Green Fields (Book 4): Extinction

by Adrienne Lecter

  “Nate, that you?”

  “In the flesh,” he confirmed. “Bree’s here, too. Wouldn’t be flirting on the com with you without her present.”

  Tamara laughed, although it carried a noticeable hitch. “Oh, sugar, of course you wouldn’t. What’s up? You guys still trolling Nebraska for underwear catalogs? Just saying, that’s been a running joke for days.” She was, of course, referring to our most nefarious if useless bounty that we’d liberated at that mall we’d hit earlier this week. Never mind the tons of outdoor gear, batteries, and three entire trash bags filled with medicine—it was the pamphlets that Nate had pilfered while I’d been on the lookout for new panties that had half the com network in fits for days.

  “Yeah, not quite,” he said, smiling. “Why is our radio blinking at us, and what’s a streak warning?”

  Her pause was long enough to make me want to check the batteries. “You guys don’t know? Shit. Completely forgot that those sitting ducks usually don’t give you the full briefing. Told you, you should swing by our base soon so you get the real deal. Anyway. Your radio was flashing because I pushed out an emergency bulletin. You can’t shut those off. As soon as you hook up into the network, you’ll get the alert.” She cleared her throat. “A streak is what we’re calling those streams of zombies. When they move together as a bulk, several hundreds to thousands strong. I’m sure you’ve seen the path of destruction they cut through whatever is in their way?”

  “Streak,” I confirmed, leaning closer to Nate so the mic would pick up my voice. “We’ve seen a couple, but so far no group that large on the move.” Except, that wasn’t quite true. “Where exactly did you say that group was moving that you were talking about? Because we almost tripped over a smaller group of squatters in southern Iowa today that could have been the last of one of those, or at least an offshoot or something.”

  Tamara cursed under her breath before she replied. “We have a few on the move but only one’s started going north. The entire south’s been teeming with the undead all winter long, but until two weeks ago they seemed happy to stay there. Yet the rising temperatures—“ She cut herself off there. “We’ve had a couple reports of a larger group aiming northeast. Actually two of them, merging. One went by Tulsa, the other through Fort Smith and Fayetteville, picking up stragglers along the way. We’ve got another confirmed sighting between Joplin and Springfield, but the group that reported that didn’t stay around long enough to get a good head count. We expected that they would remain close to the interstates and head for St. Lewis, but three days ago we got another sighting north of Jefferson City, so they must have crossed the Missouri River around there. We haven’t heard from one of the settlements in the Ozarks for a week, and just an hour ago the other Missouri town, Harristown, has gone dark. They’ve had issues with their generators so it could be just that, but—“

  Nate finished that sentence for her. “But it’s too much of a coincidence not to be cautious.”

  Tamara offered an affirmative grunt. “Sure enough. Where did you say you saw those squatters?”

  Nate already had the maps out, tracing the way she’d described, then pointed at where we’d gone on the most amateurish cattle raid of all times. “About thirty miles west of I-35 where it runs from Bethany up to Des Moines, maybe twenty miles into Iowa. Where’s that settlement?” Just because it had a name that we might find on the map didn’t mean that it had to be the same. “New Town” certainly hadn’t had that name before, but I hadn’t paid attention to any old signs around that hadn’t been overpainted yet.

  “It’s straight north in the middle of Kansas City and Columbia, in the middle of nowhere. Roughly same longitude as Des Moines.” The radio picked up the rustling of maps as she must have been looking at hers, too. “Not that far from where you saw those zombies. Shit.” And that streak had been coming from the southeast. “You guys still in the region?”

  “Further west,” I said, not without a hint of relief.

  “Why were you even over there?” Then she remembered. “Did you call in this morning about the cattle for New Town?”

  “Yeah, that,” I grumbled, closing my eyes for a moment to swallow my resentment. “Turns out that was kind of a bust.”

  “Zombies ate all the beef?” Tamara guessed, not without humor in her voice.

