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

by Lecter, Adrienne

  I wasn’t the only one who was getting increasingly antsy. Mid-afternoon—several hours after our guests could have arrived but were still biding their time—Guinevere charged into the meeting room where Marleen, five of her team, and I were waiting.

  “What the fuck is taking them so long?” she bit out, as if any one of us could answer that.

  Marleen regarded her levelly, with just a hint of irritation visible in the tension of her shoulders. “You’ve waited this long. A few more hours won’t kill you.”

  Guinevere glared at her as if that might very well become Marleen’s instant fate. Marleen, as usual, ignored her. No one else was stupid enough to speak up.

  For the first time—and in stark contradiction to the warning the assassin had given me mere days ago—I was starting to wonder on whose side Marleen really was. Her own, obviously—and the fact that she’d almost managed to kill Lewis had sealed her fate since neither Lewis herself nor Miller in this case would consider going the turn-the-other-cheek route. Yet while Guinevere heavily depended on her, the same couldn’t be said the other way round. From what little I’d gleaned in overhearing conversations going on around here, Marleen had spent most of the time since the apocalypse outside of the bunker, usually only returning when she had a concrete reason for it—like now, waiting for the doomsday trio to roll up to the front gate. I hadn’t forgotten about her downright joking about killing presidents and whatnot—and that hadn’t happened in here. As impressive as the celebrity roster was that Guinevere had assembled for whatever fucked-up reason—her personal amusement, maybe—none of them were in any shape or form involved in politics. Then again, I myself hadn’t felt like our fine country still had any external leadership left for years beyond the balance struck between the settlements and all mobile forces on the roads between them. How many other completely shut-off from the outside world communities were there?

  More importantly, did it matter? To me, not at all.

  I couldn’t wait for Miller to barge in here. At least that would put an end to this excruciating boredom!

  Another hour passed, filled with Guinevere’s pacing, until Gita appeared in the doorway, grabbing a remote to turn on one of the displays in the room. It showed a sequence of satellite images, super-imposed on a map of the area. “They just breached our ten-mile perimeter,” she explained when Guinevere’s attention fell on her. “They should be here within thirty minutes.”

  A flurry of activity rose up around me, making it—yet again—obvious that everyone except for me had tasks to do. Two men went outside while five others entered, Marleen and Guinevere disappearing to do whatever the fuck they needed to do to get ready. I hardly noticed that Gita gravitated toward me until she was suddenly casually leaning against the back of my chair.

  “It’s a countdown,” she murmured, barely loud enough for me to catch. “I’ve timed it to irregular flickers in the electricity of the light fixtures in this level. They don’t know about it, if they’re following my instructions. I need you to help me get them aware of it.”

  She was gone as soon as she’d gotten the last word out, leaving me sitting there, stunned, on my own. Okay…

  It was obvious who she was referring to with “they,” although I wondered why Miller, Lewis, and Hamilton shouldn’t know about that plan. Operational security once again? It didn’t make any sense to me, but so be it. It wasn’t like I could do anything but follow what little instructions I got myself.

  I was so fucking done with this clandestine shit. Give me the undead or tripped-out savages any day and I’m happy. But this…

  And again, nothing I could do about that now.

  Frustration sat like a bitter taste in the back of my mouth, but knowing that there was an end to this boredom and forced period of uselessness made me giddy… except that it didn’t. All I felt—physically—was a light flutter in my stomach, barely cataloguing as excitement. The idea of dinner might have elicited something similar. Idly, I found the pulse point in my opposite wrist and counted my heartbeats for ten seconds. Eleven, making that an average heart rate of sixty-six—low but in the normal range.

  Not so much when my body should have been keying up for what could be the penultimate fight of my life, fear and hope doing its own to kick my metabolism up a notch or two. Except that none of that was happening. It was tantalizingly easy to relax and wait for something to happen, or, quite possibly, even ignore it.

  What the fuck was wrong with me?

  It wasn’t just me, though, I realized as I scanned the remaining people in the room, technicians and guards alike. None of them actually looked alert let alone alarmed, what Guinevere’s general moodiness should have elicited, and that without knowing that shit was about to go down. There was no fidgeting going on, no hushed conversations or concerned looks. Come to think of it, with the exception of Gita, I hadn’t seen anyone showing outside signs of agitation the entirety of my stay here, not even as we’d watched Marleen’s forces get slaughtered in Utah—and Gita was still mainlining coffee as if her life depended on it, making her jumpy as fuck, which had served nicely to hide any show of anxiety related to my presence. Everyone else was calm.

  No, scratch that. They were docile.

  Leaning back in my chair, I exhaled slowly, trying to do a physical check on myself as I forced my body to relax, then tense. My reaction time was shit, and try as I might, I couldn’t tap into that knot of fury deep in my stomach that almost instantly let my metabolism shoot into the stratosphere. Like everyone else ever inoculated with the serum, it had taken me a few weeks to properly control that switch, but once I’d gone through the process a few times, I could instantly access it. Unlike some, I’d never had issues flying off the handle, so triggering it in a measured fashion was something I’d had to learn to control. And it was still there, ready, waiting—but even slamming a best-of version of the most horrific things I’d seen in the past four years through my mind didn’t even manage to raise my pulse.

