Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 2 | Books 4-6

by Lecter, Adrienne

  This time I only paused to inhale, anger making me forget about being anxious. Some people whistled, and this time the few calls were decidedly negative. I paid them no heed, talking right over them. “It was fucking cannibals that killed Bates, and oh, did they have coming the shit we rained down on them. Bailey ate a damn candy bar to insta-convert to buy the rest of us time to escape an inescapable trap. Cho got torn apart by zombies, but only after some nut job of a soldier shot him, killing him before the undead could finish the job. If Cho hadn’t been standing between me and the fuckers, I would have died right there with him. Campbell—“ I had to stop, the mix of frustration and pain choking me for a second. “He died in his crashed car after those assholes brought down half of the mountain on us. Taylor almost burned to death. Martinez is crippled from the waist down, and it’s debatable if Clark and Romanoff will ever run again, or move without crutches. And the rest of us…” I shot another look at Nate, glancing down when I saw the same look of barely held-in despair in his eyes that I felt squeezing my heart.

  Making a clucking sound, I did my best to shake off the ghosts of the memories haunting me. “Seriously, I didn’t think this year would go much better than the one before. No shit, it’s a fucking dangerous wasteland out there. But what I didn’t expect was that every single blow that we couldn’t evade came from people. People, like you and me, who should know fucking better than to hunt us down when every single life is precious.”

  I hadn’t intended to call out the last part, but the wave of shouts that answered instilled confidence in me that I hadn’t felt in… a damn long time. And their shouts didn’t stop until I raised a hand, gesturing them to quiet down.

  “I’m not saying we didn’t have some of that coming,” I went on. Knowing laughter from the crowd, but of the positive, affirmative kind. “I’m not going to deny the blood that’s on my hands. I killed people. Not because I was following orders, or because it furthered any cause. Yes, I was trying to get my guys out of a tight spot, but I didn’t need to drive right into any soldier that got too close to my Rover. Watch their heads explode like ripe melons through the scope of my sniper rifle. Do I regret it?” Well, wasn’t that the question? I debated lying, but if I expected them to follow me, the least I owed them was the truth. “No, I don’t. Because this is war, and while I’m not entirely sure who started it, and when, I damn well won’t just roll over and play dead. I am going to end this fucking senseless slaughter, whatever it takes. I didn’t let the zombies kill me, and I’ll be damned if I stand by and watch while a bunch of lunatics is gearing up to systematically eradicate us!”

  What little was left of my breath whooshed out of me as a wave of shouts met my declaration, a roar loud enough that it would have made it impossible for me to speak, had I wanted to. I couldn’t help but feel vindicated, basking in their defiance.

  “I can’t do this alone,” I went on once the racket died down, more shouting than talking now. “I need your help. I know that not all of you can fight. That not all of you can just up and leave at the drop of a hat and not give a shit about who they leave behind. I’m not asking you to needlessly waste your life. I’m asking you to join me—to join us—to take back what is rightfully ours: our freedom. Our right to live as we want, to do as we see fit. To fucking live and breathe without being afraid that some idiot is about to hunt us down, and all for what? Some twisted kind of power grab? Some cure that doesn’t exist?” More shouting ensued, more and more people getting agitated.

  “What right do they have to do this?” I called out. “You guys here know that there is no government. It’s about time that everyone else out there knows that, too. We’re all out for ourselves, and there’s no one who’s going to come and protect us, to save us. But that’s okay because we don’t need anyone who lulls us into a false sense of complacency with lies and promises. We’ll make our own luck. There’s a whole wide world out there, ready for the taking. We still have years left to gather resources before they go to waste forever. Years to come up with new technologies to replace what we’ve lost, and learn to make do without all the many things we thought we couldn’t live without. Look at what you built here! Look at Dispatch, at the Silo. At every settlement, every reinforced cabin in the woods. We all beat impossible odds before, and we will do so again—but only if we do it together, because alone out there anything can, and will, kill you. I don’t know about you, but I’m damn tired of feeling like there’s a target painted on the back of my head. I don’t know the numbers, but it must be hundreds of us that have been killed this year for no reason whatsoever, and just as many on the other side, simply because they were delusional idiots who bought into the shit they were fed. This has to stop. And we will stop it! Join me! Join us! We didn’t survive the fucking apocalypse only to die now, one by one, like sheep being led to the slaughter!”

  The roar that answered me was deafening, hundreds—no, thousands—of voices raised. It took a while for the voices to die down enough so I could get to the last part.

  “We know where they’re holed up.” No need to be circumspect—and I had no doubt that it was impossible to conceal the attack we were—hopefully—about to mount, so there was no sense in trying. “We don’t have their exact numbers, but they are not just a bunch of lunatics pretending to be protectors. It doesn’t matter. More than half of us are out there, living as traders and scavengers. And there are the settlements. Don’t just sit behind your walls and twiddle your thumbs, pretending like nothing can happen to you. Those walls that keep out the zombies? They do a great job locking you in, like sheep in a pen. Together, we can easily match any force—but for that we need every able man and woman with us. We need weapons. We need ammo. We need gear, and we need provisions. And we need it all now, or else we’ll give them too much time to dig in like ticks. You owe it to yourself, and to everyone you knew and loved who didn’t make it, to put an end to their tyranny! I know that this is daunting; facing odds that are uncertain, going toe to toe with the people who have systematically killed some of our strongest. Remember who we were. Who we still are. The land of the free. The home of the brave. To be free, we need to be brave, and we are going to damn well defeat anyone trying to take that from us!”

