Blake looked tempted to ask how I intended to do that, but just then Richards interrupted. “We got into their open channel. They just reported in that a suspicious group is trying to catch up to them. They seem to assume that we want to rob them, or otherwise stir up shit.”
That was better than I’d been fearing—and like they were already halfway to guessing what we wanted them to believe.
“Any way all of us can listen in?” I questioned.
“I can put them on the team frequency, but then we can’t keep up this most enlightening conversation,” Cole offered, his smirk plain in his voice.
I did my best to ignore that. “Do it. Eden, take point. The rest, just do what you usually do and either ignore them as we pass by, or look grim. Maybe brandish a rifle or two.” Belatedly, I added, “Anyone got any objections?” meaning Nate, and expecting Hamilton to pipe up. Neither of them did, and Eden signed off with a whoop, just as their car started accelerating. I watched with amusement as the others let them pass, the way they inched to the side making the hulking, larger vehicles look like they were apprehensive of the garishly made-up smaller car. It had taken some discussion for them to do away with the skull-and-bones hood ornaments, but they’d refused to get rid of the bright red paint splatters on the sides. A little more rearranging, and we ended up as the tail guard of our little group, the column of six vehicles stretched out before us.
The radio gave a squawk as Cole did his thing, and unfamiliar voices took over. Someone was right now in the middle of a status report, rattling off road conditions and damage, making me guess it was still the caravan in front of us, talking about the unmistakable traces last week’s storm had left. We’d had to work our way through several mudslides, drive around felled trees, and ford the odd low part of road where rain water had formed a temporary, shallow lake. The wry part of me mused that now that the camp was in disarray, nobody would go out there and clear up the damage anymore, like I was sure the raiding parties would have before. That made me wonder why the caravan was underway this close to the camp territory in the first place, but it explained their guess about our intentions.
Five minutes later and a good third of the distance to the caravan closer, a female voice that was vaguely familiar came on the radio again. It took me a few moments to recognize Tamara, one of Dispatch’s initial radio operators. What felt like a million years ago, I’d spent a wild evening dancing with her and her sister. The next time I’d seen either, they’d been rather cautious about the lot of us. Now, I was borderline sure she’d shoot us in the face if we got down to talking distance.
“An update on the raiders?” she asked, sounding apprehensive.
The guy from before was back, answering. “They are catching up to us, no shit. But so far they haven’t made a move to send us off the road with RPGs or some shit.” He fell silent, making me guess he was studying us the way we were studying them. “Seven vehicles from what I can tell. Some armor but no larger transports. Looks small for a raiding party.”
“You know that doesn’t have to mean anything,” Tamara cautioned. “But let’s hope that Bo is right and they’ll lose interest once they see that you can defend yourselves.”
I would have expected Blake to appear grim at anyone accusing him and his people of ill will toward traders, but he still looked amused. When he caught my gaze, he chuckled. “I’m sure Scott and his grandstanders have their egos all up in a twist, but I frankly don’t give a shit until they start shooting at us in preemptive self-defense. The Silo’s never really been a part of the network. Sure, we’ve always welcomed traders and scavengers because they made our work easier, but that was about it.”
“Unless they were disease-ridden, trigger-happy assholes, right?” I mused.
He gave me a pointed look. “We did let you in, right? And gave the rest of your group a cabin to live in while you ran your tests. Trust me, if you’d asked the same of Dispatch, Rita would have personally shot you in the head.”
I had the distinct suspicion that he was right.
“You know that Stanton was giving us intel, right?” I asked after deciding that there was no harm in sharing that now, years later.
Blake didn’t look perturbed by what was likely an open secret, at least to the command staff. “You didn’t hear this from me, but rumor has it that Wilkes set his assistants to build—and maintain—their own networks of spies and connections, should the day ever come that the Silo required an additional layer of protection. Stanton used to be an army brat before she decided to join the marines. Doesn’t surprise me she became the unofficial army liaison.” He cast me a sidelong glance, as if to gauge whether the news that we’d been thrown into that same bucket would make me bristle. It didn’t.
