“Because Tanner told me yesterday that we’re pretty much Greene’s pit bull on a leash, chained in the front yard to keep undesirables away.”
Wouldn’t you know it, of course that image made him smirk. “You sure that he wasn’t talking about you specifically?”
“And you really think he would have let me go if that was the case?” I harped, but dropped the point when Nate just kept on grinning. It was time to head back to the cars, anyway. I was in relatively good spirits—sleeping through the night and getting fed good chow will do that to you when your body’s used to sleep deprivation and malnutrition. Burns was already waiting by the Jeep, chatting with Tanner and one of the other New Angeles people. Everyone else seemed to be ready, but Harris was still haggling with two of the settlement officials over a box of indeterminable contents. The sky was overcast but seemed to be brightening by the minute, making me guess that today wouldn’t be one of the days when I got to drive. Oh, the woes of being three people with only real work for two. After yesterday’s stop-and-go routine, I almost looked forward to the boredom of spending an entire day just driving.
“Ready to roll out?” Nate called over to Harris as soon as the crate was lugged away, leaving Harris smiling contentedly.
“Not yet. We’re still waiting for our newest additions,” Harris explained, nodding toward a three-car group sitting idle close by. “Because we were talking earlier about hitting a mall or two, I asked around. Turns out, there are more like-minded people here, just waiting for an opportunity. We’re waiting for one more car, bunch of guys they’ve been riding with since the summer who will come in handy, as well.” Looking toward the main road of the settlement, he added, “And here they come! Get ready, we hit the road in ten!”
And, wouldn’t you know it, of course I was familiar—at least passingly—with the three men aiming for the so-far empty car standing by the others. It took Nate all of one glance in my direction to get a good grasp on the situation. “Let me guess. The assholes you kept me from shooting last night?”
There was no need for confirmation, but I couldn’t help but roll my eyes toward the clouds overhead, muttering a low, “What have I done to deserve this?”
Burns, for once not quite that ready to joke, had an answer to my hypothetical question. “You did commit multiple counts of murder, even if you felt justified. Not sure if the man upstairs is that ready to hear your complaints.”
That my whining got ignored was something I expected, but that sounded borderline hostile. “What happened to your sunny disposition? Didn’t get laid last night?”
“Did you?”
I answered that with a snort. “Your sleeping bag was right next to mine. I think you would have noticed.”
“Could have snuck out,” Burns proposed, a hint of his usual easy grin resurfacing.
“Just as you did, if I remember correctly,” I noted.
“So why ask if you already know the answer?”
Nate took that moment to insert himself into our conversation, his gaze still trained on the three assholes that had almost made it to their car by now. “That’s my line. What are we going to do about this?”
“Nothing,” I repeated my insistence from last night. “Unless they force us to act. I can easily ignore a bunch of idiots taunting me—“
“That’s a lie,” Nate interrupted, making me grunt.
“Well, maybe not easily, but so far I haven’t shanked you in your sleep, and you’ve given me way more cause to than any of them,” I pointed out. “Besides, out there, that’s our turf. If they are stupid enough to try anything, I’ll handle it. But if we can avoid that, fine with me. So far they seem to have been oblivious to who we are. Let’s try to keep it that way.”
Neither of them objected, but I figured, my issue, my turn to decide how to resolve it.
My patience got tried exactly the moment the trio was close enough to get a good look at us, sending a series of smirks my way that made me want to go back on my pacifistic stance in a heartbeat. That they ignored Nate’s scowl was just plain stupid, but they toned it down when they saw Burns glare in their direction as well. I might have ribbed Nate about that later, but the way he kept drumming his fingers on the holster of his gun made me guess that I shouldn’t, if I wanted to keep things civil.
“I’m driving,” I declared. When Nate glanced up at the thinning clouds, I shrugged. “Let’s face it. It doesn’t take much to follow a line of, shit, how many cars are we up to now? That leaves you free to spend the day glaring daggers at those idiots, while Burns can do some actual watching. I’ll be fine.” I only got a grunt back for an answer, but that was enough.
