ scheme used to take over unsuspecting survivor camps; rapist, murderer and kidnapper; 5’10” tall, 175 pounds; killed by Olivia; also known as ‘Copycat Strangler,’ ‘Master’ or ‘Boss’

Timothy: hostile raider, right hand man of Cole; described as a Marlon Brando look alike; used to spray down Olivia with a hose to remove evidence of assault; killed by Jared ; also known as ‘The Don’ or ‘Tim’

Victoria: hostile raider, avid follower of Cole; likens herself in love with her leader, takes out her insane jealousy on Olivia; participated in the raid at the Prescott house, responsible for knocking out Travis’s teeth; tried to use ‘Screamer’ scheme at condo; left for dead at the condo, but makes a reappearance as an infected at the clubhouse; killed by Cole; also known as ‘The Carver,’ ‘Red’ or ‘Icky Vicky’

Xavier: hostile raider, minion of Cole; finds Olivia at outlets and brings her back to Cole

Compound:

Walter ‘Wally’ Briggs: thirty-two year old male; African American; friend of Olivia; captain of Adam, Jayce and Patrick’s troop; can be serious, or playful depending on the situation; shaved head, brown eyes; 6’2” tall, 200 pounds; likes silenced guns; also known as ‘Captain’ or ‘Wally’

Denise Dennington: fifty-seven year old female; director of the compound; cougar who preys upon any handsome men under forty; formerly a head researcher for Gene K; not a fan of Olivia; also known as ‘Director,’ ‘Captain Cougar’ or ‘Wrinkle Tits’

Patrick ‘Patsy’ Donaghue: twenty-two year old male; Irish heritage; friend of Olivia; former war veteran, current guard; has a fear of spiders, and is a jokester; is mentioned to like a girl named Gia; red hair, green eyes; 6’ 190 pounds; likes hand to hand combat; also known as ‘Patsy’ or ‘Patty’

Allanah Frechette: twenty-six year old female; friend of Olivia who made the trip with her to the compound; formerly a secretary, currently works in processing; brown hair, green eyes; 5’8” tall, 150 pounds; also known as ‘Ally’

Benjamin Fu: nineteen year old male; Chinese heritage; friend of Olivia; responsible for Olivia’s large amount of CDs; computer whiz; child prodigy; also known as ‘Benny’

Abdullah Habish: thirty-nine year old male; Middle Eastern heritage; head doctor at the compound; also known as ‘Habish’

Adam ‘Ace’ Hutchins: twenty-five year old male; friend of Olivia, best friend to Patsy; former war veteran, current guard; right hand to Wally out in the field; brown hair and eyes; 5’10” tall, 170 pounds; likes using a cleaver; also known as ‘Ace’

Analiese Morales: fifteen year old female; student at compound; daughter of Jack, friend of Olivia, new friend of Sarah; also known as ‘Ana’

Jack Morales: fifty-two year old male; commander in charge of the guards at the compound; widower, father of Analiese; friendly man, with hard exterior; also known as ‘Commander’ or ‘Morales’

Giana Narducci: twenty-one year old female; works as teacher’s aide at the compound; also known as ‘Gia’

Jayce ‘Webby’ Petropoulos: twenty-three year old male; Greek heritage; friend of Olivia, grandson of Melanie, father to Sammy; curly black hair, brown eyes; 6’4” tall, 230 pounds; has webbed toes; former war veteran, discharged for injury; currently a guard; likes using a taser or his modified water bottle; also known as ‘Webby’ or ‘Webs’

Melanie Petropoulos: sixty-eight year old female; Greek heritage; friend of Olivia, grandmother to Jayce, great-grandmother of Sammy; grey hair, blue eyes; 5’6” tall, 140 pounds; former dance instructor; raised Jayce after he was orphaned at five; also known as ‘Melly’

Samuel Petropoulos: six year old male; Greek heritage; friend of Olivia, son to Jayce, great-grandson to Melly; has a love of dancing that was passed down from Melly, attends first grade at the compound; curly black hair, brown eyes; 3’2” tall, 46 pounds; also known as ‘Sammy’

Others Mentioned:

Diane Benson: mother of Jared and Sarah; best friend to Judy; loving stay at home mom; killed by wheezers a month after the breakout

Nicholas Benson: father of Jared and Sarah; friends and business partners with Mr. Moure; lawyer; workaholic who was disinterested in family life; killed by wheezers a month after the breakout

Regina Bolman: the girl John lost his virginity to his sophomore year of high school

Dolly Devine: next door neighbor to the Bensons; widower who was like a surrogate grandparent to Jared, Sarah and John; was infected and trapped in her condo for months, before being discovered by Jared; was the first wheezer that Jared encountered

