Taylor, Part I

Long after leaving Monica's quarters, still carrying the note burning a hole in his pocket, Taylor sat in his quarters and waited. Even if there was something to do besides stare at his empty metal wall, he wouldn't have been able to focus.

The revelation about his dad shouldn't have shocked him, but he'd wanted so badly to believe John wasn't one of the bad guys—that he'd gone to the trouble of bringing Taylor here because he cared. Once he'd realized the truth, Monica's distrustful gaze made more sense. She'd thought he was in on it too.

Taylor didn't know how to convince her of the truth except to show her he was the same man he'd always been. That had to count for something. Friendship was something he valued more than anything, and not something he'd throw away for power.

When someone knocked loudly at the front door, Taylor trudged across the room to open it, revealing Monica on the other side. She stood there, rubbing her arms and shifting her feet from side to side, all while not looking at him.

"Dinner is ready in the mess hall."

Taylor sighed in relief before stuffing his key card in his pocket and stepping outside the stuffy room. He linked his good arm through Monica's and walked with her through the corridors. "Where's everyone else?"

"Waiting," she said with a sour tone. "Jayson didn't exactly play nice with Dr Benson, and they have guards continuously watching him. It's best if we meet him at meals for now."

Taylor stopped in his tracks and groaned. "They can't stop us from being friends."

"And your father?" she challenged, pulling him forward again.

"My father doesn't control me. We might have been close once, but he destroyed any relationship we had the moment he cast me out. He never kept secrets until now, and I don't know how to ask him about it without punching him in the face. I don't blame Jayson at all."

Monica shrugged with a loud sigh. "Even so, we need to play the game. Jayson has barely spoken to me, but I feel like he was threatened. I think I can keep him close, but I won't always be with him while I'm in the lab. With both of you not working, I thought perhaps you could..." She unhooked their arms and waved her hands, stumbling over her words. "I don't know...like, maybe use your influence."

Taylor squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists by his sides. "You mean to get close to my dad again. I can't do that."

Monica snatched his good arm and spun him around to face her, leveling a stern glare on him to rival the fiercest mother. "This isn't about us or personal feelings, Taylor! Jeannie is dead according to this secret 'council', and as a scientist, complications is not an acceptable answer to me. Medical professionals keep extensive notes on surgeries, and I want to know what led to her death.'

'Jayson also mentioned leaving the facility, and the psychiatrist seemed to imply we are not permitted to leave. He also brought up personal details that no one should so readily have access to unless the government has been illegally storing this information on all of us."

Monica released Taylor, pacing the empty corridor with a furrowed brow while tapping her chin. She paused long enough to fix Taylor with a bemused expression. "Your father admitted to keeping tabs on us. He rescued us through you, but made no effort to search for other survivors. He's president of the council. For a socialite, he has way too much political power, and we need someone on the inside. The only person who can even get close to him is you."

Taylor dipped his head and shoved his hand in his pocket, pondering Monica's words. In the outside world, he almost felt more secure, knowing the threats were man-eating cannibals and lack of supplies. Here, the danger was his father and the secrets he harbored with the leaders.

"You think he lied about Jeannie?"

He didn't want to believe it. His dad had his secrets at the moment, but John wouldn't jeopardize that was left of their frail peace, would he? No secret was worth that.

With her eyes cast down at her feet, Monica's shoulders lifted into a small shrug as she walked forward toward the promenade. Her words were barely discernable, even in the quiet corridor. "I don't know. He's not telling us everything, and I don't trust the people he works with, especially Benson. I won't know more until I get into the lab, but I need answers. I need to know what happened to Jeannie."

Taylor couldn't argue with that. Answers wouldn't bring Jeannie back or lesson his guilt, but perhaps he could find a way to emotionally lay her to rest. He wasn't as close to her as Monica had been, but he knew he'd feel terrible if it had been her or Jayson in Jeanie's place. He'd never survive without them.

People walked across the open space, laughing and giggling as if the world hadn't just ended on the outside. Security guards slung their rifles over their backs as they casually walked in the same direction as everyone else.

Taylor shook his head and grunted. "These people have no idea what's outside," he said in a low voice. "They have nothing to lose, and the leadership has no reason to show anyone what's really happening. I think we all deserve to know the truth."

Eyes shining, Monica offered him a trembling smile. "So you'll help?"

