Then the food distribution spiel repeated itself, and I had to accept that they were deliberately screwing with us when it was exactly the same routine as before, down to the shredded apple bits in the oatmeal. I grabbed the water but refused the rest. The guy in charge looked down at my mostly untouched tray once before he removed it, sparing me the pleasure of being subjugated once more. I was just about to relax as they rolled out the cart with their incomplete sample collection when another group of soldiers entered. I thought I recognized two of them from what I was thinking of as the morning shift. They went right past my cell, sparing me not even a glance. And then they proceeded to rape the woman in the cell that must have been right next to mine, judging from where the screams came. At least I thought it was a woman, although she sounded more like a dying animal.
Boredom had been hell. But this? Having to listen to what was going on, torn between being frightened out of my wits and at the same time so fucking glad that it wasn’t me was beyond what I could describe with my thus far limited vocabulary.
Once they were done, they left, and the following silence was just as bad, filled with her near silent crying and ragged breathing. While it was going on, the smaller woman across from me had huddled in on herself at the very back of her cell, curling up so far that I couldn’t even see any part of her anymore. The one with the bruised legs had remained immobile where she usually sat, not moving except for the occasional involuntary jerk.
I wondered if now was the time to say something, but, honestly? There was nothing I could have said except for empty platitudes that helped no one. So I remained silent, tired enough that it was hard to keep my head up, but as far away from falling asleep as I’d ever been in my life.
More patrols—three this time. Then food and sample collection. The two nurses in scrubs were back but one of them was a different guy than before. They were quick with their visits all around the cells, but spent some more time with the woman next to me. She started crying uncontrollably at one point, and only shut up when someone slapped her repeatedly, the impact of flesh on flesh making me tense each time.
I wasn’t surprised to see Taggard behind the nurses as they came up to my little cubbyhole, one of them stripping off blood-stained gloves in favor of a new pair. Taggard’s smirk begged to be wiped off his face, but I forced myself to remain sitting there, unmoving, and just stare at him.
“Why, no profanities this time? Not such a tough bitch, are you?” he jeered.
I remained silent, not giving him the satisfaction of screaming at him like he probably expected me to.
“Are you going to cooperate now?” he asked, all jovial and relaxed.
“No.”
His smile widened. “Too bad.”
What followed was also a repetition of the day before, because I couldn’t just take it but had to fight back. This time they weren’t happy to just hold me down and I got a few extra punches that made me see stars. They weren’t satisfied with the veins in my arms, and my legs were probably too basic, so they forced me onto my back and stuck the needle right into a vein in my neck, forcing me to look right into Taggard’s stupid face while they filled their vials in record time. The puncture mark continued to bleed for several minutes after they were gone, soiling my already far from pristine shirt even more. It took me a lot longer to calm down than the last time, although I tried my very best to appear composed and bored rather than scared shitless.
Patrols, again. Five. Food and sample collection. As I kept up my silent, defiant staring I noticed that the woman with the bruised legs didn’t move. What I could see of her body was shaking by the time the trays were removed. I could take a good guess why. Were they doing it on a schedule? In a systematic manner? I didn’t know what was worse—being afraid every time that bad luck might strike, or having to face the inevitable with lots and lots of hours spent dreading it.
I only realized how little of a fight the woman next to me must have put up when the one with the bruised legs actually did. Somehow that was even worse. They kept giving her time to find new strength to scream and try to fend them off, just enough to make it even more obvious that she didn’t stand a chance. Eventually her voice was so hoarse that it was barely more than a scratchy whimper, her motions so sluggish that I could tell that she had absolutely no strength left at all. That’s when they dragged her out of the cell to continue what they’d started in the middle of the room, taking turns. When they were done the last one grabbed her ankles and simply pulled her lifeless body back into the cell. That’s when I got a good look at her beaten and broken body. That dirty blonde hair. The unmistakable but still slight bump, set apart by her otherwise lean body. Gussy.
It was probably for the best that I hadn’t tried to eat anything because even holding that water down without puking it all over myself was hard.
It took her forever to give even a single jerk, making me wonder if she’d been out cold or just too worn out to move. As the night—day?—continued she eventually pulled herself up into a half-sitting position until she unscrewed her bottle and tried to clean herself up. She must have been thirsty as hell but not a single drop went into her mouth. I could understand why.
She didn’t cry and she didn’t whimper, making me wonder if, like me, she figured that was one sign of weakness she wouldn’t give them as long as she still had an ounce of strength. It was a meaningless gesture, of course. I was sure that she realized that, just as I did. As I did now, rather. I couldn’t imagine if any of them gave a shit either way, not after what they’d done to her. Yet to her it likely made the only difference there still was. Now it was up to me to decide if I still shared that sentiment with her or not.
It was some time later when I realized that she was looking at me across the room, her cheek and temple supported against the cool glass. The eye on that side was swelling shut, and she kept reaching up to her jaw to dab at it gingerly. I felt like shit staring at her like that, but it was hard to glance away. I would have if she’d broken eye contact, but, if anything, it seemed to comfort her that I didn’t.
