Resurgence: Green Fields book 5

by Adrienne Lecter

  Right on the heels of ingesting so much food came a different kind of fatigue, this one of a more comfortable persuasion than the by now ever present exhaustion threatening to make me faceplant into the dishes before me. Almost in afterthought I made myself drink two glasses of water from the jug that got passed around, wondering just how reactive my saliva was, and if someone would wash the cup I was drinking from with soap. I had no way of knowing either.

  With the drowsiness also came a manner of alertness, making me more aware of my surroundings. There were a good fifty people in the building, most of them women, I realized—an astonishingly high number of women, yet no children. I wondered if maybe they were eating somewhere separately, but now that I realized that, I became aware of the fact that I hadn’t seen a single toy anywhere, or heard the telltale high voices of kids playing. That gave me the creeps. First no way to sustain themselves, now this—something was wrong with this settlement.

  Or I was just seeing things, the same as every loud noise made me jerk just a little bit?

  Exhaling slowly, I forced myself to get a better grip on myself before I turned to Mary.

  “Is it possible that I could use your radio station now? I hope that you understand that I’m dying to know if my husband is still alive.”

  I expected full-on rejection, but was surprised when she gave me a sympathetic look. “Of course. But you do realize that there is the possibility that he didn’t survive out there?”

  That notion was ludicrous, but thankfully I managed to swallow that remark before it could trip over my lips. Instead I nodded, lowering my gaze in hopes that it would be harder to trap me in a lie that way. “I know. But I have to try. He’s all I have left. I don’t know what I would do if he wasn’t here anymore.”

  From the corner of my eye I saw Sam and Margo trade glances, but neither of them spoke up.

  “Hamish?” Water Bottle Guy looked up at Mary’s address. “If you are done, would you help our guest with the radio?”

  “Sure thing,” he replied but made no move to get up. “Speaking of which,” he said after another sidelong glance at Mary. “What were you and your husband doing out there? Where were you headed?”

  A tricky question, I was sure, particularly as I still didn’t even know the name of this settlement. But as I was racking my brain trying to come up with a good answer I realized that the best reply was likely the truth—my complete and utter lack of knowledge.

  “Last we were in Colorado,” I said, a vague enough reply that I hoped wouldn’t get me into trouble—and it wasn't even a lie. “We went with a group of other people, safety in numbers, you know? I don’t know where exactly Daniel wanted to head next. North somewhere.” Looking away, I tried for an apologetic smile, hoping like hell that Sam wouldn’t give away just what bull I was about to dish. “I’m really bad with directions and reading maps. I think that’s part of the reason why we usually travel with others. The night before the attack, the leader of our caravan got news that the route we were using wasn’t safe any longer so we changed course. And then it happened.”

  My silence made a few of the people around the table nod in understanding, but not Mary.

  “Then what happened?” she prompted, her voice holding a certain harshness. “We don’t like vague answers here. Vagueness is a sign of liars.”

  I tried hard not to gnash my teeth, but instead of trying to avoid her, I caught her gaze. “They attacked us. I don’t know who. One minute we were driving on the road. The next the car in front of ours stopped, and someone started shooting at us. The bullets broke through the windshield and the driver’s side windows. I ducked, trying to go for cover. When it didn’t stop, my husband told me to run. I thought he would be right behind me, but when I reached the bushes he was still in the car, trying to shoot back.” I dropped my gaze, sure I couldn’t tell the next part with a straight face. “He’s not a very good shot, but he was trying to protect me. A few others ran, too, so I followed them, but got turned around in the small forest where they’d staged the trap. I hid until the next morning, then tried to find the cars. But there were only fields, so I continued down the road I found, and, well, ended up here.”

  More nods, but Mary still didn’t look satisfied.

  “What about your clothes? And the zombies that were following you?”

