“You know exactly what I’m talking about, and it wasn’t that.”
Surprisingly, he took me seriously for once—exactly when I really could have done without.
“Did I complain? No. Did I ever make you feel like I didn’t appreciate having something to grab and hold on to? I’m rather sure the answer is still no.”
Grimacing, I tried to find the right words to make him see my point. “That’s a situation where that whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ thing applies. You didn’t need to say anything, because, like all women, I have a mean cunt in the back of my head that does nothing but demoralize me. Or had. The apocalypse did a lot to set my priorities straight. But my point is, I cared, and I hated that I cared, and the easiest solution was to go on a kind of crash salad diet thing that I managed to keep up for about ten hours or so. But even failing that, I tried to make a few healthy choices. Like drinking my coffee black, and not inhaling a whole bucket of chicken nuggets on my way home.”
It was funny to see the consequences of that dawn on him. “So what you are saying is that I saved your life because fucking you made you so self-conscious that you didn’t pig out and consequently missed all the contaminated shit in the first place.”
“Not necessarily self-conscious,” I griped, trying to defend myself. “But we had a fun thing going there. I figured I might do something to keep it going a while longer? But yes, that’s exactly my point.”
“Sheesh, and there I always thought you meant me teaching you how to fight when you kept insisting that I saved you.”
“Well, that, too,” I conceded. “But none of that would have happened if I’d continued to guzzle foamy atrocities.”
He shrugged that right off. “See, and I’m right again.”
“With what exactly?”
Nate laughed softly. “You’ve always saved yourself. Back then. Now. You don’t need me. But all of the shit you’ve inevitably gotten drawn into is something I stirred up.”
“You didn’t hold a gun to Bucky’s head and force him to turn into a despicable asshole,” I protested. “And even if you had, that’s no excuse for what he did. To both of us. Not just to me. You know that I’m not holding any of that against you? I can be a damn resentful bitch, you know that. But I know where to put the blame. And it’s not on you.”
His soft laugh was a harsh one. “Not even for insisting on coming with you? That’s one ‘I told you so’ that I can’t reason away.”
I pursed my lips as if to consider that point, but ended up shaking my head rather quickly. “Could I have survived that night after without you? Yes. But I’m damn glad I didn’t have to. Would that asshole have found a different way to try to play us against each other? Hell, yeah, and I don’t want to consider how far that might have gone. Stop blaming yourself, because I don’t. You always accuse me of chasing rabbits in my head that I can’t catch? Well, how about you take a page from that book, too. We got this far, and we will make it through this. Together. Now we have to, because what I did today was irrevocably hammer down that I’m someone who will not be disregarded or underestimated, so that better be worth something. I refuse to let anything Bucky did define me. You should do the same.”
Nate nodded, then finally looked—really looked—at me again, still conflicted.
“Sometimes I wonder what I did to deserve you.”
I flashed him a bright grin. “You’re an insufferable asshole that no other woman in the world can stand. Congrats. I’m such a catch.”
“That you are,” he replied—but rather than kiss me, he moved back to lift my right leg so he could get a better look at my toes. Leaning back, I let him, trying very hard to internalize the grumbling I wanted to do so very loudly. Ah well. It was probably for the best. A week ago I hadn’t been able to properly run, and while I felt a lot better, I was sure that, come tomorrow, I would very soon get to test my limits, and how easy it was to get there still. What I needed now was rest, because there was no telling when would be the next time I got some, and what was waiting for us in Europe.
Fucking France. That had been one of Greene’s guesses when we’d chatted with him before leaving on that plane. I still remembered that. It was great to have some details, finally, but getting that confirmation meant one thing, really: whatever they had sent us here to fetch or do, it was something that Greene was aware of, so likely it had to do with the serum and the zombie virus. And considering how things had gone so far, it could only get so much worse than any of us had expected, that morning, when Bucky and his guys had gone one way, and the lot of us turned the other.