  “Not quite,” I started, but Nate cut me off.

  “Only one, as far as we know. The cow that Bree rear-ended because she almost missed the road.”

  I took a moment to stare at Nate. “You’re such an asshole, you know that? If I hadn’t slammed into that damn cow the zombies would have swarmed us instead, and last time I checked that’s not part of our objective.”

  Tamara laughed softly, but it was a strained one. “You got away clean?”

  Nate was faster than me again. “Not exactly. I spent an hour scraping cow gore and zombie gunk off the car.”

  “While I was out on a scouting mission and thankfully didn’t get eaten by shamblers,” I pointed out.

  “We're such an emancipated couple,” he snarked. “I think I need to check if my balls are still attached. Yup, here they are.”

  My grunt forestalled any further comment, but any mirth I might have felt at our banter dissipated when I got the conversation back on track. “We got three cows and brought them to New Town, but they didn’t let us in. They tried to sell us some bullshit about already having two scavenger groups in there, but I doubt that was the real reason.”

  “Shit,” Tamara succinctly agreed with me, her sigh loud enough that the mic picked it up.

  “Let me ask you something,” Nate cut in. “Any chance you’re gonna tell us what the 'Z' at the very end of our group code stands for?” Her momentary silence was answer enough. “Thought so.”

  “It gets even better,” Tamara said. “All settlements are under strict orders to let anyone in when we are sending out an alert.”

  “And that’s been active for a while now?” I guessed.

  “Since last week. Didn’t strictly include Iowa yet, but they knew it was coming.”

  I shared a look with Nate, but it was pointless to continue ranting about this. At least the vague sense of betrayal solidified into anger now. That was something. Not that it helped me, at all. Nate kept watching me for a few seconds before he gazed out into the darkness.

  “We should be good where we are right now. You’ll keep us updated if you hear anything new?”

  “Yup,” Tamara agreed. “Not that we have many eyes and ears out there right now. You’ll likely know way ahead of us if anything changes.”

  “Just peachy,” I grumbled, then continued on louder. “Thanks, Tamara. We’ll sign in again if we have more info. Not that we’ll go seek it.”

  We signed off, but left the radio hooked up to the spare battery. I would have likely remained in the car a little longer, but Nate gave me a pointed nudge. “Out. I know exactly what you need right now.”

  I snorted. “If you say sex, I’m going to hurt you. Then we can continue the conversation about you and your balls.”

  He laughed as he got out. “Fat chance. You’re up for a double guard shift tonight. First round now, second your usual morning round.”

  “How’s that fair? I already ran for hours while you were sitting around, lazing in the sun,” I complained, although I knew better. Getting out, I made sure that the door was closed before I walked around the car to join Nate.

  “Yeah, and you’ll spend at least another hour bitching around, if not out loud, then inside your head, so you won’t sleep. Might as well put that to good use and let someone else get some rest. And we both know that you never sleep in.” That was true. Since losing Bates to the cannibals that had solidified into a solid four-hour-maximum downtime that my brain allowed me—at best. Still didn’t mean that I liked to spend the remaining hours of my night time standing around, staring off into the darkness.

  Burns usually had the second shift, and I didn’t mind hanging out with him. Not
that I got much chance for talking during watch, when keeping quiet was kind of a thing. Yet rather than Burns, Nate joined me as I started my first perimeter walk outside of the ring of cars, well away from the dying embers that would have shot my night vision to hell. I only paused for a moment, waiting for an explanation, but when that didn’t come I continued the circuit. We didn’t spend that much time around each other outside of the cars, seeing as we were locked in together for hours each day, but tonight I didn’t mind the company.

