Surge (32 page)

“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.

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

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?”