Beyond Green Fields #2 - Regrets: A post-apocalyptic anthology

by Adrienne Lecter

  “We heard that you were coming,” he offers. I don’t ask him how he knows—Dispatch must be rife with spies, secure line or not.

  “Then you likely also know why I’m here.”

  He inclines his head, but only after a moment’s hesitation. “I heard that you were looking for someone.”

  “You could say that.” He doesn’t react to my scoff, but I try very hard to keep my anger in check. “You don’t happen to know anything about that?”

  “We’re not in the business of making people disappear,” he offers, although he seems less sure of that claim than he appears comfortable with. “Where did said person disappear?”

  It strikes me as strange that he won’t refer to her as my wife, but maybe the trickle of information down the grapevine is really just that—a trickle. “A settlement near the Colorado eastern border. Yuma.”

  He jerks visibly, although he tries to hide it in a shift of his position. His gaze skips from me to Burns, and on to the idling Humvee. “That doesn’t look like what we know is your standard gear.”

  I’m hard pressed not to sneer so I leave it at a small, if nasty, smile. “They shot at us first. We shot last. That’s how it’s been out there on the roads for the past months.”

  That he is still conflicted speaks for his character—that he doesn’t outright tell the truth, less so. “We’ve heard of some altercations happening around a few of the less populated states,” he offers, focusing back on me. “We try to keep the settlements safe and supplied. We can’t take care of every bad egg that may believe it’s really a dinosaur.”

  That’s a strange metaphor, and I’m asking myself if he wants to tell me something with that. My paranoia wants to jump at it but I won’t allow that—not here, not now; not with Bree’s life at stake.

  “I’m not here to play games,” I tell him, hoping that I sound as sincere—and sick of so much of the bullshit that’s going on—as I try to be. “All I’m looking for is my wife. I didn’t start this conflict, or war, or arms race, or whatever the hell it is. We gambled, we lost, and all I want is to get away with our lives. If you know something—anything, really—please, tell me. You’ll be rid of me much quicker if you can point me in the right direction.”

  I can tell that he’s tempted—but likely doesn’t have enough information to go on. That, or he’s a really good actor. “I wish I could help you—and not just to get rid of you.” He goes for a small smile, and because it’s forced, I know it’s real in its own way. “We’ve all heard rumors, but nothing that hasn’t been twisted by too many instances of retelling to make any sense. Since you’ve been in the area, you likely know more yourself, firsthand, than I do.”

  Part of me wants to call him a liar; wants to beat the living hell out of him to make sure he’s not holding anything back; but contrary to Bree’s usual snap judgment, I know that there are a lot of good men and women serving still, and if I can avoid senseless violence and bloodshed, I will. I have a feeling that once I get a good lead, enough intel will follow as is—and for a cause. We just have to find that first clue.

  “Thank you for your help,” I say—and offer him my hand to shake. He seems reluctant at first, maybe afraid of a trap, but then takes it. It’s a good, sure grip, the perfect shake. We stare at each other for a few more seconds, then I nod at Burns and we turn around and walk back to the Humvee. We’re almost there when Martin calls after me, making me halt with my hand on the door.

  “We don’t have any confirmed details, but I’ve recently come across a report of a trader caravan that was waylaid in western Kansas. One of the vehicles got away and was picked up by a patrol two days later. They swore up and down that it was our people who attacked them, which made no sense at all. So, just maybe, you did the world a service today, picking those imposters off the road. Because you very well know that none of us would do anything like that. Or do you?”

  I feel like he is trying to tell me something. I know the other base is in Kansas—could it be that? I also feel like we’re about to overstay our welcome, so I thank him again, and off we go to rejoin the others.

  As I relay the news to Zilinsky, I’m still not sure what to make of that encounter. She shows me the position of the base, and while not quite in the western part of the state, it’s close enough for a raiding party. Since we’re just burning daylight, we drive on minutes after switching up the cars once more, stretched thin now that we have to take the Humvees with us as well. We should at least make it to the state border before nightfall.

