Gita lingered until most others had gone back inside, and when Burns saw that I took over suicide watch from him, he beat it as well, leaving the two of us alone on the spray-slick deck. Now that I saw her in daylight—even if it was wan, the sun hidden by clouds that promised more snow—I could see that she was well on the road to recovery, her cheeks rosy not just from the cold but actually having lost that sallow tint of sickness.
I was running through the tenth line of platitudes in my head, still at a loss for what to say, when she saved me, looking at me for a second before focusing on the waves at the ship’s wake again. “He always had a chip on his shoulder, you know? Tanner, I mean.”
I nodded my silent assent that I’d understood. “Most of the good ones do.”
That made her crack a smile, even if it was a sad one. “I guess. I certainly did a good job collecting mine.” Another sidelong glance at me before she sighed. “I don’t know why he was in prison when the shit hit the fan. He never told me, you know? I don’t think he told anyone. But he told me something else: that he felt that he deserved it. And that he deserved to rot in there until the end of his days. Only that the zombie apocalypse had other plans for him, and he took that hint.”
Silence fell, me waiting, Gita lost in memories, without a doubt.
“Did you know that he was one of the people who helped Rita build up Dispatch?”
That was news to me. “I didn’t know they knew each other?”
Gita inclined her head. “He didn’t stick around for long, but he helped her organize what people she’d gathered by then, and the story goes that the surviving prisoners only threw their lot in with her because he made them.”
Another nugget I hadn’t been aware of. “So Dispatch is literally the hub of rejects and criminals? I knew I liked it there for a reason.”
That made her laugh. “Yeah, I hear it’s a great place.”
“You’ve never been there?”
“Nope. Just chatted with people who were. The story is, Tanner and a few others decided to set out looking for adventure, and that’s how New Angeles was founded. That’s how he fell in with Gabriel Greene, too,” she explained. “But it was never enough to redeem himself, you know? I think Greene knew; that’s why he tried to bind him to the city as best he could, but we did a damn good job settling in there like ticks. We didn’t need another man fighting for a cause.”
“So that’s why he was doing duty catching caravans of new arrivals?” I hazarded a guess. “To find a new cause?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” she admitted. “But he sure got excited when you blew into town with all that talk of vengeance and your fight for freedom.”
“And when I got sick—”
“Another adventure,” she responded. This time, her pause was a pregnant one, as if she was considering what to let me in on. “Greene didn’t know about Hamilton’s mission, but he knew they were planning something. I doubt he had any clue that’s where you’d end up, but, how shall I put this…”
“I’m a shit magnet?” I proposed.
She smiled. “You really are. And if you connect the dots, it makes sense, right? Your husband’s not just one of them, he was literally one of their officers, on track to become one of the movers and shakers. That’s someone you want back in the fold, even if under any other circumstances than the end of the world you’d never trust him again. They were holed up in a lab, and whatever you insist on being now, you were a scientist once. As for a cause, what’s the one constant in all our lives? That damn virus. It was an easy guess to take all that into consideration and expect that something interesting would happen.”
Viewed like that, I didn’t need my rampant paranoia to come up with conspiracy theories. But since that wasn’t a part of me that would ever change, I was sure she was seeing things a little too idealistically. I’d trust Greene not to have ulterior motives the day after I’d made sure he was dead and gone for good—but I didn’t tell her that. It didn’t matter, really.
“So Greene sent you with us because your knowledge would come in handy, and Tanner wanted another chance to redeem his unredeemable conscience.”
She nodded. “Pretty much.” Her next inhale was a shaky one. “I tried to talk sense into him. I really did. Told him that he deserved a better life. That no one ever needed to pay the ultimate price, that a long, long life of small chances would make a much bigger impact in the long run.” A shaky exhale followed. “I tried telling him that I loved him but he shut me up before I got the words out. He told me that I shouldn’t waste my life on a piece of crap like him, but who else would ever—”
The rest got lost in hiccups and sobs, all that pain and grief that was pouring out of her becoming too much to contain. And because I wasn’t a complete dip shit, I hugged her, pulling her head against my shoulder, and held her while she cried, my own throat tight with emotion.
“It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay,” I murmured, knowing that, given our track record, nope, nothing would be okay, but that wasn’t what she’d need to hear now. But at least that pain she was feeling right now would fade over time—and maybe, just maybe, I was wrong this time and fate would surprise me? Who knew.
Gita eventually extricated herself from me, absentmindedly wiping her face, mostly because the biting wind was worse on wet skin than dry one. “So that was Europe. A little overrated, don’t you think?”
I snorted. “Something like that. Do you know what you’ll do once we get off this ship? You know that there’s likely a line of people forming who’ll want a literal piece of you?”
Unease shone in her eyes but she put on a brave face. “They can still cut up Munez if they want to study someone who got infected but was saved by that freak serum you gave us. I’m out of there as soon as we’re in sight of dry land.” She grinned to show she was joking—to a point. “Actually, Burns and I have been talking. He said he wants to swing by their base once more to pick up Martinez, and then we’ll get back home together. Maybe make it a fun road trip, you know? “
“Sounds like a plan,” I replied, the thought making me smile—but it was hard to keep up.