  The last question was so stupid that I almost told her to shove it—exactly what was there to question about that?—but I did my best to stick to the yarn that I’d already started spinning. I honestly couldn’t remember if she’d been in the room when I’d told Sam that those hadn’t been my clothes. Damn, but my brain severely needed a good punch to jump-start it again.

  “When they were shooting at us… when I was fleeing… I kind of, you know,” I hedged, looking away with what I hoped seemed like bashfulness. “I needed a fresh set of clothes after that, but couldn’t find our car. So when I came to a small town, I looked around for something else to wear. I didn’t dare get closer to any of the larger houses, but I found an abandoned trailer that I think belonged to an old lady.” No lies there. “And the zombies. I spent the night in a barn, but in the early hours of the morning I heard something. I tried to sneak out but they must have seen me, or something. They came after me, so I ran. I fell a few times and lost my shoes, and, well…” Looking up, I did my best to smile across the table at Hamish. “Then I got to your town and you rescued me. I’m so sorry, I haven’t even thanked you yet.”

  He harrumphed and nodded, looking almost embarrassed. “Our pleasure. It’s not every day that we get someone running across the fields like that.”

  “I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” I replied. No, truly not. Shitheads like Taggard I wished a lot more than the odd shamblers that couldn’t even properly catch up.

  I thought that now their curiosity would be sated, but Mary’s next question proved that they were only just getting started.

  “How did you and your husband meet? I presume you met after the breakout? So many people only found each other weeks or months later.”

  And my, wasn’t that a question I so didn’t want to answer. I could practically feel Sam’s gaze bore into me, making me want to offer a slew of lies—but then again, it was probably in my best interest to keep her at a distance.

  “Actually, no,” I started, choosing my words carefully. “We happened to be together when things went south in Lexington.”

  I didn’t need to directly look at Sam to see her stiffen, and judging from the light frown crossing Mary’s face, she’d noticed it, too.

  “How long have you been married?” she asked next, still conversationally but that edge was back in her voice.

  “A few weeks,” I said, feeling kind of shitty that I couldn’t even give an exact answer to that. “Of course we’ve been together much longer. But that was when we decided that we might as well get hitched, seeing as there was no one else out there with whom we’d rather spend the rest of our days.” It was as close to an apology as I could give Sam—or was willing to. I knew that technically, I owed her nothing, but it still felt shitty to tell her all this. I should probably have been thankful to Mary for pulling all that out of me, preventing a more intimate conversation later. It was only then that I realized that she was likely aware of that, and kept asking questions for that very reason. That made me guess that she wasn’t much more happy about me being here than I was myself. But why keep me from the radio if that was the truth? The sooner I got someone to pick me up, the sooner she would be rid of me.

  “Was it after you sustained that injury on your leg?” Mary continued the interrogation. I left it at a simple nod. The less I had to talk about that, the better. Mary didn’t seem to agree with me. “It looked like you sustained a lot of damage there,” she noted. “It must still be painful to move after something that left that amount of scar tissue.”

  It was a good thing that I was as exhausted as I was. Otherwise I would have likely stiffened at her words, and not only after a
few seconds to think over the implications of them. I shrugged, hoping that she’d take my hesitation as general discomfort thinking back to how I’d sustained said injury.

  “It still hurts sometimes,” I offered, rubbing over my leg underneath the table. “Particularly after I’ve stayed immobile for a while. But moving helps.” As did the amount of nerve damage I’d sustained. In some places I still couldn’t feel it when I ran my fingers over the scars.

  “How exactly did—“ Mary started, but this time I didn’t let her end the sentence.

  “Dogs,” I said, letting my voice lose volume and emotion both. “It was dogs.” Let them make of that what they wished. The less I said, the more horrible the conclusions would be that their minds jumped to. I could see several people around us wince, and the scowl that had been firmly planted on Sam’s face turned into a look of misery and compassion. It made me feel even more shitty to try to manipulate her like that, but it wasn’t like I could tell anyone the truth.