  Their answer was unanimous. It was loud, raucous even. Defiant. Strong. Adrenaline surged through my veins, and for the first time in forever I felt my chest constrict with hope rather than despair. Maybe I was just high on my own supply, but deep down I knew that we had a fighting chance. And I knew that it was going to be enough.

  Chapter 13

  Things got a little hectic after I stepped off the stage. People wanted to talk to me. Offer help, information. Tell their own story. Rant at me for being a rambling, spiteful bitch—at least until that lovely woman saw herself confronted with Nate staring her down, as if my amicable scowl wouldn’t have done the trick. They wanted to shake my hand, and I was sure that if smartphones had still been a thing, they would have asked to take selfies with me. The onslaught of conversations I could have easily dealt with, same as the minuscule flare of hate, but the fact that anyone would think that I was kind of famous, like a post-apocalyptic celebrity? That weirded me the fuck out.

  It was hours later that I found myself, hair still wet from a much-needed shower and with part of my gear and weapons exchanged for my light pack from the car, sagging against the door of the small cabin on the beach that Gita—Punk Girl—has shown me and Nate to. A fucking cabin on the beach. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around that, either.

  “If you need anything else—“ her helpful voice filtered through the light wood, showing none of the tiredness she must have felt because of how damn late it had gotten.

  Nate offered a small smile, likely at the abject horror on my face. “No, thanks. We’re good,” I hollered through the door, praying that she would finally leave us. Speaking to a huge crowd, hoping that they would help us rather than tear us apart was one thing. But being surrounded by all these people…


  “That was fun,” Nate offered when a good half minute had passed and no further sounds from outside were audible, except for the ebb and flow of the surf, and the odd nocturnal bird.

  “You think?” Picking my pack up, I lugged it across the room and tossed it next to the bed, taking a moment to stare at the nightstand. It had a fucking doily on it. Who in their right mind… Whatever.

  “There’s always some amusement to be gained from watching you squirm,” Nate observed from where he kicked his pack against the other side of the bed, then hesitated before dropping his sidearm and knife, both holstered, on his nightstand. I couldn’t help but feel like he placed them in a way to conceal as much of the doily as possible.

  “You would think so,” I grumbled, starting to ditch my own weapons. “Oh, and thanks for the support. Two hushed sentences the second before I have to open my mouth make so much of a difference.”

  I didn’t know why I said that; mostly to annoy him, maybe even get a rise out of him. Also to get the message itself across, but I’d long since given up expecting a reaction—or change—from him. So when he let out a semi defeated sigh as his shoulders slumped, I couldn’t help but feel weirdly peculiar. That wasn’t actual guilt that was ghosting up my spine, now, was it?

  Turning so he fully faced me, Nate caught my gaze, speaking softer than I was used to from him—or anyone I was well acquainted with these days. “I can go sleep somewhere else, if you prefer. Or we can just end it, right here, right now. No need to drag things out needlessly.”

  Mind, meet concrete wall. I couldn’t even blame the lateness of the hour, or the exhaustion from the grind that had been the last weeks for my inability to do anything except gape at him for several seconds straight, without a doubt doing a great fish imitation with my mouth.

  “You want a divorce?” I more whispered than grumbled, blinking with irritation at myself. “Where the fuck is that coming from?” And after all the things that we’d been through together…

  But maybe that was exactly his point. So much had happened. Maybe too much. Maybe—

  I shook my head, doing my very best to quell the idiotic tangent my mind wanted to gallop away on, but it was useless. The sudden surge of insecurity that gripped me made it impossible to ignore my own thoughts, and then I just let them spill out, unfiltered, unchecked. “Is it because of what happened? Or didn’t happen, depending on how little you believe me, obviously? I know I’ve been distant, and there’s been so much on my mind with the damn trap and feeling like they finally have us pinned with our backs against the wall that I didn’t really feel like having sex. And I get that you didn’t, either. Not after you saw that vid. And let’s not forget about that chip. That was some fucked-up shit that happened to me, and it did leave some marks, but—“

  “Bree, stop,” he said, his voice about as toneless as mine. I could feel the frustration come off him in waves as he wrenched a hand through his hair, giving me a bleak look.

  “You didn’t think I’d just take this without making a scene, right?” I tried to state that with some dignity, but it came out mostly as a squeak.