“So you never actually were with your backs against the wall?” I asked. “We got the impression that Hamilton was putting some pressure on you, or whoever was calling the shots.”
Blake’s smile turned wry, as if my reluctance to call the devil by his name was funny to him. He wasn’t alone with that, I had to admit. “Exactly how cornered can you be when you’re dug in like ticks in a decommissioned missile silo? You saw our surface extensions on your last visit. We’ve done an even better job underground. No need to advertise that by showing anyone our true strength. Unlike a certain group of show-offs, we’re content to guard our own and prosper without anyone else the wiser of how much they are missing.”
I took the snide remark for what it was, although a part of me wanted to bristle. It wasn’t like my crusade had been a planned thing in the first place. Since I was sure he wouldn’t tell me exactly how many people they were now, I didn’t ask. That they were actively recruiting and training people was obvious; I hadn’t tried to talk to the three assholes we’d dropped off there as potential spies, but from their demeanor I could tell that someone had taught them in the meantime how to be more than a ragtag band of scavengers. If anything, that underlined how little I still knew about what had been going on while Nate and I had spent some quality time driving each other insane in the middle of nowhere.
I couldn’t quite quench my latent paranoia that this lack of knowledge would come back to bite me in the ass.
The guy from the caravan kept reporting in on our progress, which seemed tame enough in my eyes—until whoever was driving—likely Amos—suddenly floored it, shooting ahead of the next vehicle. Scott’s marines were quick to catch up, the entire train of vehicles picking up speed in an unquestioned waste of resources. “You may want to buckle up,” Blake noted, unnecessarily since I had been strapped into my seat the entire time—and he gave me quite the weird look when, instead, I unbuckled the seat harness and started stripping off the layers covering my torso. Not everything—and, truth be told, my sports bra more than covered the goods—but my sudden exhibitionistic exploits hit him right out of left field. “What the fuck are you doing?!”
I paused with my tank top partly over my head, grinning broadly. “Creating a diversion. Not for you—them. Please don’t crash the car, I already have little enough skin that’s not criss-crossed with scars, and I don’t want to spend the next day picking pieces of the windshield out of my tits.”
Blake dutifully looked straight ahead as soon as I reprimanded him, but the peanut gallery in the back was less inclined to do so. I did my best to ignore Fletcher repeatedly leering my way, although it didn’t look sexual. More catch-a-look-at-the-full-freak-show style. Or at least that’s what it felt like to me. Marleen, if anything, appeared befuddled. “Need some help?” she asked, holding out a small jar of black paint to me. I presumed it was for night-ops face paint camouflage purposes, but didn’t question why she had it further.
“Never hurts,” I offered with a smirk.
While I did my best to give myself raccoon eyes and some dramatic streaks across my cheek bones, Marleen peeled herself out of her outer, upper layers as well, although she stopped at the tight, short-sleeved shirt. I would have, too, if not for what had given me thi
s idea in the first place. Good thing I had chosen this vehicle since it was one of very few that had windows that would roll down.
The scavenger car in front was maybe a hundred yards from the last caravan vehicle when I scandalized Blake one step further by not just rolling down my window but getting up into a crouch on my seat so I could partly climb out of the window, at least far enough that my lower back was fully exposed. A last check revealed that we were going close to fifty miles an hour, which might not have been that much—for roads that got regular maintenance, and weren’t covered by years and years of debris and broken-down car wracks. The wind hit my face and torso with merciless pressure, whipping the loose ends of my braids against my shoulders and upper back. Last night I’d asked one of the scavenger girls if she’d help me get the mess on my head back under control, and I’d gotten more enthusiasm in response than I’d dreamed possible. A lot of negotiating had been required to make her braid it up right from the roots like I’d usually worn it when expecting no chance for personal hygiene but lots of running from shamblers. She hadn’t budged on leaving the ends open to add a little bit of dramatic flair. Sure, I could have rolled the whole bunch into a bun, but when Nate didn’t have a coronary when he saw me with a half-open, partly braided ponytail, I’d decided to go with it for now. In all the many too-close encounters with shamblers, somehow my hair had never been a good point to grab on to, and I kind of hoped that was still true. Besides, I had a bunch of hair ties, and a knife if need be.
