SurvivorZ: Grave Harbor

41

PAIGE

Patty spent the next morning exploring all of the unguarded spaces that Harvard camp had to offer. Soldiers prevented her from venturing near the science labs on the top floor, the armory, the roof, the motor pool, and a few other places. She didn't let on that it bothered her, but her concerns about her new shelter grew with every armed guard blocking her way. Before committing herself to this place, she needed to trust that it would be worth the effort.

She could thank her mother for that charming part of her personality. Mommy Dearest never stayed true to anything that didn't fit her tiny, ordered universe. That included dad and Mitchell. Hell, given her love affair with the bottle, it included most of reality.

Unlike her, Patty would never flaunt her apprehension to her stalwart protectors. As far as the military was concerned, "Paige Treadwell" was happily willing to obey their orders like a good girl. The last thing she wanted was to rock the boat – not until she determined if it had any worrisome leaks, anyway.

At least being the only female member of the group wasn't a concern here. There were plenty of women around, both in and out of uniform. She even saw several more people arrive late yesterday with a girl who looked to be around her age. The soldiers quarantined them downstairs. If Mike hadn't vouched for her, she'd probably be down there with them.

Instead, she was in a second-floor classroom that the army now used for storage. She managed to tear off a piece from the wood boarding up one of the windows. It wasn't much, but it gave her a safe glimpse of the outside world. Admittedly, the room wasn't a heck of a lot warmer than what the sentries probably faced on the roof, but since rooftop access was one more thing out of bounds to her, this sorry excuse for a view would have to suffice.

Between the overcast sky and the smoke from the fires of yesterday's bombings, most everything beyond the neighboring property consisted of vague shapes drifting in a haze. Patty couldn't find enough of a distraction through the glass to quiet her troubled mind.

Foremost in her thoughts was one memory in particular, running on an endless loop. Those fateful moments trapped in time when she watched the shot that killed Paige dead.

The tears she shed last night in the bathroom threatened to return. She couldn't stop blaming herself for Paige's death, despite Mike's assurances that she wasn't responsible. Maybe it was because she knew her guilt better than he did. If she hadn't been so adamant about leaving Stan and the others, Paige might still be alive today.

Of course, the odds were far better that they'd both end up as dead as her poor brother in the company of those lug nuts. Patty knew from experience that guilt was a funny thing. It kept burning, no matter how much you tried to douse it with cold reality.

Patty didn't want her recriminations over her dead friend to skew into thoughts of her dead brother – or worse, her dead mother. She instead reflected on Stan and the guys.

She wondered where they were now. Probably already beached ashore on Stan's plentiful, zombie-proof, magical island. She pictured the jackhole reclining in a beach lounger with his gun by his side. Probably sipping coconut milk through a straw and debating whether to nap or squeeze in a few hours of quality fishing time.

Patty sniggered at the thought. The dark clouds around her heart parted ever so slightly.

"Is someone in here?" a voice asked from the doorway, shocking her into silence.

She hadn't heard anyone come in. The instinct to hide was almost overwhelming. She tamped it down with a slight, "Yes. Me."

"Me who?" the woman asked.