Chapter 11
Bucky came swaggering into the cargo hold, Red by his side, Cole and Russell hot on his heels. They were in full gear but not yet the overwhites to make them virtually undetectable in snowy terrain. “Think we should wake the rejects up yet?” he asked the soldiers trudging along behind him. “Or wait until they have to scramble like a poked ant hill?” His flunkies cackled dutifully. Red’s expression remained as stony as they came—even when he was the first to glance over to the cargo crates and found us—also in full gear, perched on our packs—sitting there.
“You’ll have to try harder to get me scurrying,” I called over to our idiot-in-charge, making him turn around slowly. I grinned brightly and waved, quite happy with how my glove modifications had worked out. No more flopping going on now.
Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t do more than give us a passing glance. Red parted from the group as they ambled to get their own gear ready, while he walked up to us. “I presume you packed enough rations and ammo for five weeks?”
“I presume the Commander told you that he let it slip what his pickup plan is for us?” I shot right back.
Red shrugged as if that was beside the point. “Leary and I have been working out a few times together. Might have slipped out that I found it a shit-awful idea to leave you in the dark until we’re all on the beach and the landing boats have returned to the ship.”
“So you’re going to give us a proper briefing now?” I hazarded a guess.
Red hesitated, but silently shook his head. Too bad.
Within the next ten minutes, the other members of our team filed into the cargo hold, getting ready for departure. More than one of them eyed me surprisingly uneasily, making the fake grin on my face more real by the minute. I bet I could have picked out exactly which of them had been along in Colorado. Those lingering glances gave it away. At least I hadn’t wasted that hour it had taken me to braid my hair as I’d worn it all summer long, making sure that no wisp of it could escape and distract me at the wrong time. Now, of course, it would be hidden away under a nice, fleece-lined wool cap—that also did away with Nate’s penchant for dropping mud on my less-than-stealthy red tresses—but until we left the relative warmth of the ship, my war ‘do was in full view. And damn, it did a thing or two for my confidence as well.
It was barely getting light outside—not that I could make out anything past the ship in the heavy fog—when we loaded into the rigid-hulled inflatable boats that would bring us from the destroyer over to whatever shore we were supposed to land on. Between us, our gear, and the weapons, there wasn’t much room left, but even in the choppy sea, the boat felt surprisingly steady. They’d been smart enough not to split our group, and neither Bucky nor Red was in the same boat as us, so I couldn’t try to see if my prediction was true that if any of us fell overboard, they’d sink like a stone and drown. It did make me wonder what that would mean if whoever that was insta-converted—would he spend the rest of his undead days in the shallow waters, trapped? My, what an afterlife to subject dear Bucky to…
Vague shapes appeared ahead of us, turning into a sandy beach and dunes behind it. It was mostly empty, with some debris strewn around that might have come from boats or houses that were still hidden by the fog. With the wind slicing across what little of my face was exposed, I wasn’t too disappointed not to have to jump right into the thick of a zombie mob, but I w
as kind of disappointed to find France so… empty. And rather unremarkable so far. I knew those thoughts would come to bite me eventually, but it was a pleasant surprise.
Exiting the boats proved to be a laborious and not altogether dry affair, but the weight—and size—of my pack gave me more grief than the ocean surf and treacherously soft sand. Yesterday I’d felt like I was almost back to full strength, but even before we’d all rallied around Bucky and watched the RHIBs disappear into the fog above the sea, I had to admit that I’d maybe overestimated my stamina a little bit. And by that I meant I really wanted to crawl back into my claustrophobic bunk and forget about anything and everything for a few more days. But seeing as that wasn’t going to happen, I might as well focus on Bucky, while Red and two of the soldiers whose names I still didn’t know were securing the beach.
“Welcome to France!” Bucky hollered way too loudly, but the wet air swallowed up the sound better than I expected. Most of our people were looking at Bucky while Nate and Burns did their own study of our surroundings. For once, I trusted them to do their job so I could focus on Bucky instead. I had a certain feeling that interacting with him—and Red—was going to become my job. Oh joy.