  The others went to sleep one by one, mostly retreating into the cars, with the odd sleeping bag between them. Nate had been right, of course—I was still wide awake halfway into my two-hour shift, my mind a long way from shutting down for the night. The business with the streaks should have scared me into permanent alertness, but it was more confirmation than a new threat. We’d seen the signs. We’d heard enough people mentioning how bad it must have been in the warmer states over the winter. Now all that came back to bite us—if we weren’t careful, literally so. But that was nothing new. Ever since the virus had wiped out most of humanity, staying ahead of the curve and learning to adapt had been what kept me—us—alive. No, it was that other thing that ate away at me, making my teeth hurt with how hard I was clamping my jaws together. And it wasn’t just the fact that the good people of New Town had left us out here to die.

  “I botched that deal badly, didn’t I?” I asked when next Nate and I passed each other. He looked around, then switched directions so he was walking with me, his tone hushed but clear as he replied.

  “You mean because all we got was that stew? The bread was good.”

  I shook my head. “You know that’s not the part I mean. I should have forced them to take us in. Or at the very least give us the ammo they have to provide us with. I’m kind of surprised you didn’t chew me out because I completely forgot about that.”

  Seconds passed before he replied. “I’m not mad at you, if that’s what you’re getting at. I could have said something, too. And, for the record, I doubt that you could have made them do anything except shoot you.”

  That statement made me chuckle—not the healthiest reaction. “You’re not? Why not? Normally you’re all about people not neglecting their duties.”

  “Do you feel like you neglected yours?” he asked.

  “You could have helped. I know you said that this is my thing now, but I didn’t expect you to just sit there like a mute.”

  “I did some impressive posing, too,” he reminded me. I could hear the smile in his voice, and for a moment it broke through my doom and gloom mood, yet it was a fleeting feeling.

  “Still. I could have handled that better.”

  Nate took his time answering, and when he did, his voice was surprisingly soft. “Not that I delude myself into believing that you care what I think, but if you asked me, I’d say you did a good job.” When I just stared back, he let out something between a grunt and a snort. “Sure, you could have haggled with them, but they didn’t strike me as the kind of town that could spare even a pistol or magazine. Food, maybe, and I wouldn’t have minded shelter for a night, but beyond that? Just because we have the right to take something doesn’t mean that we have to always demand it.”

  I mulled that over for half a circuit.

  “They really left us out here to die.” He nodded, but what the moonlight let me see of his face, Nate didn’t look particularly concerned or surprised. “Do you think I’m making too much of a fuss over this?”

  I got a shrug for that. “Guess the difference is that I’m used to this by now. You’re not. Only thing that gets to me is that I got you in the situation where you now have to learn all those many great life lessons I’ve been dealing with for the past decade.”

  Guilt—even if it was just a thread—I hadn’t expected from him. My silence seemed to shout that plain and clear, prompting a small but hard laugh from him.

  “Have I ever told you why I signed up for the army?” he asked a while later.

  “I think you mentioned something about raining down mayhem on your enemies or something,” I teased.

  I could tell from the set of his jaw that he didn’t appreciate that, but he didn’t correct me outright. “Sure, I wanted to fight. Be a man, defend my country. Bash in the skulls of infidels.” The pause that followed was a heavy one. “That only carries you so far. Usually your first fight. When you’re crouching somewhere, so afraid you can’t even think, you have to face that ideology isn’t that good a motivator. Then you learn that there’s something else that drives you. You have to face the kind of person you are. Do you do it because it’s the one occasion where you can sate that need to kill? Does being a hero, not just for pretense, make your day? Do you realize that you have special skills that would otherwise go wasted but in war, you can save people, keep them from ever having to face something like this? I always thought the former were what motivates me, but the longer I’ve been around, the more I realize that there’s a part of me that is altruistic. Caring, even.”

  “A small part, right?” I offered, unable not to joke.

  As intended, that made him smirk at me. “Don’t get me wrong. I did a lot of shit that should have earned me a bullet right between the eyes. And I can’t even say I’m sorry for half of it. But I didn’t rise through the ranks because I was a mindless killer. Those usually take care of themselves when they get too cocky. The longer I was around, the more I realized that I could make a difference. I could win a fight others would lose more often than not. When my brother died, that was the only thing that kept me going—until the doubt got too much and I just had to quit.”

