Jumping down from the truck and going toe-to-toe with the shamblers didn’t sound that bad right now. “That was so, so bad, you know that?” I asked Burns before passing on the bottle—reluctantly.
“Sure do,” he responded, settling back down so he could continue reading.
Still grinning stupidly, I did the same, until he turned the page again. “Now, that’s completely made up,” I offered my expert opinion. “Just if you guys ever were wondering—well, except you, Martinez—that’s not how it works.”
Bates clucked his tongue. “And now I’m getting sex advice from the woman who has the opportunity but is too dense to take it, why exactly?”
His lopsided grin almost made me vault over Burns, but then I had a better idea of revenge—and drained the remainder of the bottle in a few greedy moments, almost but not quite choking on the liquid, much to Burns’s disappointed grunt. Grinning rather animatedly at Bates, I offered, “Just for the record—most of us are great at swallowing.”
Burns laughed loud enough that the undead below got quite interested, while Martinez let out a pained groan. “Just saying, if next you two get into a physical fight, I’m not patching you up. You’ll get to explain, in excruciating detail, to Miller exactly why you beat each other to a bloody pulp, notwithstanding that one of you can’t really move right now and the other is too drunk to stand straight.”
“I’m not drunk,” I whined, sounding decidedly… drunk. The shit-eating grin I donned to hide that sure did wonders to keep Martinez frowning. “Just a little buzzed.”
Bates let out a chuff. “Yeah, like she’d manage to get more than a lucky punch in, sober. Me being unable to stand doesn’t come close to evening the odds.” He turned to me. “Hate to break it to you, but even if you’re feisty, you’re not a match for me.”
That he was right didn’t mean I had to admit that. “You know what you are, Bates? You’re an ass.” And because I really wasn’t on the sober side anymore, my statement cracked me up, annihilating the last bits of doubt anyone might have had about the state I was in.
Burns kept following our verbal ping-pong match that happened across his prone body, quite amused. “Not yet, you aren’t. I’m sure you’d make Zilinsky’s year if you ask her to teach you how to beat the crap out of this one here.” No need to grin at Bates, but he still did.
Bates rewarded that with another disbelieving sound. “Decade, probably, but I doubt she’ll get her there. There’s just not enough… mass there,” he explained, making a throw-away gesture at me. “Against someone your size, no problem. Martinez, sure.”
“Hey, now—” our medic spoke up in protest, but he was smiling, too. I had beaten him a few times in the past, if only by points.
Bates ignored him. “But let’s be real here for a sec. Our incredibly balanced diet of eighty percent animal chow has made you shed weight like crazy, and even if you manage to beef up over the winter, someone like me or Burns has half again as much in muscles as you weigh, in total. Plus reach and years of training reflexes, and you, Miss Smarty Pants, can for sure calculate the sheer physical advantage that those extra inches give us on you.”
Not even sober could I have let an opening like that slide. “Why don’t I show you what a well-placed knee to your extra inches does to you?” I suggested, hard-pressed not to follow that threat up with a giggle. And of course I lost that fight. As did Burns and Martinez, and even Bates cracked a smile.
“Guess I had that coming,” he acceded, shaking his head in playful exaggeration before turning serious once more. “But for real, you know that being a mean, vicious little honey badger will only get you so far against a grizzly. Your best bet in not losing a fight you can’t win is not starting it.”
Burns nodded wisely but was happy to disagree with Bates nevertheless. “That’s why you always bring a gun to a fist fight,” he jeered, then turned pensive. “I think we could show you a few tricks to even the odds a little. Your biggest advantage will always be that they’ll underestimate you, and depending on how ruthless you are, you might stand a chance.”
Martinez had to chime in there. “It is damn hard to win a fight when your opponent stabs your eyes out with her thumbs.”
“Ew.” The very idea made me want to retch—which reminded me that I hadn’t really eaten much today. It sure made Burns guffaw when he realized I was getting a pack of nuts out of my jacket—after that example mentioned.
