A loud bang on the door at my back makes me jump. Zilinsky checking up on me, I realize, as I snap the box shut—and like the idiot I am, let it disappear in my jacket pocket as I turn to glance her way.
“You falling asleep standing?” she grates my way, the appropriate glare on her face for catching me red-handed and idle.
“Nope, just finishing up,” I tell her and quickly make my way out of lace-doily hell. The box in my pocket is burning a hole through all the layers of fabric as I turn to check the next trailer, and the next one after that. I hardly pay any attention during our meeting beyond making sure nobody is lurking in the background, ready to jump us.
No, it doesn’t take a genius to answer the question that is burning in my mind: why did I take the damn box? What’s making me sweat while ice-cold wind is slicing across my face are the implications. And complications, really, because when I think of terms like “family” or “love” the first thing I remember is the hateful grimace on my dad’s face as he pulls his arm back after punching my mom in the face, blood dripping from his knuckles. Or her kicking the living shit out of me when I brought home another failing grade, and the only reason she’s not breaking anything vital is because she’s too drunk or stoned for precision. Or bursting in on my grandfather molesting my younger sister. Or my grandmother telling me it’s all God’s will. I know there must be warm, loving memories buried deep underneath all the shit as well, but I’ve never bothered to find out. And there’s no inspirational story about me rebelling and settling the score, either. I high-tailed it out of there at age fourteen and never looked back, crashing on friends’ couches and running with a rough crowd instead, but at least they respected me for being a funny guy and good at busting cars.
The first real family I ever had were the other misfits in the army bootcamp. No wonder I stuck with these assholes until my captain asked me to turn my back on them in favor of helping him. Miller never had any illusions about who I really am, and he asked me specifically because I still know people, and am good about making connections. Or knew, I should say now, I guess; I doubt many street-smart criminals were smart enough to read the signs and bail. Enterprising looters must have made a great first meal for a lot of shamblers, if they weren’t already part of that crowd. I’ve never met a gangbanger who sidelined as a health nut.
What can I say? Fooling around with Sadie was different for me in so many ways, and because how she started it, and the constant need to sneak around and concentrate on not being caught, kind of made it easy to ignore what was actually going on—until it ended. I didn’t realize just how good she makes me feel until that very thing turned to my biggest source of misery.
And I am a miserable fuck all through the next three weeks as we make supply run after supply run, dragging everything that’s even borderline useful back to Meeteetse to be used and redistributed to the people slowly flocking in. I know full well that I’m the sole cause for my misery, and the solution is obvious, too: simply talk to her. But the last two times I tried, I horribly botched it and inexplicably turned things even worse, and I’m the first to admit that I’m a horrible communicator. Sure, tell some random slut that I don’t care for feeling her teeth when she’s going down on me? That’s easy. But real feelings and emotions? I can’t remember a single conversation in my life where that’s come up, or been of any importance. I’m not that dead inside that I wouldn’t be able to go with the flow if she brought it up, but even I can tell that relying on an eighteen-year-old girl to shoulder the joint emotional burden of two people is unrealistic. It’s much easier to fall back into the silent, stoic role that got me through the first years of my life, and watch history repeat itself. Underneath the screwed-up humor and don’t-give-a-shit attitude I know that I’m a loser and a fuckup, and I have a rap sheet a mile long that proves that. Sadie has absolutely no reason to think I won’t slip right back into my usual MO the moment I’m out in the wild again.
Except that I absolutely don’t want to, to the point where the very idea of fucking another girl leaves me feeling sick. The knowledge that, even right now with not a single bad action on my side, I make her hurt rips me apart inside. She tries to hide it, but I know her well enough that I can read the signs easily now. Even if her prejudice is her fault, that’s on me. I tried to make things better, but only made everything worse.
