Beyond Green Fields | Book 4 | The Ballad of Sadie & Bates [A Post-Apocalyptic Anthology]

by Lecter, Adrienne

  That’s a lot to mull over and dissect, but that last part makes me feel just a bit better about hiding behind walls and letting others get their heads bashed in for us—which is what most scavengers are saying about us here in the settlements, if not where we can hear it. I’m sure most are smarter than to believe it—and they do appreciate getting the fruits of our hard labor for free, and shelter for when they need it—but it’s good to hear one of them admit that in the end we are all working toward a common goal.

  Belatedly, I realize that Charlie asked me a question, but I don’t really have an answer for him. “Honestly? I don’t know. Nate stayed with Bree while he sent the others away, and some of them came by. I think they’re meeting up at the Silo to decide what to do next.” Charlie nods, as if he agrees that’s a smart plan. That gives me an idea. “Say, could you do me a favor? Could you call in with the Silo and maybe ask if they’re there? I’d like to talk to them, if possible, not using our radio station.”

  I get a surprisingly shrewd look for my request. “Do you think the network’s not safe?”

  I hadn’t even considered that, but he’s not the first to say so, and likely won’t be the last. And considering what I’ve learned about Mary, I can’t risk it. Besides, I don’t want anyone dragging things back to my mother. It’s one thing for me to want to talk to my godfather, but I feel like she’s getting suspicious, and that’s a risk I can’t take.

  So I need to lie instead. “Nate and my mom didn’t exactly part on good terms,” I say—which isn’t even untrue, and if I’m right and she’s enacting his contingency plan, I can’t uncover that with a stupid comment. “I don’t want to get into a fight with her over it. I just don’t have the energy, you know?”

  Charlie’s quick to nod. “Sure. Want me to go check right now?”

  “Tomorrow’s fine,” I assure him. “So, you and Martinez, huh?” Charlie grins in a way that I’m sure would scandalize Mom to know that I’ve seen, because obviously, I’m an impressionable virgin still. “I’m happy for you,” I say when he doesn’t share details. Guess I’ll have to get those out of Martinez. “We all deserve to be happy, particularly in times like these. We’re losing too many people.”

  I’m surprised when he reaches over and hugs me. When he pulls away, his smile is gentle. “You looked like you needed that.”

  I did—and for a few seconds, I’m overwhelmed with the need to spill the beans. It’s that more than the latent fright breathing down my neck that strengthens my conviction that I need to tell Nate and Pia. The news hit me so hard that I wasn’t capable to confide in any of the guys when they were here, but I would have already told those two. I won’t do it over the radio, but I can damn well get them to drop by here one more time before they go on the warpath. That they will be doing exactly that isn’t exactly a question for me—Charlie pretty much confirmed that they have support aplenty, so they will use it. At the very least, I need to see them one more time and hug them as hard as I can—and if not to get advice, then for my heart. I’ve lost too many people without a chance to say goodbye. I can’t let that happen again.

  The first time we call into the Silo, the tech tells us he doesn’t know who we are talking about—which I’m sure is a lie—but when we try again two days later, not only has that changed, but he’s getting Nate on the line. And then I get the next shock of my life, but this time it’s a great one—Bree is still alive, and while her voice is strained, she sounds strong and very much like herself. The days that pass until I get called by our guards confirming a new caravan is approaching feel endless, although barely any time passes—except that it has been enough time for me to keep snooping around the scavengers, and Mary’s tale gets repeated to me several times over. The list Kevin gave me is like a terrible joke of an abstinence PSA—all of the women on it were young, a little promiscuous, and had no close family to watch over them. I know that none of that applies to me—or not enough to turn me into a target—but it upsets me on so many levels. There’s still the possibility that there’s no mystery to their disappearance—with doctors and contraceptives on very short supply, deciding not to have the child is, again, a terrible threat to any woman’s life, and the fact that most people would blame the women even more harshly now with so many people dead doesn’t make it more likely that it’s a safe choice that happens in a manner to ensure most of the damage is emotional only. The very idea of an abortion terrifies me now, but so does the desperation other women must feel. And it’s not like childbirth won’t kill scores more. Again, I’m glad that Tanisha told me about the sanctuaries.

  I’m anxious enough to be incapable of standing still as soon as I hop off the ATV that brings me to the gate, the posturing display unfolding before me even more unnecessary and annoying as it otherwise would already be. I get it—particularly if I’m right about Nate’s much deeper involvement with our settlement development than everyone wants it to appear—but this is ridiculous.

