No, I wasn’t lusting after her, and no, I didn’t think she was up for grabs now that her husband was maybe—probably—dead or beyond rescue. Yet judging from the smirk Cole sent my way when we made camp in the evening after an endless day of driving way too fast for the state of the roads, I was fooling no one. Well, except for Lewis herself, who clearly delighted in freaking Gallager out with her mutilated hands. Some things apparently never changed.
So it came that within the span of a single day, my life turned itself around—but not exactly for the better.
Lewis was less than impressed when she got to meet what used to be her faction as we made it to the transfer boat at the coast. She was friendly with the traders—proving where her affiliation would have fallen had she been around way back when, and likely gotten assassinated subsequently—but I could tell she didn’t feel at home with them, either. The same went for us, although she seemed comfortable joking with the three of us that she was familiar with.
The fun part of the journey was definitively her and Gabriel Greene getting into a bitch fight, followed by her dropping her pants—quite literally—at the docks of the new settlement the rest of her gang had established… and not just because of the view. Yes, I looked; last time I checked, I was still human. But like before, her physical attributes didn’t exactly push my buttons, although I could appreciate a shapely, strong pair of legs like the next guy. I wouldn’t have objected to them being wrapped around my waist while I was banging her against the next hard available surface. I knew I should have cut my thoughts short right there because down that road certain misery waited, but I couldn’t quite find it in me to give a shit.
And she really wasn’t sporting much in the way of tan lines, which didn’t help.
If I’d thought I’d gotten a warm smile, that paled in comparison to how she beamed at her people once they were all done with the posing and posturing. I couldn’t help it; my heart seized up—this time independently of any feelings I might or might not have had for her. I felt downright awful when not a single one of them—not even those who I’d had contact with in the past—so much as glanced at me until it was time to agree on a meeting point. If all went as planned, I’d see Lewis and her people there several weeks from now, hopefully with some additional resources and people in tow.
That left me with a bunch of grumpy-as-fuck infiltrators who were less than pleased to have gotten recalled from their cozy stations, way too many guards present, and a smirking Gabriel Greene who seemed too well-informed for his own good, but what else was new? I did my best to ignore him. I hadn’t liked the guy back when he’d still been a scared, useless prodigy that Hamilton had brought along with the last round of scientists—all of whom had died before the end of the day—and had been happy to see him suddenly disappear the third or fourth time we moved shop, weeks after the outbreak. Knowing he had not only survived but apparently thrived didn’t help. New Angeles had become a thorn in our side long before the scavengers decided to become the new bane of our existence. Not having to deal with him on top of everything else that was going on would have been nice.
Of course, “nice” didn’t exist in my vocabulary anymore, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise that he parked his ass right next to me as soon as the cargo ship cast off.
“I presume now that Hamilton is gone, you’ve taken over from him?” he asked, his tone already telling me he knew the answer—that I’d tried, but with nothing much left to take over, it had been an exercise in futility. I left it at a level stare, doing my best not to add fuel to the flames. When he realized nothing else would come from me, he shrugged. “Guess those are boots too large to fill by just anyone. Plus, it must be really inconvenient to be in charge of the men supposedly keeping the scavengers in check when you’re in bed with them.”
Maybe it was because of where my mind kept wandering, or maybe just a lucky guess, but having one more asshole accusing me of lusting after Lewis’s ass was too much.
Narrowing my eyes on him, I gave Greene my best I-can-break-your-neck-without-breaking-a-sweat look. He didn’t blanch but raised his hands in appeasement. Seemed like I’d picked up a few tricks along the line after all.
“What I meant to say was I know you and Zilinsky have been running your intel-exchange program for years, and I can’t imagine that makes you particularly popular with the non-affiliated scavenger scum, but judging from your reaction, you really don’t like people observing just how much you’re slobbering over Bree Lewis’s ass. You really need to work on your game face, boy.”