  Rather than repeat his order—plea?—he walked over to me and silenced me with a finger pressed gently against my lips, effectively shutting me up. In the gloom of the hut it was hard for me to make out the look on his face, parts of it obscured in the shadows. “I don’t give a fuck about what happened,” he said, wincing briefly. “That came out wrong. Of course I do. The mere thought alone of anyone considering locking you up, beating you, raping you, makes me want to fly into a homicidal rage. But it doesn’t change a thing about how I feel about you. When I asked you to be my wife, I meant it. Forever, you and me. I don’t swear oaths lightly, and I’ve never been as serious about anything else in my entire life. I didn’t just say it to make you feel better, or to make myself feel even remotely alive, although it had that effect. As far as I’m concerned, this is it for me.”

  “Then why—“ I tried to say around his finger, but stopped when he increased the pressure slightly.

  “Because I thought it’s what you wanted,” he admitted. “You don’t strictly need me. Haven’t for quite some time anymore. And you are right when you say that half of the shit that hit you and stuck, you could have avoided without me.”

  “Too fucking late for that,” I huffed, pulling his finger away, but I didn’t protest when rather than remove his hand, he gently cradled the side of my face. I put my hand over his, leaning into his touch without breaking away from his gaze. “And I don’t care. It’s not your fault that you’re a shit magnet. As am I.”

  “To be fair, some of it is my fault,” he corrected, a familiar hint of chiding sneaking into his tone, and the brief smile crossing his face brought a similar one to mine. He had a point, but I wasn’t going to let that fester into actual doubt—like the doubt I had spent my fair share of time rolling in. Growling with frustration, I turned away, letting my ass hit the mattress. It was surprisingly firm yet soft, and so damn alien now that I’d gotten used to sleeping on the ground.

  “I’m so fucking sick of this.” Looking up, I caught his gaze again. “I’m so fucking sick of feeling small. Vulnerable. Broken.”

  “You’re not broken,” he insisted, his lip curling up. “Maybe a little chipped around the edges, but that was necessary. Let’s face it. As pristine and perfect as you were when we met, you really didn’t fit with me.”

  “Had to drag me down to your level, huh?” I joked, feeling some of the tension drain from me.

  “Always,” Nate offered as he dropped down onto the bed, stretching out beside me.

  “So no divorce,” I gathered, smirking at the elated, teasing lilt of my voice. “Or do you want to waste more time wallowing in your misery before you admit that, this once, you were the same exact little insecure shit as you so often accuse me of being?”

  “I’ve never accused you of—“

  “Not out loud,” I interjected. “But I see it in the way you look at me. It’s always there with you. That judgment. That ‘you can do so much better,’ and the ‘oh, please. Grow the fuck up.’”

  The expression on his face was bordering on pensive. “I don’t do that anymore.”

  “Yes, you do,” I insisted.

  “Did. Last year,” he conceded. “It’s been months since the thought even crossed my mind.” I opened my mouth to object, but he forestalled me by grabbing my arm and pulling me down on top of him. He grunted when my elbow hit his ribs, but when his arm tightened around me, I relaxed into him, snuggling closer. “We both know that I had to, because back then you were a bushy-tailed little idiot, too blind to trust your instincts, still following societal conventions that lost all meaning the moment the virus hit the streets. I had to knock some sense into you because any mistake you made at any of the million opportunities presented each and every day would have meant your untimely demise. Hate me for that if you like, but it worked, and I will never be sorry for that. It had to be done. And if I may say so, if I was a hardass of a teacher, the student more than rose to the challenge.”

  Last year that praise would have meant the world to me, and of course he’d never offered it. Now it didn’t really do much, least of all surprise me—which in and of itself was a curious realization. Maybe, all doubt sometimes lingering deep inside of me aside, my mind had long since accepted that I didn’t need any spoken words, platitudes or truth, to simply know how things were between us.

  “Life could be so simple. Should be,” I insisted, rubbing my hands over my face to wipe away the frustration that was ingrained in my every fiber, or so it felt. “Don’t get eaten by the undead or some other predator. Find food to eat, clothes to keep us warm. Enjoy the freedom of endless summers, hunker down somewhere easily defensible over the winter. Kill whoever’s out to kill us. I’m so over second-guessing myself.” I glanced up at his face. “I don’t know why my mind went on such a bender. Last year, I swore to myself that I would do whatever it takes to survive. But
somehow I forgot about that. Lost my drive. It all just turned meaningless and shit. I’m not sure I would still be around if I hadn’t ended up in that damn cell.” Giving voice to those thoughts scared the living shit out of me. “Guess that was the kick in the ass that I needed to remember.”

  Nate looked more somber than annoyed, the furrow between his brows deepening as he kept contemplating what to reply.

  “I know I let you down.” I shook my head vehemently, but he talked right over my protest. “I really didn’t know what to do. I was so glad that I still had you that I didn’t get how much of a downward spiral you were on until way too late to find an easy fix for it. And while you’re not the easiest woman to talk to—“

  “Wait a minute—“

  More ignoring. “—I should have made more of an effort to tear you out of your circle jerk of self-loathing. Not that I have a clue how I could have accomplished that, but I should have tried.”

  Maybe, but I had a certain feeling that nothing he could have done would have yielded any results.