The X Factor

by Bella Street

  Seffy looked at her arms and for the first time realized they were peppered with cotton balls secured by bandages. “God, I'm a pin cushion.” Another shudder gripped her body as she looked at Trent. “How did you get me out of there?”

  “Once I...neutralized my guard, stole his gun and radio, I followed your screams to that room. No one was inside, but the door was locked. I broke the lock with the butt of the gun and you know the rest.”

  She furrowed her brows. “If I'm so valuable why didn't I have a guard?”

  “Did I say you didn't?” Trent pulled a handgun from the waist of his pants. “He had this. And I got his radio, too. We'll be able to hear them when they discover you're gone.”

  She stared up at his sober expression, wondering at the change from his usual rude, sarcastic attitude. Had the others been beaten down until they were almost unrecognizable as well? The compound was called Fugere—a place of refuge.

  What a crock.

  She leaned down on her side. “Are you sure we're safe here?”

  “Until they find us and we run out of bullets.”

  Seffy pressed her face into the bedspread and curled up into a ball. “So all the zombies are gone and yet we can't leave.”

  “Sucks to be you.”

  She shivered. Then her stomach cramped. Hard. “I don't suppose you have a stash of food handy?”

  “A little.”

  She released a choked laugh, fighting dizziness. “I don't get it. When did you have time to be all prepared?”

  “Well, while you and your friends—”

  She sighed. “We called ourselves the Apocalypse Babes. Seems so stupid now.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Uh, while you were all waiting around coming up with a name for your little BFF club, at night I was making plans to escape. I had some supplies stashed in one of the nearby closets. I grabbed it before I came for you today.”

  Seffy wondered why he was now so conciliatory, then decided she couldn't be picky. She was out of that room, off that cold table, and away from sharp objects. “Well, I'm thankful you did.”

  Trent crouched down and pulled a box out from under the bed. A moment later, he held up a Snickers bar. Seffy sat up too fast and ended up grabbing her head instead of the candy bar. She rested her head on her knees, waiting for the pounding in her brain to stop.

  He sat on the edge of the bed next to her. “Easy does it.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “I'm just so hungry. And thirsty and tired and sore.”

  “Are you hungry enough to bite me?”

  She looked up at him, a wry smile lifting her lips. “You once said you'd like me to do just that.”

  By the glint in his eye, she knew he remembered the moment. “It was more of a metaphor then.”

  “Ah.”

  “Can you sit up yet?”

  Seffy straightened, groaning with the effort. “I swear I've spent most of my time here recovering from one thing or another.”

  “Yeah, this place, not so much a refuge. Those bastards.”

  A laugh escaped her, making her wince at the resulting pain. Seffy unwrapped the candy bar he handed her and ate quickly, praying for the sugar to hurry up and hit her system. Then she clenched her fists to her stomach. “Oh no, I think I'm gonna throw up.”

  Trent helped her up and hurried her to the bathroom. “Not to make you feel guilty or anything, but it's not like there's an endless supply of candy bars. Waste not, want not and all that.”

  Sinking onto the floor next to the toilet bowl, Seffy breathed hard through her mouth, fighting back the nausea. “I'm sorry,” she managed between dry heaving coughs.

  Trent patted her with awkward movements. “That's okay. I guess.”

  Memories of the past week were murky, but huddled on the tiles, she felt every nerve alive with pain. The bathroom floor was cold, sending goosebumps raging across her burning skin while her stomach continued to churn. Despite being free from the exam room, she was more miserable than ever. Sticky tears blurred her vision and she began to cry.

  As feeble sobs shook her aching frame, Seffy put her head in her hands, unable to fight wave after wave of despair. A few weeks ago, she'd worried about what to wear to a party. Since waking up in the desert with her friends, she'd been plunged into a world of pain, confusion, fear, and terror. Plus there was that mess with Gareth. And now...somehow everything was worse.