  I tried to think hard when I’d last felt more energetic than a useless dishrag.

  I knew for a fact that in my first few days here, it had still worked. When Marleen had offhandedly explained to me what was going on here—and why—I’d spend a good twenty-four hours putting a dampener on that very switch because my mind had automatically tried to key up whenever my control slipped—and that had been a very slippery slope. The quick trip to Dispatch? I hadn’t had much need to be more than averagely alert, but driving through the wilderness with no weapon and barely any backup should have made me antsy as hell… yet I had the memories of a pleasant sortie in my mind instead, not a Hail-Mary run as our only chance to drop the second letter off so Lewis and Miller could get their grubby hands on it. The few workouts I’d done after that had been easy runs on the treadmill and a few pushups—not exactly the bone-crushing, push-to-exhaustion routine I’d kept up whenever possible.

  Looked like someone had put me on a sedative—and judging from everyone around me showing a similar lack of enthusiasm or worry, I hadn’t been the only one affected.

  It wasn’t hard to guess how they’d gone about it—virtually everything I put in my body was controlled by my environment. I had been allowed to collect my food from the common area restaurants but that didn’t mean I’d refused the sandwiches that Marleen had been constantly feeding me whenever we’d been in a meeting together. Now that I was thinking about it, what was the source of the meat I had been eating for so long? I hadn’t asked for a complete tour of the bunker, expecting that would have only made me look even more suspicious, but nobody had ever talked about stables, pens, or coops. How close to going full-on Soylent Green were they?

  But, no—it was much easier to put it in the water. Since we weren’t all getting water by the bucketful from a well, it ran through a treatment system, anyway, so why not add a little something to keep the populace happy and quiet?

  Gita knew; that’s why all that coffee. With her job—and related stereotypes—nobody
would think twice about it. She also remained one of the most non-threatening people I’d ever met, and that was including all of us likely owing our lives to her repeatedly in France. I knew nothing about her background except for her hacking skills, even after spending over a year and a half around her. That made me a truly shitty friend, I realized—but then, I’d never tried to actively befriend her. We had been friendly, but that was about it. All the better for now, but it still made me feel like shit. Only a little, because the sedative took care of that almost immediately as well.

  Still, Marleen must have made sure I’d gotten a heavier dose, because if it could affect me like this, it would have easily knocked out anyone not running on a super-charged metabolism. Which made sense considering she didn’t trust me—as she’d warned me. Presumably, nothing I’d done had tipped her off but she must still consider me the most likely danger to her plans.

  And it made sense—she’d based her strategy for Utah partly on my input, and the same was true now. All things considered, it was easy to guess that anything I planned to do would involve my physical intervention to help the three musketeers about to arrive at our doorstep. What easier way to take me out than to make me physically incapable of doing much of anything?

  That realization made me want to throw my head back and roar with laughter. So much for my utter, deep-seated frustration with being delegated to errand boy while Gita was the mastermind and driving force behind everything. It was a brilliant plan—and I had a feeling I knew where she’d gotten it. It was right along the lines of how Lewis usually operated, if in the other direction. Everyone always underestimated her, paving the way for her to become a lethal surprise. I had a feeling the same would be true very, very soon, particularly if everyone thought I was the obvious threat.

  I could do that—be the useless focus for everyone’s attention when I could hardly do shit and had no clue about virtually anything. That was pretty much the story of my life—but I was self-aware enough to realize my ego didn’t need more. Recognition would be nice, but if I didn’t get it, so be it.

  The only thing I cared about was to put an end to this farce of a power struggle.

  Marleen returned fifteen minutes later to fetch me. She’d changed into combat gear, looking as ferocious as her slight stature could make her. I regarded her calmly as she walked over to me, and when I saw the frown briefly crossing her features, I smiled. Let her make of that what she wished. All the better if it made her paranoia skyrocket. I had nothing left to lose and someone else would be responsible for my possible gains. As much as I hated that passive role, I was ready to play it.

  “Anything you want to tell me?” she asked as she waited for me to get up.

  “No.”

  My simple answer seemed to infuriate her, but only for a second. She must have figured the sedative was working better than she’d expected. I couldn’t quite deny that since the simple act of following her out of the room and over into another was surprisingly taxing. I drew up short when I realized that what normally served as the larger conference room had been turned into some kind of stage, including a throne-like chair up on a dais at the other end. The long sides of the room were lined by two lines each of mostly brain-dead minions, armed but not looking particularly menacing. The entire display made me reconsider how drugged-up I was, because this was highly-hallucinogenic-stage shit. Marleen shooed me toward the dais where Gita was already waiting, eyeing me warily. I idly let my left hand stroke over the chair just to make sure it was really there. Seeing that made Gita twice as anxious. I tried my best to give her a wink while I knew Marleen couldn’t see it.