“You… aren’t coming with us, are you?” she said, her voice suddenly low enough that I could barely hear her—as if, out here in the wind, anyone could eavesdrop on us.
I hesitated for a second but shook my head ever so softly. I still tried to keep my response neutral, should my guess about our privacy be wrong. “The last real choice I got to make was back in New Angeles, when we decided to head for the Silo. Maybe even before that when Nate knocked out my tooth while we were sparring and I decided not to just ignore it. Everything that came after that wasn’t really up to me. I’d really like to make my own choices again.”
There was real sadness on her face, but she seemed honest when she nodded. “Yeah, I get that.” The grin that followed was fake, but hey, we were both doing a lot of fake-it-till-you-make-it right now. “How about we go grab some chow from the galley? That sounds like a good choice to me.”
“Let’s,” I agreed, clapping her on the back to push her toward the door. It really was getting unbearably cold out here, and I’d had about enough of that for a lifetime.
Chapter 21
I startled awake when I heard a scratching sound close to me, disoriented for a second until I found Red crouching close to my cot where it sat next to Nate’s. The hangar was dark except for the single small light by the exit, the red glow letting me know that we weren’t through the night cycle yet. Sure enough, when I checked my watch it read 3am. A hint of unease tickled my spine, particularly as Richards was making sure that he was moving slowly and silently enough not to wake anyone else. He needn’t have bothered; Gita was out cold since she’d been playing poker until midnight, and Burns was snoring loudly enough that people at the other end of the ship could likely hear him. Nate was still semi-comatose, falling into a state not unlike the waking coma I’d been in the first week we’d been on the ship on the way
to Europe. To make sure he got as much rest as possible, I got up quickly and tiptoed to where Richards had halted once he’d seen me rise. He signaled me to follow him, and since he likely had a very good reason for this clandestine meeting at such an ungodly hour, I followed. Really, if he and some of the others had wanted to shiv me, they’d passed up so many chances that I’d long since forgotten to be afraid any longer.
We were halfway down the corridor to the front of the ship when he finally paused to explain. “I managed to get a call through to Emily Raynor,” he offered. “I thought you’d like a moment to talk to her in private?” Which likely translated into “without Hamilton listening,” not that I gave much of a crap about that anymore. How easily shifting perspectives could change things.
I nodded and we set off once more, heading for the secondary communications station deep down in the belly of the destroyer rather than the bridge. Sgt. Buehler was waiting next to the door and stepped in after us to close it. Besides her, there was only the technician who was making the magic happen.
And speaking of magic, as much as it was convenient to have Raynor on video conference up on a monitor in front of me rather than just hearing her voice, what made my heart beat faster was the man next to her, who was leaning against the frame of a hospital bed, but clearly standing on his own.
“Hey, chico,” I said, hard-pressed to hide a smile. “Good to see you up and running again.”
The fact that Martinez didn’t even give me a grin in return sobered me up—and served as a good reminder of the bullshit they must have fed him about me—but didn’t change anything about the sense of elation inside of me. Maybe I couldn’t save the world, but I sure as hell had done what I could for one of my closest friends.
“Not running yet, and entirely his fault,” Raynor informed me tartly, her accent crisp once more, telling of her exasperation. “He would be if he hadn’t refused the serum. He insists that he prefers months of physical therapy and a good chance that he will only regain eighty percent of strength and range of motion in his legs.”
“Well, that’s his choice then,” I quipped back in a tone not dissimilar from hers. “It’s too bad that you can’t force every single person on this earth to see things your way.”
A hint of amusement crossed Martinez’s face. If that was all I got, it was enough.
Raynor clucked her tongue but let her patient speak for himself as he straightened. “If I have the choice—which I do—I don’t want that shit anywhere near me. No offense,” he added, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I know you don’t agree with me on that.”
I was hard-pressed not to snidely ask what that was supposed to mean, but that was a conversation for a time when we didn’t have anyone listening in, particularly those who I wanted to listen in the least.
“Glad you’re doing okay,” I said instead. “They treating you well?”
Raynor was ready to respond but Martinez, trained from hanging out with me and Burns for well over a year, talked right over her before he could get interrupted. “Surprisingly so. If I was a little more paranoid I’d say they’re trying to either set a good example or want to recruit me.”
“Probably both,” I pointed out. He didn’t seem very keen on hearing my opinion so I kept the rest to myself—which seemed to surprise him to the point where he looked a little guilty. Damnit, but I really wanted to have that talk right now. Sadly, that was impossible, and we both knew it.
Raynor, satisfied that we were done chatting, looked down at the notes she was holding. “Commander Parr earlier informed me that you will be reaching land within the next thirty hours or so, if the storm doesn’t get any worse. So I expect you to be back here within the next three days. By then, Mr. Martinez will be ready for departure.” I didn’t miss that she refrained from using his rank, and considering the look on his face, it didn’t go unnoticed by him as well. Ah, the games people play…
“That’s good news,” I enthused, careful to keep my tone neutral. “Thanks for that update, but if you’re done now, I’d really like to get back to sleep. I know we’re in different time zones at the moment but it’s well past bedtime at your base, too.”