It took a good twenty minutes for all cars to make it through the gate—all fourteen that now made up the convoy. The new people kept chattering over our frequency, introducing themselves, asking stupid questions like how much experience we had. Nate didn’t hesitate to open a private channel to Harris and Tanner, using the short-range com instead of the radio. “Do they know who we are? If not, maybe keep it on the down low.”
Tanner readily agreed, while Harris sounded genuinely surprised.
“You expecting some trouble? I vetted them, all good folks.” He laughed about his own joke. “Not exactly good, or else they’d be useless out there. But decent enough track records.”
I already had my mouth open, ready to explain, but Nate forestalled me. “It’s not them I worry about, but what else might be lurking out there. Remember what that guy told us, the one who asked us to fetch him some grenades if possible? They had a bunch of soldiers drop by twice earlier this month. I don’t think they’re going to lay a trap for us, but we’ve had some issues with them before.”
Harris laughed at that. “I think that the business up in Colorado goes a little beyond issues.”
“Not that,” Nate corrected. “When it was just Bree and me out on the road, we ran into a bunch that were harassing traders. Officially, they might have agreed to stop doing that, but I’m sure that, like us, they’re still hauling goods in for the winter, and it’s much easier to take those goods off some scavengers than get them right from the undead-infested source. Let’s not make ourselves a target for some young upstart who thinks he’ll make rank by bringing command our heads on a spike. I’m sure that they will be watching us for a while before they try anything, and our numbers should be discouraging on their own. Don’t give anyone a reason to blab.”
I wasn’t quite sure if I agreed with that assessment, but Harris proved surprisingly easy to convince. “Gotcha. Do we use any code names or some such? If you give me a few minutes, I’m sure I could come up with some good ones.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Nate assured him. “Just don’t go yelling our full names across the camp all the time. That should do the trick.”
I didn’t point out that the townies we were transporting already knew who we were and might very well tell anyone who asked—or didn’t even get to it—but then again, they had two settlements to cause trouble already. There was no reason why they should do so now. For them, nothing had changed, except that now they had even more muscle between them and the raging hordes of undead that we still hadn’t really seen much of. Not to jinx it, I rapped my knuckles on the dashboard, just to be sure.
Switching back to the general frequency, Harris gave the marching order, sounding very pleased with being back in charge once more—not that I felt like any one of us had contended his position. It had just made the most sense that, yesterday, we’d led the caravan, seeing as we had to do all the cleanup.
“Everyone, listen up. We’re having an easy day ahead, just up to the Stillwater trading post for today. Forecast is good, the region should be clear from what another caravan that came down yesterday told us last night. I say we try to make it there for lunch, then head on east so we can make the most of the day. They know we’re coming and should have some provisions ready for us for the road in exchange for the moonshine we’re dropping off th
ere. Marching order is as follows. Me and my guys go first, then the first half of the New Angeles people mixed with the townies. Our new help up next, with the rest of the California bunch bringing up the rear. Any protests? Good, then we move out.”
I couldn’t help but smirk at being lumped in with the remainder of Tanner’s people, and my humor increased when I caught the frown on Nate’s face. I was just about to point out that, technically, we were Californians now, seeing as our people from Wyoming had pretty much disinherited us, but then I recognized the voice coming over the radio—Blondie’s from last night—and held my tongue.
“Are you in a hurry or something? The trip east to Utah is endless and boring. We did it three times since summer, and let me tell you, no one in their right mind passes up a chance to stay in a settlement if they can. Either way it’s less than a week to Salt Lake City, so why not take it easy? That’s where you said you were headed, right?”
Maybe it was just me and my bias, but that sounded awfully nosy. Harris responded, his tone still light, but now holding a hint of an edge.
“The caravan’s going to the Utah settlement, yeah, but we still have our good people who want to head further north. We’re trying to speed things up to give them a head start so they won’t get snowed in. You’re welcome to just hitch a ride to Stillwater and stay there, if our plan’s too tough for you.”
