With nothing better to do, I preceded him, doing my best to suppress two series of shudders. Burns noted, his amusement turning grim. “That shit really did a number on you,” he observed.
“No shit,” I agreed, letting him push me toward an empty bench. He joined me a few moments later with two steaming mugs of coffee, not wasting any powdered creamer—a treasure we’d found in the badly stocked pantry—on mine. I watched him savor his drink for a while. “So how is Sonia taking the news that she’ll be a widow soon?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I’m not sure the message has actually sunk in. Then again, I’ve been living for a while with the knowledge that I’m not going to gently fall asleep, surrounded by generations of my offspring, at the ripe old age of ninety-eight.” He flashed me a sad smile that was more of a grimace. “But something tells me that between recovering from what should have been your deathbed twice over, and focusing solely on Hamilton’s demise, you never got that memo yourself.”
“I know you all think I’m the queen of denial—”
The grimace resurfaced, and he said a single word—“Nothing.” I narrowed my eyes at him, which made him bark a harsh laugh. “Bree, no offense, but if you still think that any of us—and that includes your husbeast—believed that you just walked out of that bunker, unscathed, I can’t help you. We chose to go with the narrative you carved out for yourself because it was the way of least resistance, but that’s it.”
My usual insistence that he was wrong—twined with frustrated need to explain that, of course, my escape from Taggard and his boys had been more complicated than that—died on my tongue when I realized that, in many ways, they were going by the same playbook regarding Nate now, and I was marching to the beat of the very same drum. Burns must have read that realization on my face but refrained from rubbing my nose in it—which, in a sense, annoyed the fuck out of me as I wasn’t used to that kind of leniency and understanding. Then again, I had to admit that the months spent apart had let me forget a lot about the negative sides of being forced to get along with more than one person, who, more often than not, chose to do his own thing and was happy to let me do mine.
“It doesn’t matter,” I insisted. “In all instances. Yeah, so maybe coming to grips with a new shade of my own mortality may not have been my priority. But it doesn’t change anything now.”
He grunted. “Yeah, the way you look like you’ve just walked over your own grave makes that plain as day.”
“Like knowing I’m dying is new to me,” I grumbled. “And you forget, I stand maybe a one-in-ten chance of surviving what we’re up to now. Honestly? I’ll worry about what may come later if I luck out and actually am still alive next week so I can still worry. No sense in burning energy on something that likely won’t happen.”
I could tell that my nihilistic outlook on my future annoyed him. “You’ve survived so much shit that should have killed you, starting with the zombie apocalypse. You have no reason to be so pessimistic. Hell, the reason I keep hanging around you is because you’re a veritable lucky charm!” he claimed.
“Don’t you mean shit magnet?”
He laughed. “That, too, but somehow you still manage to come up ahead. I’m much more concerned about the people you bungle into than those that run with you.”
“Together till the end it is?” I jeered.
His usual smile resurfaced, making me feel strangely warm inside. I had missed him more than I liked to admit—and probably should around Sonia. And, in a sense, his vote of confidence was exactly what I’d needed to hear—or something like that.
“Well, good talk,” I said, already getting up, my coffee still untouched. “But I should get back to packing.”
Burns didn’t move a muscle—and neither did I when he said, in no uncertain terms, “Sit your scrawny ass back down, Lewis.”
A million excuses ran through my head, but I ended up uttering none. Instead, I plunked back down on the bench. “What?”
Burns studied me for a few long moments, making me feel like an ant oblivious to the kid about to squash it. “Talk to me,” he finally said. “I know you’re great about ruminating about shit until it has blown completely out of proportion. Sure, sulking alone in the wilderness for ages may have changed you a little, but not that much. And if it doesn’t help you, at least it will amuse me.”
I felt like harping “har har,” at that but left it at a—somewhat defeated—shrug. “Exactly why should I be optimistic? Ever since we met, it has always been one step forward, ten steps back and right into the worst of it. We survived the apocalypse, but a good chunk of our group either died or ended up worse off. We survived the winter only so Emma could kick us out and slam the door behind us forever. We tried to help others and ended up shot at and savaged by zombies. We get back at Hamilton and his asshole brigade only to find out I’m rotting from the inside out. I survive that, only to have to come to terms with the fact that I was the one to hand Hamilton the damn samples that are likely the basis for what will turn thousands of good people into mindless worker drones—or worse. How should going after the Chemist and Decker end any better? Sure, I can see why it’s the right thing—and I absolutely hope to hell it makes a difference in the grand scheme of things—but on a personal level? Whether we die fighting, or die after it’s done doesn’t matter. Either way, we die. And some of us deserve it a lot more than others.”
