The X Factor

by Bella Street

  The dislodged paint revealed a bit of lettering on a layer beneath. She peered at it, curious. The surrounding paint looked loose, so she began peeling and chipping at it until a small pile of paint and dust accumulated on the floor at her feet. Slowly a word was revealed. Psychonautics.

  What the hell was that?

  “What are you doing?”

  Seffy jumped like a startled rabbit. “Trent! Don't sneak up on me like that!”

  He looked over her shoulder. “Defacing private property?”

  She stiffened at his proximity. “What's psychonautics?” When he didn't answer after a moment, she twisted around and looked up him.

  Trent was staring at the word, his expression stark. “Don't you recognize this doorway?” he said finally.

  “No, should I?”

  His gaze shifted to hers. “It leads to the room where I found you. Must be why they have it locked up now.”

  ***

  Seffy mostly slept through the next three days, waking only for bathroom breaks and a bite to eat from a box of non-perishables provided by Baxter. She was occasionally awakened by what she'd termed the Haz-Mat team—the medical staff who checked her vitals and treated her wounds.

  On the fourth day she lay sprawled in her bed and took in her surroundings. Did everything have to be so bland? She thought the late seventies had been a little more colorful—fantastic flowers, rainbows, bubble letters. The tan walls, ecru floor coverings, off white curtains did not exactly inspire.

  Seffy stretched and sat up. Her leg itched so she checked it and saw that the wound had definitely healed some. Less oozy and spidery. That was something, right? Perhaps it was an omen that they'd soon be able to leave and go back to their L.A. lives in 2006.

  At least someplace where there wasn't psychonautics, whatever that was. Seffy decided not to dwell on it or the chained doors. Her memory had been mercifully weak when it came to what exactly happened on that cold exam table. She preferred to keep it that way, thank you very much.

  She got up, noticing she felt a bit stronger, and put on a hippy blouse and blue jeans provided by the compound. Their choice of clothing wasn't any better than their color schemes. All she needed was a daisy chain in her hair to complete the flower-child look.

  Her stomach rumbled. Seffy hoped that as her leg healed, her appetite would decrease. Turning into a sumo wrestler from forced residency was not part of the plan. Unless female sumo roles were the new thing in Hollywood. Maybe then she'd finally land a role.

  She opened the small fridge that had been tucked under the desk at some point and saw a half gallon of milk, butter, jam, lunch meat, cheese and condiments. In the box she found peanut butter, cereal, bread, trail bars, and crackers. It was a slight improvement from no food at all.

  Seffy made a peanut butter sandwich and ate it quickly, washing it down with a glass of milk. Not exactly satisfying, but it filled the void. She thought of all the trendy cafés on the WeHo strip she loved to frequent. Now that had been food.

  When she was finished eating, Seffy left her room and headed to Gareth's. But he wasn't there. She had the same result at Addison and Lani's room. She even tried Trent's friends, Cynthia, Eva, and Jared. No answer. She frowned, wondering if anyone aside from the medical staff, remembered she was here. As far as she knew, no one had visited while she slept.

  Seffy headed to the common room, which contained an old TV with an odd assortment of VHS tapes, a shelf of trashy novels, and a stack of boring magazines, along with a few couches and card tables, all of which was expected to occupy the guests. But it was empty, too.

  Next, she made her way to the cafeteria, the only other place she knew of at the moment. When she saw everyone gathered there, eating hot meals, she wished she'd known they were all going so she could've accompanied them. But she never got the memo.

  “Seffy!” Gareth straightened in obvious surprise when he spotted her, as did Lani. Addison looked blasé as usual. Jared's eyes narrowed, and Cynthia and Eva exchanged startled looks.

  “Sorry, Sef. You're persona non wanted at the moment,” Addison said, wiping her mouth with a paper napkin.

  Gareth jumped up and approached her as Cynthia and Eva got up to leave.

  Seffy pasted on a semblance of a smile. “What's going on, Gareth?”

  His smile was apologetic. She noticed he looked quite recovered and back to his dreamboat tall, dark, and handsome state.

