The X Factor Read online

  She turned up the volume and rolled the dial from channel to channel. Static filled the air. She flicked past to the next one.

  “We know where they are and are closing in. Alpha team, that's a go.”

  Seffy dropped the radio onto the bed as Trent pulled his head from the closet. He strode over to the bed and picked up the radio. “They think we're listening. They're just trying to scare us.”

  “It's working,” she whispered, beginning to tremble. Her system was still in shock. The idea of more terror brought heat to her eyes.

  “Okay, I have a temporary plan. We need to make this room appear as if it hasn't been occupied. Every sign of our existence must be erased.”

  Seffy nodded and got off the bed, forcing herself to at least act like she was brave. She pulled the blankets tight, smoothing out every wrinkle. Trent went through the room picking up a tiny string from the gauze that had been on the floor and a Hershey's wrapper from under the bed. Seffy tried to force her mind into Think Mode. But Fear Mode was making things cloudy.

  In the bathroom, she turned on the fan to clear the mirror of condensation from Trent's shower and threw the soap away. Then she took the towel and wiped down the mirror, the toilet, and the shower stall.

  Her body ached with the effort as she fought back rising panic. They'd miss something important, a scrap of paper, the smell of shampoo...something. Trent came in the bathroom and they dumped the trash from the waste can into a plastic bag. “This looks good.”

  “They'll be able to feel the moisture in the air.”

  “We'll keep the fan on until the last minute and hope for the best.”

  Seffy scanned the bathroom, trying to find anything out of order. She even pulled the toilet paper roll off the dispenser. Trent took it and the towel and jammed it all in the plastic bag. She followed him out of the bathroom and together they did one last sweep of the space.

  He grabbed the backpack and went over to a corner of the room. Clambering up onto the radiator, he stretched up to the ceiling and removed one of the tiles.

  Seffy's heart sank at the idea of getting up there. “So we're not leaving the room?”

  “Nope.” He tossed the backpack up, followed by the trash bag.

  She didn't know whether to be relieved or discouraged. “You have all the candy bars?”

  He smiled. “Yep.”

  Seffy took a deep breath. “Okay, what's the last thing I do?”

  “Go, make sure the door is locked—just the handle, not the bolt. Then shut off the light and turn off the fan in the bathroom.”

  Seffy did as she was instructed, her eyes roaming the room for anything out of place as she made her way to the radiator. Too bad they didn't have some dust to spread about.

  “You ready?”

  She nodded. He held out his hand. Seffy climbed up onto the radiator, pain slowing her movements. She grabbed his wrist, cringing when he pulled her up into the crawl space. Stifling a cry, she scrambled up next to him, breathing hard. He replaced the tile just as they heard noises outside the door. A small flashlight was the only illumination, bouncing off framing, ductwork and wiring blanketed with dust and cobwebs.

  Trent motioned for her to recline next to him. “Hold perfectly still.”

  “Did you turn off the radios?” she whispered. “What if we bump the dial and they hear a transmission?”

  “I took out the batteries to be sure.”

  Seffy jumped when the door crashed open. From the sound, at least two men came into the room. She heard them banging around, talking in loud voices, although their words were muffled. She looked at Trent with wide eyes, fighting to control her breathing. The air was stifling, almost absent. Swallowing hard, she clenched her fists, jerking every time the men below bumped something. Trent sought to reassure her but fresh tears filmed her eyes instead. She didn't know if she was going to make it.

  Finally the door was slammed down below. Trent shook his head, motioning for her to stay still. “It might be a trick to get us to come out too early,” he whispered.

  She nodded. As the minutes passed, the heat became suffocating. Sweat trickled down her sides and made her feel claustrophobic. Trent checked his watch but didn't make a move.

  Seffy's lids grew heavy, her vision tunneling. A high-pitched buzz sounded in her ears and a wave of nausea rolled over her. Her head felt so heavy. Her eyes fluttered closed. She was so afraid, so tired.

  Then a finger under her chin, pushing her head up.

  “Stay with me, Sef,” he whispered. “Just a little longer.”