“Yeah, you fit right in with us,” he surmised, nudging me to hand over what was left of the pack after I’d inhaled half of it.
Still munching meditatively, I stared out over the prairie around us, trying to judge if more shamblers had joined the few surrounding us, or if they were finally giving up. “Actually, I’m surprised that nobody has dragged me into our makeshift gym yet. I was sure you would after Zilinsky finished spray-painting the lines on the floor.”
Silence answered me, which I at first didn’t notice as I was somewhat transfixed by the glint of sunshine on some bit of glass closer to the highway, but when Bates cleared his throat, he drew my attention to the fact that all three of them were staring at me somewhat quizzically.
“Girl, hate to break it to you, but you’ll have to be the one to broach that subject.” When I just stared at him blankly, Bates chuckled. “You heard Miller this morning, right? You do have a choice, and that means you have to choose your own potential misery.”
“Certain, if Zilinsky and hand-to-hand combat are involved,” Burns observed.
I couldn’t help but frown, weirdly miffed—and that wasn’t even the booze talking. “What you mean to say is that, what? Miller is waiting for me to ask him to teach me how to fight?” Considering what we’d been through since we’d met, that idea was ludicrous.
Burns shrugged. “Tell him would probably be enough. I don’t think he expects you to ask nicely and say pretty please.”
Bates, of course, had to top that. “I’m sure he’s also waiting for you to tell him to fuck you senseless, but hey, could be just me.”
Burns snickered in agreement, making me want to chuck the empty booze bottle at both of them. “Would be just like him,” he observed once his mirth had died down.
“Annoying the fuck out of me? Hell, yeah,” I grumbled, flopping onto my back once more to stare up into the startling blue sky. “You’re all a bunch of assholes, you know that?”
“Not disagreeing here,” came Martinez’s comment from my left. “Now that that’s settled, can we please continue reading this damn novel? The anticipation of how exquisitely perfect Reginald’s cock is is killing me!”
I hated how my wheezing laugh made me sound like a hyena, but Bates and Burns didn’t seem to mind.
“She sure seems fond of his”—he plucked the book from where Burns had dropped it—“twelve inches? Damn.”
It took me a bit to rein in my next bout of laughter. “Yeah, that’s the unrealistic part I was talking about.” And, wouldn’t you know it, I got not one, not two, but three hurt expressions for that. “Oh, come on, guys! Unless she’s an absolute size queen, that’s never gonna feel good. Sucking him off won’t get her worked up enough for that, even if that’s an absolute turn-on for her. Girl needs some extra work.” I paused, considering. “Besides, I doubt she got that baseball bat into her mouth. Unless you’re an anaconda, jaws don’t work like that.”
Martinez was having a hard time not roaring with laughter, and Burns seemed a step behind, but from Bates I got a confused look. “Say that word again?”
I had no idea what he was referring to, so I offered up a succinct, “What? Anaconda?” complete with a suggestive eyebrow wriggle—that sent Burns into a fit. I obviously hadn’t been the only one getting a little too much liquid courage, or maybe he was born that way. With him, probably the latter. And now my own thoughts were cracking me up as well, only making Bates more confused.
“No, dumbass. Size what?”
“Ah,” I cooed, snorting. “Never heard that? So straight,
white male of you.” Glancing at Martinez, I asked, “You know it, right? I mean, it’s virtually impossible that you don’t.”
Smiling slightly, Martinez still tried himself at a scowl but missed by a mile. “Not sure if that’s a homophobic or a sexist slur—”
“Oh, shut up.” I narrowed my eyes at Burns next. “You do know.”
He shrugged. “Not really, but I think the context explains it. I’m sure as hell not stupid enough to admit that I haven’t heard it before.”
“You really should educate yourselves better,” I snarked. “And watch more quality porn, not just some dude fucking a bimbo in missionary that has way too much makeup on her face. Or two girls doing whatever with their tongues but certainly not anything that’s actually making them moan as much as they’re pretending to. Sheesh. I’m surrounded by illiterate imbeciles.”
Martinez snickered. “And that took you this long to realize? Not that smart yourself, eh?”
