Green Fields (Book 7): Affliction

by Lecter, Adrienne

  “Aurora,” I helpfully supplied.

  “Aurora was teeming with Bucky’s heel lickers, but while I’m sure they recognized me, none of them moved a finger to single me out and take me down. I figured that us all surviving the zombie apocalypse was as good an equalizer as we were ever going to get, and finally dropped the plan for good. That me showing up on the radar once more only proved to be the invitation Bucky needed to continue to fuck with us is history.”

  I didn’t like the implications of that. “The trap at the factory was pretty obvious, but do you think they were responsible for the zombie siege in Harristown? I met a woman in New Angeles who was from a settlement not too far away from there. She said she’s sure that they razed their town to the ground as retaliation for them not wanting to join their trade network. Guess what she meant was have soldiers take over the guard station to make the settlement dependent on them.”

  Nate’s shrug was close to ambiguous, but I could see that he shared my suspicions. “They couldn’t have known that we would ride to the rescue, but it’s a little too close to coincidence for me. We almost got caught up in part of that streak. I’m also not buying that the one that we narrowly avoided at the motel just happened to shamble in that direction.” When I looked surprised at that, he offered, “Our cars were in that factory lot for over half an hour before they sprung their trap. Even someone with your level of stealth proficiency could have rigged them with tracking units a hundred times over.”

  “But they lost several men when they were pursuing us.”

  For a moment, Nate’s usual exasperation with me when I was being dense resurfaced. “They sacrificed way more that got caught in the trap itself than we gunned down. Also, didn’t you just listen to anything I said? Bucky is the kind of commander who will sacrifice his men to get what he wants, and damn the consequences. Whoever would have caught us had a nice load of benefits in store, possibly a promotion. Men like him usually have a way of attracting similarly minded assholes. That’s one of the reasons why I’m certain that the moment Raynor lifts whatever ban she has on them not to harm a hair on our heads, the other shoe will drop.”

  I couldn’t help but frown. “Again, why did you come in here with me? You should have just dropped me off at the gate and run for the hills. Whatever they want with me”—and that wasn’t my notes; Raynor had barely shown any interest for them—“I’m certain that they won’t let Bucky kill me just to get to you. I’m way more concerned what they’ll do to you.”

  As before, Nate didn’t seem concerned for his safety. “And that’s where I disagree with you. Kill you, maybe not, but there’s too much between that and not harming you at all for me to let you walk in here alone.”

  “So you’re doing what exactly? Giving yourself up for me? Hoping that with you sitting right here he can inflict whatever he wants on you without needing to use me as a tool?”

  “If I have to? No questions asked, without any qualms.”

  Like always when we got to the point where he expressed his unwavering loyalty to me, I couldn’t help but get incredibly uncomfortable. Only this once it wasn’t because the reverse wasn’t true for me—in a sense, I shared that sentiment, if with a little more hesitation—but because there was a glaring error in Nate’s reasoning. If he had me also sitting here, why come after Nate only, if Bucky could do so much more damage if he went after us both?

  The sound of boots hitting tile outside of our glass enclosure felt too much like perfect timing for my paranoia not to roar to life, but there wasn’t anything I could do but watch as the same soldiers from before—with Red pointedly missing from the gathering—took up position. That they had two nurses in scrubs, wearing gloves and face masks, with them didn’t really ease my nerves, but seeing them made a different kind of trepidation join in the fun. Guess the fact that Raynor’s people had been quick with whatever analysis they’d been wanting to do ahead of cutting me up boded well in regard to them knowing what to do next—but I didn’t need to glance down at my shriveled fingers or feel the hole that bacteria had eaten into my thigh to know that this might very well not be cause for celebration.