  Mary hesitated, but finally inclined her head. “Hamish, I think it’s time. Sam, will you go with them and make sure to find a place where our guest can rest during her stay with us?” Both of them nodded. Mary turned back to me, her smile not exactly warm, but a little less unfriendly than before. “Anna, I hope that you understand that we are naturally suspicious of anyone coming to us under the circumstances you did. But rest assured, you have nothing to fear from us here. We value life above all else.” In afterthought, she told Sam, “Make sure to tell her about the rules. I will hold you personally responsible if she causes any trouble.”

  That made my hackles rise, but neither Sam nor anyone else at the table reacted negatively to it. Sam inclined her head, and she and Hamish got up once Mary dismissed them with a nod. I followed suit, trying not to keel over when my thigh muscles protested vehemently. Sam was there to keep me from falling, my obvious display of clumsiness garnering me the odd smile. I would never have lived that down with the guys—and that realization gave me another pang deep in my chest. Shit, but I missed them all. So, so fucking much.

  Chapter 29

  The radio was located in the building closest to what I realized was the road leading from the main gate into the settlement, three houses down from where we’d had breakfast. There were a few desks heaped with paper and books in there but no one manning the station. A few people had followed us but remained at a distance while Hamish sat down and started fiddling with the controls, looking unsure enough to make me guess that they didn’t use their radio very often. So far I hadn’t gotten to see any of the radios in the settlements but I would have expected everyone to know how to operate them in case of emergency. Apparently I was wrong, but I hoped to use that in my favor. Sam remained by my side but didn’t say anything, either still mad at me, or waiting to resume our conversation once it was just the two of us. I didn’t exactly look forward to that.

  Hamish finally managed to get the right frequency, signaling me over to the desk mic they had set up.

  “Dispatch, do you copy?” he asked, still working on two of the levers. “This is the Halsey settlement. We have a guest here who would like to talk to you.”

  Static cracked, followed by a voice that I didn’t recognize, instantly making me suspicious. “Halsey, hearing you loud and clear. What do you want?”

  That sounded hostile enough to make me guess that this settlement wasn’t one of those on the neutral list, but then nothing here had given me that impression. I leaned over the mic and managed to blow right into it, resulting in a rather abysmal whine as the feedback made us all wince. “Sorry!” I called out, hoping that I wasn’t overdoing it. “I’m not used to this. Daniel usually does all the talking.”

  A pause, before the unfamiliar voice was on again. “Who’s this?”

  I cleared my throat, making the mic whine again. “My name is Anna. I’m looking for my husband Daniel?” If I was deliberately vague, all the better. “Who am I talking to? We usually talk to Tamara or Mike.” That should clarify that I wasn’t quite oblivious of how this was normally done.

  “I’m Frank,” came the answer. “Tamara’s out for the week.” So much for hoping that I could sneak in some inside joke that would make her recognize me. “We get lots of folks looking for someone. You can’t possibly think that we have time for that?”

  Whoever this Frank was, I didn’t like him, and not just because he sounded like an unhelpful asshole. But as much as I wanted to snark at him, Anna couldn’t really do that, scared mouse that she was.

  “I’m sorry,” I tried to assuage him, making sure I sounded it, too. “We were part of a trader group that got ambushed last week. I thought you might have heard something of that by now? If my husband is still alive, he must be looking for me.”

  Rather than reply to me, I heard the telltale lack of static that made me guess that Frank had muted the mic to ask around. That got verified when he came on again a few moments later, sounding a little less like a complete asswipe. “Where exactly did that happen? Any details you can provide us with could help.” He didn’t sound too ecstatic about that, though, making me want to sigh with exasperation.

  What to reply? I didn’t dare drop any more concrete names like Yuma. It had probably been a mistake to mention Colorado at all, earlier. But I had to give him something, or else he would just ignore me, I was sure.

