The next shots biting into the chassis of the car convinced him otherwise. Gunter kept cursing to himself as he tried to get the car to go faster. They more flew than drove over a bump in the road, the suspension screaming as they came down hard on the other side. The rear broke away again, spinning the car sideways, giving Vernon a better view of their pursuers than he’d ever wanted to get. Three cars were left, but he could hear more coming in the distance. And all for what? The sacks of grain and seeds they were carrying were hardly worth anything. He’d even told Peter that, saying it was more insult than bribe. But Peter had insisted that it was the perfect ticket to get them into the camp, at least to get a look around while they unloaded. Now they’d die over what people would trade you for a TV and two generators. Fucking asshole.
The car stalled, and that was when Vernon knew that it was over. Gunter kept trying to get it started, but after three failures it was obvious—they had run out of juice. That’s what you get for driving through the night in the fucking Canadian forests!
“We need to leave,” Vernon shouted, grabbing his kit and a rifle. Maybe the bandits would be happy with the car and leave two assholes running into the woods alone.
“You’re insane!” Gunter muttered, but abandoned his undertaking in favor of grabbing his own pack from the back. “Gimme five seconds, and we’re out of here.”
Because he didn’t want to look at the bandit cars chasing down the mountainside now, he stared into the deep greens and browns of the forest—and drew up short when his attention snagged on something. Had that been a flash of red in the underbrush? Probably just his imagination. Or what was left of some unlucky bastard’s gear who had been mauled by a bear ten feet away from the road. A million bears could be hiding in that wood, and he wouldn’t be the wiser until he was about to be eaten. Fucking perfect!
Just as Vernon scrambled out of the car and hitched his backpack high, he again saw something, behind a tree—and this time he was damn sure that it was a pair of eyes, bright blue, staring out of a face streaked with camouflage paint. Fucking perfect! So either the bandits shot them, some weird forest cannibals ate them, or the bears got them.
He heard the bandits screech to a halt behind their car, shots chewing into a tree right next to him. Forgetting all about cursing the world, Vernon ran, his only concern not to fall to make it any easier on any of the predators than he had to.
A howl rose in the distance. Perfect—why not add wolves to the mix as well? A second answered, from much closer, and then several more, until Vernon realized: those weren’t ordinary wolves. At least not the kind of wolves he’d been dealing with since his early childhood on the farm in Montana. Sure, it was still spring here, with the odd patches of snow compacted in hollows, but there must have been food aplenty for them everywhere. Either they were rabid—or they weren’t wolves at all.
Shots followed him and Gunter, almost at a casual pace—until that changed, too. He heard shouting, followed by frantic firing, then a single ear-piercing scream—and then nothing. Gunter skidded to a halt next to him, turning around to look, but Vernon kept going, ignoring the branches lashing at his face and body, on and on—until he broke out of the woods and onto a small clearing, where three cars were waiting for him, a single armed woman standing guard.
At first, all he could do was stare. The woman regarded him calmly, her rifle lowered but she clearly knew how to use it. He was afraid she’d have those same eerie blue eyes as well, but of course hers were a dark brown, intense but friendly. “Hello, stranger,” she called out in a clear voice.
He found himself nodding, unsure what else to do. “Are you out here alone?” he asked.
She gave him a look that told him she’d expected better. “And how would I have driven three cars on my own?” she joked. “I’m here with my friends. They will be back any minute now.”
Vernon startled at a squawk, but it was only her radio going off. She listened to words that were too low for him to catch, then told whoever was on the other end that she’d found him. Fear gripped his heart anew, but the woman was quick to smile. “They found your friend,” she told him. “He’s back at your car.”
“We ran out of battery,” Vernon mumbled. “And the bandits—”
“They’ve been taken care of,” the woman assured him, signaling him to join her at the car closest to her. “Why don’t you hitch a ride with me?” He felt he had no other choice, even though gratitude to still be alive made it easy to follow along. “I’m Sonia, by the way,” she told him as she eased the car back onto the road.