Taylor nodded, bringing his good arm around her and pulling her into his chest. "Of course. I'd do anything for any of you. We'll find our answers, and we'll get that cure."

A warm sensation expanded Taylor's heart as Monica's arms tightened and his waist. After all the time they'd spent together, this was the first time Taylor had truly felt at home with anyone—that she was the family he'd craved for the past decade, especially when she whispered the words into his ear, "I love you."

With his eyes closed and a grin stretching across his face, he said, "I love you too, Monica."

"¡Oye! Are you two coming to dinner or should I be worried?"

Monica and Taylor broke apart with a laugh, turning to face Diego, who watched them with a quirked eyebrow. "Should Jayson be worried too?" he added with a smirk.

Monica's cheeks turned bright red as she broke apart from Taylor, rushing past the men toward the mess hall. Her reaction didn't make much sense, but then again, Taylor had never been good at picking up on social cues.

Stepping forward, Diego took Taylor's hand into his and interlaced their fingers together. Leaning closer with a widening grin, he asked, "So?"

Taylor bit his lip and touched their noses together before meeting Diego's lips. "Nah. We're just friends. I'm more interested in the sexy Latino in front of me."

"Good," he said, returning the kiss. "I don't want to share you."

"Possessive much?"

A mischievous gleam twinkled in Diego's eyes as his smirk remained. "No. I trust you, but I want to know how much competition I have."

Taylor slipped his arm around Diego's waist, laughing as the men approached the mess hall together. "Please. I haven't been in a relationship in years. I'm not opposed to dominance, but I want you to trust me."

Diego lowered his hand to Taylor's buttcheek and gave it a hard squeeze. "Where was this assertiveness last week? Mi leoncito has grown into un león hermoso on me. This could be fun behind closed doors."

"Later," Taylor promised. "Right now, I want to eat in a room that doesn't have my dad in it."

"You won't get any arguments from me there. The guy creeps me out. I'm only nice out of respect to you."

Taylor offered him a grateful smile. "Thank you."

Sounds of laughing, murmurs, and clattering utensils against plates assaulted Taylor's ears. It was as if a TV had switched from regularly scheduled programming to a commercial, blaring loudly to gain attention. Spices, vegetables, and meat drifted into his nose as the lights burned into his eyes, and the sensory overload was too much after a week in his quiet quarters.

Heart pounding, Taylor spun around and swiftly exited the room, gasping for air once his ears stopped ringing. A hand on his shoulder made him jump. "¿León, que pasa?"

"Too many people," he wheezed.

An awkward silence followed before understanding replaced Diego's confused tone. "Oh, right. I forgot. We can bring dinner to one of our quarters instead."

Heat flooded Taylor's cheeks at the way Diego treated him like an invalid. His chest tightened with memories of Ashley conspiring with his mother, attempting to accommodate his quirks. "This is why I don't like telling people about myself," he said through gritted teeth. "I get treated like I'm disabled or like...like I'm not...right."

"I didn't mean it like that," Diego said, placing a hand on his arm. Taylor jerked away and began to move away when Diego maneuvered in front of him. "Taylor, stop. It's been a long week for all of us, and I didn't try to imply anything. Our world was upended by a bunch of zombies before we were caged up for a week with hardly any human interaction. I think your reaction to the crowd is normal, given what we've been through."

Shame piled on top of Taylor's anxiety, increasing his need to run back to his quarters. As much as he couldn't stand his dad's company at the moment, it was much more preferable to the crowd and everyone's eyes on him.

Air conditioning flooded the room, but still, sweat dripped down his forehead. He swallowed hard and drew a shallow breath, reaching for Diego's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm not...good with people."

"It's okay," Diego said through a wry smile. "Jayson doesn't like the crowd either, so we found a corner in the back near the kitchen."

Perhaps the only thing Taylor shared in common with his best friend was his aversion to crowds, and he was grateful for the forethought. He nodded, and slowly walked back into the mess hall, leaning against Diego for support. As he walked through the crowd, he couldn't help but feel like everyone's eyes fell on him, either wondering about his unfortunate resemblance to his father or assessing the newcomer.

He wished everyone would stop staring.

He stood in line, pretending to ignore the eyes glued to his back as he and Diego moved forward together. Most of the people inside the mess hall wore something indicating their status: security dressed in black, kitchen staff in white, and science was clad in blue. It reminded him a bit of Star Trek, and he was almost disappointed there wasn't a com badge attached to everyone's shirts.