  My first thought when I see Bree—after thanking God and the universe and fate and all other divine forces that she’s still alive—is that now, at least, they’re a matching pair. It’s a terribly wry observation and it takes me a few moments to pin-point where it comes from. Then I remember that time Nate dropped by for the first time after he got what would be his final promotion—to captain—and we were all so excited and ready to cheer after having had to wait for three months after the fact to celebrate, and I almost didn’t recognize him from how he’d changed. Not physically—and maybe having read Invasion of the Body Snatchers the week before on a dare didn’t help—but that was the first time I realized that, just maybe, there was a lot about him that I hadn’t known before. That should have been obvious since I was barely ten years old at the time, and it was very possible I’d missed a lot of clues before, but seeing him need to actively force himself to become the person I knew, with the mask slipping once in a while when he stood to the side and thought nobody was looking, was scary. He had that very same expression then as Bree has now—like you’ve lost something you couldn’t afford to lose, and it takes everything you have to just keep existing. Sure, my view may be biased because of my own grief and feelings of loss, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Just like Nate, Bree is quick to put on the mask that hides most of what goes on inside of her. She’s harder now; gaunt, and not just because fighting the virus must have taken a lot out of her. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t suspect that there’s a bubbly, snarky side to her as well. She certainly looks the part of co-leader of a scavenger group now.

  Mom doesn’t make it easy for me to keep my mouth shut when she spews what I can only call complete and utter nonsense, but much to my surprise, not only do people not call her out on her shit—they seem satisfied by her stance. It’s only then that I realize that all the guards posted are Wyoming natives, or at least those who were already here when we declared our collective as such. Jason and his people are the only scavengers around. That can’t be coincidence—and is likely smart thinking. That doesn’t mean I have to like it; in fact, I hate it, feeling vile and dirty simply by association. Bree looks less than thrilled that she’s declared Typhoid Mary of the zombie apocalypse, but the fact that neither she nor Nate try to set things straight tells me that they never expected to get a foot inside our walls. That this is only a fleeting meeting hurts, but it’s more than I thought I would get until two days ago. I still can’t quite believe that Bree is still alive.

  It felt so good to hug Nate, which I did first, but mostly because it’s what people expect me to do—and it goes with the narrative that I’m just a little girl wanting to see her godfather. I suffered through the indignity of being picked up and whirled around like a three-year-old, but I guess I deserve that after using our trigger phrase to make sure he knew he had to absolutely come, no excuses allowed. Finally, he let go to allow me to hug Bree. I hated how frail she feels in comparison. And then I had to suffer through my mother’s opinionated bullshit. But now it’s finally
just us, with Dave lurking to the side, still pretending he’s the one who has news to share. Finding the right words isn’t easy—and Bree’s unusually gruff “So what is so damn important that you can’t talk about on the radio?” doesn’t make it easier. She’s squinting at me in a way that makes me feel like a little girl in a very different way from before—but an equally guilty one.

  Dave is quick to jump in, telling them about the settlements that have declared themselves neutral, or at least scavenger-friendly. Then he looks at me and tells them about the women that have gone missing, and that we think they might have been knocked up. Bree goes ten degrees of tense, but no surprise there—while I doubt she’d idly stand by for possibly killed men, any violence against women is a sure trigger for her. Don’t get me wrong—all of them have a working moral compass where that is concerned—but Bree is easy to manipulate where that topic is concerned. Not that it’s required now, but it’s a good thing that Dave lets them know this since I feel about to chicken out right now and I’m not sure I can get the words out.

  Bree’s response is a very different one than I’d have expected. “Why are you telling us this?” she asks, her voice hard—almost as if she’s offended. But that can’t be it. Nate looks at her, concerned—which makes no sense. I feel like I’m missing something here, but focusing on this so I don’t have to open my mouth is just another excuse, and I’m done with that.

  Steeling myself, I look from Nate to Bree. Yeah, no way I can get out the words holding his gaze. So it’s to her that I say, “We’re telling you this because I’m pregnant. And Chris is the father. Well, was.”

  Bree blinks, but her mood is already changing. “What, Bates?” she asks, incredulous. Beside her, Nate looks the dictionary definition of flummoxed—and not in any positive sense. He goes as far as to growl. Yeah, this is going really well! I do my best not to be hurt and offended, but that’s not quite the reaction I was hoping for—but very close to my realistic expectations.

  Now that the truth is out, I might as well go on, but I still can’t really look at Nate. “Yes, Bates. Exactly how many Christophers did we have in the bunker over the winter? You can both keep your speech to yourself. I’m an adult, and I get to make my own decisions.”

  I feel a smidgen of relief when I see Bree’s body language soften—she’s definitely on board with this. Nate, not so much, hissing, “You were seventeen last winter!”

  That makes me want to cower and apologize, which means I do the exact opposite and go into offense. “You’re such a hypocrite! But it doesn’t matter. It wasn’t like it was going anywhere. And that part wasn’t planned.”

  Thankfully, Bree cuts in before he can do more than open his mouth, but the look he sends me is bad enough—and I do my best to ignore it. “So, it happened. No big deal,” she assesses, immediately drawing Nate’s ire to herself. I could hug her for that! She ignores him. “You’re sure it’s Bates’s?”

  Her tone isn’t judgmental, but I still feel attacked. “Of course I’m sure. I’ve only had sex with one guy, so unless we now all believe in immaculate conception—“

  “Can you please not say that where I can hear it?” Nate interrupts.