  Chapter 23

  I considered getting up, but seeing as it would have been a laborious process—and I could think of more fun ways to spend my time than crawl on the floor in front of these people who already held me in such high esteem—I remained sitting on the mattress, if somewhat more tense than before. I really had to get a grip on myself not to glare in Bucky’s general direction. I wasn’t stupid. I knew that Nate’s recollection was heavily biased, and I was the first to attest that he had a way about him that sometimes made you want to shoot him in the face. But at the same time, I couldn’t stop asking myself how things would have gone down differently if he had decided to hunt Bucky down. Maybe one of us would have gotten killed, but maybe more of my friends would still be alive. I might not have had the miscarriage. I wouldn’t have gotten infected in the first place. I wouldn’t have had to kill people who we would desperately need, and I damn well wouldn’t be staring down the nightmare that was, at best, losing three of my fingers, at least five of my toes, and possibly my leg—as a best case scenario. I could have been lazing around on the California coast, drinking margaritas with Gabriel Greene—and actually having a grand time doing so. I knew that none of that really mattered as shit had gone down the way it did, and if the apocalypse had taught me one thing, it was to damn well suck it up and do the best with what you’re given. But right then it was damn hard not to focus on every single one of my misgivings on that fucking asshole.

  There was one more member of this illustrious group that I had missed. While I tried to school my features, one of the doctors that had been in Raynor’s office pushed through the soldiers, if anything annoyed by their presence. Now that his boss wasn’t glaring at everything, he looked very composed and self-important, and quite happy to get my attention. It was better than glaring daggers at Bucky, so I focused on him.

  “We have the preliminary results,” he declared. I bet he didn’t often get a chance for such a speech and tried to make the most of it. I didn’t react, both not to provoke anyone, and because what does one say when you already know that news will destroy the last thread of hope you still have inside of you? When it became apparent that he still had the stage, he needlessly glanced down at the sheet of paper in his hand, as if he didn’t already know what must be printed on there. “In short, as things are right now, you won’t survive the operation.”

  Knowing was one thing; being told so, quite another. My heart sank to where my stomach was already in knots, but I ignored both. “And what are we going to do about that?”

  I almost laughed at how disappointed he looked that I wasn’t bursting into tears or something.

  “There is one option,” he explained. “And one option only. We inoculate you with the newest version of the serum that we’ve recently developed and fine-tuned—“

  There was no sense in letting him prattle on so I interrupted him right there. “Do it.”

  A few of the soldiers had a hard time not smirking at how irritated the doctor got with me, but then I had a reputation to live up to. Ignoring me, the doctor went on explaining. “Since you have contracted the virus and survived the initial infection, there is a high chance that you will tolerate inoculation with the serum as well. We estimate that at seventy-four percent. The serum should be effective immediately in stopping the continuing spread of the secondary and tertiary infections that you have since contracted, giving you a thirty percent chance that you will survive the required surgical measures to assure your continuing survival. Depending on how much the infections have destroyed, regeneration is possible, to a certain degree.” And because everyone was an asshole around here, he had to pause there to look at my hands.

  I couldn’t help but snort. “And how high would you say the possibility for that is?”

  He didn’t deign to reply to my mocking remark, but instead went on to the
next point.

  “We are willing to inoculate you with the serum, but there is a catch.”

  “There always is,” I murmured, then did my best to play nice. “What catch?”

  Was that a hint of glee I saw on Bucky’s face? That didn’t bode well. The doctor, completely oblivious to both that and me noticing it, went on explaining in the same sonorous voice as before. “As you, without a doubt, understand, we are short suitable test subjects. The latest version of the serum was developed with several applications in mind. To test for adverse side effects, we need to see how someone who has already been inoculated with an earlier version reacts to it.”

  Before I could open my mouth, Nate already replied. “Do it.” I glared at him, but he only gave me one of his, “You’re not the boss of me” looks back, with just a hint of gloating mixed in. The doctor seemed again disappointed by our lack of making a fuss, but this time I couldn’t just let the chance pass.

