The bathroom was fully stocked, including towels, toiletries, and even a toothbrush—an electric one. Also an electric shaver, which was too bad since I wouldn’t have minded dismantling a plastic one to get to the razorblades, but I would make do without. I hadn’t exactly reveled in the dereliction of hygiene over the years but I’d never missed the army dropping its grooming standards pretty quickly in the zombie apocalypse.
Ignoring all that, I stepped into the shower.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stood for ten minutes straight under a hot shower that pelted me with the perfect pressure and amount of water. Sure, we’d had limited electricity at virtually all bases, but I’d ended up spending little time there overall, and what electricity was available was needed for other things when soldiers could heat up water in tanks or over open fires and use that instead. Had I snuck into the lab proper for the odd hot shower they had in there a few times, and if I had been lucky even with Emily in tow? Yes, but that had been almost as rare as eating anything sweet. And here, there were no regulations on not wasting precious water or electricity, the entire room lit to a point where there were barely any shadows.
The sensation of the water cascading down my body, taking with it what felt like decades of grime was heavenly—but that wasn’t why I remained standing there, first with my face tilted up into the spray, then with my hands against the tile wall, letting the water hit my upper back. I needed to think, and in here was likely the only place where I could do so undisturbed, and without anyone seeing me grimace.
They were still alive—that was great news. More so, she was still alive—meaning Bree Lewis. It was kind of strange having to remind myself that I was obsessing over her—that was the best cover story for my believable desertion, I figured. She’d turned my head around and then she’d broken my heart, and now I was too jaded to give a fuck. I hated how much of a whiny bitch that made me. I also hated that some of it felt a little too close to the truth. Most of all I hated that I still had no fucking clue what was going on here, and what little morsels of information I’d managed to gather along the way posed more new questions than they answered.
Like what the fuck was going on with Hamilton’s sister, of all people? How was she involved? How had she even gotten involved?
One thing I tentatively accepted as truth: Decker wasn’t here, and I had a feeling he hadn’t been alive in a long, long time. Something about Guinevere and Marleen’s behavior made me think that they were in charge, and quite used to it—mostly Guinevere. What Marleen’s position was I wasn’t so sure of—security consultant? All things considered, even if she’d set out from here to meet up with Zilinsky and Lewis, she must have been gone a good three months, which meant someone else would have to run the day-to-day business here—for defense and offense. I hadn’t forgotten her throw-away comments about having killed at least one of our current presidents—not that I had had a clue that we even had one. Theoretically speaking, sure, somewhere in a bunker someone would eventually have assumed that title, but with no one else the wiser and no connection to the rest of the nation, it wasn’t much more than words. Why had none of us ever heard of any of that? And between being Hamilton’s second in command and Morris’s running boy, I would have heard of something had either one of them or the settlements known anything. Even before things had gone to shit the year after our mission to France, most larger settlements had assumed some kind of government position for the territory they could defend, including the Silo, New Angeles, but also Dispatch. Maybe their leaders had heard but had decided to ignore any claims that would, to a point, take power away from them?
Marleen would know more about Decker’s whereabouts. I figured I’d get further with her than Guinevere since I’d already offended her and she’d given no indication that she could stand me at all, while Marleen had, if anything, shown me a weird kind of trust by dropping the persona she slipped into when dealing with people who had no fucking clue what she was capable of. That boded well, although I had no delusions about her feeling possible regret at having to kill me. I would need to tread very lightly around her—but at least with her, I knew where she was coming from… mostly.
What I didn’t get at all was why whatever was going on here was directed against Miller… and possibly Hamilton, too. I hadn’t missed Guinevere questioning my assumption that it was just about Miller and Lewis, her possibly caught up as collateral damage. Looking back, it had been highly suspicious that Hamilton had suddenly disappeared with nobody knowing anything and him immediately assumed as killed in action. Most soldiers went months, if not years before officially getting the KIA treatment… and I couldn’t ignore where he’d turned up again. Then there was the whole thing with the Chemist infecting the scavengers, and Marleen’s plan to make sure none of our group—except for us—got out of the Dallas installation…
Of course, I could have connected the dots and made up my own theories. Then again, why bother if I stood a good chance of one of these insane bitches delighting in detailing her plans to me, come tomorrow? The tactic of leaving me in the dark so I’d have to be the one to volunteer information and help first was rather textbook… and that for a reason.
I could have easily spent the entire night letting my thoughts chase each other around like a cat going after its own tail.
Instead, I cleaned myself—including my teeth—dressed, and went to bed, hoping that tomorrow would bring new insights and not my quick, efficient execution.
Sleep was a long way from coming, though—the bed was too soft, the room was too uniformly dark, and the hum of the air conditioning unit too unfamiliar. My body might have been screaming for rest but my mind was still a long, long way from getting ready to shut down. So I did the only thing I could: I waited.