Even more unusual was seeing so many people smile. It was a huge contrast to the uptight staff during the medical screenings, and Taylor almost wondered if it was a tactic employed to purposely disorient refugees before integrating them into a perceived safe environment. The government would be seen as well prepared, and these poor bastards would be grateful to be among the few survivors of the zombie apocalypse.

When it was his turn to receive his food, the serving girl's eyes widened as she dropped the plate in her hands, sending food to the counter and floor. Sauce flew onto both of their clothes as a piece of fruit rolled beneath the counter, stopping at Taylor's boot.

She wiped her hands against a clean patch of her shirt and pressed her hands to her face. Her smile was so wide, she reminded Taylor of a cat ready to devour its favorite meal. He could already imagine her wearing little calico ears and painting whiskers on her round cheeks.

"Oh my!" Her squeal was high pitched, like a teenager seeing a boy band in concert for the first time. Several more sets of eyes landed on them as she pointed, jumping up and down in place. "You're...you're Mr Whitaker's son!"

The heat the rushed through Taylor's neck, ears, and face were like opening an oven, blasting heat into his face after standing too close. He cleared his throat, keeping his gaze fixed on the counter. "Really, it's nothing to get excited over," he mumbled. "May I have my food please?"

"But it is a big deal! Everyone has been talking about you, especially since your mom—"

Jesus, did everyone know his entire life history? And why did no one have any tact or empathy in this place? If people were aware his mother had been killed, they could at least have the decency not to be so callous about it.

The girl's face paled as her smile quickly faded. "Mr Whittaker, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Don't bother," Taylor snapped, turning to leave the line. His appetite had disappeared, but if he became desperate later, he could always raid one of the suites. It was what he probably should have done anyway.

Diego's hand found his and people jumped to move out of his way while the taller man parted the crowd faster than Moses in the Red Sea. Monica shoved her way through the mass from the back of the room, dragging Jayson with her until they all converged into a single point.

She whispered into his ear, urging him forward with her hand on his back. "Taylor, it's okay. We can hide in my suite and have dinner there, alright?"

Taylor nodded through the tightening clamp around his chest. Everyone was watching him now—mostly nosy people who were curious to see John Whitaker's only son, the kid who was barely tall enough to board most carnival rides, while others glared with open hostility across their features.

All he knew was that he wanted to get out of that room as quickly as possible. "I-I can't breathe," he gasped, rubbing his chest, shaking until his knees buckled.

Releasing Taylor, Diego and Jayson forced the crowd back like a pair of rabid animals. All either man needed to do was glare and people went running the other way. That, and they were unknown, potentially infected for all the others knew.

With the path clear, Taylor rushed through until only the door was ahead of him. Just as he reached for it, a breathless voice called out for him, one that sent every hair rising on his body.

"Taylor! Oh, my God, is that you?"

At first, he couldn't place it, but it was eerily familiar, carrying a sense of deja vü the same way a smell or sight triggered the memory of a dream long buried.

He slowly turned, praying the owner of that voice wasn't who he thought it was. His eyes locked on to an all too well-known face, one he'd tried very hard to forget over the years. Though she was older with longer hair and more angles on her face, her gray irises and dimples were unmistakable.

His mother, the only person Taylor had tried to keep in touch with, hadn't made it while everyone else who'd ever hurt him sprouted up from the proverbial grave to haunt him.

"Who is that?" Monica clasped his hand and stepped beside him, sizing up the woman now standing before them. The new arrival paid the group no mind, keeping her attention and wide eyes only on Taylor, watching him as if she'd just seen a ghost.

She reached out to touch him, only for him to step back. Tears filled her eyes, the same way they'd done the night he'd kicked her to the curb all those years ago. She had no right to be upset, yet here she was creating a scene because that was what she excelled at.

"Taylor, I almost didn't believe it when John told me the news."

Whatever apprehension Taylor had felt among everyone in the room faded away, replaced by an intense desire to yell out every profanity he knew. Instead of cowering away, he stepped forward, addressing her in a cold tone. "Don't start this up again, Ashley. The only thing I want to know is how my mother didn't make it while my dad found time to get you out of the midst of the apocalypse."

Monica gasped while Diego and Jayson formed a protective barrier around him. He'd allow them to serve as his bodyguards again soon enough, but first, he wanted some damn answers to at least one of his questions, starting with why his ex-girlfriend was conveniently in the facility when no one else had time to evacuate.