“Vernon Grant,” he quickly replied when the silence became too long. “Have you maybe found my brother Peter?”
“He should be back with us at the camp,” she offered—and that was all the answers he got.
The drive was longer than he expected, a good hour until they reached a larger clearing around what one of the dilapidated signs in the woods stated had been a logging camp. He could see that, but there were a lot more buildings now, an entire town having sprung up. He knew what this place was—the town that Peter had wanted to visit. An outpost, they called it, although he had no idea whether there were others like it. They had to drive through sturdy defenses after several rows of trenches and barb-wire fences, and even a moat. Vernon wondered what they thought they needed all those for. He doubted there were many zombies roaming the near-arctic forests.
Sonia dropped him off inside the gate and told him to wait there. A few minutes later, five cars followed—among them his and Gunter’s, being towed by a large truck. The other three he thought were those of the bandits. There was blood on some of the shot windows. He quickly averted his eyes. The truck halted, and Gunter came scrambling out the passenger side, his eyes huge with wonder but also a little fear. The cars drove deeper into the settlement before Vernon got a good look at the drivers. He had an inkling what he would see if he looked into their faces.
He and Gunter quickly stepped aside when two more trucks followed, the heavy tarps covering their beds bulging with what was stashed underneath. They both stopped at two squat buildings, standing side by side, not far from the gates. People came out to help unload the cargo. Three deer and a moose were quickly brought down steps into the cellar of the warehouse—as close to a natural freezer as it got these days, Vernon guessed. The cargo of the second truck was unloaded by the drivers themselves, the bundles, wrapped in blankets, not something Vernon wanted to investigate further. They disappeared into the cellar of the other warehouse. Because it was easier to focus on the people, that’s what he did. His eyes kept snagging to the tall, blond man with the wind-beaten hair and grizzled beard. Why, he couldn’t say, until he realized what made his beard look distinctly red—blood. Vernon was sure that he hadn’t made a sound of recognition or dread, but in that exact moment the man halted and stared straight at him, those bright blue eyes promising death and violence. Vernon blinked, and a moment later, the man was gone. Likely to do whatever tasks needed to be done since it was impossible that he could have simply disappeared like a specter. He watched the other hunters—because that’s what they were—return from the cellar, one by one. Of course he couldn’t see clearly at the distance, but he was certain all of them had those eerie blue eyes. It made sense on the tall man, or on the woman he saw following him, her red hair in a braid appearing when she pulled off a black cap. It looked wrong on the burly black guy who came last, laughing loudly at a joke someone must have cracked. Yet when he paused for a moment and looked toward Vernon and Gunter, those eyes were just as hard and cold as the others’.
“Welcome to our little town here,” a friendly female voice said right next to him, making Vernon jump. As he turned, he found a young woman standing there, not much shorter than him. She also had blue eyes, but hers were a natural blue; normal. He was about to relax but then a small whirlwind of a child came running toward her, screeching, and the woman turned to pick her up and swing her around before sending her toward the hunters—and j
ust as the girl gargled with glee, he saw her eyes, and they were that same unnatural blue as well.
Of course he’d heard the stories, but he’d always known they must be nonsense. Now he wasn’t so sure anymore. Glancing at Gunter, he realized his friend was unconcerned. Maybe he hadn’t noticed. Vernon couldn’t help but stare back at that second warehouse. No, he hadn’t made that up, he was sure of it.
When he looked back to the woman, he saw her watching him, and while she seemed amused, he could tell that the look she gave him was a warning. Not that he needed one, for sure. He wasn’t stupid. After all, they had let him ride in the car, rather than dead on the bed of that truck.
“You’re part of Peter’s group?” the woman asked.
