Black windbreaker. Angry gray eyes boring into mine.
Nate had found me.
As soon as he saw recognition in my eyes—or he felt me stop struggling—he pulled me around the corner and pushed me against the wall. His breath was hot against my ear as he leaned in, whispering so low that I barely understood the words.
“What the fuck, Bree? What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?” I hissed back, just as low. My entire body was shaking, but I forced myself to calm down, at least a little. The panic was already receding, overtaken by a somewhat more manageable fright. At least I was not going to die here alone.
“Are you complaining? Now?” he whispered back, the anger in his eyes increasing.
“Were you following me?”
He looked left and right before he replied, but the space between the houses was still empty except for us, and the three dead bodies on the ground.
“I heard shots, so I ran right over here. Are you insane? Don’t you realize that every single zombie in this town is heading here now?”
Honestly, I hadn’t considered that—no time to waste on idle contemplation—but to me it felt as if they were all here already.
“The kids. They were—“
“Fuck the kids! Didn’t I tell you—“ he started, but whatever he saw in my eyes made him shut up in mid-sentence. A shudder ran through him as he inhaled noisily before he let go, leaving me enough space to breathe again—and immediately reload my gun. I had no fucking idea how many bullets were left in my magazine, but I had fired blindly into the mob before disappearing into the first house. Or had I?
Nate ignored the magazine that dropped to the ground between us, and instead pulled a shotgun from behind his back where it had been hanging on a strap. Convenient, that—and new, as I was sure that he hadn’t set out with one before.
“Here. Do you still have ammo?”
I nodded. “Couldn’t reload,” I said as I holstered the Beretta in favor of accepting the shotgun, this time making sure to put the sling over my head. Why didn’t my old one come with one already? Why had I never considered attaching one somehow?
Nate snapped his fingers next to my ear, making me focus on him again.
“Is the car overrun?”
I shrugged. “Not sure. I sent Erica running back there while I covered for her.”
Letting his next breath out slowly, Nate’s head swung to one side, then the other, before he nodded toward the street.
“You take point, I cover your back. Stay to the houses until we’re at the intersection. And don’t fucking shoot until you absolutely have to.”
I acknowledged that with a nod, and after glancing around the corner, I stepped out of the alley.
The zombies were on high alert, but not necessarily very organized. Already some were busy tearing apart the dead ones, no longer ignoring them. A few others randomly turned on each other, creating yet more distraction. Snapping teeth and reaching hands were everywhere, but they were mostly in the road, away from the houses. Averting my eyes, I forced myself to focus on the way ahead. Around the porch, back into an alley. Around another porch, where I had to stop and smash the butt of the shotgun stock into a shambler to keep it from getting curious. I froze as heads turned and eyes zeroed in on us, but as I slinked away, they remained interested in their new meal rather than what had served it up. We kept weaving from property to property, painstakingly slow until we reached the intersection.
Down the road, the infernal newspaper was gone, trampled by so many zombies heading in that direction. The car was also gone, and the trail of shamblers that led away from town made me guess that it had gotten away clean. Anger threatened to overwhelm me for a moment, but I told myself that it was just as possible that it had been Erica behind the wheel. Unlikely, but possible.
A hard tap on my right shoulder made me look in the other direction. There were zombies everywhere there, too, likely following after where Nate must have run like hell to reach me. Guilt settled in my stomach, the knowledge that just because he might be immune to bites not taking anything away from his potential sacrifice. He could have just as easily gotten overwhelmed, and there was no immunity to getting torn apart and eaten while still alive.
“See that gap? We cross the road over there,” Nate whispered to me, shoving the length of his AK into my lower back to make me stagger forward. “There’s no sense to trying to make it across unnoticed, so instead, we run.”
He took off right after me, quickly overtaking me with his longer legs and undisputed higher level of fitness. Zombies roared and started in our direction, but we were across and through the houses before most of them changed direction. Nate didn’t slow down as we hit the backyards, jumping over obstacles where he could, tearing through hedges where he couldn’t. Wheezing like a madwoman, I was hot on his heels, incredibly glad for every single hour of exercise Pia had badgered me into. And all that walking for endless hours with the heavy pack made me faster now that I was virtually unencumbered.
One more hedge that scratched at my face, and we were out on a larger street, cars broken down anywhere. Nate ducked behind one, flattening himself against the side, and I took another, realizing what he was doing. The shamblers had barely a moment to see us before we were back out of sight—enough to alarm them, but not enough to make them give chase.
Panting heavily, I pressed the shotgun against my chest, my eyes wide as I forced my mind to focus. Breathe. Just breathe.
Easing myself down onto the hot asphalt, I looked around under the cars. Nate was crouching where I knew he would, and there was a bunch of zombies to my other side. Yet further left, I could only see the odd pair of torn pant legs, the zombies thinning out in that direction.
Staying low, I crawled over to Nate, and wordlessly signaled into the direction of least resistance. He nodded, letting me take point again, and off we went.