I glared at him, the effect greatly diminished by my shit-eating grin resurfacing, I was sure. “Whatever.” Turning to the others, I was only too happy to educate them. “A size queen is a person—let’s keep this all-inclusive, shall we?—who delights in sticking things up their various orifices that are much closer in size to a fire truck than anything you’ll usually come across in the world of human anatomy. Unless you include hands and feet, where lesbians are decidedly at a disadvantage. Poor girls. Thank fuck to the sex toy industry.”
Burns was still grinning but Bates looked weirded out bordering on horrified. “I really did not need that mental image,” he offered. “You endless fountain of fucked-up sexual wisdom are a way more effective chastity device than Miller’s half-assed threats.”
“Almost reaching Zilinsky’s glare from this morning,” Burns agreed.
I grunted at both of them. “You say the sweetest things.”
Burns wasn’t finished yet, winking at me before he turned to Bates. “But it does make me wonder what exactly she and Miller got up to that made her not even think about throwing her lot in with Hamilton back when she had the choice.”
Under different circumstances, that might have made me uncomfortable, but today, here on this truck, I was way beyond that point. “Well, wouldn’t you like to know?” I teased.
“Honestly? Fuck, no,” Bates said rather emphatically. “It’s one thing to cheer you on, but I really don’t need any details. Or general facts. Or anything at all, really, that concerns you and Miller bumping uglies. Go forth and get your freak on, but not anywhere I need to know anything about it.”
Burns looked downright disappointed but dropped the point when Martinez shot him a warning glance. “Probably for the best,” he mused. “Would break my heart to know that behind closed doors you’re both two shy prudes who can barely get past missionary.”
“That much I can tell you—” I started, but Bates clamping his hands over his ears and starting to sing loudly—and very off-key—cut me off.
Shamblers in a radius of a good mile responded, and Bates cut off abruptly when Burns punched him in the side, hard. Fear, raw and visceral, crawled up my spine, doing way more than our playful banter to cut through the haze the ethanol in my veins caused. It helped ease my mind that, fast as I was to scramble for my shotgun, I was the last to arm herself. Five tense minutes passed as zombies came streaming closer to investigate, none of us daring to make a sound. Knowing that I was safe up there did only so much to calm me, particularly since it took an awfully long time until Burns finally relaxed, Bates and Martinez mirroring him after a few seconds. It was only then that I noticed another plume of dust rise, close to the mountains in the south-west.
“Looks like the cavalry got tired of waiting for us,” Bates noted after checking with his binoculars. “Four cars, one breaking away to stir up shit so the others can come closer, if I had to take a guess.” He flashed me a quick grin. “Time to sober up, unless you want to start your survival training with an extra hundred push-ups and two shifts of perimeter watch back to back.”
“Zilinsky won’t let her off that easily,” Burns observed, a borderline nasty smile spreading on his face.
My mind still had some trouble backing out of panic mode. “Did you fucking assholes set me up, or what?”
The way the two idiots kept eyeing each other was answer enough. If Burns hadn’t stealthily reclaimed the empty bottle, I would have hurled it at his head now. As it was, he sounded too damn neutral for his own good as he responded. “Let’s put it this way: some sheep need to be led to the slaughter. Others, you kick in the ass and dare them not to run, and they will do it all by themselves.”
“I’m no fucking sheep!” I hissed, anger doing a good job finally chasing the fear away.
“No,” Bates agreed. “But for someone who’s capable of insane fits of bravery sometimes, you are quite a coward at others. I think I’m speaking for all of us when I say that nobody expected you to go hide away in the bunker, because that’s not the kind of woman you are. But you’ve spent two weeks moping around and dragging your heels, and, well, if a bit of a scare and some liquid courage do the trick and finally send you on the right trajectory, who are we not to give you a good shove forward to add to your momentum?”
I wondered if that statement should have made any sense, but the sentiment came across loud and clear. I was still mad at him, but deep down I couldn’t help but feel a thread of pride and satisfaction scratch at my veneer of outrage. With guys like them around, it was easy for me to feel small and incapable—but that they expected better of me made it virtually impossible not to rise to the occasion.