Vernon was quick to nod, giving their names. She nodded as she crossed something out on the notepad she was carrying. “Good. You’re the last of your group,” she observed, then turned somber. “I’m sorry that Larry and Mos didn’t make it. We were able to recover their bodies. They are over there in the chapel”—she pointed at a squat building set aside from the others. “We’ll help you bury them, if you’d like. Or erect a funeral pyre. I’m so sorry for your loss. If we’d known about the bandits earlier, we would have sent a party south sooner.” A smile started playing around her lips. “You should have called ahead.”
Gunter blinked. “But your town has no permanent transponder code.”
“Exactly,” she offered. “If you will please follow me? I’ll show you to the guest barracks where the rest of your people are staying. I presume you’ll want to head to the town by the coast next? That’s what your brother said was your destination.”
Vernon was ready to blow that bull but then thought better of it. “Yes. We have a contract for some fur deliveries,” he prattled on. “There should be some grain in the cars. And seeds, if you want them? As a thank you for rescuing us.”
“That won’t be necessary,” the woman explained. “But thank you for the offer. I’ll check with our greenhouse, but I think we have everything we need for the coming year.” Her smile turned wry. “We don’t really need many vegetables up here. Lots of hunters, eating lots of meat, you see?”
Oh, did he ever, and he had a certain feeling that she was laughing at him, inside. “Yeah,” he muttered.
They were halfway across the square when he heard a shout coming from somewhere behind them. When he searched for where it might have come from, he saw a woman with a fussy baby in her arms step out of one of the houses. Her voice was sharp and held a tone of annoyance as she called, “Lewis, get your lazy ass over here! I don’t have all day to look after your spawn!” Yet, the way she looked down at the little bundle, securely swaddled in her arms, it was full of love and adoration.
The red-haired woman from before came hurrying out from behind the cars, as soon as she was out in the open slowing down to a brisk walk, as if she was trying hard to pretend she hadn’t been running at first. She passed by Vernon with only a few feet between them. When she glanced at him and winked, he realized that it must have been her he’d seen in the woods, the flash of red not his imagination but her hair disappearing underneath her cap. He was sure that she could tell, a smirk on her lips just as she faced back forward. It was only as she took the baby out of the other woman’s arms, cooing to the bundle, that he realized that her dark jacket and pants were sitting rather tightly on her—a trim body, no question, but still soft in places after giving birth not too long ago. He had no idea how old that child was, but it couldn’t have been older than a few weeks. As to underline his guess, he heard her continue to talk to the baby, still cooing, but the words not quite that appropriate for a child. “Such a little trooper you already are! Being all well-behaved and silent. And so intent on staying an only child, not giving your Mommy and Daddy a moment alone the second you realize you can monopolize my tits again!”
On second thought, maybe he should stop listening in.
That turned into a “definitely” when he caught the blond-haired brute glaring at him as he walked past them and over to the women, the group disappearing back into the house. That was one dude he definitely didn’t want to antagonize.
The unease he felt lessened when he saw the others waiting for them in the barracks. Peter was over the moon with excitement, of course, barely reacting to Vernon giving him an update on how they had survived. “This is so freaking cool, man,” his brother muttered, standing by a window and glancing outside. “Did you see them take down the bandits? They didn’t even carry any guns! It was all ‘run them down, pounce on them, slash their throats, or cave in their skulls’! Man, this was so worth it.”
Vernon couldn’t suppress a shudder. What kind of people would do that?
This kind, of course. He’d heard the stories—of how they’d been the first to organize after the undead turned the world into one endless wasteland. How they had risen up to fight for their freedom when civil war had been about to break out. Vernon and Peter had seen very little of that, still busy keeping their livestock safe and bringing in two harvests by hand, enough to feed their families and then some. They’d done the same for the next two years as well, what little contact they had with traders bringing messages of worsening conditions—bandits, raiders, crazy cannibals on the roads, getting worse and worse with each year…
Until last summer, when it had suddenly stopped, or so the word spread. And when this spring there had been the first official census after the end of the world, Peter had been all over himself, needing to find out what had happened to the heroes that had saved what was left. Their sister had been sure that it was all propaganda—just like the supposed civil war and unrest that followed. But their homestead was running out of everyday things, and a trader group had been happy to hand over a few contracts they’d picked up, one of them about getting furs from the north.