A few cheers went up but mostly grunts. There was tension in the air, of the kind I knew all too well. The unknown was often worse than the nightmare we’d all gotten used to staring down. And with visibility down to below three hundred feet, there was a damn lot of unknown going on. All there was to see was sand, dunes, and some washed-up debris and driftwood. Not very exciting.
“Gee, and not even any baguettes or fancy cheese waiting for us,” Tanner called out from where he was standing at the very back with Gita. He got a few laughs for that, and a lot of agreeable nods. Was I the only one left who didn’t really want to do that much socializing?
Even Hamilton allowed himself a small smile. “We might just find us some of that later. Situation is this. We’re at the beach in northern Normandy, a few miles outside of Cabourg. First thing we do is establish that we’re in the right place, and find a good place to set up camp if we can’t make it into town today. I expect that we will have cleared it by noon. Command has virtually no information about how shit went down in Europe, so while finding out more isn’t our main objective, it’s an opportunity we shouldn’t lightly pass up. The LT will collect any hard data you find—newspaper articles, video hardcopies, you name it. Cole and Parker have video cameras along to document anything we can’t take with us.” He paused, his eyes flitting to me and staying there. I was just waiting for the first of so many slurs to come, but instead he added, “And if you find anything even remotely science-y, call in Lewis. There’s a reason we brought her along.”
Well, that was unexpected, and almost friendly. Nobody needed an explanation who he was referring to—but then again, all our snazzy new jackets had come with name tags on velcro strips, so it stood to reason that if they could read, they could find me. As if I was so hard to pick out.
Red took over then, calling out names for teams, with Bucky apparently content to leave us stewing knowing little more than what he’d just dropped on us. Before Richards even got to calling out our names, Nate was giving orders, using the new hand signals we’d taught each other in the past few days. I couldn’t do half of them, really, but in a pinch they would do. The whole exercise was one of futility, anyway, and mostly designed to annoy Bucky—which it immediately did.
“You think that shit’s gonna fly around here?” Hamilton barked at Nate, who only gave him the side-eye while telling Tanner to make sure nothing—dead or alive—got close to Gita, and me and Burns to stick with him.
Only when he was done did he turn to fully face Bucky, his face emotionless. “I don’t think so. I know so,” he retorted, not quite levelly but with less heat than I’d expected. “I’ve always done a better job than you at everything. Don’t see why that should change now.”
I had not expected that. Nate thinking it, sure. But saying so out loud? Bucky turned stiff as a statue at his words. A few of the soldiers snickered, not quite taking Nate seriously—but also not ignoring him completely. Or maybe they knew he was telling the truth. I was so not going to sleep—at all—expecting a knife in my remaining kidney any hour now. Awesome. Nate could have at least waited until I’d had time to test my strength.
“Mic check, everyone,” Red called in over the open frequency from where he had wandered off, standing away from the bulk of us, close to where beach turned into dunes. “Every group, report in at fifteen-minute intervals, or when you find something of interest. That includes all kinds of predators, bipedal or not. You can all be heroes later, but for today, let’s try to keep the casualties to zero.”
I wondered just how annoyed Red was that he’d have to play babysitter and mediator on top of his other duties, but his voice was even. We quickly checked in, then split up in the designated groups. We got the westernmost sectors, down the beach toward the town Bucky had mentioned. Not having had a clue where we would land, we hadn’t been able to study any maps, and as far as I knew, we didn’t even have any to start with. So good old checking street signs it would be, until we found some.
There was minimal radio chatter, making me grumble inwardly at how professional this whole operation appeared to be, with Bucky the only exception so far—and maybe Nate’s posturing, but I’d gotten the sense that had been overdue, likely for years. While Tanner and Gita remained at the beach near the waterline, Nate, Burns, and I hoofed it up to the top of the dunes so we could catch a glimpse of what lay beyond. More fog, although it seemed to lighten inland. Sand, turning to grass-covered soil. And lots and lots more of that as soon as we topped the rise. To the west, a few houses were barely visible, with a road running parallel to the dunes about a mile inland. More debris, the odd broken-down car, but nobody—dead or not-quite-yet—in sight. I inhaled deeply, but the scent of the ocean was still too strong here to get more than a hint of anything else. Moving helped keep the weird sensation of the world swaying underneath my feet at bay, making me hope that my body would soon get accustomed to being on land once more.