As expected, my gripes left him unperturbed. “My, aren’t you a little ray of sunshine today?” When I didn’t respond, he finished his coffee and swapped our mugs. “Look, I get it,” he started after demolishing the better part of mine as well. “Things have been a little rocky for you of late. And I know how much harder it is to deal with someone else’s shit than your own. You got pretty good with fielding the former. Now it’s time to learn to deal with the latter. It sucks, but it’s just another step in the road. And you know that even if we have to drag you on, kicking and screaming, we will do so. No whining or protesting will change that.”
I was tempted to make a really bad joke about the level of consent involved, but just then Hamilton entered the room, crossing it without noticing us—a small mercy. I waited for Nate to follow, but apparently he had other things to do. Like avoiding me. And there I’d thought getting him back would be the hard part. I got the sense that when I turned back to Burns, he could read my thoughts right off my expression, but he wisely kept his tongue.
“You know, sometimes I wonder if any of us deserves to make it,” I muttered. “I was always so proud knowing I’d end up on the right side of history. Hamilton’s not wrong when he says that I’ve strayed a long way from that.”
I got a sardonic grin for my efforts. “But he’s also not right,” Burns insisted. “Which you should be the first to point out. You can’t take out the trash without getting your hands dirty. So what—and who cares? Just consider what being right—and wrong—has gotten us into. Yet here we are, all on the same side, fighting the same fight. The world doesn’t give a shit what drives you. Sometimes not even how many bodies you leave behind. But what makes a difference is whether you flagellate yourself over every single wrong step taken along the way, or keep waltzing toward the big goal without ever looking left or right. So what if you end up being a little more tarnished than when you started out? I’ve never gotten the sense that Miller cared. If anything, he can deal with his own shit better knowing you’re not brand-spanking new yourself.”
“And that’s supposed to be comforting?” I didn’t try to sound less incredulous.
Burns guffawed. “Comforting? Hell, girl, I’m the wrong guy to turn to if you are looking for that. But as your friend I can assure you, nobody cares, and that should include you. Stop acting like you’re carrying the weight of the world. That uppity demeanor really doesn’t suit you.”
“Just slum it with the rest of you like usual? Can do.”
He grinned and slapped my back. I only managed to remain upright because I’d seen that coming. “That�
�s my girl! No more moping. Leave that to Captain Broody McBroodface and his skulking sidekick.”
I couldn’t help but growl. “Don’t remind me that we’re stuck with him now.”
“But see the positive in that! There’s no more power gradient between you, and you get to do all the superior smirking that you want. It’s not like the fact that every one of your punches at him will also hit someone else has ever held you back. And you were quite happy to hear that he’s not dead yet just a few days ago.”
That was true. “But the reality of having the evidence of that around all the time is a lot less fun than the idea,” I pointed out.
“I don’t know,” he offered. “Watching you both clash in every possible way all the damn time is pretty hilarious to watch, particularly since I know how much you were burning to do the same when we were in France but couldn’t. Isn’t that spite enough to keep you going for another year at least? And I’m sure you’ll find something else once all of that is used up.” When he saw my frown, he returned it with a self-deprecating smile. “Oh, come on. Stop taking yourself so fucking seriously all the damn time. Hamilton is just one more asshole in an ever-growing collection of assholes that you’ve used to get ahead. He’s no different than the others. And the same is true for that Chemist, and Decker, too. They’ve already thrown everything they got at you, and you’re still around, kicking. Do you really expect that to change?”
“Except for the fact that we’re all ticking time bombs,” I objected.
Burns chuckled. “So you’re over moping about the ninety-percent chance of biting it before you can convert? My job here is done.” Still grinning, he finished his—my—coffee and got up. “Nice chat. We should do that more often. Who knows when the next time you’ll decide to just up and leave and let us deal with the shit you left behind will be?”
