Beyond Green Fields | Book 6 | Red's Diary [ A Post-Apocalyptic Story]

by Lecter, Adrienne

  “I’m not—” I hissed—not quite sure which part of her slew of accusations I was protesting—but she would have none of that.

  “Richards, listen to me!” she implored. “It’s all good. You’re out. Back down, sober up, get some chow, sleep if you can. But I’m warning you, if I have to come after you again, I will make sure you can’t physically make it to a third time.”

  I should have laughed at her threat—and it was only theoretically laughable; the way she kept staring, unblinking, into my eyes made it quite plain that it wasn’t an empty one—but humor was the last thing on my mind.

  “You don’t understand—” I started, but this time I was the one who cut me off, my addled brain impotent of forming coherent speech. “I can’t just—”

  “Yes, you can,” Zilinsky went on, a light furrow appearing between her eyebrows now. “I’ve been around idiots like you for way too long not to see the signs. You’re losing it, and I’m not in the mood for digging graves tonight on top of everything else. Go back where you came from. If, come morning, you still feel like you’re crawling out of your skin, I’ll give you something to punch. But until you’re in full control of yourself, back the fuck down.”

  My resentment toward her didn’t exactly wane but found a new target as my irrational thoughts latched onto a new—old—target. “Why do I have to sit this one out while they get to screw each other’s brains out?”

  I thought she was fighting to suppress a grin for a second, but what she directed at me was a misgiving scowl that told me plainly that she thought I was better than this. Normally, she would have been right; now, not so much. Which kind of was the point of our conversation. I felt like my intellect was infinitesimally returning, not that it helped much.

  Cocking her head to the side, Zilinsky took another moment to formulate her response. “Really? You’re making me explain this to you?” When I just kept staring—kind of hoping that she would continue—she finally relented, although doubt crossed her expression. “You’ve been around them for what? Two and a half months, in France? I get that they may have toned it down a little with Hamilton breathing down their necks, but did you never turn around a corner and walked in on them falling out of a desolate house, not quite done straightening their clothes? Or make someone on watch silently laugh his ass off?”

  That damn snapshot forever burned into my memory was an unwelcome reminder, flashing through my mind. Begrudgingly, I finally nodded. “Once.”

  Zilinsky looked borderline impressed, giving me kind of a shrug when I eyed her askance. “Apparently she can keep it in her pants if she has to. Recovery must have kept her back a few weeks.” When I kept staring at her, she snorted. “I’m not going to give you a primer on their relationship. I have better things to do with my life, like count raindrops or stare into space. But this life-affirming, I-don’t-give-a-crap-about-anything-else-but-getting-off is their way of bouncing back to normal, whatever shit has happened.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Do you think I’m stupid? I can take a good guess what happened to him, locked up in there for nine weeks. I know he’s not going to talk to me about it, or anyone else, but if we’re lucky, he’ll tell her so he gets some of the load off his soul before he bundles up all the darkness and shoves it into the dark recesses of his mind, where it’s always too damn crowded in there. He’s not just my commanding officer. He’s one of my oldest friends. I care, and I worry. That right there was as close to knowing I needn’t worry too much as I’m likely ever going to get. I’d be more concerned if they didn’t fuck. Whatever your problem is—with either or both of them—back the fuck off. You’re better than this. I would have expected this level of bullshit from someone like Hamilton, but you’re better than this.”

  “Says who?” I huffed, mostly because the compliment made me feel awkward but also sounded so fucking hollow after the shit we’d all stood by and let happen over the past years. “I knew where they were hiding. Did you know that? I could have told you. Maybe I could have prevented this from happening. Maybe I could have prevented it all from happening! You ever thought about that?!”

  If I’d been waiting for sympathy, I would have died long before I got it, but a look of understanding—maybe even commiseration—appeared on her face.