The first round of sign-ins went over the coms, Burns reporting in for us. “Nothing so far. We’re heading toward the houses to the west of our sector.”
I looked down the slope to the beach. “Should we take the others with us?”
Nate shook his head. “I doubt things would be so quiet here if there are squatters hiding over there. They can always join us at the village once you’ve cleared a few houses.”
It took me a good three minutes toward the road to understand what he meant. I made sure that my com was still switched to receiving only. “What you’re actually saying is that you want me not to have an audience when I face-plant my way into a possible trap.”
Looking back from where he was walking slightly ahead of me, Nate snorted. “Something like that. I’d ask how you’re doing, but you’re tense as hell and still favoring your right leg, so the answer is rather obvious.”
“I’m fine,” I bit out, pretty much underlining his suspicion that I was, indeed, not. Or not entirely. Not yet.
Burns clearly wouldn’t have any of our squabbling. “It’s not enough that you survived what most others wouldn’t have, let alone wanted to? You have to rebound into immediate superhero form?”
“Did you expect anything less from me?” I asked but couldn’t help being a little mollified. I knew where Nate was coming from—and while I hated to admit it, I was glad that he was giving me space and time to get my bearings. “Just sucks, you know? Ever since I woke up from not dying in that damn beige motel room, I’ve been waiting to be just as super as the lot of you are. They even shot me up with the newest, presumably refined version of the serum. And what do I have to show for it? A limp, a weak thigh, and I’m lugging around my weight in ammo that I’m not entirely sure I can hit something with. Sure, sounds like a win to me.”
“So it’s a minor setback,” Burns admitted. “You’re
not here to win any awards with your awesomeness. That you can carry your own ammo and defend yourself is a bonus, not a requirement.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I complained, then actually thought through his words. “What aren’t you telling us?”
Burns shrugged while he continued to scan our surroundings, kicking a small heap of rags for good measure. “Know for sure? No more than you do. But it’s obvious, isn’t it? They couldn’t expect you to rebound like you did and turn into Crossfit Barbie. The only thing they could have relied on was you being fit enough to move—and do whatever it is you can do when you can’t shoot or run. So you’re here not because they expect you to perform at a hundred and fifty percent physically, but because of that overinflated brain of yours. I’m surprised Bucky even let you out of his sight.”
Nate had an answer for that. “He did because he knows the two of us would never let anything happen to her. He’d just get in the way.”
This was getting better and better. “Gee, I’m so happy that you all have such high esteem for my capabilities.”
“Just being realistic, is all,” Burns offered, flashing me a bright grin. “Plus, nothing like getting you all annoyed to make you go off in those undead fuckers’ faces. If a little ribbing keeps me from having to do the actual work, you’ll feel the burn all the way through Europe and back to the States.”
We were close enough to the single house set apart from the others in the distance that I didn’t need to reply. Rather, I let Burns bust in the front door and waited until Nate gave me the clear from inside to enter. We spent a good five minutes securing the two stories before Burns reported in that we’d found the property deserted—but not empty.
There were differences to what I was used to from buildings like this—for one thing, the French had a thing for building more resilient houses. I had no idea how old this one was but from the creaking floorboards I would have guessed well over a hundred years, and it looked sturdy as hell. A few of the glass panes of the windows were broken, letting in rain and leaves, but it was mostly undisturbed. No shamblers, but also no signs of anyone hastily evacuating the premises. There were preserves in the pantry, and we wisely steered clear of the fridge. A newspaper lay discarded on the kitchen table, the pages crinkled and yellowed after a year and a half of sun exposure. I couldn’t understand the words, of course, but the pictures on the front page were telling their own stories—overfilled hospitals, evacuation camps, and riots. Nothing new there.
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