“Well, next time maybe keep it at a pep talk,” I grumbled, then held up one hand to try to sniff my breath. Even with the lingering scent of decay permeating the air, I could easily smell the booze. Perfect. Just fucking perfect!
“Too easy,” Burns offered, taking some of the sting out of his words with a heartfelt pat on my shoulder. “No worries. I’m sure that whatever excuse you choose—that you fell into the bottle yourself, or we got you drunk—both will get Miller annoyed enough with you for letting it happen that he will say something that in turn will make you snap the first thing on your mind back at him, and in no time you’ll have hurled all the things at each other that you’re too stupid to say when you’re behaving like two intelligent adults. You’re welcome.”
Turning to Martinez, I narrowed my eyes at him. “You in on this?”
He gave me a sweet smile, but his answer was everything but. “I’m actually the one who suggested it after I saw you slinking around the porch last night, unsure whether you should volunteer for the last guard shift or not. Like it or not, but I’m responsible for keeping you all of a healthy body and mind. It’s not healthy if you sink right back into your perceived shortcomings that nobody but you sees. I’d rather stitch you up and put a cast on your broken arm than have Miller try to un-shrink you. The results might get nasty.”
“Why would you say that?”
It was funny to see Martinez’s usually open face close up as if he’d said far too much.
Trust it to Burns to save the situation. “Nobody told you? His mother was a shrink, and dear little Nathaniel probably snuck a look too many in her notes a time or two. Of all the people who I’d want to set my mind straight, he’s very low on that list.”
I took that with a shrug, half turning away to look toward the cars slowly advancing on our position.
“Oh. I thought you meant because of the cats.”
A pause followed, until Bates bit. “What cats?”
Smiling sweetly at him, I explained, “I know about the cats he tortured and killed as a kid. He told me about that himself. Don’t think for a second I didn’t notice his blab.” I jerked my chin at Martinez. “But fine with me, keep his secrets. Just don’t think I’m dumb enough not to know that there’s way more lurking behind those blue eyes than one might think at first.”
The way Burns smirked made me guess he hadn’t expecte
d anything else from me. “You a The Who fan?”
“Who isn’t?” I snipped back, happy to end that conversation then and there.
Bates had to disagree. “The cover’s not half bad—”
“Blasphemer,” I hissed. “Get off my truck!”
“How’s it your truck if you can’t even drive it?” Bates jeered, making no move to get up, although he kept watching the cars the same as the rest of us.
“How about you change that once you’re back to limping around?” I suggested. “That’s going to be one hell of a long winter if all you wanna teach me is how not to get beat up each and every day.”
Bates inclined his head. “Be careful what you wish for. We might just make a badass out of you.”
“Too late,” I shot back, grinning. “But, just saying, I’m so going to tattle on all three of you. I know I’m not living this down easily, but I’m not taking the fall alone.”
We watched as the lead car—probably Andrej driving since it was the Jeep—broke further away from the others, accelerating as it came at us in a sweeping course that brought it right around the front of the truck before it sped off toward the highway and back south, drawing the last of the shamblers with it. Fifteen minutes later, the other cars rolled to a halt after having crept the last mile at barely more than walking speed to avoid attracting more attention. I wisely waited until the others had secured the perimeter and had started unloading the truck before I scrambled down, somewhat faster than anticipated when my body stopped cooperating and I ungracefully tumbled off the hood. As soon as I’d picked myself back up off the ground, I stalked over to where Nate was observing the spectacle with a slight frown, trying to move with deliberation to keep my staggering to a minimum. I almost managed. Almost.
“Yes, I’m drunk, and it’s all their fault,” I told him as soon as he opened his mouth, without a doubt already burning to chew me out.
His jaws snapped shut, a bemused look crossing his features. “There must be a story behind this.”
Beyond Green Fields (Book 1): Beginnings [A Post-Apocalyptic Anthology] Page 5