By the time I’d straightened, the fingers of my right hand wrapped tightly around the oh-shit handle, the first car blasted by the stragglers of the caravan. Up close—and unhindered by the frame of the car—I could see that the last three cars were stuffed full with men in heavy gear who appear to be mercenaries or guards, bristling with weapons. Their attention was focused on the first two cars, still oblivious to me, which was a good thing since I needed some time to get my perch perfected that wouldn’t end with me falling off the car and becoming so much road kill. The belt looped around my legs sure didn’t feel supportive enough.
Marleen joined me in my endeavor to gain tons of road rash on the diagonal side of the car, instructing Fletcher not to let go of her legs, for fuck’s sake! Smaller than me, she was likely standing straight. She took a moment to orient herself, but I saw the same silly grin tug on her face that must have been plastered onto my own. Insane as my endeavor was, it was also a lot of fun!
The guards noticed us as the car before us passed by them. We were close enough that I saw the eyes of one of the men go wide, and I didn’t waste the opportunity for some crude hand signs after throwing my arms into the air and whooping loudly. Not sure if they heard the obscenities I was shouting their way, but they sure got the gist.
Ahead, Eden and one of the guys riding with her had picked up my idea and were now also leaning out of the car, laughing and shouting at the caravan. By the time we traversed from guard to cargo cars, a few of the guards were grinning if not laughing outright themselves, making me feel just a little less idiotic. The traders just stared, perplexed if not intimidated.
Whether it was feeling terribly exposed or the tension coming from being afraid to fall, the adrenaline pumping through my veins was making me stupid, turning my laughter—and some of the taunts I kept screaming into the wind—from forced to real to manic. I was fully aware just how idiotic my actions were, but there wasn’t a hint of regret in my mind.
And then we blew past the lead vehicle and the road was empty and endless in front of us, and for a moment, I forgot all about the doom and gloom and threats and dangers, feeling alive and like myself for the first time in… way too long. I knew it was, at best, a momentary reprieve, but right then I didn’t give a shit. I threw my hands in the air one last time and leaned into the wind, living in the moment.
Then I almost lost my balance, the momentary sense of vertigo slamming my heart into my throat and kicking my instincts into higher gear. I caught myself and quickly pulled myself inside the car, quite happy to be out of the wind and constantly getting pelted with dust particles that hurt way more than they had a right to. Blake was eyeing me carefully and seemed relieved that I was both whole and sitting next to him once more.
“Think it worked?” I asked rather needlessly since no shots had been fired and we were in the clear.
Rather than reply, he pointed at the radio. It was still tuned into the trader frequency, where the same guy as before kept insisting that it had turned out to be “Nothing. Just some tweaked-out assholes.”
“Oh, come on! That’s the worst they got?” I complained.
Blake grunted. “You missed the good parts. I’m sure someone else will be happy to recount them to you. I sure won’t.”
Since that sounded final, I didn’t press on, and instead got dressed and belted once more. My mind calmed down a little once I felt the familiar pressure of the harness around my torso. Marleen was still snickering where she did the same in the back row, much to Fletcher’s disappointment.
“I have one question,” Blake said.
“Just the one? If I were you, I’d have several,” I shot back.
He ignored me. “Why the strip down?”