I could just picture the grumbling that ensued in the pause that followed, but the answer was a determined, “We’ll tag along with you.”
With that out of the way, we started down the road that curved back around the settlement—the tires churning the dry, packed earth until visibility was less than twenty feet in the dust—until we hit asphalt again, heading west, then north. Nothing moved in the few abandoned houses outside of the settlement, but I couldn’t help but glance at them cautiously. With so many people around, it didn’t make sense for shamblers to hide in there, but you never knew.
As Harris had predicted, the road to Stillwater was cleared, often used and thus no signs of habitation anywhere close to it. We made good time, the only stops required catering to human nature rather than technical needs. At the second, I finally conceded and let Nate take over the wheel so I could continue sulking in the passenger seat. Conversation between the three of us was muted, and it took me a full two hours to finally realize why Burns was so off today—he was nursing a massive hangover. How he had managed to accrue that, fast metabolism and all, I had no idea, but it decidedly lightened my own mood. Nate must have been biting his tongue bloody, keeping himself from berating us both—me for last evening, and Burns for what must have been a hell of a drinking binge—which amused me further.
The trading post came into view in the early afternoon. I’d expected another settlement, either walled-off with wooden palisades or secured by rows of wire-mesh fences with deep trenches dug in between, but what we found—several miles south of the former town that had lent its name—was basically a huge warehouse secured by four watchtowers, one on each corner, with lots of open space all around for cars to come and go. I figured they relied on their heavy fortifications to keep zombies out, and people’s common sense not to torch down the place in an attempt to get to the goods. The warehouse looked big enough to easily shelter us through the night, but I could see why Harris had opted for us to stay on the road. It only took two radio calls and half an hour to get people to scurry out of the structure, help us unload our cargo, pack away a few more crates for the next town on our route, and load up on gas and food. I stuck to the side of the Jeep, keeping mostly out of sight, but a few glances over revealed that Blondie looked mighty underwhelmed by the options. Too bad, really.
We set out, heading northeast until we hit US 50, the loneliest highway as some magazine or other had titled it, or so Harris informed us all while we were busy munching on goulash and jerky. There were a few rusting hulks remaining on the side, but someone must have taken the time to push them there, clearing the road.
And then it was just more road and hills, dust and grass, and not much else. Maybe that should have relaxed me, but what it actually did was set my teeth on edge.
We made camp on a hollow on the side of a hill that gave us a great view over the region, some five miles off the highway, just as the sun dipped over the horizon. There were barns around, but with so many cars and people, it made more sense to stay in the open where we didn’t have to split up. A fire pit was prepared and a latrine dug, tents erected and snares set on the off-chance that a hare might wander inside—doubtful, considering the noise and stink we must have left, with our numbers swelled to almost forty now. People split up into groups, roughly keeping with where they’d come from, which left us on the western part of the New Angeles crowd, once more chatting in our camping chairs with Tanner and Gita. Harris was again trying to prove to the townies that we weren’t all unwashed monsters—both claims debatable—while the newcomers spread out in between the two larger groups. The three assholes were smart enough not to set up right next to us, but having the three of them follow my every move from across the fire wasn’t very reassuring.
“I presume you’ll split up watch between the three of you again?” Harris asked, handing out some of the bread we still had left over from Pixley.
Nate shook his head before I could answer. “Nope. We’ll take last watch together. Doesn’t make sense to split now that we have so many people that not everyone has to be on perimeter guard at all.” Glancing around but skipping right over the idiots, he added, “But we’ll pull that shift, no question.”
Harris looked a little perplexed at Nate’s change of heart but didn’t protest. As before, the New Angeles people got first and second watch, leaving the chairs besides ours empty as soon as Gita had finished her dinner. The idiots leered after her as well, but much less enthusiastically. Tanner’s glowering in their direction might have had something to do with that. Neither Burns nor Nate made a show of hulking around me, but rather than kick back and relax, Nate got his knives out and started sharpening them, reminding me so much of the Ice Queen that I couldn’t keep from smiling. That was until I caught Blondie make a few suggestive gestures, ending with my knives needing sharpening, too.