  Trent got up. She heard him turn on the sink faucet. He sat down and scooted next to her. “I probably should've given you some water before solid food.”

  Seffy took the cup with shaking hands and took a sip. Closing her eyes, she rested her head against the icy porcelain rim of the toilet.

  “I, uh, have something else for you. Hold on a sec.”

  “Not going anywhere,” she said in a weak voice, tears dripping off her chin. Despite her misery, she was glad she'd managed to keep the Snickers down so far.

  Trent returned a few minutes later. She looked up, and when she saw what he held in his hands, she started crying all over again.

  “This was supposed to make you feel better.”

  “It does,” she said on a broken sob. Seffy reached out with trembling fingers and took the top portion of her faded, shredded pink Juicy Couture tracksuit. She pressed her face into the soft velour folds. It smelled like laundry soap, and was soon wet from her tears.

  “The bad news is that it was in a bag inside a trash can near the exam room where I found you. Seems they're getting rid of all our stuff.”

  She made a weak snorting sound. “Right before they get rid of us?”

  “I'm thinking yeah.”

  “Well, when they do, or if I go all bitey, I really want to be wearing this.”

  He smiled. “Your walking corpse will be very fashionable.”

  Seffy took a deep breath. “I think the Snickers will stay down now.”

  “Let me know when you feel up to a shower.”

  Exhaustion pulled at her. “Are you still trying to see me naked?”

  “Maybe.”

  Seffy peered up at him. His tired face belied his flirtatious words. “Okay. I think I'm ready.”

  ***

  Half an hour later, Seffy was clean and warm in her tracksuit, curled up in a fetal position on the bed. As far as she knew, Trent had kept his promise to keep his eyes closed while offering support so she wouldn't fall in the shower. His promise was probably helped along by the fact that he had seen her back as he helped her peel off the tank top. His quick intake of breath matched her own reaction when she looked down at her body. Bruises, cuts, and punctures riddled her skin, some older than others, some still swollen and oozing blood.

  His words were still fresh in her mind. “God, they've punctured your spine, Sef. Several times.”

  She'd bit her lip, glad she hadn't seen that.

  “I guess now I know why you were screaming.”

  Seffy couldn't begin to imagine what kinds of experiments they performed or what they hoped to gain from it. She was just glad most of it was a blank memory in her mind. Except when she closed her eyes. Violent images crowded into her brain even now as her eyes grew heavy.

  The mattress depressed behind her. “Your hair is a rat's nest. I have a comb for you to use.”

  “Too tired right now,” she said in a sleepy voice, curling her fists up under her chin.

  “You'll feel better when it's done.”

  “I feel pretty good right now, considering.”

  “Do you want me to do it for you?”

  She shrugged a little. A moment later, she felt him pull her hair away from her shoulders. Then the gentle tug of the comb. There was something soothing in the repetitive motions. As her body continued to shudder, she fell asleep, wondering why Trent had come for her.

  Because it should have been Gareth.

  Chapter Three

  The instruments glinted in the over-bright light. Seffy tried to see who held them so near her face, but all she saw was an intimidating
silhouette, backlit by an eerie glow. Blood pounded in her temples but her body felt weighted to the table. She licked her lips and found her voice. “Are you the one who's going to bore a hole in my skull?”

  The silhouette bent closer, revealing the golden brown eyes and dark hair of her beloved Gareth. Her breath caught as relief flooded her soul.

  “Yes, Seffy. Now hold very still.”

  The sudden roaring of her heart drowned out her shocked gasp. “Why?” she whispered, her throat raw.

  “Sweetheart, it's the only way you'll have peace.”

  But his soothing tone failed to comfort. “Will it hurt?” she asked, resigned, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.

  “Yes.”

  He brought the instrument to her face. A crackling sound pierced Seffy's ears. White hot pain shot through her skull. Let it be over soon. Oh, please...

  “No sign of them.”

  “They're here somewhere.”

  “I'll keep looking.”