“You were looking for me,” she rasped out, wincing either at her own voice or because talking hurt. I wasn’t sure if it was meant as a statement or a question, but I inclined my head. “Thought so,” Gussy went on. “Mary’s still unharmed?” When she saw my frown, she explained. “My sister. Younger sister. Seamstress.”
“I think she is,” I replied.
“Good,” Gussy more whispered than said, her eyes closing for a moment before she shifted, grimacing with pain. “I was afraid they’d kill her. But the way they work, they’d bring her here first.” She paused, her eyes finding mine again but skipping to the floor in the middle of the room instead. “They got my mother. Told me she would be safe if I just complied. But they lie.” Something between a snort and a cough followed. “They killed her, right there. Right in front of me. That’s why it always ends there for me. And one day they will kill me there, too.”
So much for getting that woman’s help—but I had to admit, right now that wasn’t really that high up on my list of priorities. The fact that Gussy sounded more relieved than horrified with that statement bothered me a lot more. But in a sense I could sympathize with her.
“You’ll understand in a week or two,” she rasped out, as if she’d read my mind—or not quite. Her face turned into a grimace, and it took me a moment to interpret that as a smirk. “You still have something to fight for. But eventually, they get you to the point where you just can’t give a shit anymore.”
I thought she meant moral principles like dignity or pride, but then I realized that her hands weren’t just convulsing across her belly because of the pain she must be in. That all too familiar ache flared up inside of me, but fear and exhaustion took the edge off it.
“I don’t,” I said, my voice turning lifeless on the second word. “They already took that from me.”
Gussy’s features twisted with confusion before they evened out. “So it’s true
. You didn’t get away from the factory.”
I shook my head. “No. They got me. Shot me and one of our guys when we were trying to get out through the office wing. That’s how the fucking shamblers got me.”
She just stared at me for several seconds straight, too tired to show any emotion. “So when you rescued me—“
“I was already infected,” I agreed. “I patched myself up and figured, what the hell. This ends with me today. I’m not going to let any of my guys die if I can help it.”
The snort she gave sounded strangely satisfied. “I thought I was done when they had me kneeling there, gun to my head.”
“Not that it matters anymore,” I remarked.
She mulled that over for a few seconds but didn’t respond. Her eyelids fluttered shut a few times but then she gave a violent jerk, and she was back again.
“Your guys know that you were looking for me?” I nodded. “Then it does matter. That makes my guys and your guys. We’re the only ones here who have anyone who’s out there looking for us. Even if it’s too late for us. Me,” she corrected. I didn’t dare contradict her there. As slurred as her speech was getting, I wasn’t sure if it was humane to wish her to recover once more.
“I got myself into this,” she said next, drawing my attention back to her. My mouth snapped open, ready to protest, but the slight shake of the head she gave shut me up. “Just listen. I need someone to know. I’ve been here the longest. Of this batch.” She coughed, a wet, hard sound that made her clutch herself harder. “Just like Justine. She told me. And the woman who was longest here before her told her. Those fucking suckers have been doing this for months. But now they’re getting organized.” She had to stop to gather more strength, and when she resumed, at first I thought she’d switched topics.
“It was one of them, the blond guy? Who has that weird look now. They did some shit to him. When I met him early spring and we hooked up he wasn’t like that. Was sure one of ‘em already, but he was normal. Chino warned me not to screw around, but I spent the entire winter living like a fucking nun. I had enough. It was when we dropped by my mom’s for a supply run. They were there, helping. That was before they started the fucking network thing.” She paused, her eyes taking on a faraway look. I hoped that it was a good memory, whatever it had eventually turned into. “He told me he couldn’t knock me up. You know, because of the serum? And I believed it, because I didn’t know any better. Didn’t know he was lying.” Her eyes skipped to me again. “He never got it. Not the real one. That was the lie. But how would I know? Should have, when we met again, same town, two months later, and he kept insinuating shit. I knew I was knocked up by then but lied right to his face. Chino got real paranoid after that, but I chalked that up to them inking us up.”
Another, longer pause followed. I didn’t find it in me to prompt her to go on, but eventually, she did.
“We almost dropped out of the hit when we heard you signed up for it, too. Because there were six of you. Chino said it makes no sense that this is not a trap. There were too many women gone missing after screwing the likes. But Tamara vouched for you, so he said, we spring that trap, interrogate you. Sounds pretty stupid now, doesn’t it?”
I shook my head. “We thought you were setting us up for something, too,” I admitted. “Not sure what, but things weren’t adding up.”
Her face fell for a moment but she shook it off with a raspy laugh. “They’d been tracking us. Likely you too. If not this hit, it would have been another. They knew exactly what they were looking for. Taggard confirmed it. Fucking asshole.”