I wasn’t exactly wiped after a day spent doing nothing, but at the first shift change I decided I’d had enough of cleaning my other weapons as well, and got up to take a leak before curling up inside the car—no tent for me if I could help it. I noticed both Blondie and his hare-brained compatriots tensing as if to get up as well, but Nate coming out of his chair to follow me made them halt in their tracks.
“You think she needs guarding while she takes a piss?” Blondie hollered across the fire pit, likely emboldened by the beer he’d been nursing all evening.
Nate only had a flat stare for him, until he suddenly swung his arm across my lower back, pulling me into his side—a somewhat uncomfortable maneuver as it ended up squishing his rifle into my thigh. “She’s my wife,” he needlessly told Blondie. “You bet I have a lot more in mind than simply watching her take care of business.” With that he pushed me toward the darkness beyond the glow of the fire, Burns’s snickers wafting after us.
“Oh my, your subtlety is killing me,” I grumbled as I extricated myself from Nate, but only after making sure that the slope of the hill was already hiding us from view of the camp.
“What can I say. You must be rubbing off on me,” Nate shot back, his hand lightly swatting my ass before he let me go.
I snorted, shaking my head at his antics as I dropped my shotgun and started to work my pants down. “You could have just whipped your dick out and pissed a line in the dirt between them and me. Would have done the trick, too. And, just saying, I really need to take a leak.”
“Figures,” he murmured as he turned his back on me—and wouldn’t you know it, by the time I squatted down, I heard the telltale sounds of me not being the only one following nature’s call.
“You’re not really here because you want
to fuck, right?” I asked as I straightened again, watching the moonlit hills around us.
Nate laughed softly as he stepped up beside me. “While I’m generally not opposed to the notion, I don’t quite get the sense that you’re feeling very amorous tonight.”
I shrugged, which, considering the circumstances and the fact that it usually took me just a step or two out of sight of the others to jump him, was an answer in and of itself.
“Then let’s just call it a night,” Nate offered, pulling me close with his arm across my shoulders, only this time without any weapons getting in the way.
“Never thought that boredom could be such a relationship killer,” I mused, leaning into him.
He chuckled softly. “Not sure that’s what’s got your panties in a twist. Or not,” he corrected himself.
“Just shut up and let me enjoy the moment,” I harped, closing my eyes to take a deep breath—until the scent of death and decay tickled my nostrils. My eyes were open instantly, searching the landscape, but the immediate vicinity was clear.
“Shamblers?” Nate guessed my reaction right, letting go of me in favor of raising his assault rifle.
“Can’t see them yet, but that’s not just some deer carcass left out to rot.” I needed another gust of wind to get an inkling of the right direction, but even so it took me another ten seconds to make out the shapes hunkered down about a quarter of a mile downhill. From that angle, they couldn’t see the glow of our camp fire, the likely reason why they hadn’t overrun us yet. “Over there,” I pointed. “Maybe five or six. Shall we alert the others?”
Nate squinted, but I doubted he could see them. “Wait here. I have a better idea.” Like that, he was gone, trudging back toward the camp. I hesitated, then decided that there was no harm in retracing our steps, should the shamblers have heard—or smelled—us after all. That way I got to listen to a few word snippets from the camp. First Burns, brusquely, “What do you want with the baseball bats?” to which Nate replied a dry, “Bonding exercise,” that made me smirk. I was much less entertained when Blondie observed, much too loud for his own good, “Damn, if she can take that, there’s really no reason why she shouldn’t put out,” much to his buddies’ amusement. Nate didn’t grace that with a response, but when he appeared between the cars and skipped down to where I was waiting, the look on his face was bordering on murderous—with a hint of gleeful anticipation mixed in. He chucked one of the heavy bats my way, and together we started down the slope.
Green Fields (Book 7): Affliction Page 11