  Zilinsky remains silent for several miles, until I’m the one to break the silence—something that never happens with Bree. Damn, but I miss the dulcet tones of her nagging! “I’m not saying I trust that guy that he didn’t have a clue about anything, but I don’t think it’s an army-wide thing.”

  She ponders that for a while. “The shit show at the factory must have been sanctioned, though.”

  She has a point. “I don’t get it. That they are coming after us, and other scavengers? Sure. But why abduct women from settlements? Martin stressed so again, and in that I agree with him—they did a good job supporting the settlements. Why go against that now?”

  “Why would men ever kidnap women?” Zilinsky muses, idly stroking the rifle in her lap.

  That’s a statement worthy of my wife, and just the same, it irritated the shit out of me. “We haven’t gotten to a single settlement yet where there haven’t been plenty of girls eyeing the new merchandise. If they are friendly toward us, they must be downright oozing their charm all over the soldiers. I don’t buy it. The military in general has long traditions about finding ways. If anything, this is driving a wedge between them and the civilians. In the long run, that won’t work out for them.”

  She considers my argument, and eventually shrugs. “There’s something else women are good for: repopulating the planet. I’m surprised nobody brought that up yet.”

  “With contraceptives not that easily available, I’m not concerned about humanity in the long run. I can see why some melodramatic higher-ups might tell their soldiers not to use condoms, but gathering up a stable of brood mares sounds a little drastic.” And, oh, Bree would flay me alive for that remark if she heard it. Envisioning her anger makes me smile for a moment—but a very brief one.

  Zilinsky only gives me a grunt for my effort, concentrating on the land around us instead. That settles it, for now—we’re both clueless and frustrated, and deep down in my gut I know that the second base will be as much of a bust as the first.

  It turns out, the other base is worse—mostly as it no longer exists. All we find are burned-down ruins and a few hunks of twisted metal that I think used to be vehicles. From the looks of it, whatever happened here isn’t a recent development but weeks old—so much for the intel that reaches Dispatch.

  Today marks the fifth day that Bree is gone, and I’m having a hard time keeping my hopes up. I’ve spent countless hours on the radio, chatting with all kinds of people, but nobody knows anything—except that something is going on. This shows how much of a disorganized rabble we really are, when not even our self-declared HQ has numbers.

  I’ve also spent some quality time chewing Rita out about her obvious leak, and the fact that Stanton told me that we have turncoats in our own ranks. Rita didn’t sound surprised of either accusation but her answer remains the same, even when I check back in with her now: they didn’t know, and nothing has changed.

  I’m so fucking frustrated that I could chew through steel. After not sleeping for four consecutive nights, that actually sounds like a good tactic for stress relief.

  And now, standing at the ruins of the second base, I feel like it’s the perfect metaphor for my life. Gone is most of my need for revenge and retribution; after days of spending hours on end lost in that need without giving me anything, I feel like I’ve moved on. All that counts for me now is to get Bree back.

  A cabin in Alaska never sounded so good.

  I also ask myself—is that
the true cause for what’s happening to her at the moment? That someone wants me right where I am right now, coming to this very conclusion? Some things are worth dying for, but I’ve found my one thing in life that’s worth staying alive for—her. Us, really, because without her, I’m not that keen on finding out when, not if, the serum will eventually kill me. I almost lost her once, and at least on an emotional level she still hasn’t returned to me yet—but she needs to be right here next to me, nagging me about all my shortcomings and wrong decisions so I can suffer and be punished and eventually be forgiven once more—

  I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind. And knowing that’s nothing compared to what she must be enduring right now kills me.

  The others don’t take finding the base burned down much better than I do. There’s some cursing going on, but mostly standing around, kicking at dirt.

  “We can’t just do nothing!” That the outburst comes from Martinez of all people makes it even more powerful. That he’s glaring at me doesn’t help. “We have to do something!”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” I’m having a hard time just pressing the words out without screaming them in his face. “Don’t you think I feel like the absolutely most useless fucking bastard on this blasted earth?!” At least I tried not to shout—now I fail.

