Resurgence: Green Fields book 5

by Adrienne Lecter

  “I doubt they’d poison us after they had all the chance in the world to drug us already,” I said.

  He shrugged and dug in. I didn’t need the pointed look he gave me to do the same. The scrubs were loose enough on me to make it obvious that I needed food, and lots of it.

  “Question,” I asked when the soup was gone, only crumbs remained on the platter, and we were halfway through the sandwiches. “Just how much higher is your metabolic rate than mine used to be? If I heal faster, there’s a good chance I’m also burning more energy.”

  Nate mulled over that while he finished his BLT. “It depends on how active I am and how much damage my body has to heal, but about two to three times. When I don’t eat enough the first signs are that I get tired quicker and need more sleep. Next concentrating gets a little rough.”

  “How many days are you past that stage?”

  He shrugged, smiling wryly. “Two weeks, give or take? But I can go three weeks without food. It’s not pleasant, but I’ve done it before.”

  “Willingly?” I knew that was a loaded question, but he didn’t shy away from responding.

  “Yes and no. They starved us for a week, a few months after they’d ascertained that the serum was doing what it was supposed to do. After I left, I did it again, to see how far I could push myself. Eighteen days was where it got uncomfortable.”

  “So not actually three entire weeks,” I said.

  “Still needed four days to get back to where I could find the next burger joint, so it was twenty-two days,” he corrected. “Next time we have to ration, we’ll switch to insects.”

  “Insects,” I deadpanned.

  “Great source of protein, and you find them everywhere,” he explained, grinning at the face I was making. “Everything tastes the same to you now, so what’s to complain?”

  “You’re serious.” I still wasn’t quite sure if he wasn’t just yanking my chain.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Nate said, stretching out on his cot. I wondered if I should have joined him, but remained on my own. They weren’t really designed to house two people, and after spending the last days crammed into the car, space was a luxury I was more than happy to indulge in. I still felt anxious about what would come of the tests, but considering that they hadn’t been waiting for us, weapons drawn, there was room for hope. I was clean, I had eaten enough that Nate had stopped scowling at me, and I felt moderately safe. Later, that might change, but for now I decided to just run with what I had.

  I must have been more tired that I’d thought as I only woke up when Nate touched my shoulder, not at the arrival of the elevator. Dominic and some guy that I didn’t know were standing in the room, looking vaguely uncomfortable. Sitting up, I did my best to shake off the lingering grogginess. I was a little surprised that it was Dom who they’d sent up, presumably with the results on the sheet of paper that he was currently mangling in his hands. Maybe he just seemed so nervous because the guy next to him was pretty much at ease, his heavily tattooed arms crossed over his chest. When Dom saw that I was awake, he smiled at me, but it held a definite edge.

  “Just spit it out,” I said, maybe a little more grumpy than warranted, but I was done being afraid. “Can’t really be worse than my last weeks have been.”

  The scientist hedged around a moment longer, but then took the figurative hand I’d offered him.

  “Fact is, you are infected,” he said, briefly glancing down at the printout. “It’s the same virus that the zombies are spreading, which shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone, seeing as you were bitten.” Nate gave him a look that was a silent, “Oh, don’t you say?” making Dom scramble on. “And it’s not. The virus you have is a mutated version. As we don’t have any samples from the zombies you contracted it from we can’t be sure, but our geneticists are ninety percent sure it mutated after you contracted it, likely because of… the extenuating circumstances.” Another pause in which he tried not to look at Nate, but failed horribly.

  “Is it stable?” I asked, wondering if that was a stupid question or not. “Can you even say that yet?”

  Dom shrugged. “Bug guy, remember? You’re the virologist. I’m sure the guys here would love to do more tests, but if you ask me, it has to be stable unless you feel like your condition is deteriorating.”

  Only when he continued to wait for my reply did I realize that he needed one. “Not sure how I would feel that, but I have been getting better, not worse. And none of the symptoms I’ve found got worse.” If anything, the light sensitivity seemed to have lessened over the past days of prologued exposure.