  I grimace. Fucking hypocrite. Is it really too much to ask that he’s behaving like a normal human being—compassionate, caring? I suddenly understand much better why Bree more than once stormed off in the middle of a conversation and asked one of the other guys to spar with her for an hour. “What, that too crude for you? Deal with it. We fucked.” My voice is shaky and I feel childish rather than mature, cursing like that, but my indignation dissipates, my anger spent too soon. What’s left is grief and fear, quickly turning into desperation, so I turn to Bree. “I didn’t know, when you left. But I suspected it, because it was the first time ever that I skipped my period. I know that I sent you guys out to fetch me protection but my cramps got worse from it, not better, and as we all know, all of you are sterile, so…”

  Nate still looks ready to chew through stone, oblivious to the warning glance Bree casts his way. Like me, she does her best to ignore his antics. “Are you feeling okay? You’re how many weeks along now?” she asks.

  “Going on four months now,” I mutter, trying to find words that have been going through my head for most of that time, but come up blank. And suddenly it all breaks out of me. “Bree, I’m afraid. I’m scared shitless. I don’t know what to do! I haven’t even told Mom because I’m afraid that she will tell one of those weirdos that keep dropping by, and—“

  “And all over the country pregnant women are disappearing,” Bree offers, understanding. All I can do is nod, my voice too unsteady to continue.

  Dave jumps in, relating our findings about Mary and the other women. I’m a little surprised when he adds the part about not being too discerning about who they slept with—meaning the scavengers. I didn’t really pay attention to that, maybe because that isn’t the part currently turning my life upside down. Bree turns to Nate and they just stare at each other for several seconds straight, until I’m wondering what’s going on. Whatever it is, it’s bad enough that no snide comment comes from Nate, and Bree looks away as if she needs to compose herself before her attention snaps back to me.

  “You were right not to tell anyone,” she stresses. “Anyone but Dave and us. I presume no one else knows?” I quickly negate that—yes, Moore, Collins, and Kevin know as well, but no need to elaborate. “Good. Try to keep it that way. I don’t think your own mother would sell you out, whatever her animosities may be, but right now I wouldn’t trust anyone.”

  Bree’s warning hits me out of the left field, although it shouldn’t. It’s a confirmation that I didn’t want to hear, but if I hadn’t been dreading this, I would have long since made things public. I still have to ask for clarification. “So you think this is connected? That there’s someone out there snatching up pregnant women? Particularly if there’s a chance that the father was part of the serum program?” Because that’s what Dave really meant when he said scavengers; just being trigger-happy looters doesn’t set anyone apart enough.

  Bree and Nate share another one of those looks, and her mask slips. The raw pain in her eyes makes my heart skip a beat, and seeing it mirrored in his kills me. It also tells me what’s going on, just as he utters a low, gruff, “No need for guessing. We know.”

  Hearing that Bree was dead was bad, but on some level, this is even worse. Hormones, my mind helpfully supplies. That, and an ocean of empathy which threatens to drown me for the few seconds it takes me to find my voice. As if from far away, I hear myself mumble that I’m sorry, and when that is the most inadequate thing in the world, I give in and hug her, knowing that it doesn’t make a difference but hoping against hope that it will. And, maybe, also because I need the brief hug back from her, but Bree pushes me away quickly. Her mask is back in place but she’s incapable of keeping her voice steady.

  “It’s okay,” she insists—and she really is a bad liar. I’m not going to tell her so since I know she needs to tell herself that more than me. “I didn’t know until I didn’t die from getting infected. I wouldn’t be alive anymore otherwise. It all happens for a reason.” Does she really believe that? I hope not. I try to protest, but the feeling of guilt gripping me is overwhelming. She just lost her baby, and here I am, babbling aimlessly. At least I didn’t tell her yet how much the small life growing inside my body means to me. I think I’d die of shame if I had.

  Very much like what I’m used to from her, Bree quickly composes herself. In that moment, she again reminds me so much of Nate that it’s uncanny. I glance at him, but he gives me nothing—which isn’t healthy at all, but not unexpected. I choose to focus on Bree instead when she speaks up. “What is important now is that you stay safe. Obviously, what used to be common knowledge is wrong because you are still pregnant, and from the looks of it, you’re going to have your baby. But probably not here.”

  Before I knew about her baby, I would have protested, but I’m so close to losi
ng it that I’m surprised I’m not shaking. “I absolutely hate this, but I’m not trusting anybody here right now. You’ll help me, right? You’ll get me somewhere safe?”

  Bree and Nate share a look that I don’t like—too calculating; too dismissive—and Dave jumps in to save the situation, suggesting New Angeles. It’s been on my list should Sylvie or the sanctuary towns not work out. A quick discussion about possible alternatives follows, and I feel my stomach sink further when Bree immediately dismisses all the settlements in the network—because of the screenings. I tell them about my switcheroo maneuver—and I’ve seldom been more glad about anything else I’ve done in my life. I feel bad not trusting Tanisha because she hasn’t given me any cause for it—on the contrary—but Bree’s suspicion that they must have known that she was pregnant when they got their blood tested already does nothing to alleviate my fears. Quite the contrary.