That confused me. “I get why they were after me. But if the father of your kid wasn’t one of them—“
“Beats me,” she admitted. “They’ve been doing weird shit here. Weird shit besides being utter fucktards. Jordan wasn’t one of their initial super soldiers, but I think they shot him up with something else. And then they sent him out there to knock up as many women as possible so they could check if it stuck, or some shit.” She paused, her hands splayed across her stomach. “They stick needles into me every few days. You know, that amnio thing? I’m so scared they’ll kill my baby. But he’s the only reason I’m still alive.”
One more thing to look forward to witnessing. Now it made sense why they kept one of those horrible, old-fashioned stirrup chairs in the room.
Silence fell, and I half hoped that she’d fallen asleep, but a few minutes later she spoke up once more. “You know that you’re next, right? Gina’s been catatonic for a week and Lucy’s too far along that they seem to still get a kick out of it when she pukes all the time.” Her eyes skipped from the two cells on my other side to the one on the right. “They banged up Shawna pretty good yesterday so they’ll give her a few days to recover. And if there’s one single thing to be said for ‘em, they’ve left the girl alone for now. That’s pretty much the only thing they shy away from. If not today, it’ll be soon. Taggard always does it like that. He lures ‘em into a false sense of complacency, until they let their guard down. Probably makes the punch just that much harder when it finally comes. I don’t think he has any illusions about you backing down, so why wait?”
There wasn’t a hint of scorn or jeering in her voice, at least not directed at me. She was just stating the obvious. I couldn’t quite make myself nod, but I didn’t have to. We both knew that she was right.
“If you make it out of here, promise me one thing?” Gussy rasped when it became obvious that I wasn’t going to reply.
I felt like pointing out that things didn’t look like I’d get a chance to deliver on that, but I didn’t need to voice that, either. “Sure.”
I expected her to deliver a last message to her sisters, offer them closure or something, but that wasn’t it. “Make sure that you kill every fucking last one of them.”
Holding her gaze across the room, I inclined my head once. “I will.”
Her shoulders sagged as she exhaled, as if a heavy weight had been lifted off her chest. “Good. I’ll hold you to it.” She started coughing again, and for a moment I tensed, afraid what that might mean, but she just spit up some blood before she went slack once more.
“I’m not gonna last much longer. I know that. They know that. But I’ll fight as long as I still got some strength in me,” she promised. It didn’t look like that was going to last for more than a day or two.
Silence fell, this time for good. I sipped some more water, debating with myself whether I should try to get some sleep. My mind kept skipping between moments of high alertness and plain white noise. I must have been more or less awake for over two days now, I figured. Long enough that in moments of boredom I couldn’t be sure that I didn’t just black out for a few minutes at a time. I’d spent enough weeks doing time-course experiments in the lab that required sample taking every hour, with no exceptions. I knew that feeling. And I didn’t need Gussy’s warning to know that things could only go downhill from here on out. That in turn posed the question just how lucid I wanted to be a few hours from now. Or tomorrow. Or the week after.
And while realistic, that kind of fatalistic thinking was not going to get me out of here.
I still hadn’t reached a conclusion when it was time for the next food distribution cycle. I had some water left from the last bottle but made a grab for the new one immediately. No food, though. Taggard was with the guards again, immediately making me flip back into a state of high alertness. I couldn’t remember if blood sample time had been the last cycle or the one before that. Shit. My brain dearly needed some sugar to keep working. My eyes fell on the oatmeal again, and I felt saliva pool in my mouth. Not exactly impulse-driven, but some urges apparently didn’t need a direct trigger.
While I was still debating with myself, the nurses took their time with Gussy. I had to admit, I admired that even now she tried to bat them away, for all the good it did her. Her response time was abysmal, as was her coordination. She looked like she was barely hanging on by a thread, as if our conversation had leeched
the very life out of her. Maybe she’d only been holding out long enough to pass the baton on to someone she thought worthy—or capable of delivering. Or maybe I was so full of shit that the only thing I felt was revulsion and disgust, directed at myself.
Once they were done with Gussy, the nurses started debating with Taggard, their discussion briefly becoming heated before it died down again. They kept gesticulating to the other cells but ignored me and the one across from me with the girl, as Gussy had confirmed my guess. Nothing good could come of that, I decided. No good for me. They then resumed their rounds but spent a lot of time with the other three women, while Taggard kept glancing my way every once in a while. I stared back, waiting. Dreading.
More debating followed. Whatever was happening, they weren’t happy about it. My eyes kept snagging over to Gussy. She’d stopped moving a while ago, her face pressed against the glass again. It was then that I realized that she wasn’t just quiet. No. She was dead, or very close to it, unless they’d shot her up with a sedative. That sounded very unlike them, considering what else they’d done to her. Why take the pain away that they’d inflicted just hours ago? Thinking along those lines, I had an idea.
“Taggard? Hey, asshole!” I called out, and when he kept ignoring me, I got up to slap my palm against the glass. That got his attention all right, although I wasn’t exactly comfortable with that. He seemed mostly annoyed at getting interrupted.
“All of a sudden you want something? Don’t get cute,” he advised, and there was that slimy grin again. “Don’t worry. We haven’t forgotten about you.”
Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 2 | Books 4-6 Page 58