  “We started from a settlement in Colorado, going north,” I offered the same bull that I’d dished out at breakfast. “We got a contract to deliver some crates. Medicine and clothes, I think.” Yeah, like any trader wouldn’t know exactly what cargo they were carrying. Shit. I really needed some sleep, and lots of it. “Listen, I’m sorry that I’m so vague. I’m not a good navigator,” I hedged. Which was only partly true, but then what did I have Nate for? “I spent days out there, scared for my life.” Truth, again. “Can you just, I don’t know, ask around? I’m Anna, looking for my husband, Daniel Hawthorne. Please. Maybe I’ll get lucky and you manage to track him down? He must be looking for me already.” That was about as much hinting as I dared allow myself. Now all I could do was hope that it was enough.

  Frank mumbled into the mic, hopefully as he was taking notes, before he spoke more clearly again. “I’ll see what I can do. But don’t get your hopes up. We’ve lost people a lot more proficient at survival than a bunch of traders. If they haven’t signed in with us in the meantime, they’re likely all dead.”

  “Thank you,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it. “You’re my only hope.”

  A pause followed—with luck, he realized that it was one of the nerdiest obscure quotes out there. But rather than acknowledge it somehow he just signed off, leaving me standing there none the wiser. My shoulders slumped as a visceral feeling of defeat rushed through me, making it hard to breathe for a few seconds. What if I was wrong and they really weren’t looking for me, thinking I was dead? Or, worse, Taggard’s people hadn’t just snatched me up but killed the others? In a town as large as Yuma, who would miss a few traders?

  Fuck.

  I knew that I couldn’t think like that, but it was hard to fight the dark thoughts threatening to crush the spark of hope inside of me. I knew they were still alive. And even if they weren’t, there were a lot of people out there who would follow me on a bloody warpath of revenge.

  A light touch on my arm made me jerk away, too late realizing that it was only Sam. She gave me an unreadable look before she nodded toward the door. “Let’s get you a place to sleep before you keel over,” she offered. To Hamish, she asked, “You’ll tell us if they call with news?”

  He nodded. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  Sam led me away, and I didn’t protest. Sleep sounded even better than food had before, and I needed it about as much. She went to one of the smaller, newer houses that turned out to be little more than two stories of sleeping quarters, each room holding two rows of cots. “It’s not much, but we’re trying to be thankful for what we have,” she explained by way of apolog
y. To someone used to sleeping on the ground or in the questionable comforts of a car seat not exactly designed for restful nights, it was an unexpected luxury. I would have been happy with just a blanket on the floor, too.

  As soon as my head hit the pillow, I felt exhaustion overwhelm me—but that didn’t mean that my mind was ready to shut up and let me sleep. I dozed off quickly enough, but startled awake what couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes later, sure I was back in that damn tiled cell. Sam looked up from where she’d sat down on the cot next to mine, a book in her hands that had seen better days. The concern on her face seemed more like reproach to me, so I turned over and tried to go back to sleep.

  The most I managed was a fitful slumber, interspersed with nightmares and memories—the factory; Taggard’s underground complex; the cannibal compound; the motel room. I was running until I couldn’t run anymore, fighting until all strength had left me, until everyone I’d ever known or cared about was dead. That was the worst—not just that they were all dead, but that I was alone. All alone in the world.

  Through the small window high up in the wall I could see the progress of the sun across the sky. I gave up a few hours after noon, feeling not a little rested although I could tell that my body had recharged somewhat, likely due to the food. Sam was still there, watching me more than reading her book. I remained lying on my back, eyes closed, for another ten minutes, waiting for exhaustion to finally do its thing and pull me under, but alas, that didn’t happen.

  “Remember when I used to volunteer at that shelter, in college?” Sam asked, her voice low enough that I couldn’t read the emotions swinging in it. Turning to face her, I raised my brows, silently prompting her to go on. The look on her face remained unreadable, but a certain pleading quality became noticeable in her tone. “Despite what you may say, you’re behaving awfully like the women I met there. Who were abused by the men in their lives.”