  “How should that even work with him? He couldn’t contract all the shit that’s tearing apart my body. Exactly how have you tweaked the serum for that to change?”

  I got a look back that was both vexed at my audacity to demand an explanation, and eagerness to jump at the possibility to give one. Sadly, the former won out, and I only got the bare-bones version of it. “It is not per se the serum itself that we have tweaked for this to work, but the delivery method. It is far too complicated to explain now. All you need to know is that you will get the complete version, while he will be inoculated in two steps. After we have ascertained that phase one is working, he will be injected with the other components.”

  I knew I should keep my trap shut, but I just couldn’t. I had no choice in this—and, to be honest, the presented solution was a possibility that I had expected—but things were different for Nate. “What does phase one do—“

  Bucky finally had enough of silently glaring down at me, not letting me finish my question. “That’s the deal. Either take it, or spend the last few hours of your life feeling your body rot away right where you’re sitting. Nobody here gives a fuck either way. You’re only useful to anyone if you’re alive, so just say the words to let us know that we’re wasting our breath here, and we’re done. No one’s forcing you to do anything.”

  And my, sometimes free will wasn’t what it had been made out to be.

  “Do it,” I repeated. I knew that Nate wouldn’t let me die, so I might as well get on with it and stop wasting time I didn’t have.

  As soon as I agreed, the doctor nodded, and one of the nurses came forward to crouch down next to me. The other made as if to join Nate, but he quickly discouraged her. “Her first.” The nurse backed up once more, leaving her colleague to do her work. My nurse moved with a more relaxed manner than I expected considering the reputation Nate and I must have gathered, but then with twenty armed men at her back, she could very well be confident. The fact that she wasn’t wearing a hazmat suit made me guess that I was likely the only one in this room who wasn’t completely immune to ninety-nine percent of all the many biological agents that could kill you.

  On her tray was not one syringe as I had expected, but five, and rather large ones at that. It must have been easy to read the concern on my face because she was quick to explain in a calm, quiet voice. “To help facilitate the rapid spread of the serum throughout your system, I will inject it at several key points at once. In previous trials in immunocompromised patients, that delivery method has shown a decreased possibility of the patient suffering from an induced cytokine storm.” Too much science talk for just a nurse, I figured, but filed the information away without saying anything. She seemed to take that as a sign that I didn’t understand. “A cytokine storm is—“

  “I wrote my PhD thesis on SARS. I fucking know what a cytokine storm is,” I bit out, suddenly at the very end of my patience. Being a little nervous—make that, scared out of my fucking mind—could do that easily. Alpha male posturing I could take, but someone deliberately dismissing my scientific knowledge? That wasn’t going to fly.

  Rather than reply, the nurse rammed the first syringe into my neck, barely missing my carotid, making me shut up that very second. Damn, but that shit burned! Part of me wanted to object that she hadn’t even swabbed the injection site with alcohol first, but I doubted that it would matter in the grand scale of things. When I didn’t flail at her, she took my right wrist next, this time being just a little gentler. Maybe it was a good idea if I just kept my trap shut and took it all like a champ. I really didn’t have the strength left to tough out anyone’s spiteful reactions. The other three doses went into my other arm and both ankles. The placement of the injections surprised me at first, but then I reasoned that my circulation was likely so far hampered that they didn’t want to rely on my heart pumping anything to my extremities.

  Except for the initial burn of being shot up with a substantial amount of liquid, I didn’t feel any different. That was somewhat underwhelming, but I couldn’t explain why it puzzled me. Whatever was in that shot—and I bet my life on the fact that it wasn’t just the modified virus but also a lot of other substances, like strong immunosuppressants and anti-inflammatory compounds—would take time to get to work, maybe even more so with me, considering how screwed up my metabolism was by now.