“That’s it?” I harped, getting to my feet. “That’s all you got?”
He laughed but shook his head, turning just a little more grave when he grabbed my shoulder and squeezed. “Me? Sure, because come tomorrow, I’ll be riding shotgun with the usual shit show. But not all of us will come, and some deserve a little more of your sweet, sweet attention. And if that wasn’t obvious, I don’t mean the physical part, because, girl, you look ready to barf the next unlucky guy who propositions you in the face. Let someone else stow away the gear. You have tomorrow morning to check that everything is where you need it to be. But tonight might be the last time you get a chance to not avoid those who won’t be coming with you for various reasons, and we all know you’ll regret spending it sulking around in the shadows.”
I knew he was right, and neither protested nor tried to stop him when he left, likely to track down that prickly pear of a wife of his.
I found both Martinez and Andrej with the cars—where they were arguing with Nate, Pia a silent, if frowning, bystander. While the guys continued to argue as I drew closer, the Ice Queen focused on me, looking smug. So much for who had sent Burns after me. Traitor.
“You need someone who’ll stay with the cars,” Martinez was insisting, the frustration in his voice telling me that he was down to grasping at straws.
Nate shook his head, his visible exasperation letting me know he had already deflected that argument—or similar ones—more than once. “We need you with the support group more,” he insisted, sending Pia a sidelong glance. “We have no idea how many will come after you when you leave here, and what they’ve set in motion in the meantime. With luck, you’ll make it to the rest of our people without losing anyone else, and get the dependents to safety. Ideally, you will be ready with new gear and support to rendezvous with us after we hunt down the Chemist. I’d rather risk losing a handful of cars than one of the few people who has the knowledge to put us back together—and we will need it before the end. Our civilians need to be the responsibility of someone I can trust. The last thing we need is to serve Decker another target on a silver platter.”
Martinez wasn’t calling defeat yet. “What if one of you gets injured while hunting down the Chemist? If I wait with the cars, you can bring him back—”
“Then he dies,” Nate said, his tone cold and very final. “Everyone who comes with us knows that we’re going in without a safety net. Besides, chances are that either the injuries sustained are light enough that they can wait or we can fix them ourselves, or we’ll need a bodybag, anyway.” Martinez opened his mouth for another retort, but snapped it shut when Nate ground out a harsh, “Face it—you’re a liability to us. Go with the people where you won’t get in the way of their survival. Got it?”
I was more surprised than taken aback at his low blow, and while it definitely hit, I could tell that Martinez took it for what it was—Nate had reached his last straw, and nothing would change his mind. I would have gotten in his face for that; Martinez left it at a glare and snapped a sharp salute before he stormed off, almost colliding with me. I watched him go in silence, and when no one else would speak up, I turned to Nate.
“That was beneath you,” I observed, more neutral than I’d figured I’d manage.
Nate’s anger, unbridled, turned on me. “It was necessary,” he snapped—and for a split second, I was afraid that he’d tell me the same counted for me. I raised my brow at him when he kept stewing in silence, making Nate narrow his eyes at me. “I’m not stupid enough to let you out of my sight,” my dear husband said—quite in opposition to what he’d gotten up to since we’d liberated the camp. “What I need even less than Decker getting his claws into Sadie or her kid is for him to come gunning for you. But just so we’re clear, I’d bundle you up and send you to the coast with Zilinsky if I thought I’d stand a chance of getting away with it.”
I took that with a smidgen of satisfaction—until what he’d just said sunk in. I frowned at Pia. “You’re not coming with us?”
She shook her head, her expression grim. “I hate to let you go after yet another asshole on your own, but getting our civvies to safety is more important. If need be, I will abandon the convoy to set out ahead on my own to prevent the worst.” She paused, looking borderline uncomfortable for a moment. “I’ve also never been scratched or bitten. I show none of the signs of deterioration. Once the news about the serum spreads, there’s a good chance they will not let you into the settlements, whatever you say or do—and I know that most of you may not even want to come inside anymore. I will do what is necessary, and I know I’m still capable of it. When we have gotten everyone settled, I will rejoin you. Until then, you’re on your own.” For just a second, a borderline proud smile flashed across her face. “I hear you’ve gotten quite used to that.”