  Martinez looks a little shell-shocked at my outburst—he’s used to a lot from me, but not that—but while they are now all staring at me, there’s no blame in their eyes. Guess I just humanized myself a little—not that it changes one fucking thing.

  Andrej jumps into the breach, taking a look around before he speaks up. “Not much we can do since we know fuck all about what’s going on. But there are some things we do know. Like that she was taken in Yuma. We can go back there and try to put some more pressure on the locals. You said the girl’s sister was taken from there, too?”

  My mouth is already open to snap my answer before it occurs to me that I don’t have one. “That she was taken, yes. But I don’t remember if from there or elsewhere.”

  Zilinsky has an answer for that. “Jason mentioned that the sister wasn’t with their mother. That’s why we initially decided to split up—we head for the settlement to talk to the girl, they go to investigate with the mother.” She pauses to mull that over for a second. “I don’t think the people in Yuma held anything back. They’re a hub, and they generally don’t care much about who comes and goes, as long as it doesn’t impact them directly. The scavenger girl wasn’t one of their own, and neither are we. The settlement where the mother is living is a much better bet.”

  What she doesn’t add is that it’s our only clue—and, once again, it’s at the opposite end of the next state over. But with nothing else to go on, and no other clues, that’s where we’re going. “Off to Frenton, Colorado then.” And that’s what we do.

  It takes Zilinsky a while to get the radio working on a frequency that’s not open to the whole wide world, and we’re looking for a place to crash for the night when we finally get Jason on the line. He’s downright apologetic for having been off the air, but since they ran into enough trouble to make them scoot back to their home base, they didn’t want to risk not getting there. I understand, although the words that make it out of my mouth still sound harsh. I try to tone it down but I can tell that he’s not holding it against me—he has lost people, too—not that I even consider losing Bree. I will get her back, no question—it might just take a little while longer.

  “What exactly went down in Frenton?” I ask when all niceties have been exchanged.

  “One shit show of stupidity,” Jason admits. “We figured something was fishy when we looked for the midwife, Sylvie, but everybody claimed they’d never heard of a woman of that name. Except for that, it was all quiet and they were pretty easy to deal with. We let our guard down eventually, figuring the intel was plain wrong or months outdated. We ate too much and got drunk—you know how it is when you finally get behind a wall after spending too much time out there.”

  I don’t because we run a tighter ship than that, but I don’t mention that. I agree with him that it wasn’t a bad idea to appear as if asking for the woman was just a random thing and acting as expected should have thrown everyone off their tracks—only that it didn’t.

  “They sprung the trap early in the morning, before we even got ready to leave,” he goes on explaining. “Two of my guys were dead before we even realized what was going on. We managed to get to and barricade ourselves in our cars, but that took more luck than we had a right to. Things got pretty ugly, and three more of us were wounded. Took a damn bullet in the left arm myself, but it’s healing well now. Seven of the town guards died, and four of what we thought was another scavenger group. We didn’t ask any questions when they finally opened the gates to chase us out of the settlement. Not sure they’ll ever let us in again.”

  That sounds like a bigger altercation than what Dispatch had told us before, but I can see why Jason might have covered up some of the details and left it at a general black mark for the settlement. I’ve heard from a few scavengers now that Dispatch is quick to put them on blacklists as well if they stir up shit, and often not even deliberately. Things happen.

  “Think that was because you got too curious?” I ask, burning to wring his neck for more information.

  “Don’t doubt it,” he admits. “But I’m not sure I blame the civilians of the settlement. They were friendly, but in hindsight scared of pretty much everything. My guess is, they tried to pretend nothing much happened, and when we poked that anthill, we called down the cavalry on ourselves. I don’t think they ratted us out. They must have had that trap set for weeks, and we happened to be dumb enough to spring it.”

  That sounds awfully close to our own experience, only that Yuma is likely big enough that nobody needed to threaten the permanent residents; just not giving a shit made up for that.

