Surge (92 page)

“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.

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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.

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