I swallowed the remark that, while older, Greene couldn’t have more than ten years on me. “Since you know so much, you probably also know I was there, watching, when they took her apart? The last thing I feel for that woman is physical attraction.”
Greene’s demeanor didn’t change, but he seemed to realize he wasn’t getting much more out of me than that. “As if that had anything to do with it,” he muttered, triumphant when I couldn’t quite quench a frown. It was obvious that this was a conversation I couldn’t win—and thus didn’t even try. I needed Greene’s cooperation for exactly one thing: transport. And since his ship was lugging us north into Oregon, I was content to leave it at that. There was no need to be happy about it.
Two days later, we were back on dry land, and a long day’s march with the Humvee trundling behind had us arrive at the base near what used to be Roseburg, OR. I’d only passed through once, early in the first year after the apocalypse. Back then it had been barely more than a fortified camp that had made it through the winter against all odds. Now, it was one of our more independent supply posts, more of a trading station than actual military installation. It was here—or close by—where Lewis’s people had more than once dropped off some of the goods they were ready to part with. Technically, they were part of the Army, but it stood to reason that status was debatable since they had at least as much contact with the scavengers in California, Wyoming, and Utah but also the marines from the Silo over in Montana and a second installation in Idaho. The fact that it took us almost an hour to make it through their defensive positions explained why none of the other scavengers had managed to pull off a successful raid against them. I’d never met their commander, a certain Major Donahue, but he had the reputation of a level-headed man and keen tactician—pretty much the opposite of the reputation Hamilton had thrived on cultivating, and since I was still considered “one of his men,” I didn’t count on too friendly a reception. I was also dropping off my handful of infiltrators that were none too keen on being back in the army’s bosom, making this a recipe for disaster. I figured that, if worse came to worst, Hill and Cole would get me out, somehow, if only to rag me about having required rescuing for the entire next decade.
I was surprised when we weren’t sent straight to the barracks but instead got allocated to some form of guest lodgings instead, with the corporal showing us around mentioning to me that Donahue would like to see me the following morning, at my convenience. I told her I was ready for my debriefing whenever the Major wanted, even right away. She smirked rather than appeared taken aback, and I hadn’t yet had a chance to settle in when she informed me I might as well go see the major right away. Her behavior, while not outside of our regulations, reminded me a lot more of how Zilinsky was running her ship than what I was used to. As I made my way to the major’s office, I was seriously asking myself how many of the former serum project soldiers we’d actually managed to gather around us. I knew for a fact that Donahue wasn’t one of them—else he would have outranked Hamilton, and I doubted he’d still have been alive—but while Emily’s records had been impeccable, it must have been easy for a lot of soldiers to conveniently misplace their dog tags or show up with someone else’s.
Donahue was waiting behind his desk for me, quickly offering me a seat after we went through the usual saluting and introduction spiel. Of course I took a seat and was happy to accept some whiskey, particularly since Donahue’s demeanor was warmer th
an I’d expected. He wasn’t one for beating around the bush for long, though, as he quickly proved.
“I see you’re here just to say goodbye to us for good,” he surmised after taking a sip, relaxing back in his chair.
“My commission officially ended three weeks ago,” I explained what he without a doubt already knew. “It seemed weird not to report in after my last patrol, and someone needed to pick up the men from New Angeles as well.”
Donahue laughed softly. “And drop off your vehicle and gear, I’m sure.” When I didn’t react—unsure whether that had been a joke or an accusation of possible theft—he snorted. “Relax, lieutenant. I’m sure you have done enough to earn the right to your gear and that Humvee ten times over. What puzzles me is that the army just let you walk out—and that you’re still ranked as a second lieutenant. I guess serving under someone like Hamilton doesn’t yield to keeping a clean record.”