  I was kind of out of it, but I got this.

  “They’re here,” one of the geeky techs squealed from the entrance. She quickly stepped to the side when Guinevere came marching in, all Ultimate Warlord Empress. Marleen made a shooing motion toward Gita and me. “You,” she told me, “next to the boss. Look impassive and menacing.”

  I went along as told, yet before Marleen could assume her place—likely mirroring me on Guinevere’s other side—I held her back. She glared at me until I removed my hand but waited. “Do I get a gun?” I asked, briefly eyeing the soldiers around us. Those closest to the dais were all sentient, and two or three might even be competent.

  Rather than answer me, Marleen turned to the closest one. He didn’t bear any rank or other insignia, but she still seemed to know who he was. “Sergeant, make sure that he doesn’t make any trouble, including making a jump for you. Shoot him if he so much as looks as if he’s moving from his place.” He quickly acknowledged the order with a nod, but didn’t go as far as to give me a warning glance.

  “Marleen, please,” I begged, surprised my speech was slurring slightly. She was still focused on me and obviously not happy about the hold-up. Judging from the parts of the bunker I’d walked through myself, our guests would take at least five to ten minutes to get here, even if I presumed they’d come by a different route than I normally took. “I need something to defend myself with.”

  “Do I look like I’m stupid?”

  I felt my head shake before I actively came up with a response, making me wonder if there was some kind of truth serum mixed in with the sedative. It would make sense to make people not just docile but compliant. It didn’t keep me from lying outright, though, I was happy to find out.

  “I need that gun, or else Miller will kill me as soon as he gets a chance. Probably after you and Guinevere, but not with much of a delay.” Her gaze held a clear “let him try” quality but she made a motion for me to explain. I hedged, trying to buy a few seconds, then figured it might as well work out in my favor since what my mind settled on saying was rather embarrassing. “Why? Easy. Because I did make a pass at his wife, and not just once. He found out right after it happened, in the arena, in the camp, because she was too drugged up to lie.” Guess where that stroke of inspiration came from. “Not that it’s made that much of an impact for her. If nothing else, she has her priorities straight—and I’m not it. But that’s why you found me lurking in the corridors in Dallas. I was hoping that, seeing how Miller was deteriorating quickly and had spent all but the first night when we’d sprung him ignoring her, I figured, might as well see if things had changed. Wanna guess how great my chances are that she’s spent the last three weeks forgetting about it without dropping a word or two? I may not be his priority, either, but if he makes it past your guards, I’m dead. Give me at least a fighting chance! Please!”

  Did that diatribe make me feel even more pathetic? Yes, and I wasn’t the only one thinking that, seeing the looks two of the soldiers exchanged between them. Marleen noticed as well, although her expression remained void of any reaction. Guinevere wasn’t listening, which was just as well.

  For a few seconds, I thought I had her, but then Marleen turned back to the soldier. “If he so much as moves,” she repeated, turning away with finality. Just as she was about to step out of earshot, she muttered something under her breath that I didn’t quite catch. Considering what else was about to happen any moment now, it was easy to dismiss.

  At least I could say I had given it my all—and given the soldiers a reason to potentially watch me, which would keep their attention off Gita altogether. She herself gave me a weirded-out look when I took my position beside her, which made me break character for a moment and smirk briefly. As if. No need—or chance—to iterate how ridiculous that notion was, a few stray thoughts aside, maybe. If anything, I was worried that either of the three of them might say or do something that would get me a bullet between the eyes before I could defend myself. Probably not Hamilton; while he’d never done anything to help me, he’d never outright gotten me into the line of fire. Lewis would hopefully be too occupied with her dire need for exacting bloody revenge on Marleen. That left Queen Bitch and over thirty soldiers for Miller, which should occupy him for a while.

  Quiet settled over the room as we waited, which was another dead giveaway of how screwed up the situatio
n was. That many soldiers should never have been able to keep so quiet—and unmoving—without getting repeatedly told to be stealthy. If being brain-dead was anything like how I was feeling right now—still unnervingly unconcerned—I could understand why standing at relaxed attention wasn’t that hard for them. I had no idea how many of them would be able to react properly and shoot at a moving target. I was rather convinced none of our guests would make it easy for them. I would really have loved to know the details of Gita’s plan, but considering how hard it was to keep my thoughts focused, it was better I couldn’t accidentally ramble about it now. It made sense why she’d never confided in me. It hadn’t been paranoia and operational protocol as much as absolute necessity.

  Maybe Emily had given her something or other—some kind of antidote, maybe?—that, for whatever reason, made her less susceptible to the sedative. But how had Emily known about it? How was she connected to the bunker? Was she at all? And why hadn’t she told me? With Gita now I could understand, but she must have known Gita had moved here long before I’d gone on my last mission.

  For a fleeting second, I was afraid I’d die here without a single person in the world trusting in me.