Surge by Katelin;katie LaMontagne

trusty whistle.” Olivia demonstrates, and we hear a far off screech of pain. “While some wheezers block their ears in a very human fashion, which is hilarious mind you, they all shy away from the sound. Therefore, the whistle is in fact not broken and harms the wheezers, any questions?” Turning her back on us, she repositions the whistle and starts blowing again as she sashays away.
    “I’ll believe it when I see it,” John mutters before following after her. I, on the other hand; having been taken successfully to task numerous times in our short acquaintance, just became her biggest customer for any and all bull shit she’s selling my way.
    At least for now.
    <~~~<~~~ ~~~>~~~>

Chapter Seven:
     
    “Where’re we headed?” Olivia asks. She stopped at the end of the alley way behind Hal’s, and is now scanning the street like a hawk, while waiting for us to catch up.
    “East,” I answer. “Toward Brookline.”
    “Alright, Mr. Vague,” she replies snidely with a swing of her arm. “Lead the way.”
    “It’s a condo-plex about eight miles away,” John adds for description. Nodding, Olivia tucks the necklace for the whistle inside her jacket and pulls her helmet on.
    “Is that really necessary?” John inquires as she obsessively stuffs her braid away.
    Without answering, she runs a hand over the front of her jacket, ignoring John’s question completely. Appearing satisfied with her inspection, for who knows what; Olivia gives a quick nod at me to move. Raising his eyebrows at me, John nods his head and agrees to move on. Sticking with the same route we used on the way in, we reach the grocery store parking lot within ten minutes. It’s still deserted, so we keep going.
    Moving at a quick pace, we make it another three miles before I notice the complete lack of wheezers. None of them are scuffling in the streets, not even one picking through trash, absolutely nothing. The absence of any wheezers along the way can be a bad sign. A glance at the sky shows that showers are imminent. Either the wheezers are sensing a bad storm is on the way and they’re taking refuge like wild animals, or there’s an early shift from type one to type two due to the lack of sun. Neither option is ideal, so I signal to stop and consult our direction.
    “Why’d we stop?” John asks. He pulls a swig of water from his canteen and wipes his mouth with a sleeve before tucking it away.
    “Did you notice anything along the way?” I ask and he shakes his head in the negative. “Exactly.”
    John looks confused, so I look toward Olivia. She has her helmet and visor still firmly in place, so I can’t see beyond my reflection to read her expression, but a jerk up and down signals her comprehension.
    “No activity,” is her muffled response. I nod in agreement and turn to John.
    “No activity’s a good thing,” John counters. “We can make it back without a parade of maggots chomping at our asses.”
    “It could be,” I agree. “Or it could mean that a bad storm sent them retreating to find shelter.”
    “Or a switch to night feeders,” Olivia proposes.
    “I get it,” John replies. “The night owls might come out to play early.” Olivia mutters something like, ‘give the boy a cookie,’ but I’m not positive until John smirks at her and says in a voice full of heat, “Only if you’re baking, sweetheart. Only if you’re baking. Preferably naked.” She slides a hand to the handle of her machete, and he flinches before cupping his pride.
    “Focus,” I order. “Do we risk it by sprinting the rest of the way home, or do we make camp for the night?”
    “Sarah won’t like it,” John warns. “The last time she was near hysterics when we didn’t come back.”
    “It’s either we make her worry a few more hours,” I offer. “Or risk not coming back at all.”
    “Alright,” he agrees. “But you suffer the wrath of little sis this time. My ears still hurt from her screaming like a fishwife.” I agree to