  “This is awkward,” he said, quietly.

  “And this is news?”

  “Word got out about your...condition. A lot of people are nervous, so Fiona decided you should keep to your room.”

  Seffy compressed her lips. “Oh, Fiona decided, huh? So she's back in the picture? Did we ever figure out that she's probably guilty as hell in the whole coup attempt?”

  He put an arm around her shoulders. “Not here.” He steered her toward the cafeteria door. “If you want something hot, let me bring it up. It's just not worth the fuss it will cause if you're seen down here.”

  Seffy stared at him, breathing hard out of her nose. “Do they think I'm still contagious?”

  “You told me yourself that your medical team wears those silver suits.”

  “So Baxter forgot to mention this little detail to me, huh?”

  “I hear what you're saying, I really do.” He tugged her toward the door. “But let's just humor the powers that be for now, okay?”

  “That's hard to take from Mr. Hot Lunch. I just get Grape Nuts and bologna.”

  “I'll bring you something up every day.”

  Seffy twisted out from under his arm, trying to suppress her huffiness—and failing. “Don't bother. I'll be fine.”

  “It's just for a little while.”

  “Maybe I'll get a big red letter F and wear it on my shirt for Freak.”

  “Make that an M for martyr complex,” Addison said loudly from the table.

  Seffy shot her a seething look.

  “Don't go away mad,” Gareth said placatingly.

  She pushed open the cafeteria door, ignoring his winsome smile. “Don't worry about me. I'll just be breaking my molars on the little brown rocks that pass for cereal in this place.”

  Seffy's temper didn't cool on her walk back to her room. She wanted to punch something. Maybe throw in a kick and a cuss word or two. She stalked to Trent's room. Lucky for him, he wasn't there either. So it was back to her own room to sulk. And she did.

  It was hard not to feel sorry for herself when she'd been pulled from a perfectly happy life in WeHo and hurtled back in time a more than a quarter of a century to the state she never thought she'd see again. Add to that being terrorized by zombies, inebriated via Malone, insulted by Trent, mocked by Addison, held hostage, infected with some wicked bad virus, experimented on, and now to top it off...shunned.

  Seffy slumped on her bed and stared at a crack in the ceiling. Hateful place, crummy compound. Stupid people who lived out in the middle of nowhere and allowed themselves to be railroaded by peacenik wannabe wackos. Give me the nut jobs in L.A. any day.

  She scrubbed her face with her hands, then felt even more frustrated because she didn't have any makeup to worry about smudging. Then she remembered the box that Olga had brought her...what was it...weeks ago?

  Seffy jumped off the bed and went into the bathroom. She looked under the sink and was surprised to find it there. Well, at least they got something right. With a direction for her angst, she set to making herself look presentable...and maybe more. Seffy was also thrilled with the unexpected addition of a curling iron in the box. As she regarded her reflection, she wondered if Gareth would be more accepting of her if her eyes were blue again.

  Twenty minutes later, she was all dolled up with no place to go. She didn't have the guts to seek out Gareth and tempt another outright rejection. She closed her eyes, remembering that almost kiss in the hospital bed. Talk about epic fail.

  But having a pity party in her room was not an option either. Maybe there was some
thing to do in the common room—that is if she was still welcome. She crossed the room and pulled open the door.

  Addison stood on the other side.

  Seffy took a step back in surprise. “What?”

  “Going to see Gareth?”

  She blinked. “No.”

  “Good.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Can I come in?”

  Seffy sighed. “Fine.”

  Addison walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “You're spruced up.”

  “What do you want, Addy?” Seffy regarded her friend with trepidation. Addison's lean face and wiry body had long been a subject of envy for her. And she could handle a gun. Too bad she mostly just shot off her mouth.

  “I want you to back off of Gareth.”

  “What?” Talk about being side-swiped.

  “He feels guilty for what happened. Or for what didn't, to be exact.”

  Seffy's mouth flopped open as heat swept into her face. Why would Gareth tell Addison about their kiss gone wrong? She didn't know whether to be shocked or furious. Or both. “He told you about that?”

