Free Surge by Katelin;katie LaMontagne Page A

“Because I was here before you dumbasses. In this very room, in fact. Just because a door is closed, doesn’t mean it’s empty.” She shoots us a chastising look. “I heard you two walking around like a herd of elephants, while I was in here trying to find the switch to turn off the security for the gun case.” Olivia pats the crossbow on her lap like it’s a prized pet.
    “That’s when you meatheads decided brute force to be the better option.” Scrunching her brow and deepening her voice, she punches a fist to her chest in rendition of a caveman. “ ‘Me he man and punch glass out of way.’ Instead you Einsteins triggered the burglar switch. After I cut the alarm, I saved your stupid asses from being the catch of the day.”
    “Thank you, oh wise one,” the smart ass beside me says with a bow. “Our puny brains would have been sacrificed without you.”
    “Damn straight, and you two owe me a new mani at the next stop.”
    Taking off a glove, Olivia holds up her left hand for inspection. A white gold ring with a rock the size of Texas winks at me, so I barely notice the chipped nail she’s talking about. That was a low blow to libido. How old is she? She looks eighteen at most. And where the hell’s the guy who spent his life savings on that ring, leaving this beauty to fend for herself? Dead, most likely. That’s the only way she’d be away from my side if she were mine, not that I want her in that sense, of course. Just in bed, honest. Is that why she’s alone? Or did the bastard abandon her for displaying psychotic tendencies?
    Or maybe she truly is a black widow.
    Before I can work up the courage to ask, she’s whipping her leather glove back on. Throwing her soup canister into the bag on her back, she gives the strap holding her machete a tug to make sure it stays in place and checks the chamber of her gun. Grabbing her helmet and crossbow, she basically runs like the hounds from hell are after her, leaving us behind. John must’ve missed the ring, since he has a head start on his own gear, as I begin to ready my own equipment.
    Leaving the office, we find Olivia stuffing supplies into her bag. First aid kits, several pairs of leather gloves, paintball goggles, an extra pair of hiking boots and a dozen sports bras are most of the items packed. Zipping the contents safely inside, she hefts her burden, which has to weigh more than her whole body, onto her shoulder like it weighs nothing. John heads one way with a duffel to pack supplies for the group, while I head in the other with a second assigned to the same task.
    Several varying sized pairs of boots and sneakers of the male and female variety are first. Next, some thick hoodies, to provide a barrier of protection, and jeans that don’t squeeze a man’s nuts off are added to the bag. A few first aid kits and medical tape are thrown on top before I work my way to the case that almost killed us.
    John’s testing out a crossbow, while Olivia’s stuffing arrows in both of their bags. I can that see she attached a shoulder holster to her bow, since it’s now on the opposite shoulder as the machete. That reminds me of something.
    “Why didn’t you use your gun on the wheezers?” Olivia’s hands freeze for a second, before she shrugs.
    “Machete’s quieter,” she answers casually without looking up. A little too casual if you ask me.
    “But you were willing to shoot us if it came down to it?” I press. “The noise would have been okay then?”
    “Yup,” comes the response with a pop on the ‘p.’
    “You don’t have any ammo, do you?” John inquires. Straightening to her full 5’ nothing, she stares down John like he’s the pixie person.
    “Wanna find out?” Olivia dares. Slightly unzipping her leather jacket, which I don’t know how she’s wearing in the trillion degree heat wave we’re having, she pulls out her gun. Checking the safety lock, she holds the gun out to John. “Go on, take it.”
    John looks like he suspects