  She wondered why she heard voices. They told me the voices would go away.

  Seffy forced her eyes open and became cognizant that she was not on an exam table, but in a guest room at the compound.

  “Report in as soon as you find anything.”

  “Copy that.”

  She focused on the two walkie talkies on the nightstand next to the bed. Relief her nightmare was over eclipsed the realization that she'd just traded it for a new one. Her heart rate kicked up a notch as she surveyed the all but empty room. “Trent?”

  She pushed her hair from her face and sat up. A soft snore behind her made her turn. Trent lay next to her, out cold. His dark blond hair was damp and his face troubled, even in sleep. She reached over and shook his shoulder hard. Nothing.

  Seffy couldn't imagine how exhausted he must be. Then again, maybe she could.

  “I just found Vaughn! His gun and radio are missing. Change channels.”

  “Copy that. Changing channels now.”

  Oh, crap.

  “Trent, wake up.” She patted his cheek. “Yoo hoo, Trent!”

  His hand gripped her wrist as his eyes opened with a snap. He stared at her like she was a stranger.

  She offered what she hoped was a calming smile. “It's me.”

  Trent blinked and frowned, then released her wrist. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine, but I heard people talking on the radio.”

  He jerked upright, his eyes worried. “What'd they say?”

  “That they found someone named Vaughn and then changed the radio channel.”

  “Vaughn was my guard.” Trent scrubbed his face with his hand. “Okay, this was inevitable. We just have to hope they won't find us.”

  “Won't they just try every door?”

  “We're in a safe room—a room inside a room inside a compound.”

  “Like Russian nesting dolls?”

  He raised his brows at her lame attempt at humor. “More or less.”

  “Won't they know about it?”

  Trent frowned. “I'm pretty sure Fenn would. But I'm also pretty sure that the people who took over the compound are newer and won't know about every secret nook and cranny.” He glanced at his watch. “We've been here less than two hours, so we need to make a plan in case they find us sooner than later.”

  Seffy tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and realized her hair was dry. She ran her hand through the back. It felt like thick, wavy silk and was tangle free. Trent must've spent a considerable amount of time on it. Time he should've spent sleeping.

  She watched him get up off the bed and pace around the room. As much as she'd like to help, deep fatigue weighed her down. She was unable to do more than lay her cheek back on her pillow.

  “I managed to find a backpack, so we can get everything packed if we have to leave here.”

  “I think it's okay if they kill me. I'm too tired to go anywhere else.” Her leg throbbed. Seffy eased into a sitting position and tugged up the hem of her tracksuit leg. “Ugh.” The wound had seeped through the gauze wrap she'd put on after the shower.

  “I'll go get some fresh bandages,” Trent said, noticing her actions. He returned with a First Aid kit. “There's one in every room. So far I've collected the contents of five.”

  “Wow, you do think ahead.” She held out her hand for a roll of gauze. “But I bet you weren't quite thinking of this.”

  Trent knelt down by the bed. “Let me do it.”

  “No way. You can't risk infection.” Seffy began to peel off the old dressing. “You've already exposed yourself to enough.”

  He watched her, his expression inscrutable. “I don't know, what if you're like the embodiment of Kryptonite? You could be handy to have around.” His voice dropped a notch. “Anyway, maybe I don't mind catching your cooties.”

  Seffy groaned. “That sounds wrong on just so many levels.”

  Trent grinned, the lines of weariness falling from his face for a moment.

  She dropped the old dressing into a plastic bag he had ready. From the First Aid kit she chose a large square gauze pad and placed it over the wound after dousing the area with iodine. Then she used the roll to wrap it up. Trent handed her a disinfecting wipe when she was done. She looked up at him as she scrubbed her hands. “Seriously, that mess is all from a tiny needle injection site. I have no idea if it's spreading or getting smaller.”

  “If we had a marker, you could draw a circle on your skin around the affected area and then watch it from there.”