I ended up getting a few hours of mostly troubled sleep. When I checked my watch for what felt like the millionth time and it was past 6 a.m., I decided I had gotten all the rest I could and turned the lights on, then grabbed another shower just for the fun of it. Well-stocked as the room was—in comparison to what I had to make do with for the past four years—it obviously was a prison cell, providing me just enough comforts to lull me into a false sense of complacency. A quick round of rooting through what few compartments there were, I only came up with the clothes I had already sifted through and the remote for the TV. Since there were no books stashed—not even a bible—I turned on the TV, more out of boredom than a need for entertainment. Just like everything else, it reminded me awfully of the creature comforts of years past, if with no news channels available. I zapped through a few movies and shows—most well over a decade old, and all of the feel-good variety—some children’s programs, and the odd documentaries. It was on one of those that I got stuck, not because it was interesting but because the views of cities, once so familiar, bustling with people and cars, was alien now. I found myself glued to the screen, the subject of the documentary not even registering. Not even half a decade ago, that had been our day-to-day life, and now it was gone forever.
A knock on the door finally broke the spell. I wondered if I should get up but since I had no way of actually opening the door, I simply turned off the TV and called out for whoever was lurking outside to come in. Not much of a surprise, it was Marleen. She was wearing fresh clothes but of the kind that was rather familiar to me and didn’t look out of place on her—cargo pants, boots, and a tight-fitting black thermal. She’d cleaned up and must have gotten more sleep than me, judging from the lack of dark circles underneath her eyes. She wasn’t wearing any weapons that I could see, which didn’t surprise me. Intent aside, she must have been aware that I could overwhelm her in hand-to-hand combat, but why would I even try as I was playing nice—or at least pretending to? Yet possibly giving me a weapon I could wrest away from her wasn’t a bright idea. That, and she hardly needed one, which I was sure she was also well aware of.
She also wasn’t carrying any food, which made at least my stomach instantly disappointed. I still had half of th
e candy bar left from yesterday, but that wasn’t exactly suited for breakfast. “Good morning,” I offered as a greeting, remaining sitting stretched out on the bed. She closed the door behind her—presumably without the locks engaging—and regarded me levelly.
“Getting comfortable, I see,” she observed, then smirked when she noticed the candy bar on my nightstand. “Didn’t manage the entire thing, huh? Yeah, we get that sometimes from those who’ve been too far removed from civilization for a while. Takes a couple of weeks to acclimatize.”
I swallowed the remark that most of the world wouldn’t agree with her judgment of what counted as civilized, although it wasn’t hard to guess how she’d come to that conclusion. Instead I stretched before cozying further into the pillow bunched up underneath my lower back. “Unfamiliar, yes. But I could get used to this again.” She kept regarding me levelly—and way too neutrally—making me wonder if she was waiting for me to make a wrong move, or was this simply her in standby mode where she didn’t bother pretend like she was any more human than this. It was time to get myself out of my current situation where all I could do was be passive. “Not that I don’t welcome the distraction of your company, but why are you here? Are you finally going to let me in on what is going on here?”
Marleen went as far as to offer me a thoughtful expression, which could only be fake. I was sure that she knew exactly how much she was ready to share, and where she’d continue stonewalling me.
“You don’t have to whore yourself out to survive, you know?” she proposed. “I’m not deluded enough not to see that I didn’t actually give you a choice. You’re a survivor—of course you went along. And because you’re a smart cookie, you did a passably good attempt at selling me on the idea of your usefulness, presumably so I’d keep you alive. None of that is necessary. I can’t let you go—for now, until our current situation has resolved itself. We’ll keep you in here—comfortable, well fed, maybe somewhat bored. I can let you have an hour in the gym each day if you want that. You won’t be allowed to roam free, but I’m sure you’ve been through worse than this.”
“And after whatever you are waiting for has passed?”
She shrugged. “Then you’re free to leave. We’ll drop you off somewhere far enough away that you can’t become an immediate threat to us, laughable as that very idea is.”
“Just like that?”
Marleen chuckled. “Don’t sound so surprised. I have no reason why I should want to kill you. What do I stand to gain? Nothing. See, being completely insignificant can be a survival trait, too.”
That stung—as it was supposed to. I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “True. But what if I want to stay? And, don’t get me wrong, this is comfortable and all that shit, but I’ve always been someone who thrives on having a purpose. Why not give me some?”
She pursed her lips as she leaned against the wall next to the bed. “And here’s the point where I stop trusting you.”
“Why?”
“Because what incentive do you have to betray the people you must still consider your friends?”
I hated that the scoff I offered her wasn’t all fake. “Great friends those are,” I muttered, then made a show of adopting a more serious position, which was quite the feat with me pretty much sitting on the bed in my pajamas. There went nothing, I figured, giving it my best. “I think you got a few things about me and certain affiliations a little wrong.”
“Like the fact that you’re lusting after the most unavailable woman in the galaxy?” she jeered, although it was a teasing one.
I grimaced. “Stupid as it may sound, it took the last two weeks for me to figure out exactly how much of a losing battle I’m fighting.” She waited for more, and I was ready to provide it. “Yes, I’m not denying that I set out to ride to Bree Lewis’s rescue—but that was when I was a hundred percent certain that what I was actually doing was helping her retrieve her husband’s corpse, and what better moment to make my move than when she was angry and stupid with grief? And yes, I know how that sounds. I never said I wasn’t selling myself short.”