  “Seffy, try and keep up. I'm talking about him not being the one to rescue you. He's got his boxers in a bunch over it.”

  The air leaked from Seffy's lungs. “Oh, that.”

  Addison's eyes narrowed. “Wait, what are you talking about?”

  “Nothing. None of your business.”

  Addison rose to her feet, her green eyes blazing. “Are you saying Gareth gave you another chance after what happened with Clay?”

  “I said it's none of your business!”

  “You know, ever since you showed up in the sixth grade, he's taken your side. Why? What secret do you two have?” She balled her fists. “And all you've done is hurt him over and over again.”

  Seffy stared at her, wondering what precipitated Addison's tirade. Then again, she'd never understood the suppressed rage her friend always had simmering just under the surface—complete with the occasional boil-overs. Like now. And now was not the time to get into some petty argument over past mistakes. Seffy strode to the door and opened it. “Please leave.”

  Addison obliged, going out into the hall. “You're a parasite, Seffy. Sucking the life out of everyone around you.”

  “Well, Addison, you're a bitch.”

  “Hmm, you say it like that's a bad thing.” The redhead strolled out the door without looking back.

  Seffy slammed the door shut and kicked the panel in impotent fury.

  What the hell had just happened? Until she figured it out, it looked like her pity party just went bust.

  Chapter Nine

  A pregnant schooner. Or was it a galleon? One of those old time boats at any rate. And a guy with a new crew cut in strange designs on his head. Looks really tired. Serious bags under his eyes. Seffy didn't think she recognized him.

  “Miss Carter.”

  The strange face disappeared as Seffy was jostled awake. She blinked and tried not to scream at the figure hovering over her.

  “Just taking your vitals, miss.”

  The frakkin' Haz-Mat team was at it again. Seffy groaned, wishing they'd leave her alone. Six o'clock every morning two silver-suited figures felt the need to wake her up and every time, she just almost peed her pants in fright. After enduring their pinching and poking, she exhaled a peeved sigh when they finally left. Seffy sat up in bed and rubbed her tired eyes.

  Getting back to sleep was probably a no-go, so she got up. She walked over to the blank wall and pretended to open curtains and look outside. Seffy wondered if the sky was still pink and the sand still sparkly. Maybe Eugene could explain some of that little mystery to her. But that meant hunting him down and she didn't want to run into anyone at the moment—especially Addison. That girl has some weird ideas in her head about my relationship with Gareth. If she knew the truth would she leave me alone?

  With no satisfactory answer forthcoming, Seffy brushed out her hair, wondering what to do with herself.

  Her stomach wanted food, but not the variety to be found in the box. The cafeteria served hot food. She looked for the promised phone, but there was none. Scratching her rumbling belly, she cursed Fiona's name. And by extension Addison's. Instead of Apocalypse Babes, they were the Apocalypse Bitches. She remembered Trent's rudeness of the day before. Well, if Gareth could be a Babe, then Trent could be the other. No sexism tolerated.

  Seffy smiled grimly as she dressed in her Juicy Couture tracksuit. Despite the blown knee, broken zipper and stains, she felt better in the familiar comfort of designer velour. Now off to beg Gareth to find her some real food.

  When she stepped out her door, she almost barreled into Trent.

  “Think of the devil,” she said, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

  “Ahhh, you were thinking about me.”

  He looked all bad boy blond and a bag of chips. Remembering his rotten attitude during their last conversation, Seffy ignored him and headed toward Gareth's room.

  “You really pull off the post-apocalyptic look in that tracksuit, Sef. Pat Benatar would be proud.”

  “Go away.”

  “Hey, love is a battlefield, baby.”

  She sent him a disgusted look, wishing she'd paid more attention to Gareth's endless pop culture references. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

  His lips twitched. “Are you a runaway, too? What are you running from?”

  Seffy had no choice but to pretend he didn't exist. A difficult task when he was dogging her steps.

  “They're not there, you know.”