  “Yeah, that's a good idea. I should've thought of it myself, me being in the health care industry and all.”

  His brows rose in disbelief. “I thought you were an aspiring actress.”

  “Well yeah, but it didn't exactly pay the bills. I worked in a medical clinic near Cedars-Sinai.”

  “Are you like a nurse or something?”

  Seffy blushed. “I was actually a receptionist there, but you'd think I'd at least soak up medical stuff by osmosis, right?”

  “I'm not sure that's how it works.”

  She tugged down her pant leg, grimacing. “Why didn't the virus kill me? What's wrong with me?”

  “I think the question is what's right with you.”

  “Gareth said the virus is a hundred percent fatal.”

  “I'd like to point out that Gareth is wrong about a lot of things.”

  “Very funny.” She blew out a breath, her heart smarting at the thought of her failed attempt at romance with Gareth. Especially the last time she tried to kiss him and was rejected—possibly the most mortifying moment of her life. And that was saying something. Time to change the subject. “If I start to look at you like you're a double dipped chocolate ice cream cone, I want you to do that Friendship Terminal Duty thing.”

  Trent studied her face. “The change would've happened by now. You're getting better.”

  “Please, just promise you won't let me go on the loose all moany and gray like that.”

  He put up his hand. “I promise to kill you after spending so much effort trying to save you.”

  “Agreed.” She looked down at the veins visible on the back of her hands. “And I really do thank you for going to all this trouble for me.” She wanted to ask why he had. The only prior attention he'd shown her was an unscrupulous desire for her body. Before then he'd acted like he'd wished she were dead.

  He stood up and held out his hand to her. “Let's hug it out.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “We hug, you because you're grateful, and me, to perform a test.”

  “What kind of test?” she asked, wondering if he was going to revert back to being mean.

  “Just come here.” Trent helped her up until she stood facing him. Then he put his arms around her waist.

  She looked up at him, noticing he had a little color in his face and that he looked relatively healthy. The first few weeks after they all arrived, he'd been a waxen, sweaty mess. “Well?”

  “Uh, this only works
when you hug me back.”

  Seffy tentatively put her arms around his neck. It felt so weird and made her heart pound out an irregular rhythm—probably from the effects of the drug cocktail the compound had pumped into her system. He pulled her close, not squeezing too hard, and rested his chin on her shoulder. Without thinking, Seffy turned her head so her cheek was pressed against the warmth of his neck. He smelled of soap and that undefinable yummy maleness. Okay this feels way too good. But it had been a very long week and she should be thankful Trent wasn't being his usual awful self. She closed her eyes and leaned into his unexpected strength. His arms tightened around her for a moment.

  “All we need now is some power ballads by Foreigner,” he said in a low voice. “That's my nod to 80s music, which apparently has some kind of serious mojo around here.”

  Seffy smiled, remembering the way the zombies had responded to disco music in the desert, but didn't respond. She didn't want to break the addictive spell of being in a man's arms. Plus she wasn't entirely sure who Foreigner was. I must be a weak, pathetic female to enjoy this so much. Oh, how I miss Gareth. And Lani and Addison. She also wondered how Trent's friends, Cynthia, Eva and Jared, were.

  “Sef?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Are you experiencing any urge to bite me?”

  Spell broken. She leaned back and pushed him away. “Nice.”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “No!”

  “So what were you thinking about?”

  “Non-bitey things. Gosh.”

  He held up his hands. “Hey, just wanted to make sure. Besides, you were the one who brought it up.”

  Seffy collapsed onto the edge of the bed, angry with herself for lowering her guard. And with Trent, of all people.

  She shot him a dark look as he rubbed his hands together and stalked off, mumbling something about strategy. Her anger was wasted. He'd obviously been unaffected. Which was a good thing. Seffy leaned back against the pillow and picked up one of the radios. “Should I switch through the channels to see if I can find any new transmissions?”

  Trent's voice drifted out from the closet. “Sure.”