It’s almost a relief when the day comes that we are leaving for good, as this way I can at least remove myself from her presence, and she doesn’t have to continue seeing me watch her with longing and frustration, unable to do anything about it. The car is packed, our gear stowed away and checked twice by all four of us. I’d usually not pass up a chance to ride with Burns, but Cho is too stuck-up for me to handle for more than a guard shift or two, and even after spending the entire winter with us, he’s still only getting along with Burns and Martinez because they aren’t deserters. It’s much more fun to hop back on the road with Clark, Bailey, and Santos instead. Four guys also means I have more time to let someone else keep watch while I catch up on some ZZZs.
I can’t wait to be gone, even if that very thought kills me. I wonder if this is what deployment feels like to those who leave behind families. Must be. For me, it never was that big of a deal. Whore around and get drunk in my off-time here or there, I don’t really give a shit. Being on a mission means purpose, and that usually beat off-time, even though like the rest of the assholes I never missed a chance to complain that I’d soon get my ass shot at. One of the reasons why I quit and took Miller’s offer was because they’d started to sideline me more and more because of how many years I’d been in the same old rodeo, and the brass was throwing around terms like “leadership” or “instructor”—and he warned me that there wouldn’t be much downtime in the lead-up to his operation because we needed to bust our asses to get the connections and funds first to buy the equipment and gear we’d need. And, sure enough, he delivered on that. Those were two of the best years of my life, even if they included the world going to shit.
There’s a holdup because Bert wants Dave to come over and personally coordinate with Miller on when we should check in with the people at home if we get a chance. I know that getting radio gear for short and long distance communication is one of our key priorities, but waiting another fifteen minutes when my body is singing with the need to get going is torture. I know I annoy the shit out of Bailey—who’s driving—as I keep drumming my fingers on the dashboard of the passenger seat.
And then, from one moment to the next, I can’t stand it anymore. Not just the physical inactivity—I have to do something. Yes, I fucked up before when I tried to set things straight, but I can’t go out there and leave my girl thinking that she’s just a nice pair of tits to me while there was nothing else to bang. The very idea is driving me nuts, and even if things won’t change for me, maybe I can chase away that haunted look in her eyes that all too often turns to disgust. I mumble some lame excuse about needing to take a leak as I more fall than climb out of the car, my mind racing with jumbled thoughts and words while panic closes an icy, iron fist around my stomach.
Sadie has been milling around near her parents and Miller’s car, but when she sees me jerk my head to the side, she slips away to step behind the cabin. I aim for the woods on the other side and need about a minute to circle around and back to her. That’s a minute wasted, and a minute too much to let the panic explode in my mind but I force myself to keep going. When I see her standing there, she’s the picture of forcibly conjured rage, with her shoulders squared and her arms crossed over her chest. I don’t tell her just how distracting that posture is since it massively accentuates her tits, even with the jacket she’s wearing, but that’s mostly because I know what’s underneath and I’ve created that very same effect with my hands enough times to forever sear that image into my brain.
When I’m only a few steps away, she opens her mouth, her forehead creased into a scowl. Rather than fumble with words I don’t have, I grab her face an
d kiss her, trying to let my body tell her what my fucked-up brain can’t. She’s stiff at first and tries to push me away; I keep going, not because I’m an idiot but because I know just how stubborn my girl can be. She relents, but then I feel her teeth catch my bottom lip, and I sure as hell know she’s deliberately biting me. I don’t give a fuck and keep going. She’s livid, her eyes wide and full of anger, and I can’t help but laugh, if silently. She will one day be a formidable fury of a woman—and as much as I hate Emma’s guts for kicking us out, she’s a stellar role model for her daughter in all things—but right now she’s so damn cute, it’s adorable. Whether it’s that she’s realizing that she’s not getting anywhere or I’ve finally worn down her pretend resistance, I don’t know, but she finally gives up and melts against me, her arms going around my neck. I push her back against the worn wood of the cabin and allow us both to get lost in each other for fifteen stolen seconds that can never make up for the last weeks that I’ve needlessly wasted, and the many more weeks ahead that neither of us can do shit about. It’s not enough, but spending an entire day worshipping every inch of her body wouldn’t be enough to say goodbye.
