Surge (2 page)

“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.

<~~~<~~~
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Meet and Greet

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

-Unknown

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.