  He glanced at the sheet one last time before he finally handed it over. There were only some scrawled remarks and percentages on it that I had a hard time deciphering.

  “We’ll know more once we’ve analyzed where exactly the mutations are, but it’s not the same variant as the serum, if you were wondering,” he went on explaining. “We still don’t know exactly how they managed to manipulate the inert virus to make it active, if that was even what they did, whoever engineered the zombie variant. But the best guess right now is that the virus recombined with the serum version, that way introducing a mutation that is essentially the active virus but hasn’t triggered full conversion.”

  Glancing from the paper to Nate, I noticed that he hadn’t missed that special formulation, either. “Full?” I asked.

  Dom shrugged. “Essentially, your blood test came back screwed up. Your samples trigger all the zombie specific antibodies, but your virus titer is low, particularly in all other fluids than your blood. Might still be enough to infect someone, but no idea if that would mean whoever gets it would turn into a zombie, or stop at about where you are. The samples also trigger all the serum specific antibodies, but that was already partly true for the old results we have on file. From Aurora,” he clarified.

  “So essentially, I’m what now? A hybrid?” I guessed.

  “Genetically, yes,” Dom agreed, if hesitantly. “Practically…”

  I was getting tired of his hedging, but at the same time it was a relief that they’d sent him up here to stutter his way through the verdict, rather than the firing squad. Nate seemed to agree with me there, relaxing gradually.

  “Dom, just tell me,” I said. “It’s not exactly getting easier when you continue to behave as if the worst is still in front of me.”

  “Right,” he agreed, clearing his throat. “We’ve been talking with Wilkes and his staff, and we all agreed that the best course of action would be to treat you as one of them.” He looked at Nate, as if that needed clarification. “With some limitations that we believe you yourself are best to enforce, on yourself.”

  “Which means?” Nate asked, just a little exasperated.

  It was the other guy who replied whose name I still didn’t know. “It means that she gets two more marks on her neck and a plea from the squints to pretty please not kiss or fuck anyone who might get infected as a result. Seeing as you two are practically married, they figured that wouldn’t impose too much of a risk on anyone.”

  I didn’t miss Nate’s smirk, and I was a little surprised that he didn’t feel like setting anyone straight.

  Dom kept wringing his hands, looking anxiously at me. “Provided you agree to this?” he asked.

  I could have kept him waiting, but I was getting tired of this charade. Nodding, I got up. “I’m okay with that.”

  Dom looked surprised but also relieved, while the other guy gave him a sidelong glance that spoke volumes.

  “Well, that’s it,” Dom said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, likely to stop fidgeting. “We’ll update your database file and try to tidy it up so that it looks like there’s never been any doubt about this. There are a number of people who got inoculated with an early form of a vaccine that also changed their immunological profile somewhat. To anyone who doesn’t know that you’re not one of them, it will look like you are. Can’t do anything about the people who do know what your
profile should show, but the practical implications should be minimal. If I were you, I’d probably steer clear of the other lab complexes out there, but after the recent events I don’t think I have to tell you that.”

  Wasn’t that the truth.

  “Sure thing,” I said, trying not to sound too grim. “And Dom? Thanks. I really appreciate the lengths you guys are going for me.”

  He looked taken aback—and maybe just a little offended—at my words. “Don’t mention it,” he responded, then turned toward the elevator. “See you downstairs, if you got a minute. I guess you’ll want to look over your results in detail? Sunny’s busy whipping up an actual presentation. I tried to tell him you’d be happy with just the raw data, but you know how some of them get.” I nodded, not quite sure how I felt about that. Avoiding Sunny had sounded like a damn good idea until now. “If you don’t have any other questions, I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Terrance here,” Dom said, practically fleeing into the elevator. His rush was somewhat less dramatic as he still had to help Terrance roll out the trolley holding his equipment. I couldn’t help but smirk, but did my best to wipe my expression of it once the elevator doors closed and Terrance turned back to us.