  I couldn’t help but scoff. “So what you’re saying is that I made you betray your moral code?” After all, it had been my doubt that his brother had died because he’d accidentally infected himself down in the hot labs that got Nate to investigate—and ultimately led to us meeting again.

  His noncommittal grunt wasn’t exactly negating my statement.

  “Not betray. But you made me question a lot that I took for granted. And you made me shift my priorities. Either way, that’s not the point I was trying to make,” he explained. “I understand why you’re mad, and I appreciate your loyalty to me, and to the guys. You, the same as Martinez and all the others who had options, had to choose this. And choice always leaves leeway for bitterness. You doomed yourself. And that sucks. Even if it was the right decision. That already makes you feel betrayed. Add to that today’s idiocy…” He trailed off, staring into the night. “I get it, Bree. I really get it. I was there. I doomed myself. I had to fight hard to get into the serum program. After I survived, it didn’t take long to sink in what I’d done. Before that, it was so easy to only see the bright side. I could turn myself into the ultimate weapon. I’d be sent on the most important missions. I’d get the best training possible. And the downsides? What soldier ever gives a shit about what happens when he dies? You just don’t think about that. But the second they let me out of quarantine, everyone treated me differently. Friends. Family. Staff. Former comrades. I got the deranged psychopath treatment without ever murdering anyone outside of a combat zone. And it’s exactly the people you swore to save, the people you sacrificed yourself for, who shun you the most. So, yeah. I do get it. And I don’t have any advice for you how to get over it, except that acceptance helps. And being around people who are in the same boat with you. What doesn’t help is resenting those who are afraid of you now because they don’t get it. That just eats away at what’s left of your humanity. And I think that of late you’ve come to understand that that’s much more of a precious commodity than the silly talk it sounds like.”

  That was quite the speech, and gave me enough material to think over for more than just tonight. It certainly wiped my need to respond with humor clean off my mind. It grated that I could actually relate to what he said, if not on the same scale as Nate himself, I was sure. And I really didn’t know what to say now.

  “I know, shit just got real
deep,” he said, laughing softly. “Just look at me, waxing poetic when I should be making sure that my people don’t get eaten in their sleep.”

  That I knew what to respond to. “I’m not sure we really need to stand watch. Not even a zombie is mindless enough to try to take a bite out of Burns. I’d much rather eat beef, too.”

  “I’d much rather take a bite out of you,” Nate said, leaning closer as if to try doing just that. I shoved him away, laughing. See, I couldn’t be quite that damaged yet if stupid jokes started working again.

  “You wish. Just because I’m pissed at those idiots behind their palisade doesn’t mean I can’t be mad at you for giving me a double shift. You wanna drive tomorrow? Because I could do with some shut-eye during the day.”

  “Fat chance,” he retorted. “Besides, we’re much safer out here.”

  “How come?”

  Nate shrugged. “That idea with the trenches and fences is theoretically sound, but practically, they botched it. The fences are far too close together, and too close to the palisade, too. Takes only a couple hundred bodies to fill the trenches. Everything that comes after that can easily press on the fences. When the mass becomes critical, the fence will bend and take the next row with it, and so on. The innermost one is close enough to reach the palisade, giving them a boost to let them scale the wall. It will hold against a hundred zombies, but make that ten thousand, and they’re toast.”

  The very idea of ten thousand undead storming a town was enough to make me want to hurl. Last year, more than once just a handful of them had been enough to almost kill us. I felt a little more cocky now with the cars and additional arsenal, but last year there hadn’t been those so-called streaks yet.

  “Do you think that’s what’s going to happen to any settlement hit by them? They think they’re safe, but really, they aren’t?”

  Nate’s silence made me uncomfortable. “I sure hope I’m wrong. But not even the best bunker could withstand such a force.”

  That rang true. “What’s the alternative? Sure, we can stay on the move. Lead a nomadic life forever, if we have to. But not everyone has that choice,” I pointed out.