As expected, Raynor didn’t look pleased at my dismissal. “Richards here tells me that you’ve been quite busy. And ignoring normal day and night cycles for the most part.”
Red got an amused glance from me for that. Of course he’d been tattling on me—and not unexpectedly so.
“I think we should have this conversation in private, Dr. Raynor,” I said, stressing her title. “Or as private as we can make it under these circumstances.”
Martinez looked annoyed that I actively cut him out of this, but looked somewhat mollified when I waved at him and promised to see him in a few.
It was somewhat vertigo-inducing as Raynor picked up the laptop she’d been using and carried it to another room—not her office but rather a maintenance closet, with packs of gloves and plastic lab material behind her. While she settled in, I glanced over my shoulder at the other occupants of my location. “If you’ll give us a minute?”
The technician looked ready to protest, but at Buehler’s nod he got up and left with her. Richards remained at my side, the stoic look he gave me letting me know that there was no way in hell he wasn’t a part of this conversation. Fine, so be it.
“What have you found?” Raynor asked, impatient although she had been the one to cause the delay. “Lt. Richards has told me that you’ve compiled a lot of notes already.”
I couldn’t hold back a nasty smile. “Oh, what I’ve found and what I’ve written down are two very different things,” I let her know, considering Red’s presence for a second but then decided, oh hell. There was a chance he already knew, anyway.
“Notes first, if you will,” I told her. “I found your solution.”
“Solution for what?” She really didn’t like the fact that I held all the cards right now.
“For the cure, if you still want to make it work,” I offered. “Miller and Andrada were damn close to finding a way to reverse the terminal effects of the serum, both without them ever actually going into effect—which is pretty close to the weaker form of the serum that was mentioned in the letters.” I paused, glancing at Richards. “You told her about the letters already, I presume?” He nodded. “Good. Hamilton has samples of that, and you should be able to extricate the compound from Munez’s blood as well. I’d still treat him to the full version if I were you, unless you want to start full-scale production and distribution of said cure, and we all know that this was never your intention.”
Raynor had the grace not to deny that accusation. “You know yourself that the powers that be wouldn’t want to lose their most dangerous weapons,” she stated, matter-of-fact. “And if presented with it, would you want to receive said cure yourself?”
A week ago, I would have said hell yeah. After gnawing my remaining fingernails down to the beds because Nate’s recovery was going at a snail’s pace… “Not really.”
Raynor allowed herself a satisfied smile—one I intended to soon wipe off her face. “It’s good that you haven’t lost your grasp on reality yet,” she surmised.
“Lack of realism has never been one of my weaknesses. Speaking of which, what are you going to do with my notes, besides checking that they make sense? I presume we’re having this conversation now because you don’t want it known what’s in those notes? And in my head, by extension. We all know that there are some people who’d rather see all that gone.”
She didn’t seem very perturbed by that claim. I hated how much this underlined that Hamilton had been right with his assessment of that Decker guy. “Just because there won’t be a direct application to some people doesn’t mean it’s not an important advantage to have,” Raynor pointed out. “And I’m not even talking about threatening a prisoner with taking away his partial immortality.” I hadn’t even thought of that yet. My, I still had so much to learn. “There might come a day when we need that cure,” sh
e went on, oblivious to my thoughts. “Right now, our predictions are that the undead problem will eventually take care of itself or run its course. Should we prove to have been wrong, turning said cure into a vaccine for everyone not yet affected might be exactly what we need.”
“Or just a choice few,” I couldn’t help but notice.
Raynor’s smile was a little sardonic. “You mean, history repeating itself? If we hadn’t been so cautious and only inoculated those we needed for fighting purposes but also most of the intellectual elite, we might not have had to send you across the ocean.” What she didn’t add was that she wouldn’t have needed me at all, which she likely preferred. Too bad, really.
“What about those soldiers who got the faulty version of the serum? Taggard’s boys, and a lot of others who were at that base in Colorado,” I reminded her. “Your side promised to take care of them. Knowing what I know now, I’m sure that whatever bull you tried to sell us about the upgrade with the mind-control shit that you gave my husband, that isn’t connected any way whatsoever.” As I said that, I wondered if that was the reason why Nate’s recovery was hampered, but I doubted it. Until the lab he’d been doing just fine. “The cure might very well be the cure for them, or at least a stepping stone.”
Her utter lack of reaction told me more than I wanted to know. So much for holding to the finer points of our agreements. “They are being dealt with,” was all she said. “And they are none of your concern, which you made obvious in your negotiation that day.” Where she wasn’t wrong. “Anything else? Because, if not, I’d appreciate it if you made sure that Lt. Richards gets all your notes, and—”
Green Fields (Book 9): Exodus Page 30