It took us the better part of an hour to make it through town, ducking, crouching, and sprinting our way around everything that was out to eat us. Two thirds of the way down, we picked up Burns and Martinez, both bearing heavy sacks bulging with loot. One look at the thunderclouds behind Nate’s eyes, and they shut up before even asking what was going on. Collins joined us a little later, followed by Campbell and Moore.
Finally I could see a gas station up ahead, my blue Land Rover and the dark gray Toyota the only cars parked there. Andrej was busy filling up the extra gas tanks we kept in the back, right now heaving the one before last back inside. Burns inched forward until he was crouching next to me, scanning the surrounding car and buildings as he got ready to give us cover fire if needed. He scrunched up his nose, squinting.
“Something’s smelling awful here,” he muttered, glaring at a nearby dumpster with disgust.
Heat surged into my cheeks, but I did my best to keep my voice steady.
“That would be me.”
He gave me a sidelong glance, and of course it came with one of his bright grins.
“Damn, girl!” His big paw of a hand came down on my shoulder, making me stagger in my crouch. “Don’t worry. Shit happens.” And now he was chuckling, just adding to my mortification.
At Nate’s tap, I shot to my feet and ran across the expanse of open space, Andrej looking up as he saw us approach. I made as if to stop beside him, but Nate bit out a, “Get in the fucking car!” that was loud enough to turn heads all around us. Thankfully, all of them were attached to living members of our team. We’d finally arrived at the rally point.
I only stopped to grab a trash bag from the back seat before I parked my ass behind the wheel, not even bothering with ditching the shotgun. Grabbing the wheel until my knuckles stood out white against the black leather, I sank forward until my forehead was pressed against the backs of my hands. Just breathing was hard, let alone fighting the jitters that threatened to tear my body asunder. But at least I didn’t start crying, although I felt exhausted enough to claim it was just a natural react
ion.
A minimum of arguing went on outside, but whatever debate they’d been having cut off shortly, and Nate slammed his door shut as he got in beside me. I didn’t look at him—didn’t dare to, really—and when I didn’t react, he reached over and wrenched the shotgun over my head, then barked at me to fasten my seatbelt and start the car.
I did both in silence, forcing my fingers to work. I doubted that I could have read street signs to find the way to our next waypoint, but Andrej ambled the Jeep out onto the street right in front of me, giving me a clear beacon to follow. And that was all I did for the next thirty minutes—stare at the rear window of the car in front of me, and drive.
We didn’t even slow down at the first waypoint, yet forty minutes later, at the second, we found the fucking mint green car idling at the side of the road, crouching there like a toad. I felt the muscles itch in my right leg, ready to floor the accelerator pedal—whether to speed past it or send the car straight through the other, I didn’t know—but Nate ground out an angry, “Just don’t,” that got me to ease up immediately. As I went by at a ten miles per hour crawl, I could clearly see Madeline behind the wheel, looking out through the window with anxiety scrunching up her face. I didn’t even check deliberately, but it was clear that the other three seats were filled as well.
Burns switched places with Andrej, taking over the lead, and we continued west, Madeline’s car integrating seamlessly into the column. I only once chanced a glance to the side, finding Nate glaring at me, which snapped my eyes right back to the road. The storm clouds up ahead fit my mood perfectly.
Chapter 24
It was still hours from actual sunset but when lightning forked across the sky, hitting a large oak in a field to our right, Burns sent his car into the next small access road in the other direction. It was dark enough that I’d been yearning to switch on the lights for an hour now, and felt relieved when I saw another thicket up ahead that was perfect for hiding the cars underneath, Faraday cages be damned. A now defunct powerline ran about a mile away, a much better target than the low trees for the brewing storm.
Normally, I couldn’t wait to get out of the car, and while I definitely burned to get out of my pants, I remained sitting, the trash bag gently squeaking underneath me as I squirmed. From the corner of my eye I could see Nate still glaring at me, but he eventually got out, stretching before he stalked over to where Pia started coordinating. Loot had to be distributed, dinner decided on, and although I doubted that anyone would want to sleep outside the cars tonight, there were still a hundred different things to do before we could settle in for the night.
A good ten minutes passed until Martinez came walking over to me, the fact that he was in full gear with his rifle across his chest making me guess that he was up for guard duty. Yet at the same time, I saw Burns and Andrej set out to establish the perimeter, making me frown. I doubted that tonight we’d need extra guards out.
Martinez knocked on my window rather than just open the door, so I had to do that myself as I glanced at him wearily.
“I am to escort you to the creek over there, and make sure that no zombie bites you in the ass while you clean up.”
“Escort me?” I echoed, hoping to draw at least a smile from him, but he just stared me straight in the eye, waiting. Sighing, I slid out of the seat and reached back for my backup clothes, not bothering with picking them apart first. The way it felt, I was up for a full bath, anyway.
No one looked at me—or even in my general direction—as I walked through the camp and over to where I could hear the water gurgling over the gales of wind. It was about to start raining any moment, the temperature dropping rapidly now, but I didn’t care.