I shrugged, unable not to smirk. “Let’s put it this way—if I’ve learned something about this new breed of scavengers, it’s that they love to have fun, and they don’t give a fuck about the risks involved. Everything I learned about operational security is the opposite of fun. Wanna know who’d never get the idea to hang half-naked out of the side of a car? Exactly—the people who drive Humvees across the country on clandestine missions.” I allowed myself a small laugh. “Besides, now that my tats have become legendary and even less of a security concern than when I got them, I might as well share them with the world—on my own terms. I’ve lost count how many people have forced me to show them my naked ass over the past years. If I can use that to my own advantage… You get my drift, I’m sure.”
Fletcher seemed tempted to point out that I’d, in fact, kept my pants on, so technically, I hadn’t been mooning the traders, but Blake’s low, rumbling laugh took care of that.
“I think I’m starting to see why Buehler was so eager to join when she heard you’d be around,” he noted.
“Yeah? Well, I’m sure she’s not that heartbroken to be with the main group now—without me. That’s generally the safer side to be on,” I remarked, losing some of my recently gained levity. “Let’s hope this turns out to be the most insane thing any of us will have to do until we find the Chemist.”
Marleen chuckled darkly. “I somehow doubt that.”
And my, wasn’t that something to look forward to?
Chapter 7
We spent as many hours on the move as we dared, and it was still light out by the time we drove the cars off the road and went to seek shelter. That reminded me an awful lot of the time when we’d been a slightly smaller group with a lot more familiar faces. On the trek to the camp, the train that Zilinsky had put together was manned enough that we could camp wherever we wanted. Since we were trying to be more stealthy now, invisibility during downtimes was key once more. It was also a huge difference from how Nate and I had lived for so long, just the two of us, where the possibility to barricade our hideout had been the number one priority, since we would have had to light a signal fire to draw attention. It still bothered me that we didn’t know for sure if the slavers happening upon us had been bad luck, or a concerted, well-planned effort. Since I doubted the executing—and now, likely, executed—party had had a clue about it in the first place, playing guessing games was useless.
Somehow I ended up without anything to do since none of the cars was mine—and it took only so many people to set up the battery recharging racks—and our rations meant no cooking was required. As usual I was scheduled for graveyard-shift watch, and I hadn’t bothered with bringing a book, since entertainment seemed like the lowest priority ever on this mission. Usually, I didn’t expect to need any s
ince I could just talk to people. Only problem was that as we exited the cars, the different factions reassembled, leaving me with the wonderful prospect of either getting glared at for my antics by Sonia or my husband, or Hamilton’s usual kind of hospitality. I would have considered joining the army bunch but both Cole and Hill were on watch and I could do without Richards’s attempts at playing my own personal shrink. I also didn’t want to overstay my welcome with Blake. The scavengers were the only ones who seemed eager to catch my attention, but I wasn’t certain how that would end—and not just because of the drugs. My plan with the caravan had certainly continued to endear me to them, and while I wasn’t hesitant to use that for my advantage, I also didn’t want to risk it—or the uneasy balance our covenant here was hard-pressed to keep. It was hard to miss the way almost everyone was looking at the four colorful, not-quite sober individuals currently stuffing their faces.
Sitting in the car for so long had made my body stiff as fuck, and it made sense to withdraw to behind Nate’s car to get some good stretches going on that the odd, bored male brain could perceive as a different kind of entertainment. Nate found me there not five minutes later, and for a moment I entertained the notion that, just maybe, I’d managed to catch the interest of the only male brain I enjoyed that kind of attention from. But I could tell that he was looking for a fight more than a fuck, which was disappointing—but also such a common occurrence that it alleviated some of my residual unease. He was mad at me because I’d been brilliantly stupid—what else was new? And because I knew that my resulting grin would annoy him even more, I let it fly as I shifted my weight to my other side, not giving a shit how much my tits or ass were sticking out.
“You think you’re oh-so clever, don’t you?” he remarked as he rocked to a halt in front of me, arms crossed over his chest.
“Yup,” I replied, because it was true. “Was it stupid? Risky? Maybe needlessly so, on both counts? Yes. But it worked, and last time I checked, that’s enough.”
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