  She licked her lips, unable to fight the darkness. Her head dislodged from his fingers and fell back.

  Gray bled to black for a moment, then Seffy was jostled back to gray. An arm slid under her head. Someone pulled her close, tipping her face up. She saw someone staring at her, from far away, saw him dip his head close to hers. A sudden pressure on her lips was confusing, as were the fingers grazing her cheek. Who was kissing her? Gareth? Why? He was angry with her, right? He got upset when she tried to kiss him. Did that make this a dream?

  The kiss became more insistent. Seffy felt her pulse respond. Maybe Gareth forgave her. She closed her eyes and angled her head for better access, returning his kiss. She felt the stubble of his cheek beneath her fingertips. He felt so good. He tasted so good. It was glorious sweetness after a week of bitter hell.

  He paused.

  Oh, don't stop. Seffy cupped his face, feeling her world narrow down to the comforting warmth of his touch. Maybe he loves me after all.

  The kiss ended. Comfort drained away, replaced with a familiar feeling of alienation. Had she done something wrong? She tried to remember what it might've been that made him stop.

  Seffy opened her eyes, disorientation whirling inside her brain. Her heart pounded unnaturally hard as she saw strange shadows all around. After a moment, the shadows coalesced and the sight of the attic brought her to the present. “Trent?”

  “Yeah?”

  If she squinted, she could just see his form sitting next to her, hunched forward. “What was that?”

  “I think we tricked them into believing we're not here.”

  Seffy frowned. She meant the whole kissing thing. Or had she imagined it? Was she losing it altogether?

  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw Trent rub his face. She slowly sat up and touched his hand. “Are you okay?”

  He swiveled his head at her and stared at her like she was nuts. “Are you?”

  “Well, I feel kinda funny.”

  “That's one word for it.” He helped her scoot forward. “What were you doing there? Trying to die?”

  Seffy thought hard, but still came up with zip. “I don't know. It was weird. I don't think there's much air up here.”

  “You went limp so fast, it seemed like more than just losing consciousness.” He paused. “So I just did what I thought would bring you back as quietly as possible. If I pinched you or something, you would have made a noise that might've given us away, right?”

  She peered at him in the gloom, confusion webbing her brain. “What did you do?”

  He leaned forward and slid the ceiling tile back. “If you don't remember, it must've been underwhelming.” After a quick visual check of the room, he reached out his hand to her. “Come here. You have to go first. Try to land soft.”

  “You sure they're gone?”

  “Pretty sure. At any rate, we can't stay up here any longer.”

  Trent helped her negotiate the edge of the opening. She held back a cry against the pain of straining muscles as her feet touched the top of the radiator. From there she leaned against the wall, pulling in deep breaths, still fuzzy. Once her feet hit the floor, she relaxed a bit.

  Trent followed, moving past her to the door. He eased the deadbolt into the locked position. Seffy made her way to the bed and fell face down upon it. She struggled to sort out the weird images in her brain, made more bewildering by Trent's abrupt manner.

  She twi
sted her head to face him. “Do you think I'm dying?”

  He turned to her and dropped the backpack onto the bed. “Maybe you were just fainting. Sorry, I freaked.”

  “You freaked?”

  He ignored her question. She frowned. Something wasn't right in her head. Maybe the virus was multiplying in her frontal lobes and causing her to get mixed up. “What if I die in my sleep and reanimate? Maybe you should lock me in the bathroom.”

  “That's not gonna happen.”

  “Which part?”

  “Both.”

  “I don't know. My leg hurts, the wound is still leaky, I did want to eat someone—”

  “It was a hallucination. Besides, you said you didn't have an urge to bite me.”

  She smirked. “Maybe it's because you'd bite back.”

  “You're not a zombie, Sef.”

  “Not yet. And with all the crap they were pumping into me, I'm even more unpredictable.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed, his features taut. “Listen, it's two in the morning. We're both wiped. We're going to sleep and hope that those men think this room is empty. And if we survive the night, we'll figure out what to do next, okay?”