My first impulse was to simply keep my trap shut and do my very best to bring this conversation to an end. But I was tired, hadn’t eaten much all day, and that booze was proving to be stronger than it had a right to be. Technically, I still needed one more signature—likely Donahue’s—to be officially out of the army, but after what felt like an eternity of keeping my thoughts to myself…
“Permission to speak honestly, sir?”
Donahue didn’t seem surprised at my request. Rather than respond, he pushed a thin manila folder toward me. “Pick it up, son, and you’re a free man. No obligation to salute to me anymore, and unless you call me a lying cheater, I’m not going to take offense at anything you say.”
Curious—not about what was in that folder; that was obvious, but rather about how it would make me feel—I picked it up and opened it, glancing at the single, official-looking document inside. It was weird, seeing my name and rank all spelled out like that, signed with a date that felt even weirder. Unreal wasn’t cutting it. There certainly was no sense of satisfaction inside of me, but also no anger or resentment. Dreams died quietly nowadays, it seemed. Closing the folder again, I balanced it on the edge of the desk while I leaned back in my chair, getting more comfortable.
“I feel like they kicked me out more than let me go,” I explained when Donahue was still waiting for my response. “Would I have gladly stayed, even after being passed up for promotion for the entirety of my active duty? Yes, but since this is no longer the army that I wanted to join since I was a little boy, I’m not heartbroken that this part of my life is over. And, to answer your question: yes, I was involved in my share of actions that could—and maybe should—have yielded me a dishonorable discharge or demotion in times of peace, but we both know we don’t live in peaceful times. None of this is my fault, except for maybe staying on a sinking ship when I’ve had years to realize I should have jumped already.”
Donahue seemed strangely bewildered by my speech but then gave me a lopsided smirk as he toasted me. “To us bastards too stubborn to quit.”
“To us bastards,” I toasted back, feeling strangely light, maybe even elated, all of a sudden.
Donahue put his tumbler back on the table. “I won’t insult you by giving you the re-signup talk then,” he offered. “You’re too young to be done with war yet, and I have a feeling you already have an idea where you’re headed next.”
I couldn’t help but smirk. “Well, considering I already called ahead with this proposition, I’d be surprised if you didn’t.”
He pursed his lips. “What can I say? Even if we didn’t constantly track what’s going on along the free trade routes, there was a massive scramble of activity that kicked off in several locations almost simultaneously a little over a week ago. I could have ignored New Angeles and the California coast people, but when the Silo switched up duty rosters from one day to the next and raised their defcon levels, I wasn’t going to pretend to be blind and wait for a bomb to drop in my lap.”
“So Zilinsky didn’t already call you?” That honestly surprised me.
Donahue snorted softly. “Actually, she did, but mostly to ensure that we’d stay down in the event that she scrambled her people. A remarkable woman—and not someone who I’d want to cross. I presume since you know her by name, your paths have crossed?”
I inclined my head. “A few times. But I’m more familiar with some of her friends.”
I got another snort for that. “Yeah, I heard that you were a part of the mission overseas that forced Nate Miller to jump through a lot of hoops. I’m honestly surprised anyone came back from that alive.”
“Because it was so obviously a suicide mission?” I ventured a guess.
“Because I’ve met both Miller and Hamilton, and the world hasn’t been large enough to hold both of them at the same time for a long, long time.”
For whatever reason, that statement intrigued me… and I figured I had a better chance getting him to talk if I divulged a little bit of what I knew first. “I would have agreed with you—on both accounts—if I hadn’t been there to see it with my own eyes when Miller changed his mind about continuing to play that stupid game of theirs. In the end, misguided as his brutish ways often were, I think Hamilton still cared more about their former friendship than Miller himself. Else, he wouldn’t have gone to great lengths to warn Miller and make sure that he could get away once Miller had decided to drop off the face of the earth.”