  I quickly update him on what happened to us and our headless-chicken chase that’s been going on since then. I can tell that he feels for me and where my levels of frustration are, easily. “Think there’s any sense to hitting up Frenton? Or will they shoot us on sight?”

  Jason offers a wry chuckle. “Does the idea appeal to me to sic you on them, death-squad like? It sure does. But, as I said, I don’t think it was the townspeople, and if you go there and come down hard on them, you’ll likely end up having their blood on your hands as well. It also creates another layer of connection between us—something we’ve tried to avoid so far. Not saying don’t do it, man, but don’t do it just because you’re looking for a face to punch to make yourself feel good.”

  He’s right—including my motive for going there. Yet, it doesn’t change anything.

  “What would you do in my stead?” I inquire.

  I get another of those laughs. “Punch in faces until one spits out a clue. I mean, shit. She’s not just one of your people—she’s your wife. I’m honestly surprised that you haven’t already started killing anyone that you come across that you suspect might know someone who knows someone who might have a clue.”

  His assessment of my penchant for violence gives me pause, but I guess it shouldn’t. We have ramped up quite the body count over the past weeks, since the factory. The nasty voice at the back of my mind supplies that, just maybe, I deserve to be put down like a dog for what I’ve done. But if such an order existed, wouldn’t Lt. Martin have told me? The answer is, of course, not necessarily. I consider paying him another visit but I doubt we’d get that close to the base again—if it’s even still manned. It might also have received backup in the meantime. Frenton still sounds like the better target.

  “Thanks for the warning. And I guess for the vote of confidence.”

  He’s still in way too good spirits. I get the feeling he’s one of those guys nothing can keep down. “After you’re done with them, tell them I said hello.”

  I sign off, mulling over what he said for a while. Zilinsky does her thing in the meantime and finds us the perfe
ct place to crash for the night. I’m still lost in thought by the time I park my ass on a log and accept some chow from her. It’s with considerable amusement that I realize that the reason why I feel like I’m mentally floundering is because I don’t have Bree to bounce my plan off of. It’s not like I need her to sign off on any decisions that I make, but the fact that I can’t run my options by her makes me feel like I’m grasping at thin air.

  Yeah, I’m whipped, and I still can’t find anything wrong with that.

  Just because I can’t ask her doesn’t mean I’m on my own with this. I quickly relay to the others what Jason told me earlier and ask for their opinions. Santos looks downright uncomfortable that anyone would give him a vote; Taylor, Clark, and—surprisingly—Burns go for full-on neutral; Martinez is deeply conflicted, and I feel like it makes the strongest point for violence when our usually somewhat pacifist medic is out for blood; Campbell, Romanoff, and Zilinsky are all in for kicking the shit out of everything and everyone until we get the information that we are looking for, although Zilinsky doesn’t say it in as many words. Guess it was stupid of me to expect anyone to attempt to be the voice of reason. That’s also when I realize how much Bree’s absence destabilizes our moral compass—not something I feel the loss of strongly, but it shows with the others. Maybe if she’d skipped out on us, or if she’d died, things would be different, but right now we are one united front screaming for blood.

  We’re careful with perimeter guard, but that night we run out of luck; Andrej has just enough time to kick Clark and Martinez awake before a mob of zombies comes down on us, the lingering scent of burnt wood likely drawing them closer. Even though my mind kicks into gear immediately, my motions are sluggish and slow, and I narrowly avoid getting chewed up. It takes us over an hour to kill the last one of them, and while it’s a great workout and may help with anger management, it leaves all of us tired, drained, and covered in gore. First light is appearing on the horizon by the time we’ve cleaned up, and we decide to take it slower for today—after Zilinsky tells me in no uncertain terms that she will choke me out if I don’t get some sleep on my own. We drive until we find an old, empty barn that’s large enough for all the cars to fit into, and after getting breakfast started, we hunker down for a few hours. It’s the last thing I want to do and my brain won’t shut up about wasting precious daylight, but she’s right—we won’t be any help to Bree if none of us can fight because we’re too exhausted from chasing after ghosts.