In the distance, I hear someone holler my name, so I know I’m running out of time. Reluctance doesn’t begin to describe what is seizing my heart as I pull away from her so I can talk, but we remain locked in the cocoon of each other’s arms, not wanting to let go. Her mood has changed dramatically, flipping from hurt and pissed off to horny, relieved, and sad because she knows that she has to let me go. My mind’s still full of bullshit, and even when I try to force myself to say the words that I know she wants to hear—no, needs to, really—nothing comes out. For the life of me, I can’t say it, and it’s then that I realize why: because I mean it. It’s not just empty words borrowed from some horrible chick flick. Fuck, but I’m one useless bastard, and she deserves so much better than me. I could tell her that but I know that won’t go over well, so I skip to the part that’s equally true but less emotionally loaded so that I can mumble it out loud.
“I have zero interest in banging any other chick that’s not you.” Okay, so I’m not winning romance hero of the day, but I have to start somewhere. A light frown appears on her face, but not because she’s not believing me—I think she finally does. No, she’s confused. “I swear, I will come back,” I ramble on when explaining is too hard and I don’t have the time to do it justice. “And then we can talk. About whether this between you and me… if you still want… and I’m not holding you to that same standard. If you happen to meet a nice guy your age here and fall—”
Saint that she is, she absolves me of continuing to make an ass of myself by pulling one arm off my neck so she can place a finger against my lips, thus silencing me. “I won’t.” I try to protest—and sure as fuck don’t know why, because the idea that my girl fucks some loser who doesn’t even know what to do with his dick sure makes me want to punch his face—but she forestalls me with a smile. “I have no intention to, and, really, who’d be interested in me? You are the only guy who ever noticed that I’m not a baby anymore.”
I purse my lips against her finger, and she only withdraws it after the smallest of love bites. I hate to say this, but apparently I need to. “Things will change, very rapidly. You see the people who have survived and come in now. Sure, a few families have made it, but less than a quarter of the survivors are women. You’re a hot commodity, whether you want to realize it or not. And, besides, I can guarantee you, they did notice, but because they respect you and your parents they made damn sure to ignore you. Someone else won’t—”
She cuts me off again, this time not with a gesture but by rolling her eyes. “I swear, I’ve gotten that talk from almost every single one of you, either before the winter but also as a refresher. I will legit bust your balls if you are next.” She grins, and it’s not the grin of a nice, well-behaved girl anymore. “Since I won’t benefit from their use in the next few weeks, I don’t need to hold back.” And, sure enough, she grinds her hips against mine, as if that needs an explanation.
Fuck, but I really should have done this last night instead of on borrowed time.
“Okay, okay, I won’t,” I tell her, but I do lean in to steal another kiss, hating that it needs to be a short one. “I will be back,” I promise her again. “I’ve made up my mind, and won’t change it. I have no idea how long we’ll be out there but you have at least a month to make up yours. When I come back, and you’ve decided what you want to do, we can face the music together. We’ll find a solution. We’ll make this work.”
She bites her bottom lip, and I can tell she’s waiting for more, but I think she knows me well enough by now to realize there’s nothing coming. Disappointment threatens to take over her expression but she bravely fights it, giving me a smile instead. She deserves so much better than me, but she looks determined to make that choice herself and obviously disagrees. Damn, but maybe we really can make this work.
“Be careful out there, do you hear me?”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Have you met me? Or any of those other yahoos currently waiting for me to finish wiping my ass.”
A confused frown appears on her face but is gone a second later. “I mean it. None of us really know how it is out there. I know the lot of you have way better than average chances of making it, but you’ve heard what Seth told us last week, right? About the fucking cannibals in Illinois?” I’m still trying to come up with a way of not lying to her face when she smacks her lips. “Oh, God, of course you idiots got it into your heads to go after them!”