  She paused in the hallway and faced him. “Who's not there?”

  “Your friends. They're not in their rooms.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I just came from there.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, wondering what made him tick. “Why do you say 'my friends'? Jared, Cynthia, Eve...those are your friends.”

  He raised his brows. “I told you Jared was actually a friend of Clay's and we had just met. The girls just sort of landed nearby when the whole kerblooey happened. But I guess you would've know that if you weren't snogging Clay that night in the bunker, then puking your drunken guts out afterwards.”

  Seffy felt her face heat so hot she wondered if her skin would burst into flame. She turned on her heel and continued to Gareth's door. How could Trent one moment forgive her for what happened with Clay, then mock her the next? When she arrived at the door, she knocked with more force than necessary.

  Trent stood by, within her line of sight, watching her. She wished she had the nerve to punch him in the face. Maybe she'd get Gareth to do it for her. After all, he'd offered.

  No answer. Seffy rattled the knob for good measure, then headed to the next door. After knocking on a series of doors until her knuckles were sore, she took a deep breath and steeled herself for Trent's smug face. “Where are they?” she asked in a tight voice.

  “Cafeteria. Probably having hotcakes, or bacon and eggs...maybe cinnamon rolls?”

  Seffy's stomach rumbled loudly enough for Trent to hear. “You're evil, do you know that?”

  He grinned. “Yeah, especially the cinnamon roll part—that was a low blow.”

  She turned and started for her room, hunger and despair roiling in her gut.

  “You know, I can get you something from the cafeteria.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Why?”

  She sent him a sidelong glance, angry at his loose-hipped nonchalance. “You'll probably taint it.”

  “Only with love, Seffy. Only with love.”

  She stopped. “How can you talk to me like that? Where's the Trent who rescued me? I like him better.”

  “That doesn't surprise me. You like having your men flitting around, attending to all your needs.”

  She snorted. “If you're implying that about Gareth, he's ten times the man you could ever hope to be.”

  Trent regarded her wi
th a heavy-lidded look. “Let's not forget Fenn.”

  “What about him?”

  “Don't tell me you haven't noticed the way he can't take his eyes off of you when you're in the room.”

  She'd noticed no such thing. At one time it might've been the other way around. Fenn was gorgeous. His girlfriend, however, killed any impulse to let her eyes wander. “What are you, high?”

  “I wish.”

  Seffy began to tremble, whether from hunger or fury, she didn't know. Coupled with Addison's recent treatment of her, she was fit to be tied. “Until you can learn to be civil, stay away from me.” Arriving at her door, she went inside and slammed it behind her, locking it tight.

  Anger was also making her itch. She scratched her forehead and plopped onto the bed. How could Trent be such a pig? And what did he mean about her needing men to take care of her? She squeezed her eyes shut to block his image from her mind, then tipped over until her head hit the pillow. She would wait for a while then go and find...Lani to help her get some food.

  ***

  A cinnamon roll on a silver plate hovered in the sky before zipping over the ground in a series of maneuvers that made the cows moo and fall over. A man in a bathrobe ran around with a shovel, stopping momentarily to dig in the glittering dirt. When a series of musical tones sounded from the cinnamon roll, the man stopped digging and did a slow shuffling dance before jumping onto a prostrate cow and beheading it with the shovel.

  Seffy bolted upright, gasping, staring at her surroundings until they coalesced into a sense of normalcy. God, what a freakish dream. She closed her eyes to clear her head, glad when the violent images began to fade. It was disgusting and sick, but that flying saucer roll smelled so damn real. She sniffed, then saw something on the nightstand next to her bed.

  A cinnamon roll on a plate. Still warm, if the aroma could be believed.

  She stared at it, sure her eyes were playing tricks. But the smell. That couldn't be faked, right? Seffy reached out and touched it, amazed when her fingers came back sticky. Her mouth began to water at an alarming rate. Just as she reached out to grab it and begin cramming it into her mouth, she wondered how it got there. Seffy got up and walked to the door. Locked. Tight. From the inside.