  Seffy regarded him for a moment then nodded. Sleep did sound glorious. She kicked off her shoes and crawled under the covers. The pillow was cool on her cheek and she closed her eyes. A few minutes later, she felt Trent get into bed beside her. Seffy stifled a stab of disappointment when he faced away from her, hugging opposite edge of the twin mattress.

  Guess he doesn't want my cooties after all.

  Chapter Four

  “Your hair is tickling my nose.”

  Seffy stretched and realized her pillow was warm and breathing. She looked around, and discovered she'd been asleep on Trent's chest.

  Oops.

  He sent her a questioning look, his hands folded behind his head.

  She peeled herself from his body, her face flaming. “Sorry. I must've been cold.”

  Trent sat up and scooted to sit against the headboard. His hair stood up in all directions and he looked grumpy. Seffy could only imagine how she looked.

  “How can you feel cold? You're like a furnace.”

  Seffy sat up, crossing her arms and huddling into herself for warmth. “Trust me, my hands are like ice.”

  “Give me your hand.”

  She untucked one and laid it in his palm. He wrapped his fingers around hers and shook his head. “Your skin is so hot it almost feels cold.”

  Tugging her hand back, she shrugged.

  Trent studied her until she felt like a bug under a microscope. “What?” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Sorry, I'm not put together first thing in the morning. What time is it anyway?”

  “Seven o'clock. Do you know what you did last night?”

  “Do you mean in the attic?” She still hadn't quite figured out what had happened up there.

  “No,” he huffed.

  “Oh, well, I guess I didn't die. That's something, right?”

  Trent ignored her observation. “A few hours after we went to sleep, you woke up, got out of bed, found the candy bars and proceeded to eat three in a row.”

  Seffy's jaw dropped. She snapped it shut. “No way.”

  “You don't remember it?”

  “I like chocolate. It's not an experience I block out.”

  He scrutinized her face as if looking for an explanation. “What was even weirder is that you were almost zombie-like. Then you just climbed back in bed, latched on to me, and passed out.”

  “Ew.” She glanced at the ceiling. “The zombie part, I mean.”

  “Are you hungry now?”

  Seffy felt her face heat. “I'm starving.”

  Trent pushed back the covers and got up. The clothes he had on yesterday—a white cotton shirt open at the neck (with a seriously wide collar, complements of the compound) and rolled up at the sleeves, paired with faded Levis—were a wrinkled mess. She peered down at her tracksuit. The velour had held up a little better.

  “I have a theory.”

  She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them, wondering when she could sneak another candy bar. “That I'm on the road to becoming a diabetic?”

  He grabbed the backpack, pulled out the First Aid kit and rummaged through it. “I wanna take your temp.”

  “Okay, Olga.” Seffy thought of the compound nurse who had cared for her when she first arrived sick and seizurely. She hoped the gruff but motherly lady was okay.

  Trent didn't seem to notice her quip. After he found a thermometer, he also produced a piece of paper and a pen. “Open up.”

  She allowed him to place the thermometer under her tongue, but wished she'd had a chance to brush her teeth first. Trent took her wrist and pressed his fingers to his pulse. He looked at his wide leather watch and counted the beats. Seffy studied his face as he wrote down a number on the paper. He still had lines on his skin from sleep and the stubble was less Miami Vice and more hobo. Why was he suddenly all concerned for her welfare? Despite the drug cocktail the compound had put her on, she could remember his spiteful nastiness well.

  After a moment, Trent pulled out the thermometer and checked the reading. His eyes widened, but he wrote the number down. “Hmm.”

  “Hmm, what? What's the damage?”

  His mouth tipped into a humorless smile. “There actually might be damage. I honestly don't know how you're functioning at this point.”

  Seffy grabbed the paper. “124 and 107.” Then her brain registered the information.

  “Sef, your resting heart rate is crazy high and your temp—God, your innards have to be cooking in there.”

  “Yeah...that is kinda freaky,” she said, fear chasing adrenaline.

  “And I've been thinking about how you reacted in the crawl space.”