Vernon couldn’t wait to be back with his nieces and nephews. Whatever these people did up here, it was none of his business. From what he could tell, their exodus must have been by choice. Good for them, if it was this that they wanted—to be on their own up here where nobody else wanted to settle except for the people who had been living off the land for generations. And he was damn glad they’d kept the bandits from killing him and his brother. It was none of his business how they’d gone about it, or what they did with the corpses. But he very much hoped that was moose or deer in the stew that he got served before they got ready to reach the town the next day.
He remained silent throughout the long hours of the drive and was glad when they reached their final destination. They’d been asked to take a few boxes from the camp to the town, and he was happy to be rid of them. The townspeople were delighted about the early delivery, and Vernon felt bad when he saw that the boxes were full of wool, pelts, and eggs.
“They are good folks, you know?” one of the women who was counting eggs and distributing them told him with a twinkle in her eye. “Not the kind on whose bad side you want to end up on, but they are quite handy to have around. We haven’t had a single bear or wolf attack all winter long, after losing a handful of people every winter before that. And I’ve heard they are planning on building a few more outposts, so they can migrate with the herds, if need be.” She laughed briefly and made a throw-away gesture. “Don’t mind an old woman. I know you southerners don’t understand why we love to live up here, where life is harsh, hard, and lonely. They get it, and they love it just as we do. Go back to your warm, green fields, country boy. This life up here is not for you.”
Vernon couldn’t have agreed more.
THE END
Acknowledgments
My editor, Marti, and my trusty beta readers, deserve a round of applause. You are the best! Couldn’t do this without you.
My amazing readers, thank you so much for reading this series. To say that it changed my life is an understatement. I started writing the first book—Incubation—in 2013, and when I published it in August 2015, I never, not in a million years, would have d
ared dream that this would become a twelve-book series loved by thousands of readers all over the world. The series also made my dream come true of being a full-time writer. If I’ll have my way, I’ll never go back to a traditional day job—and you made this possible. I can’t express how much that means to me. And, good news! It’s great for you as well since it allows me to continue to write books that (hopefully) tear out your heart and eat it. Ah, that pun never gets old.
I won’t lie. Finishing a series is always hard. I’ve been living with these characters for half a decade now, day in, day out. To say I felt lost when I finished writing the first draft of the book in September 2019 and suddenly Bree’s voice was gone from my head from one day to the next, is an understatement. I’ve been living in her head and skin for far too long to simply shake off that loss within a week, or even a month. If you were wondering why there’s no epilogue from her point of view, the explanation is simple: she’s done telling me her story, and I won’t get another word from her. There’s a very good chance that Nate still has something to say and you might get one more short story set after the end of the last book, but that’s it. It’s bittersweet for me, too. I love this world and its characters, and I hate to let them ride off into the sunset. But at the same time I am happy I could give them this ending as it is. For me, it’s the perfect ending for them. I hope you agree.
And there are also the other Green Fields short stories on Patreon, and some of them soon coming to Amazon. I still have more of them to write, so if you’re not ready to say goodbye, there’s no need to do so quite yet!
All this begs the question, what is next? More end-of-the-world goodness, hurrah! In the very end of the editing stage of GF#12: Annihilation, I woke up, and the vast emptiness in my mind, left by Bree’s silence, was suddenly starting to fill up once more. New characters, new world, new zombies, new apocalypse! I can’t tell you much about it yet, except that I am very excited, and I’ve already started writing on the first book. It’s very different than the Green Fields series, but it’s just as raw and gritty where it counts. I hope I’ll see you again in 2020 when the first books of this insane ride come out!
Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 4 | Books 10-12 Page 111