Donahue looked surprised but only for a second. “It was about time they got their shit together.” When he caught my without a doubt astonished look in turn, he laughed. “I met them—both—long before they made captain and got admitted into the program. If there were ever two men hellbent on destroying the world with their inane, egomaniacal rivalry, my bet would have been on them.” He paused as if to give me a chance to contradict him. When I didn’t, he grimaced. “I can’t say much about Hamilton since I’m sure he has painstakingly preserved his reputation over the years and built on it, but when I heard that Miller had gotten himself kicked out, I actually thought, good for him. Ambition can drive any man too far, and that certainly must have been the case with him. When I heard his name crop up among the surviving scavengers, I wasn’t surprised as much as felt like he was using the second chance life had somehow dealt him, particularly considering what other familiar names popped up alongside him. Makes one wonder if we’d be in the same situation now if the brass hadn’t continued to mess with him.”
That was a point of contention all across our fine nation. I was surprised Donahue wasn’t more brutal with voicing the opinion most army personnel shared—that Miller and Lewis were solely to blame for all the bad that had kept happening after our mission to France. I, of course, had the advantage of knowing a little more than most people.
Mostly to be diplomatic, I offered what I felt was the safer response. “He’s only one man. And from what I’ve come to know about him, it has been a while since he tried to drag anyone to hell alongside him.”
Donahue allowed himself a mirthless smile. “You would know, wouldn’t you?” I thought he meant because of our shared mission, until he added, “It was you who compiled that bullshit psych profile on his wife, right?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I may have forgotten to update it after I actually got to know her. That doesn’t change anything, though.”
“It doesn’t?” he mused. “And here I thought you had dropped by, asking for volunteers to come along when you join her for the rescue effort she is mounting.”
I hadn’t intended to keep this a secret, so I was kind of glad the cat was out of the bag. “I am. I still have a few connections—”
“You can keep your favors for a later date,” he said, not letting me end that sentence. “I have several volunteers among my men who wouldn’t mind coming along. I’d prefer to have them back eventually, but two of them have worked with Miller in the past, and I couldn’t hold it against them if they decided to switch sides, should he still be alive and give them cause to. To make the messy matter of command easier on you, I’d be happy
to hold on to that folder for you for, let’s say, another few months, if you are willing to stick with us for a while longer? I can’t give you the promotion you very likely deserve, but I can guarantee that they will follow your orders both to the letter and in good faith. As much as I personally may be critical of your former commanding officer, most of my men think he’s a hero. I’ll leave it up to you to sell them on why they need to risk their lives rescuing his declared nemesis.”
I didn’t need to see his self-satisfied smile to realize he wouldn’t take no for an answer—and I would have been stupid to decline that offer. “Much obliged,” I said as I tipped back my tumbler, finishing off the whiskey before pushing the folder back across the table to him. “It would be great if you could hold on to this for a while longer. I’ll be back to pick it up once I’m done.”
He accepted that with a gracious nod. “I can forward it elsewhere for your convenience. Southern California, maybe? Or over the mountains to Montana? I know you’ve met Wilkes, and whatever grief Hamilton must have given him over the years, I’m sure he’d accept you into the ranks of his marines if you asked nicely. I can put in a good word for you if you’d accept that.”
The offer surprised me but it was easy for me to decline. “I’ll be back for it myself. Maybe once this is all over and done, I’ll have my answer on what to do with the rest of my life.”
And so it came that, after getting some R&R on the base and having a few days to familiarize myself with my new team, we set out east to southeast for the long trek across the country. In the middle of nowhere, Nebraska, we made camp for a day to let a second train of vehicles catch up to ours, ambling south from where they had set out from Montana—a bunch of marines, headed to the very same gathering point as we were. I’d passingly met Sergeant Blake and certainly knew Sergeant Buehler, finding myself with a real smile once again on my face at seeing someone familiar still alive. Judging from her return grin, that was one reunion to look forward to—if not for my twin asshole shadows, only too happy to comment on the situation.
Beyond Green Fields | Book 6 | Red's Diary [ A Post-Apocalyptic Story] Page 8