  “I could have found out if I’d wanted to,” she said, her voice still even, not bothered by my outburst. “And yes, looking back, maybe I should have. Maybe their choice to go into hiding was wrong bordering on delusional, like a selfish bout of wish fulfillment that left all of us the worse for it. They could have prevented so much. Or they could have died for no sense at all and turn things even worse. We’ll never know. There’s no sense in speculating about things you cannot change, so why bother?” She reached out to me, and when all I did was tense slightly, she put a supportive hand on my shoulder, squeezing softly. “I know that survivor’s guilt sucks. It’s a burden we all carry, and we keep heaping on and on, whatever we do. You need to let go.”

  I felt a tremble start, low in my back, and suddenly took all strength and conviction I had not to fall around her neck and sob like a fucking child. The urge got even worse as I felt her grip tighten, turning from simply supportive to something that both felt like an anchor she was offering to me, but also a lifeline she herself needed to cast out not to drown herself. The moment passed, making me feel stupid, but at least I could draw a calm breath once more, and wasn’t quite that ready to hurl myself off the next available cliff.

  As if that shared moment of vulnerability had opened the floodgates, I felt the last of the anger and resentment drain from me, leaving me both empty and with other emotions bubbling up from deep inside of me that had no business getting into the driver’s seat. Things like doubt, loneliness, despair—not exactly what any leader should exude. I let out a ragged breath, hoping to be able to curb the wave building up deep inside of me, threatening to annihilate what was left of my ego and self. I knew that if she opened her mouth and asked what I was thinking, this would be over. I would be over.

  But she didn’t, as if she knew exactly what was going on with me… maybe because she’d been there one too many times herself. Instead, she gave me the smallest of nods—a quick “you and me both”—before giving my shoulder a nudge that both turned me around and sent me stumbling back to where my blanket lay, discarded. It wasn’t dismissal on her part, more of an unspoken instruction for me to take a few to gather myself and get back in the game.

  Only that I didn’t want to. What did it matter, really? I felt like such a joke, on so many levels… and not just because even the women here in camp could single-handedly wipe the floor with me. Rationally, all but Lewis herself had years of experience—and shit they’d survived—on me, and Lewis had had plenty of people intent on giving her as much a boost on the track to awesomeness as possible, while all I’d ever gotten were scraps from a table I’d bent over backwards to get close to. Four years of my life I’d dedicated to what amounted to nothing, and all I had to show for it were scars—both physical and emotional—and a light case of PTSD that wouldn’t simply disappear, no matter how many women I slept with, and no matter how many good soldiers I lost in the field. I was worth shit as a commander, the only two soldiers I hadn’t managed to get killed constantly making fun of me, behind my back and to my face. Gallager didn’t count, for whatever reason. And the events of today had proved that I wasn’t even a good operator, working independently out in the field. I’d barely been more than a weight around Lewis’s neck as she set to getting the job done. All she’d needed me for was my upper body strength to yank out that loosened iron bar in front of the cell window—and even that she could have done herself, had she had the full grip strength ten fingers awarded. On top of all that, the second things had looked bad, my knee-jerk reaction had been to go for assisted suicide—very heroic.

  As if thinking of her had summoned her, Lewis stepped out of the hallway, now wearing dry clothes and shoveling food into her mouth, glancing after Miller, wh
o was already talking animatedly with Zilinsky and a few others. Her face looked unnaturally pale—probably a trick the scant lighting was playing on me—and with her spoon momentarily forgotten in her bowl, she stared listlessly after the others, like a wraith standing apart from those she was haunting. It was her expression that made me think of that analogy, that word—haunted. Very much a “I’ve seen some shit” look on her face, probably closer to “heard,” though. As if she was able to feel my attention on her, she suddenly glanced over to me, our gazes crossing for just a second. I felt as if she could see right through all the bullshit I kept putting up as a front to hide behind; my fears, doubts, and darkest thoughts. And right there, I wanted her to see; to know. Not because I was lusting after her and wanted her to reciprocate.

  No, right then, all I needed her to be was a friend.

  Before I could make up my mind about what to say or do, she turned away to join the others, visibly pulling herself together, leaving me standing there, cold, alone, and ashamed of myself.