I shrug, enjoying how the motion mashes her body against mine, ignoring all the layers of clothes between us. “Who if not us will do it? You know what we’ve all been doing most of our lives. And it pains me to admit it, but with Lewis and Santos making up our weak links, we are a deadly avalanche of hurt coming down on anything that’s stupid enough to get in our way. But you know Miller, and you know that he won’t needlessly risk our lives, now even less than before. We will go out there, and if the opportunity presents itself to make the world a safer place, we will fucking take it. Maybe someone else will try to be the hero first and we’ll just spend a few weeks on the road, inhaling dust and getting bored of road rations. Would be nice if in the meantime you could get some kind of town going here so that when we return we have a real place to crash and enjoy the finer things in life.”
She laughs at that, at least until I silence her with a last, lingering kiss. When I pull away, she’s more clinging to me than standing, and it’s a different kind of pain now that’s squeezing my very soul. Hell, this is harder than leaving her thinking I’m off to forget about her—but I can’t bring myself to regret it.
I let go and she pushes away from me. I can tell that she’s trying to make it easier for both of us, but it’s not working. A few moments later she’s gone, slipping back to join her parents, while I need to keep up my forest-defecating ruse.
It’s only a few weeks, I tell myself. Then I’ll be back. And although my stomach flips just thinking of the shit I’ll kick loose then, I realize I’m dreading it less than I hate having to keep the charade up for a few more weeks. I didn’t lie to her when I told her that I’m sure we will find a way. I just know it, deep inside.
10 SADIE - APRIL
When I woke up this morning, I thought the worst would be to know that I’ve irrevocably become obsolete—but maybe that would have been less painful for me. Having my heart explode with joy while realistic dread and fear skyrockets isn’t better. More positive, maybe, but not easier to handle. Thankfully, I have barely a moment to dwell on that as soon as the column of cars angles across the meadow to the nearby road, and we get ready to head for the town.
The next weeks are filled with flurries of activity. We find out that there have been more people surviving close by than we dared hope for. There’s still lots to loot from stores and restaurants without the need to bust down every single door to a private home to stock up on every possible
thing someone might need—but with more people coming in every day, we consider the houses as well. Soon, our storage is full, and we start trading away our surplus. Meetings in Meeteetse become a weekly, then almost daily thing. There’s the expected posturing and sizing-up going on, but pretty much everyone is happy not to be alone out there anymore. That our group comes with some real heavy hitters that everyone has heard of helps. It takes Mom all of a week to assume a managing role. By the time they leave Wyoming for good, she’s got the support of the majority of people, and every few days more flock to our meeting point to find out what is going on. Word travels, and the neighborhood watch patrols bring news of more every time they return.
To me, it’s insane that Nate only leaves two of his guys with us—Moore and Collins—but nobody asks my opinion. Of course I’m biased, but even at my most unreasonable I see why Chris had to leave. Mom may not know that he’s been part of the serum program for years, but Dad knows, and with no reason to hold him back… then again, if he knew, that would be even more cause to kick him out of the state. I keep reminding myself that things will look much brighter once they get back, cars likely stuffed to the brim with goodies that will buy everyone’s favor back ten times over.
My paranoia seems unfounded as nobody makes a move to invade the bunker, or even get close. That Dad’s head of security now and heavily involved with the newly-minted neighborhood watch might help with that. Everyone seems so happy to have someone in charge who knows what they are doing that it’s kind of creepy. We decide we’ll stay at the bunker for now, but there are too many people squatting in the nearby town to make that safe. So a meeting is called, and in no time we’ve gone from being a family with two guards to the Wyoming Collective getting declared into existence. With over two hundred people available—and our guys having done some heavy-duty, thorough cleaning ahead of time—the town is scoured of not just the undead but other vermin, RVs from the trailer park are brought in, a few trenches are dug, and suddenly we have something akin to civilization. I expect they will elect Mom as the mayor, but they go a step further and declare her Governor, if not of the entire state, then at least of the collective. I wryly notice that this makes me borderline nobility now.
Beyond Green Fields #4 - The Ballad of Sadie & Bates: A post-apocalyptic anthology Page 7