At the edge of the creek, I sat down and took off my boots, then peeled myself out of the remaining layers of my gear, until all I was wearing was my sports bra. Martinez dropped a tube of portable wash soap next to me before he stepped away, resuming his guarding stance up on the bank of the creek. Grinding my teeth, I stepped into the icy water, sitting down in a low pool to cover as much of my body as possible. After a moment, I took the bra off, too. Might as well do my entire washing, as it was.
There was no real refreshment to cleaning up, and I spent the better part of half an hour scrubbing my soiled clothes. When even I had to admit that they were as clean as they were going to get, and my motions had long since turned compulsive, I wrung them out one last time and threw them into a wet heap as I dressed again. They would likely stink up the car as they dried inside, but damp and clammy was still better than the alternative. I’d even thought about just ditching them, but considering I still only had one change of clothes that really fit and could withstand the wear and tear of our everyday life, I didn’t want to risk it.
Following Martinez back to the camp proper, I wanted to set to cleaning my guns next, but neither the shotgun nor my Beretta were where I had left them. A little panicked for a moment, I found them—wrapped in a cleaning cloth—in the leg room behind the passenger seat of the car. Not my side—his. I was tempted to pull them over, but then left them where they were. I still had my knife, and I knew where they were stored.
Ditching my wet clothes in the back, spread out as much as possible, I stepped away from the car again, only to find that I was alone. I wondered if I should just sulk in the car with a can of tuna, but when I realized that Madeline and the kids were doing just that, I forced myself to walk back over to where the others were sitting around in a loose circle. There was a dish and cutlery waiting in my customary spot next to Burns—an honest-to-God plate, heaped with beans, cooked rice, and gravy—making me stop in my tracks.
“Seriously?”
No one looked up from where they were munching beans and rice straight from the cans they’d been prepared in, doused in gravy. No one answered. So I sighed, sat down, and ate my food. As uncomfortable as Nate’s scorn had been in the car, the way he was actively avoiding me now was way worse. The way everyone else was ignoring me? Hell.
I somehow made it through my meal, yet as soon as I was done and wanted to get up to wash the stupid plate, Martinez plucked it from my fingers, still not talking to me. Frustrated, I glared after him, then followed him when it became apparent that no one was even going to crack a joke.
“Hey,” I said as I walked up to where he was crouching by the water. I saw his shoulders tense—evidence that he knew I was there—but he didn’t react otherwise.
Closing my eyes, I counted down from five, trying to quench the annoyance that was riding shotgun with the last tendrils of fear and the mountain of frustration currently drowning me.
“Look, I get it. I screwed up. But I’m the rookie, remember? I’m supposed to screw up.”
Those had been Martinez’s exact words in week two when I’d managed to almost damage one of the guns in my attempt to reassemble it. I had been on the butt end of every joke that entire evening, but not even while it lasted did I feel like holding a grudge.
Martinez paused, and I knew I had him. Yet when he straightened, all he said was, “Yeah, but you’re no longer a rookie.”
That didn’t help me at all.
“And where does that leave me now?”
He shrugged, still averting his eyes, but not in an avoiding kind of way. More like I wasn’t worth his attention. That stung a lot more.
“You’re a nuisance,” he confirmed my guess, turning away to head back to the camp.
I wasn’t sure if I felt like disagreeing, but I couldn’t just let that go.
“Yeah, okay, can’t deny that,” I started, still hoping for a smile. Nothing. “Look, just tell me what I can do to set things straight? I won’t even balk if it’s digging latrine holes for the rest of the year.” The nasty voice at the back of my mind was quick to supply another possible way of making things up to the guys—if I wasn’t of use for anything else, I might as well walk the path Madeline had chosen—but I pushed that away before it could take hold. I’d screwed up, yes, but I hadn’t gotten anyone k
illed. Besides, I was sure that if Nate was down to leaving me somewhere or shooting me in the back of the head to put me down like a dog, he would have done so already.
Martinez sighed, and finally caught my gaze, if only for a moment.
“You pretty much proved today that you’re not one of us. So don’t ask me how we would settle things if you were.”
“But I am one of you!” I protested, running after him as he tried to leave me there. Martinez walked a little faster, almost running himself, barely making it back to the others before I could catch up to him. That left me standing outside their circle, panting, and I suddenly was too sick of this shit to let this go on for another endless minute.
“Guys, can I have your attention, please?” No one looked up, but I was sure that they were listening. “I screwed up, okay? And I’m not asking you to just ignore that. But you’re acting like a bunch of pussies, too afraid to tackle the issue at hand.”
That got me some glares, but compared to before, that was an improvement. Pia caught my gaze when I looked over to her, her lips curling up into a snarl.
“We can’t work with incompetent imbeciles,” she ground out, her accent heavier than usual with the emotion swinging in her voice. That should probably have made me backtrack, but that would have been the coward’s way, and while I was a lot of things, but not that.
“I won’t ever get competent if you don’t give me a chance to learn,” I replied, trying to keep my voice even.
“Why should we bother?” That from Burns, for once completely serious.
The Green Fields Series Box Set: Books 1-3 Page 56