  “Nobody’s expecting you to be a hero, you know?” a gruff, familiar voice said, coming from behind me, as per usual. Of all the dark, despair-filled nights, tonight wasn’t the one where I could take Cole’s usual tough-love ribbing.

  “Leave me the fuck alone,” I spat out, hoping that would be the end of it.

  Rather than do as he was told, Cole remained where he was standing, clearly at ease with the world. “Nah. Not until that message has sunk in for good.”

  Since glaring didn’t help, I tried ignoring him as I went on the hunt for some dry clothes, but the grizzled operative simply continued to shadow me, unperturbed. When I finally couldn’t take it anymore, I rounded on him, trying to use every inch of my height to my advantage but feeling like I was massively failing in intimidating even a fly. “If I can’t get rid of you otherwise then, please, speak your piece.”

  Rather than grin at the temporary win, Cole studied me levelly. “LT, how long have you been doing this schtick? Since the shit hit the fan, right? Going on four years now, with the odd ‘leadership course’ before that?” He even went as far as to raise his hands to do air quotes. The words what that had to do with anything were burning on my tongue but rather than fling them at him, I simply nodded. Cole grimaced. “Wanna know how long I’ve been in the service? Twenty-four fucking years this summer. Hill? Twenty-three. Miller? Hamilton? Zilinsky and her drunk-ass homicidal friend, what’s his name? Romanoff? Just as long, if not longer. We’ve all been through some shit, and a lot of it has been far worse than the damn zombie apocalypse. What’s four years compared to that? Just think what a four-year-old can do. Not even tie his shoes.”

  “How exactly is that supposed to make me feel better?” I griped, feeling, if anything, even more childish.

  Cole snorted. “I’m not telling you this to tear you down. Listen to what I’m saying rather than jump to some weird-as-fuck psycho-analytical shit. Twenty odd years of shit also means twenty odd years of surviving. Of getting through this shit. Of learning to cope with it. Of realizing that you’re still standing not because you’re the best and brightest but of simple dumb luck. That puts things into perspective. That’s the lesson you need to drill into that too-bright mind of yours. Stop fucking measuring yourself against giants. Learn to realize that they aren’t any different than you are. They were just lucky, and too stubborn to die.”

  He maybe had a point—not that I was in any mind to see it right now. “And what about Lewis?” I asked, incapable of keeping venom from dripping from my words. “Four years ago, I at least was ready to accept a commission as a second lieutenant in the army. She was a fucking lab rat who probably couldn’t run five miles without almost dying, and nobody’s giving her the ‘you’re such a fucking child’ talk.”

  If anything, Cole looked highly amused by my griping. “Yeah, well, we can all agree that she’s special.” He said it in a tone not unlike Hamilton would have used—decidedly not as a compliment. “But if you manage to ignore your over-inflated ego for a second, it’s obvious why she’s different. First off, she’s what, ten years older than you?” Seven, but it was close enough for me to leave it at a curt nod. “That means she had the whole of her twenties to get knocked out by the world before her thirties dragged her into famine and war. And while I’m the first to make fun of what she used to do, you do realize that job likely brought her way closer to death on a daily basis than what we used to do, sitting around on base, letting the sun tan our hides? Even ignoring that, there must have been something to her that made Miller take notice and get interested in her, and not just because she was there or convenient or whatnot. She learned her lessons, and likely on a much more time-crunched schedule than you did. I bet you a full day’s rations that sometime during that first year of her learning how to be a badass, someone had this very talk with her. Either then, or during the following year when she became a pain in our asses. She lost people, too. Had to grapple with getting them killed, or having been helpless to prevent it. They were her friends, not just soldiers under her command. None of us really know the details of what shit happened to her, but we know she lived through what must have been her personal nightmares, over and over again—and that was before she had Hamilton sneering in her face each and every damn day. She’s intelligent, no doubt about that, but she’s also too dumb to die. That’s why she’s now standing over there, inserting herself into that briefing, pushing herself right back into the very frontlines—because she doesn’t know when to fold, roll over, and die. She obviously gets off on having the largest balls of anyone in the room, particularly if they are burly guys easily towering over her, but I’m a thousand percent convinced that she’s battling her own demons at times, too. Coming crawling back to her people, begging forgiveness and having to ask literally on her knees to ask for their help couldn’t have been easy—but it was the only thing she could do, so she did it, and now she can play superhero again. So why don’t you check your ego at the door and head on over there to do exactly the same as everyone else? Unless, of course, you want to keep lurking in the dark like some deranged goblin who’s too chickenshit to do what a weak, delusional bitch does?”

