Taylor: Part II

Taylor looked around the large comms room like a kid at an amusement park for the very first time.

Radios and electric equipment took up an entire corner beside a desk with a computer. Open overhead cabinets displayed books, cases of tools, and spare parts. And the space itself wasn't much bigger than a broom closet, but it was perfect.

Taylor didn't need much room as long as no one crowded him.

A man with a glazed expression rested his chin on his hand, oblivious to Taylor and Benson behind him. It wasn't until the higher-ranking officer banged his hand on the desk that the comms man jumped -- something Taylor did as well.

Tossing the headset to the side and springing to attention, the stranger said, "Sorry, sir. Didn't hear you come in."

"Stay alert, stay alive," Benson recited.

"Yes, sir," the man mumbled, continuing to stand still as a statue.

"At ease, Airman. I'm not here to get on your case. I have someone I'd like you to meet." Motioning toward Taylor, he said, "This is Taylor Whittaker. He expressed interest in monitoring communications, and I'd like you to teach him."

The soldier visibly sighed as he cast a grin in Taylor's direction. "Wow, someone actually wants to sit in here all day? Sweet!"

Taylor cocked an eyebrow, prompting a chuckle and a response from Benson. "Poor Wheeler doesn't leave this room much. We need someone constantly monitoring communication, either via the radio or the International Space Station. We still have contact through the satellite, and we have been receiving our updates on the rest of the world through them. The only problem is trying to find people to man the comms, either because they're needed elsewhere or don't want to."

Okay, that was cool. It was a shame more people didn't want to do this job, but Taylor imagined it would be difficult for most to sit in a tiny room all day without being able to walk away.

"I don't mind," Taylor said as he cast a wistful glance around the room once again.

Benson clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. I'll leave you to it then. I'll see you tomorrow at zero-eight hundred?"

"Yeah."

As Taylor nodded, he couldn't help the twinge of guilt inside his stomach. Monica was going to be angry, and even Jayson might hate him if he knew Taylor was agreeing to this, but if it could help his friends, then it couldn't be bad, right?

He'd have to keep telling himself this. His mind justified his actions, but his heart demanded steadfast loyalty to his friends. Unfortunately, he didn't have the luxury of boycotting this man. Benson seemed to have a lot of power, and it didn't escape Taylor's notice that the officer made life good or bad, depending on the person.

Taylor decided right then to do whatever he needed to remain on Benson's good side, even if it meant temporarily trading an arm, a leg, and his soul. He could plead forgiveness later.

"Let me know if you need anything," Benson said cheerfully before exiting the room.

The door closed with a soft hiss, leaving Taylor alone with Airman Wheeler. The young soldier didn't allow an awkward pause to stretch between them as he extended his hand to Taylor. "Around military personnel, I'm Airman Wheeler, but you can call me Zander."

"Nice to meet you," Taylor said, accepting Wheeler's handshake.

"So you're John Whitaker's son?"

Taylor swallowed and stared at his feet. There wasn't an easy way to answer the question without spewing out anger faster than vomit.

Forcing a polite smile on his face, he looked back up and mumbled, "Yeah."

"Cool."

It was difficult to say whether Wheeler was trying to backpedal from an uncomfortable exchange or if he was oblivious. The small talk made Taylor want to bang his own face into a wall just to make the other guy shut up.

Changing the subject before he said something rude, Taylor glanced around the small room and motioned at the equipment. "So, what can you tell me about this job?"

"It's boring," Wheeler admitted with an eyeroll. "I'm only here because I got in trouble. I might have been caught falling asleep on guard duty."

Yeah, that would do it. It would be kind of hard to defend against Soapies or looters if someone snored at them.

"Is anyone in this role by choice?" Taylor asked, suddenly wondering if he was crazy for wanting this job.

Wheeler shrugged. "I don't think so. Most people are rotated into a shift either because they're on extra work detail or we need someone to monitor the radio."

"I see," Taylor replied. "Well, I'm here now and ready to learn, so teach me what you know."

Monitoring the radios wasn't as bad as Wheeler made it out to be. The work was easy, and more often than not, there were long stretches of silence, but Taylor welcomed the slower pace. Here, there were no crowds, be it annoying people or Soapies out to eat him.

Most of the work was common sense stuff he'd learned as a kid when he fiddled with his dad's old equipment in the garage. Some he'd learned abroad while accompanying his mom on humanitarian missions. The things he didn't know, like the phonetic alphabet, was easy to pick up. Besides, there were only binders filled with every boring detail on the military sitting on the shelves. It would give him something to do during the slow hours.

As for communicating with the International Space Station, the calls were limited to a small window of time. With sixteen orbits a day, they could only speak for so long before they lost the signal to their location, and there were other survivors spread around the rest of the country, also needing information. According to Wheeler, the station sent broadcasts on various stations in the morning before accepting contact according to an established schedule.

A loop with directions to the facility played on a few channels. Supposedly, a few survivors had come based on that knowledge, so the loop continued in case anyone happened to come across a radio. On other short-range frequencies, two broadcasts went out -- one in the morning and one at night. Details pertaining to the world's status or updates from the International Space Station were relayed as a way to keep people connected or to give them a sense of hope.

Taylor wasn't convinced humankind would come out of this one, but who was he to crush everyone's morale?

And finally, it was the comm officer's job to listen for distress calls or respond to the soldiers should they call in.

It was a lot to take in, but as Wheeler suggested, the shifts were pretty slow. Taylor passed the rest of the afternoon by reading through the binders and learning military protocol.

As the time neared five o'clock, Wheeler stood and stretched. Taylor glanced up from his text. "Done already?"

"Yeah," Wheeler replied through a loud yawn. "It's chow time."

"Chow?"

The other man laughed. "Sorry, that's military talk for meal time. Someone should be relieving us soon."

Ah. They'd taken lunch in turns, but Taylor didn't realize it was referred to by another term. He wasn't ready to eat in his suite, where he'd inevitably run into Dad, but he wasn't feeling the idea of a crowded dining hall either.

"You can go if you want," Taylor offered. "I'll stay until the next person comes in."

"You're weird," Wheeler said with a chuckle. "You actually seem to enjoy this."

Taylor shrugged. "I don't mind it. I like electronics."

"Give it time," Wheeler grumbled, straightening his jacket. "You'll hate it within a week."

"I guess. Now go before I change my mind."

"Alright, I'm going," Wheeler replied, heading for the door. Then he paused, adding, "Do you want anything? I can bring you a plate."

"Sure, I'll take whatever you're willing to bring me."

A grin crossed Wheeler's face as he mock saluted. "You're a lifesaver. I hate this room."

Taylor couldn't help the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Wheeler was the definition of a slacker, even if he did wear an Air Force uniform. He was alright though, and Taylor looked forward to crossing paths with him again. As much as he loved his friends, it was nice meeting someone new, someone who wasn't involved in all sorts of messy drama.

"For a man who hates this job, you're still here. Now shoo." Taylor waved him off with his good arm, and Wheeler left with a hearty laugh.

Alone again, Taylor turned back to the desk where the open binder lay. Placing the headset on, he scanned the text, now reading about field medicine.

A voice caught his attention, and he pressed the earpieces closer. He checked the different channels, and frowned when he realized it was coming from the soldiers' line.

"Beta Two, what's your status? Over." When no one answered, the man repeated his message. "Beta Two, you missed check-in. Are you still at the gas station? Over."

Gas station? Was someone out foraging? He didn't remember seeing that in the log. In fact, he didn't remember anyone checking in earlier, though Wheeler had been listening throughout the day while Taylor familiarized himself with the computer system.

But if these men had been actively communicating with each other, shouldn't Wheeler have logged the conversation? Unless this was something off the official record. Or if someone else was listening in, and the comms officers had been instructed not to interfere. Wheeler had mentioned that the soldiers occasionally chatted among themselves on missions and not to worry about them unless they specifically addressed the facility.

"Beta Two, where the hell are you? Come in, over."

Hm, that couldn't be good. Even more, why weren't they reaching out out to the facility yet? Wouldn't it be prudent to call for help?

The calls continued to go unanswered, but they continued their attempt to reach Beta Two. Taylor listened as other teams checked in, confirming their statuses. There was talk of a rendezvous, but the others seemed to be spread out. What were they looking for?

The door opened, and Taylor cast a glance over his shoulder as Wheeler set a plate of steaming food on the desk. Pulling off his headset, Taylor rubbed his eyes ignoring his meal and addressing Wheeler. "Are there soldiers on a mission? They keep trying to reach Beta Two, but no one is answering, and it's not in the log."

"It wouldn't be recorded," Wheeler responded, scratching his chin. "The soldiers talk in code without giving locations in case of looters. There have been reports of criminals banding together and raiding survivors. A report will be filed when they return."

That made sense, but Taylor couldn't ignore the feeling in his gut, telling him this was about more than ensuring the safety of a foraging or raiding team. Diego had described some of the training, and their tasks involved constant contact with the facility and the teams. Not only that, but no one went anywhere without someone knowing.

Something else was going on.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Wheeler said, taking the seat next to him. "You're doing great for your first day, but they will let us know if they need help."

If Wheeler told himself that to sleep better at night, cool. But Taylor wasn't going to take his word for it. However, if Monica were here, she'd play it safe while she observed. Perhaps he should do that, too.

"You're right," he conceded. "I'm not familiar with all these protocols. I'm sure everything is fine."

He waited, hoping his voice didn't betray him, but after a moment, Wheeler nodded. Then he rose again and clapped Taylor's shoulder.

Why did everyone here have to be so damn touchy? Personal space was a thing.

"Alright, I'm gonna take off, but if anyone asks... I was here the whole time."

A laugh bubbled inside Taylor's chest. Not too long ago, he'd tried to sleep in rather than get his ass out of bed to get ready for work. Some things never changed.

"I won't say anything," he promised, picking up his fork and looking at his food for the first time. Steam rose from broccoli and cauliflower, and the rich aroma of chicken invaded his nostrils. Unfortunately, the smell of Soapies as well as a visual of Loki's brain splattered across his bedroom was still etched into his mind. The memory was enough to kill his appetite; at least for the meat.

"Your relief will be here soon."

Taylor nodded as he slowly chewed in an attempt to save himself from answering. He waved as Wheeler left and went back to listening in, but it was all the same chatter with no new details.

A woman, this time in an Army uniform, walked in. Her name tape read Rivera, and her rank had a black shield. Dark hair was pulled into a tight bun, accentuating the severe lines of her jaw and cheekbones. If her features were any sharper, they'd cut glass.

When her gaze landed on Taylor, she did a double take. "You're new. Did you find yourself in trouble?"

Taylor snorted. "Is that the only way anyone can get help in here?"

Granted, he stayed in trouble with Dad, but he doubted the head of the Council wanted his son doing something so menial.

Rivera's expression softened, and her lips curved into a grin. "With the males, you never know. They find themselves in all sorts of shenanigans."

Based on his day with Wheeler, Taylor could believe it. "So I've noticed. I volunteered for this though."

Looking at Rivera, he couldn't fathom why she would be here. Her uniform was clean, her posture straighter than a rod, and her brown eyes bore a no-nonsense approach.

"What about you? You don't strike me as someone who would shirk her duties."

She giggled while patting her stomach. "I'm pregnant, and this was safe and understaffed. I don't mind though. Unlike the others, I'm smart enough to bring my own entertainment."

As if to answer the question burning in Taylor's mind, she produced a worn paperback from her cargo pocket on her leg. A man with no shirt, possessing unrealistic abs and pointy nipples held a woman in sheer lingerie, which might as well have shown her tits. Erotic didn't begin to describe the cover.

Heat spread throughout Taylor's cheeks and neck, and he coughed. Some things were better left unsaid, much less asked.

Rivera crossed the room and dropped the book on the desk, with the sexy couple in full view. Then she sank into the chair and folded her hands in her lap, watching him with curiosity glittering behind her eyes. "So, what's your story? Do I have to guess your name?"

"I'm Taylor," he supplied, purposely leaving out his surname.

"I'm Maria," she said, rolling the R and holding out her hand. "You can call me Rivera though. I'm used to going by my last name."

Taylor took her hand and shook it before glancing at his food. "Do you want my chicken? It's probably cold by now, but I can't make myself eat meat after being around so many S-- zombies."

Her plump lips turned down as she tilted her head. "Ah, you're one of the survivors, huh?" He nodded, and Rivera continued. "I'm sorry. I was part of one of the Reserve units here in Nevada, but our group managed to avoid the cities. We came straight here when we heard the broadcast. From the stories I've heard, it's been brutal. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

Taylor agreed with that sentiment. The scene had been gory, and bloody images crept into his sleep even though he tried to push the memories away. "Yeah, I forgot to tell Wheeler to skip the protein."

At the mention of Wheeler's name, she giggled. "What did he do this time?"

"Beats me," Taylor lied, not wanting to call the other man out like that behind his back. If Wheeler wanted people to know, he'd tell them.

"That boy is a hot mess, but he's a nice guy."

Indeed. Taylor had liked him instantly, and he found himself gravitating toward Rivera as well. These soldiers were way more down to earth and relaxed compared to the stuffy officers. These were people he could see himself bonding with after enough time; genuine men and women with no ulterior motives and a sense of humor. They provided a much needed sense of normalcy in a messed up world of chaos.

Not ready to leave, Taylor asked, "Do you mind if I hang out here a bit longer? I promise I won't bother you while you..." He gestured at the dirty book, struggling to find the right words. "... while you read your... uh..."

"My smut?" she asked with quivering lips and a quirked brow.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbled, turning away to hide what was sure to be scarlet cheeks.

"I promise not to masturbate or make sexy moaning noises."

Face definitely flaming now, Taylor turned away, almost choking on his tongue.

"You really are an innocent," she teased. As he looked up, her eyes shone with humor. "Don't worry. I promise I'm messing with you. I won't read this while you're here. That would be inappropriate. I wasn't expecting company, but I won't say no to an intelligent conversation."

Taylor unhooked the headset so they could listen to the radio together. Then he settled into his chair and gave her his full attention, chatting well into the late hours of the night.

A/N

Okay, I have to cut this off here, or this will end up being a 4k word chapter. I'm sure you've noticed I've slightly backtracked in time to cover Taylor's POV, and there's still one more to come before moving on to the next character.

What do you think so far? I needed to give Taylor a break for once from all the crazy and mean plot bunnies. And I think this is good for him.

Any of y'all have a favorite character yet?

Does anyone still like Jayson at this point?

Thanks for reading, commenting, and voting. I'll see you all for the next update! <3