George: one of the survivors Jared brought to the condo that he didn’t know was infected; disposed of by Jared

Herbert Vincent Hemington III: childhood bully to Jared; reason for John and Jared’s introduction in preschool

Mikayla: one of the survivors Jared brought to the condo that he didn’t know was infected; hid her bite wound from them; disposed of by Jared

Jonathan Moure Sr: father of John; friends and business partners with Nicholas; lawyer; devoted father, and husband; treated Jared like a second son; killed by wheezers a month after the breakout

Judy Moure: mother of John; best friend of Diane; loving stay at home mom; devout Catholic; killed by wheezers a month after the breakout

Benjamin Palmer: maternal grandfather of Cory and Travis; owns a ranch in Texas; also known as ‘Grandpa Ben’ or ‘Gramps’

Travis Prescott: brother of Cory, former fiancé of Olivia; was next door neighbors and childhood sweethearts with Olivia; described as blonde haired and blue eyed; tortured and murdered by hostile raiders; is deceased prior to Jared’s point of view, but is mentioned throughout

Crystal St. John: aunt of Olivia, sister to Louis; greedy and selfish woman who looked down on Olivia and her mother; the condo group uses her condo and vehicles; is presumed dead

Louis St. John: father of Olivia; owner of investment company; loving father; baseball fan; died in car crash when Olivia was sixteen

Margherita St. John: mother of Olivia; stay at home mom, until the death of her husband, then she worked as a debt collector; was rejected from St. John family for her ‘impure’ blood line; loving mother, and cancer victim; was a volunteer for Gene K; terminated while in quarantine

Rachel Von Tuten: girl Jared wanted to ask to prom, fought Herbert over her

Will: one of the survivors Jared brought to the condo that he didn’t know was infected; disposed of by John

Georgina Wilkinson: cheerleader that Jared lost his virginity to freshman year of high school

Timeline:

Prior to Jared’s point of view:

October 22nd, 2012:

100 volunteers injected with Gene K

October 29th, 2012:

1000+ injected with Gene K+

November 18th, 2012:

original volunteers show signs of flu-like symptoms

November 23rd, 2012:

quarantine of volunteers

December 18th, 2012:

44 escape; 56 terminated

January 5th, 2013:

Gene K+ join ranks of infected

January 14th, 2013:

lockdown order set in place

March 6th, 2013:

Jared Benson and Jonathan Moure’s parents die

April 19th, 2013:

Jared encounters Dolly

May 28th, 2013:

raiders attack Prescott house

August 9th, 2013:

Jared and John meet Cory Prescott

December 13th, 2013:

Jared finds Leonard and Thomas Shue

January 8th, 2014:

Olivia escapes

February 14th, 2014:

John finds Whitney and Mike Williams

March 4th, 2014:

Jared finds Kelly Randalls

April 17th, 2014:

Jared finds Oscar and Carlos Santos

May 22nd, 2014:

Cory finds Marissa Souza and Chelsea Adams

July 8th, 2014:

Jared meets Akio Yamamoto

August 21st, 2014:

Jared rescues Victoria

Jared’s point of view:

August 24th, 2014:

John and Jared meet Olivia St. John

August 26th, 2014:

raiders attack Benson condo

August 28th, 2014:

group leaves condo

August 29th, 2014:

road trip begins

September 17th, 2014:

arson at ranch house

September 18th, 2014:

R.I.P. Marissa, Chelsea and Leonard

October 12th, 2014:

group reaches Cross Lake compound

October 13th, 2014:

Olivia goes hunting, reappearance of Kelly, rescue troops leave compound

October 14th, 2014:

rescue team discovers whereabouts of Cole’s camp

Map:

Author’s Note:

I’d like to start by thanking anyone who took the chance to read this book. It’s my first attempt at a novel, and it was written through a hard time, so it was a tool that helped me cope. Earlier this year, I learned about my mom having breast cancer, and as anyone in my shoes would be, I was scared for her. Scared that I would lose my best friend, and pissed that I would be losing yet another person I love. Thankfully, it was caught early on, so she’s been through the treatments and is in remission as of right now.

For those of you who might be interested, I’m a twenty-two year old mutt, aka Irish/Italian/French mix, and I’m currently in school. My major is in psychology with a minor in Biology, so that’s how I came up with the premise of this novel. I didn’t want it to be strictly a ‘zombie’ novel. I wanted there to be a realistic quality to it, and I wanted my ‘monsters’ to be something other than the moaning undead. That’s how I came up with the wheezers. And what’s scarier than an experiment gone bad? Or a man of nightmares?