  I let out my breath slowly, listening to the rain continue to fall around us as I mulled my options over in my mind—not that I had many options. “Your pep talks suck,” I told Cole when I felt marginally more ready. All he had for me was a grin and a mock salute that should have gotten him a demotion as he stepped back out into the rain, almost immediately disappearing as he melted into the night.

  With nothing better to do, I did what he’d told me to do and went to join the others, as ready as I was going to get any time soon, still high, exhausted, hungry, and feeling emotionally drained.

  Not that it got any better any time soon.

  Not when Miller revealed why he really wanted to raze the slaver camp to the ground: Hamilton was still alive, not dead as we had thought but the reigning champion of the arena.

  Not when we actually pulled off the assault—including minimal casualties, but mostly because the scavengers refused to fight for the camp as soon as they realized who was leading the charge—only to find the man responsible for most that had happened there days gone.

  Not when Hamilton and Lewis, in what must have been the weirdest, most uncoordinated press conference ever, revealed that yes, everyone who had gotten the serum was inevitably dying, we just didn’t know it yet.

  Not when Lewis first went through days of utterly ignoring me before practically plastering herself to my side as soon as we set out for Dallas—a city of millions before the virus ravaged the world, and now still in the grip of the undead.

  Not when I had to watch helplessly as Gallager bit it in an absolute fumble of a move, pretty much putting an end to my command since Cole and Hill were mostly doing their own thing and only listened to me when it was convenient anyway, and there was nobody else left relying on me.

  Not when we breached the compound, and Lewis a
nd Miller were doing their hero thing again, with Hamilton tagging along like a resentful shadow. Of course they cornered the bad guy and saved the day, albeit it was a victory that tasted stale to all of us since we had to come to terms with the fact that all the scientists that had been working on the faulty serum were dead, as were half of the people we had set out with toward Dallas, most others wounded.

  High on her triumph and eager to sift through the scientists’ notes, Lewis once again turned completely oblivious to my presence, ignoring anything that wasn’t written by someone with at least her amount of academic titles or came in the form of her husband’s dick, I was sure, ignoring that he looked a hair-line trigger away from losing himself for good.

  And still I found myself wandering the dirty, blood-stained corridors of the lab complex long after everyone else had crashed, hoping for… what, I didn’t even know anymore. Maybe a smile from her, or a few encouraging words.

  Wasn’t that what friends were for?

  Wasn’t that a leader’s duty to her subordinates?

  Few things made me feel as pathetic as needing that validation from her, and being desperate enough to go seek it.

  I was very happy indeed to run into Marleen outside the connective hub with the last row of labs where I knew Lewis must be lurking somewhere. Everything was better than feeling quite that pathetic, over and over again. I was vaguely aware that maybe I should have felt at least somewhat guilty about more or less ignoring Marleen for the most part since she’d shown up next to Zilinsky and Lewis at the big powwow, but then she hadn’t dropped more than a passing comment in my direction—until now.

  She drew up short when she saw me rounding the corner but relaxed as soon as she recognized me, giving me a lazy smile. “Hey there, soldier,” she crooned playfully as she waited for me to catch up to her. “What brings you down here?” While her smile was inviting bordering on lascivious, her tone turned a different kind of teasing. “Someone sent you to deliver a message, maybe? Are the parents still not talking to each other so that the kids need to arbitrate between them?”