Marleen’s eyes narrowed. “I was just about to point out that you’re too smart to be that stupid.”
I did my best to shrug her criticism off. “Just because I know a thing or two about how the human mind works doesn’t mean I’m immune to all its many pitfalls. I have no idea why I let it happen, but over the course of the past years I’ve somehow become obsessed with that woman.” I barked a harsh laugh there, not just as a mental pause but because it was pathetically true. “Can you believe it? I bought into her savior complex. I actually thought she and her people could help, since not having her around meant the world was sliding ever deeper into shit territory. I guess being the man who she’d deem worthy standing by her side gave me kind of a god complex, too. Of course, none of that came to pass, and I got front-row seats to watching her not only walling herself further off from me, but proving quite succinctly that she still thinks of me as a child, and completely redundant. Don’t you think that it makes sense that even the most fucked-up loser eventually manages to pull himself together and realize that he’s better off not being someone else’s fly-by punching bag?” I made a show of looking around the room. “And yes, this is quite comfortable. I’ve gone without any comfort for over four years now. Why don’t I deserve something like this?”
If my words rang true to her, she didn’t show it, making me wonder if I was digging myself a hole—or grave.
“Look,” I said, trying again. “I’m not saying I subscribe to whatever ideology you’re following here. I can’t say because, frankly? Nobody has told me shit. If anything, coming here has shown me that I know even less than I thought I knew. Try selling this to me.” I winced when I realized how that came out. Marleen rewarded it with a wry grin. “Not like that… although I distinctly remember already telling you I’m game if you are. What I meant is, convince me that you’re right. It’s not too hard, considering I’m just coming off a succession of disillusioned dreams bursting right in my face. True, Bree Lewis ignoring me might not make me want to torture and kill her, but I’m not too fond of putting myself between her and harm right now. As for Miller and Hamilton—if I’d known they were still alive in the arena, I’d have tried my very best to let them rot where they belong.”
Marleen took her time considering—without a doubt a very successful tactic to wear down my patience—before she gave an almost dismissive shrug. “I presume that, by now, you know who Guinevere is?”
“Not really,” I muttered, then quickly amended that to, “I know she’s Hamilton’s sister. Gita told me as much when she realized how much of an idiot bumbling around in the dark I was.” I figured I could share that much, considering it wasn’t exactly throwing her under the bus. Establishing that the two of us talked might make it easier for me to not appear suspicious if I later asked for a chance to chat with the young hacker. Marleen raised her brow, making me volunteer what little intel I could cough up. “I was vaguely aware he had a sister because of something he mentioned to Miller in France, but that’s as far as my knowledge goes. It sounded very much like something Miller did caused the rift between him and Hamilton. Considering her age at that time, I’m not sure I want to know.”
If anything, Marleen seemed amused by that sentiment. “It’s what he didn’t do,” she clarified but immediately shut up once more. “I can tell you what, if you want to know, but I doubt you’d still be in the mood to fuck me afterward. That is, if you are still in the mood? It’s not going to grant you any favors, if that was your thinking.”
This time, my laugh was a hundred percent real as I pushed myself farther down onto the bed into a lying position, patting the mattress around me invitingly. “Nothing about that has changed. And I do like to keep sex non-transactional.”
She still looked slightly bemused but then grabbed the hem of her shirt to pull it off, the bra underneath following suit. Her upper body still looked pretty much like I remembered—fit, but dec
idedly on the well-fed side of the spectrum, which wasn’t quite that normal anymore nowadays. Thankfully, my body had fewer issues with complying than my mind, so by the time she was done taking off her boots and pants, I was halfway to ready. At her playful snort, I quickly shirked my own clothes. She perfectly pounced on me, appearing playful enough that it kind of gave me emotional whiplash until I realized she was back to channeling the persona she’d put on when we’d first met. I was eager to grab her head and pull it down so I could kiss her as she climbed on me, but halted there, with our faces close enough to almost touch.
“There’s no need for you to act around me,” I whisper-said, trying hard to convey sincerity. “If anything, knowing how you really are makes you even hotter.”
She went still for a second, her eyes boring into mine before she pulled back slightly, making my hands drop away from her face. Reaching down, she grabbed them, bringing them up to her breast. “Do I scare you?” she asked in a throaty voice that was very appropriate for the situation while her words were not.
“Yes,” I admitted. “Sometimes.”
“Right now?” Her hands were squeezing mine so it was only sensible to propagate the motion. She let go once I’d gotten the message, reaching for my dick, clearly intent on not drawing this out much.
“A little,” I said, then switched my grip down to around her lower torso to keep her in place even when I sat up. She dug her nails in what could only be perceived as a warning, yet rather than flip her over or pull some other shit to prove I was the taller, heavier, stronger one, I just used the repositioning so I could reach the side of her neck with my lips—and after licking and sucking there until she relaxed, I lightly scraped my teeth along the column of her neck in an approximation of the lightest of bites. “But that only makes you hotter, too,”
Marleen smiled down at me—and it was not a nice or gentle smile. And then we didn’t talk for a while, otherwise occupied.
Beyond Green Fields | Book 6 | Red's Diary [ A Post-Apocalyptic Story] Page 14