  Rather than approach me, he made eye contact with Nate, although he looked hard pressed not to laugh at Dom’s antics himself. “Are you and I going to have a problem here?” he asked, sounding just a tad cautious.

  Nate, ever the asshole, held his gaze for a full ten seconds before he replied, letting the muscle mass and inches in height that he had on the other guy do the intimidating for him. Or just the simple fact that Terrance obviously knew what the plainly visible marks across Nate’s neck meant.

  “Why should we?” he asked. “You mean because they told you to mark up my wife, which will practically exile her forever?”

  “Someone might interpret it that way, yeah,” Terrance agreed, although he didn’t seem fazed.

  “Don’t you think that I respect her enough that if she agrees to something, I don’t see it as my place not to respect her wishes?” Nate went on, still very serious, but I could tell that he was getting tired of this already.

  Terrance shrugged. “The thought has occurred to me. Her name is at the very top of your unit roster.”

  Nate nodded. “You just heard that guy call her a half-zombie? Don’t you think I could come up with a lot of scenarios that end up way worse than her practically disappearing into our ranks of badassery? I’m not saying she can’t easily take down any asshole out there that thinks she’s weak just because she’s a woman, but now they will think twice before even looking at her. It will make my life—and hers—a lot easier.”

  I wondered what Rita—Nate’s old flame and current Chief of Security in Dispatch—would think of that. Probably not much as she was one of the few who knew that I had started out with just one X at the back of my neck and not three, but I didn’t really give a shit.

  Terrance allowed himself something resembling a smile before he nodded toward Nate’s torso. “You want anything done while you’re already here? Like a touch up on that? That scar did a good job screwing up the tail.”

  Nate idly scratched over the indicated mark but shook his head. “Those scars have sentimental value. You don’t always get speared by a rebar the day the zombie apocalypse happens.” He paused, glancing in my direction before he turned back to Terrance. “Actually, there is something I can think of.”

  Terrance shrugged, clearly not unhappy to get some more work done. “Sure. Need me to get out the paper to draw a stencil?”

  “You can probably do that freehand if your own tats are any indication of what you consider quality.” Terrance laughed, nodding for Nate to go ahead. I knew that I wouldn’t like where this was going when Nate glanced my way again. “Her name, on my ass.”

  Terrance grinned, but I wasn’t sure if my reaction could have still been considered amusement. “Seriously?” I asked, my tone heavy with incredulity. “That was a joke.”

  Nate shrugged, uninterested in my comment. “I already told you, not one of your worst ideas.”

  Terrance watched us both, his grin widening. To me he said, “I won’t do it if you object.”

  “Oh, I don’t give a shit. He can do with his ass whatever he wants to. It’s just… weird.”

  “Not the weirdest I’ve inked,” Terrance replied, turning back to Nate. “Hop up on that cot there. I’ll do you first. Still have to clean everything properly between you two, of course, but they’re forcing me to autoclave all the parts that might come in contact with her after I’m done. Unless you want to wait until tomorrow…”

  At least Nate waited to pull down the pants until he was lying down, although I had a certain feeling that as a tattoo artist, Terrance had seen his fair share of more or less exposed genitals in his day. While Terrance set his gear up, they discussed the details—black ink, military stencil-esque font, the exact position—until Terrance asked, “Full name or abbreviation?”

  Nate turned his head to look at me, raising his brows.

  “Don’t ask me,” I said, scoffing. “As I said, it’s your ass.”

  “But I don’t have to see it,” he said, snorting. “I don’t even remember the last time I called you Brianna.”

  I had to admit, neither did I. “I’m not sure you ever did,” I offered. “When we met in that park I certainly didn’t introduce myself using my full name.” Which reminded me of something else. “Under what did you save my contact info in your phone? I know I gave you my number that night. Gullible fuck bunny?”