  At Nate’s affirmative nod, he got his own shot—only one, and of a much lower quantity—and then we waited. With not much choice as far as position went, I kept glancing Nate’s way, but finally gave up and fully focused on him. I wanted to ask him if he was feeling something, but the words got stuck in my throat when I noticed his expression changing. It wasn’t an obvious shift—the man could guard his emotions like nobody’s business—but I’d long since learned to read what little he gave. One moment he was still in there—and the next, he wasn’t. That was the easiest way to explain it. His body was still half-sitting, half-crouching there, seemingly relaxed but actually coiled like a snake, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. It wasn’t a vacant stare, either, but it wasn’t that usually teasing, always judging bright mind I’d lost my soul to all those many, many months ago.

  “Nate?” My voice came out with an audible quiver, something I hated showing but didn’t give a shit about anymore right now.

  He didn’t react. Not just to the sound of my voice or his name, but in general. But as soon as Bucky barked, “On your feet, soldier!” he was up and moving.

  I so didn’t like where this was going, the latent panic about what was going on with me suddenly pushed to the very back of my mind.

  “Sit down,” I called out, more out of defiance than because I thought it would cause any reaction. There was a slight quiver to Nate’s shoulder, but that was it. Turning to Bucky, I asked, not exactly mild-toned, “What the fuck is in this shit?”

  A wry twist came to Hamilton’s mouth, but he mostly ignored me as he turned to the doctor. “You’re keeping notes?”

  “Latency is within the normal parameters,” the doctor noted, scribbling something on his pad. “No adverse effects observable.”

  My guess was that he meant Nate hadn’t insta-converted yet—and wasn’t that a great option—but I was done with this shit. “What—“

  I didn’t get any further, as Bucky ordered in a casual tone, like you’d use to get your latte, “Strangle her. But make it slow. Bitch deserves to suffer for her insolence.”

  My brain ground to a halt, trying to make sense of that, but I didn’t get a chance to order my thoughts, or do anything else before Nate was on me, the fingers of his left hand closing down on my throat as he dragged me—one-armed, no less—to my feet and slammed my body against the wall at my back like a rag doll. Pain exploded through my body but the worst was already centered on my lungs and throat. My hands went up to try to pry his fingers away, but they felt like steel rather than bone, muscle, and tendons covered by skin. And he definitely wasn’t pretending, either.

  There was no capacity in my brain to debate this matter—like how it would make any sen
se for them to waste their precious serum on me if they wanted to kill me five minutes later—but even with my instincts all kicking in and sending my body into overdrive, I felt like a helpless kitten as I hung there, trying to scratch and kick and scream, and not accomplishing either. Nate simply had too much reach for me to get to his face, and I lacked the strength for any sort of coordinated kick. The more his grip tightened, the more feeble my protest got, my body pretty much shutting down. I tried to gasp for air but nothing came through, the pressure and pain only increasing. My fingers returned to his, but try as I might, my nails were too short to effectively sink into his skin, my fingers not strong enough to inflict any damage otherwise. Oh, the swollen index finger on my left hand hurt like hell, but that went easily ignored with the increasingly more dire lack of air in my lungs.

  Bucky stepped into my narrowing field of vision, gloating at me from behind Nate’s right shoulder. “How do you like our newest invention? It was one of your demands that we do something about that bunch of rejects Alders left us with. Brilliant, wouldn’t you say?”

  The only sound that would come out of me was a cut-off mewl—cut-off as the moment Nate noticed that I could still produce any sound, he squeezed harder. Hamilton looked very satisfied with his own congeniality.

  “Are you done yet?” the nurse who had injected me asked, her tone holding a sharp note but otherwise bored.

  The doctor nodded, still scribbling away, but Hamilton shook his head. “It’s a start, but not conclusive. He’s following orders well enough, but I’m sure there’s a part of him that’s been itching to do this for ages. No, we need something that will go so far against his grain that he’d never, not in a million years, do it. And I think I got just the thing.” He stepped back to give Nate some room to move. “Bend her over that table and hold her down so I can have some fun with her.”