The characters in my story are fictional, but many were inspired by life experiences and people that I’ve met along the way. Olivia’s character was partially influenced by my own experiences, from being cursed with a small stature and obnoxiously large chest, to her tendency toward male friends. Jared’s foul mouth, the old firecracker known as Melly, and Olivia’s chameleon personality; they each hold a piece that’s dear to me, and I hope that they were able to identify with you on some level.

I included a timeline and map to give you an idea of how far the characters travelled, or to help explain when different things happened. Also, there’s a character list, because I know that there a lot of characters; and I personally hate reading a novel and not remembering a certain person’s name. It will also come in handy if you plan on continuing the series.

If you enjoyed this novel, there’s more to come. If not, I apologize for making you flip through so many pages. Two books from Olivia’s point of view are in the works, and hopefully the second installment in the series will be soon after, fingers crossed. So if you liked the first of this series, these tie in and let you get a peek inside Olivia’s head. The first of Olivia’s, Submerge, will be a prequel to the entire series; detailing the events leading up the wheezer invasion, her time with Cole, and her introduction to the crew from the compound. The second, Emerge, will be Olivia’s side of Surge. It will answer some questions that you might have had, and fill in gaps where Jared wasn’t present. They’re almost half-way done, so they should be coming up soon, pending no unexpected punches are thrown my way.

That’s it for now, so thanks again for giving my book a chance, and I’d love to hear your feedback; regardless if it’s just to curse me out. Hopefully not, but I’m a big girl and can handle a little bit of criticism. Like this much ( ), just kidding, but seriously I’d love to know what you thought of it.

Table of Contents

Surge: (Wheezers: Book One)
Surge: (Wheezers: Book One)
Prologue:

Part One:

- Chapter One:

- Chapter Two:

- Chapter Three:

- Chapter Four:

- Chapter Five:

- Chapter Six:

- Chapter Seven:

- Chapter Eight:

- Chapter Nine:

- Chapter Ten:

- Chapter Eleven:

- Chapter Twelve:

- Chapter Thirteen:

- Chapter Fourteen:

- Chapter Fifteen:

- Chapter Sixteen:

- Chapter Seventeen:

- Chapter Eighteen:

- Chapter Nineteen:

- Chapter Twenty:

- Chapter Twenty-One:

- Chapter Twenty-Two:

- Chapter Twenty-Three:

- Chapter Twenty-Four:

- Chapter Twenty-Five:

- Chapter Twenty-Six:

- Chapter Twenty-Seven:

Part Two:

- Chapter Twenty-Eight:

- Chapter Twenty-Nine:

- Chapter Thirty:

- Chapter Thirty-One:

- Chapter Thirty-Two:

- Chapter Thirty-Three:

- Chapter Thirty-Four:

- Chapter Thirty-Five:

- Chapter Thirty-Six:

- Chapter Thirty-Seven:

- Chapter Thirty-Eight:

- Chapter Thirty-Nine:

Part Three:

- Chapter Forty:

- Chapter Forty-One:

- Chapter Forty-Two:

- Chapter Forty-Three:

- Chapter Forty-Four:

- Chapter Forty-Five:

- Chapter Forty-Six:

- Chapter Forty-Seven:

- Chapter Forty-Eight:

- Chapter Forty-Nine:

- Chapter Fifty:

- Chapter Fifty-One:

- Chapter Fifty-Two:

- Chapter Fifty-Three:

- Chapter Fifty-Four:

- Chapter Fifty-Five:

- Chapter Fifty-Six:

- Chapter Fifty-Seven:

- Chapter Fifty-Eight:

- Chapter Fifty-Nine:

- Chapter Sixty:

Part Four:

- Chapter Sixty-One:

- Chapter Sixty-Two:

- Chapter Sixty-Three:

- Chapter Sixty-Four:

- Chapter Sixty-Five:

- Chapter Sixty-Six:

- Chapter Sixty-Seven:

- Chapter Sixty-Eight:

- Chapter Sixty-Nine:

- Chapter Seventy:

- Chapter Seventy-One:

- Chapter Seventy-Two:

- Chapter Seventy-Three:

- Chapter Seventy-Four:

- Chapter Seventy-Five:

- Chapter Seventy-Six:

- Chapter Seventy-Seven:

- Chapter Seventy-Eight:

- Chapter Seventy-Nine:

- Chapter Eighty:

Character List: if applicable, alphabetical by last name

- Members from Condo Group:

- Raiders:

- Compound:

- Others Mentioned:

Timeline:

- Prior to Jared’s point of view:

- Jared’s point of view:

Map:

Author’s Note: