Group 1:8 Kit Farson

Kit shoved the last rusted file cabinet out of the room and dusted his hands off.  "Well, what do you think, guys?"
The room looked like it had been a supply room once, the kind of place teachers would come for a fresh ream of paper or to make copies. The copier was long gone, and stacks of metal shelves and gym equipment had filled the place until Kit's arrival. He'd battled spiders and cockroaches to make a place for his cot across from a pile of rusted weights tumbled together.  A heavy sandbag swung on a rusted chain next to a set of shelves. Kit had hung a heavy green canvas to hide the worst of the junk, and his worn backpack, holding his meager belongings, lay on a folded blanket next to a case of socket wrenches.
Beggar and Bodkin lay cooling their bellies on the tile, smiling canine-style.
"Not too bad, right?"  Kit picked up one of his rifles and checked the chamber. He plucked Bodkin's harness up off the floor to stow it next to the rabbit book Jack had told him to read for the sixth time.
"'Ello there!" Someone spoke from the doorway, then "Oh, shit!" as a snarl exploded out of Bodkin.
Kit turned in time to see a stranger bolt. Kit threw up a hand to forestall Bodkin, who grumbled as Beggar joyously bounded out the door in pursuit.
Kit stuck his head out into the locker-lined hallway, seeing no one. Then he noticed Beggar standing on his hind legs down and across the hall, his forepaws on a locker as he whined a greeting at a teenage boy on top of them.
"Croikey, d'ya usually eat kids?" the boy said to Beggar.
The newcomer was auburn-haired, brown-eyed, and older than Kit. His T-shirt and jeans were clean but old.
Kit imagined he must have the reflexes of a cat to climb up the lockers so fast. "You think I let my dogs go after anyone who knocks on my door? Beggar won't hurt you."
The boy looked doubtfully at Bodkin, standing beside Kit. "What about 'im?"
"Bodkin's trained enough to stay."
The dog glowered at the boy, a low growling working in his throat.  It subsided as Kit stroked the dog's head.
"Roight then."  The boy hopped down from the lockers and patted Beggar in greeting.  He stuck a hand out to Kit with a broad grin.  "I'm Dingo.  David, really. Nice, ah, nice ta meetcha!" His voice was heavily accented with a twang that seemed purposely comical to Kit.
He leaned away from the offered handshake, eyeing Dingo. "You talk funny."
"From Australia, mate."
Kit turned away.
"You're Kit, aren'tcha? Jack tol' me a bit about you.  Since I'll be your neighbor down the hall, thought I'd come an' introduce meself."
"Great."  Kit bent to drag a metal basket full of locks out from under a shelf.
Laying down beneath Kit's cot, Bodkin growled when Dingo came to the doorway. "Nice dog," the boy said in a low, soothing voice.
Kit stacked the basket on a shelf with a clang.  "Not really."
"Oh. Well, it's not like he'd kill me, roight?"
His weak chuckle faded as Kit looked at him, unsmiling.
"What do you want, Dingo?" Kit said.
"Me?  Nothin'! I just came t'say hello. Tell you I got flour, cup-a sugar, you ever need it …" Dingo trailed off weakly at Kit's confused glare.  "You know.  Neighbors?"
"I got that," Kit said flatly.
"Thought maybe I could show you the ropes and all."
"Jack put you up to this?"
"No!  … Well, yes, but I wanted to. Thought maybe we could be friends."
"Not interested in friends, Dingo," Kit said. "You want me to be a soldier-in-arms, somebody to watch your back: outside these walls I will be.  But in here, I don't know you, and I don't wanna know you. You want me to kill for you, I can do that. Fight with you, I can that, too. But don't ask me to make nice with you.  There's plenty of other people here for that."
Kit grabbed the case of socket wrenches off his cot and headed out the door.  Dingo leapt out of his way.
"Wha-? Wait!  Can we truce? I'm sorreh!"
"Didn't do anything you have to apologize for, Dingo."
"But-! I'm just tryin' to be friendly!"
"Uh-huh."
Kit left Dingo standing bewildered in the hallway.
He was glad the boy didn't try to follow him. He'd heard Jade was visiting from the Community, recovering from an attack by Froth, the Half-Dead who'd killed her family.
A few of the Underground's SUVs were parked in a back lot, their hoods up, toolboxes open around them.  The mechanic had been paid for his services with two boxes of supplies.  Kit saw a young, handsome man with a backwards baseball cap digging through it.
Jade, leaning on a crutch at the second crate, whistled at her findings.  "Damn. This place is loaded!"
"Hey Jade. Check it." The man held up a can of Old Spice, giving her his most pompous grin. "Look at yo' zombies. Now back to me. Now back at yo' zombies. Now back to ME."
Jade snorted with laughter. "Oh yeah, baby." She flashed a grin. "I want'cha fo' yo' brainsss."
The man nearly doubled over in laughter at the horrible line, and Jade's grin widened.
Kit faltered at the doorway.  Suddenly, coming here didn't seem like such a good idea.
"Okay, enough pick-up lines, Ian," Jade said. "We actually have to work, don't we?"
"You call our last two hours not working?" Ian said.  "Grab that toolkit there and meet me over at the red one.  With the jack and the jukebox." He grinned.
"I don' really care where you live at, just turn around boy, 'n lemme hit that," Jade finished the lyrics easily as she hobbled away. "You can't beat me at this game, Ian! I always win!"
"Never!"
"Kit!" Jade called right as he turned away.
Kit flinched, and slowly turned back.  "Hey … Miss Jade."
"Really, man?  Still 'Miss', even after you saved my ass from Froth, really? Whatcha got there?"
"Er … it's, um .. socket wrenches. I thought you might need 'em, since I heard you were workin' on cars and all."
"I just help out; Ian's the brains." And she did exactly what Kit hoped she wouldn't, calling over her shoulder, "Hey, Ian! Some tools here for you!"
"Yeah?  Lemme see." Ian wiped his hands on a rag, strolling over.  Unsnapping the plastic casing, he opened things up and immediately made a face.  "Jesus, kid, where'd you find this, under a bridge?"  He lifted out a rusted socket.  "This is junk!"
Kit stared at the ground and muttered, "Thought it was worth a shot."
"Nah, got my universal toolkit. Loads better.  Thanks, though. You're a real trooper."  Ian reached out and ruffled Kit's hair.
Kit jerked back, his face on fire.
"Maybe we can clean this up," Jade said, examining the wrenches. "They could be useful to someone, Kit."
Kit didn't know what he hated more, Ian or the pity he heard in Jade's voice.
"Stay there; I'll be right back."  Jade stumped away, carrying the wrenches.
Ian watched her go, or rather, watched her backside go.  When he noticed Kit watching him, he grinned.  "I see what you're going after," he said in a low voice, and tipped a conspiratorial wink at Kit.  "Dropping off tools as an excuse. Smooth, man.  Nice!"  
Kit felt his face heat up further. "I don't know what you're talkin' about," he muttered.
"I can't say I blame you."  Ian smirked. "Trying to hit that at your age?  You little perv!" He thumped Kit's shoulder with admiration.
Kit felt sick. He couldn't stay here.  He felt like a snared animal. Coming to try and see Jade had been a mistake.
He turned on his heel in time to see Jade approaching with two sodas.  She was grinning in anticipation of his reaction to such a rare treat.
"I gotta go."  He swept past her.
Her grin vanished.  "What?  Why?"
"Got stuff to do.  See you later, Jade."
"Kit! What the hell?  What happened?" Jade snapped at Ian.
"I got no idea," Ian said, all innocence.
Kit heard their voices fade as he turned a corner. If his feelings for Jade and how wrong they were obvious to Ian, they'd be obvious to Jade. And he could never let that happen. He had to take a few minutes, crouching in the darkened hallways to dig the heels of his hands into his forehead.  It took some time for the trembling to stop.
He found Dingo waiting for him outside his room.
"Look, mate, I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot."
Today was going to be a long day.