  Terrance laughed, while Nate gave me a rather blank stare. “Just so you know, of course I already had your number before that, but I wasn’t stupid to save it with your full name, even on a burner phone. Of course the FBI would have traced it back to you, but I didn’t want to make it too easy for them.”

  I didn’t reply—there really was no sense in it—but Terrance kept on grinning as he drew the outline of the four letters with a sharpie across Nate’s left ass cheek. “Sounds like there’s quite the story behind how you guys met.”

  “Oh, you have no idea,” I said before Nate could make it all worse—as he usually did. “Guess the fact that I’m still sticking around means I deserve to get my name commemorated somewhere.”

  Terrance set to work, and the guys continued to chat, mostly about where Nate had gotten his other ink, and what Terrance had gotten up to since the shit had hit the fan. I perked up when he mentioned that he’d spent some time in California, making me wonder if he knew more about that fabled New Angeles settlement, but didn’t ask. Nate, of course, didn’t let out a single pained sound but he flinched a few times, making me feel just a little vindicated, because I could be petty like that. All too soon Terrance was done, letting me get another glimpse at the masterpiece before he slapped on some saran wrap.

  And then it was my turn. My hair was already up, so all I had to do was sit down sideways on the cot and wait for Terrance to finish cleaning and join me. I couldn’t really say if the scratching sensation of the needles shooting ink into my skin was any lighter than the last two times. For the first mark, in Aurora, I’d been so worked up that my anxiety because of the whole ordeal had pretty much made me forget everything except for that feeling of freedom once we were all safely out of the gates. My memory of the tat low on my back was sketchy at best, even if I’d never admit that. It didn’t really sting much now, but I couldn’t say if that was due to the neural damage the virus had caused, or it simply paled in comparison to all the shit I’d been through of late.

  Terrance was done before I could find an answer to all that. I could tell that he was hesitating after he finished cleaning up my neck, making me smile.

  “Just how well can you draw?” I asked, questioning my sanity just a little bit. “Probably a really stupid question, considering that you used to earn a living with your skills, but…”

  “I’m not really good with portraits,” he offered. “But except for that,
I’d say pretty decent. Why?”

  Glancing back over my shoulder, I couldn’t help but smirk at him. “Guess.”

  “What do you want?” he asked, smiling with anticipation.

  Exhaling slowly, I forced myself to overthink this again, but there really was no sense in backing down now. Nate was right. Life could be oh so fleeting these days, and there was no room left for regrets.

  “Can you draw an anatomically correct heart, maybe a little stylized, with one of those curly banners over the bottom, spelling his name? Apparently, we are that kind of people.”

  From the corner of my eye I saw Nate bite his lip, trying to stifle a laugh, while Terrance looked a tad bit doubtful.

  “I can do that, no problem. But I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but there’s a woman who had kind of a similar design—“

  I cut him off right there, grinning brightly. “I know. I watch porn. And I’m not a princess, so you might as well slap on his name there.”

  Ever the professional, Terrance didn’t laugh, but when he fetched his sketchpad he gave Nate a look that clearly spelled out that he thought Nate was one lucky guy. For once in his life, Nate proved that he could at least pretend to be decent and he kept his mouth shut, but I was sure that further down the lane I would get to hear a piece of his mind.

  And so it came that I spent another hour lying on that cot, with my shirt shoved up to the middle of my back and my pants down to my knees. Terrance must have noticed my “13” tat above my tailbone but didn’t comment on it, so I was spared to recount the ridiculous story of why mine was down there while Nate’s was just inches below his neck marks. Admittedly, I’d had more free space there than he did. Still.

  Then we were done, and Terrance unlocked the door for us so we could duck outside to get fresh clothes from the Rover. I stayed inside and let Nate play fetch, seeing as the sun was still up and I had no intention to fry my eyes if I didn’t have to. The fluorescent light in here wasn’t exactly balmy, but it was still preferable to the glare outside.