If Nate didn’t like the fact that he was, once again, without his favorite second-in-command, he didn’t show it. There was no need for Andrej to explain that he would be going with Pia, but he still nodded at the lead car of the convoy. “If we run into opposition, we may need someone insane enough to run interference. That’s going to be my job. Lacking that, I’ll get to play chauffeur again. Could be worse. Considering I can’t run for shit, I didn’t think you’d still find a use for me once you decided to finally set things straight for good. Kill a few assholes in my name and I’ll consider it a victory.”
I nodded, hoping I’d get a chance to later tell him all about it. Since there was nothing else to do here for me—the cars all looked packed up—I nodded back to the citadel. “I think I’d better go hunt down Martinez.” Taxing Nate with a glare, I added, “To fix your mess. As usual.”
My husband left it at a level look that was more of a challenge than I felt up to taking on right now, so I left. I had a feeling that, come morning, I’d soon get tired of being in constant danger and having to stay glued to him non-stop. Spending the evening with Martinez and whoever he’d found to bitch at us behind our backs sounded like a much better idea. Knowing him, by the time I’d tracked him down he’d be in much better spirits, anyway.
And, come tomorrow, it would be time to face the music.
&
nbsp; Chapter 6
The next day dawned bright and early, and I almost hated to admit that I felt a little more like myself. Physically, I was still somewhat under the weather, but spending one last evening in good company and being able to relax—and eat as much as others told me I’d want to, if I knew what was good for me—helped. I still hadn’t come to grips with our impending, serum-caused doom, but Burns making fun of my momentary lapse of optimism had helped somewhat. Likely it was just my inner underdog rearing its head to rebel against the expectation that I would die very soon in a very dramatic fashion. If nothing else, I wouldn’t give Hamilton the satisfaction of existing in a world where I was gone, I decided.
I’d woken up a few times during the night, my brain too stupid to get the rest it needed—and wouldn’t get again until we were back with the others, I was afraid. I spent enough time dreading taking our leave in the morning, but it turned out a busy, chaotic, and not very sentimental affair. Between diligent gear and weapons checks, I barely had time to eat and hug everyone goodbye who wouldn’t be coming with us. Martinez chose to make himself scarce, avoiding facing Nate one last time, but the caravan had plenty more people and stuff to get ready than we did. We ended up bundling twenty-five people into seven cars, which was a lot quicker than a good hundred into more than I cared to count. As it turned out, while I had been busy trying to get drunk on moonshine with Martinez, Nate had been wrangling with the marines until both factions had found an uneasy compromise: Scott was bringing all four of his people in their two Humvees, while Blake’s five guys had to split and ride shotgun with someone else as they only had one car that could keep up with our much faster pace and didn’t need to recharge for several hours every day. I was a little surprised to see Richards opt for the same loadout as he’d used when they’d picked me up two months earlier—one Humvee, with Hill, Cole, and Gallager. After their boasting, I’d expected more scavengers to show up, but it ended up being Eden, Amos, and two more in the same car they’d used when they’d smuggled Richards and me into the camp. That left two cars for the six of us—me, Nate, Hamilton, Marleen, Burns, and Sonia—and since I refused to ride with Hamilton, and Nate insisted they had more strategy to plan, we ended up completely scrambling the seating order three hours into our trek at the first short break. Scott wasn’t wrong when he pointed out it wasn’t the smartest idea to split up according to factions if a single exploding car might wipe out one of those easily. After three hours in the backseat with Sonia glaring at me every once in a while, I was only too happy to switch over to the Silo marines vehicle, with Marleen tagging along. Sgt. Blake took it in stride, and the younger lance corporal who acted as his navigator seemed pleased to have two girls hitching a ride rather than broody, if equally stinky guys, which was fine with me and highly amused Marleen. The two of them started flirting as soon as we were underway again, making me wonder how long it would take her to add him to her collection. I hadn’t really paid much attention who was hooking up with whom back at the camp, but I had gotten the distinct impression that Richards was avoiding both Marleen and the grumbling Sgt. Buehler, who, because of her injury, was forced to go with the caravan instead. This left me the option of watching the drama unfold on the other side of the car—or chatting with Blake.
Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 4 | Books 10-12 Page 52