  She looked at him, trying to discern his thoughts. “You know, I think I had a dream about that.”

  His face darkened. She wondered why. “I think you weren't getting enough air because your respiration is also off the charts. Listen to how fast you're breathing.”

  Seffy tried, but fresh anxiety took hold, making it worse. God, what is wrong with me? She'd been fighting for her life in more ways than one since entering this so-called refuge.

  “It's about forty times a minute. Even while you were asleep. You're close to panting.”

  She offered him a nervous smile. “Isn't this the part where you say it was because I woke up in bed with you?”

  He blew out a breath. “This is serious. I think you need a doctor.”

  “Hey, I know, let's go back to that room where they had me strapped down. I bet there's a doctor there now.”

  Trent's mouth tightened. “Or, maybe all your readings, including your metabolism as indicated by your midnight snack, are sky high because that's what it's taking to fight the zombie infection.”

  “Let's see if it's working.” Seffy pulled her leg out from under the covers and shoved up her pant leg. She removed the gauze and had to swallow back rising bile. “Gah, it still looks awful.”

  Trent leaned over her. “I think it's a little better. And not as weepy.”

  “Hand me that First Aid kit and I'll change the dressing.” Seffy took the kit from him and set to work. She tried to decide if there were less black veins than yesterday. Bleh.

  “You got pretty feverish last time you were exposed to the virus, right? After you and...”

  “Yeah,” Seffy said, ashamed all over again. After me and pre-zombie-Clay made out. “They said I had seizures and went into a coma for a couple of days.”

  “So it seems you were actually exposed then. I know everyone thought you'd dodged the bullet.”

  “I guess,” she said, unable to meet his eyes. Post-apocalypse, pre-compound, she'd gotten drunk enough to end up playing tonsil hockey with a guy who'd been bitten by zombie. Reanimated Clay had then been killed by Gareth. Her disgusting behavior with a stranger had set off a dismal chain reaction with her friends
that had nothing to do with waking up in the wrong decade. Precious memories.

  “You fought it then, so you should be able to now.”

  Seffy looked up. “I'm sorry about Clay.”

  His gray eyes were unreadable. “That could've been avoided had you been kissing me instead.”

  His lame attempt at humor at least let her know he might not hate her for what happened. Much. But she remembered Trent's subsequent fury right after it happened, much of which had been directed at her. So why was he helping her now? What was his angle? Because with Trent, there was always an angle.

  He gathered up the First Aid kit supplies and returned them to the backpack. “You know if you go into a coma this time, I won't have any way to help you.”

  Despite her questions about his motivations, she needed his assistance to get...somewhere else than here. “The good news is I won't be aware of it.”

  He stared at her, his eyes tired. “We have to get out of here.”

  “Ladies room first.” Seffy didn't wait for an answer. In the bathroom, she brushed out her mostly blonde hair which was extra fluffy from sleeping. She found a rubber band in the medicine cabinet and put her hair into a ponytail. After washing her face, she grabbed the toothpaste off the shelf...and froze. “Trent!”

  He opened the door a moment later and poked his head in. “What?”

  “Did you brush your teeth before going to sleep last night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I just found the tube with the cap off and wet toothpaste leaking out.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Well, if those men checked in here and found a tube of toothpaste...?”

  “All the bathrooms are stocked with toiletries.”

  “I get that. But this tube wasn't new, because we used it.” Her heart beat feebly. “What if they saw it?”

  Trent ran his hand through his hair. “I don't know. Maybe they didn't check inside the medicine cabinet. I didn't think of it.”

  Seffy's shoulders slumped. “Yeah, maybe they missed it.”

  He left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. After scrubbing her teeth, she peered closer at her reflection, and was discouraged at what she saw. Apocalypse was not good for the complexion. Her skin seemed thinner and violet circles rimmed her eyes—eyes that were now dark brown instead of the blue she'd arrived with. She missed her contacts, missed the albeit thin level of anonymity they provided. Now anyone—Gareth—could see straight into her soul. And they both knew what was there wasn't pretty.