Retribution: Green Fields #11

by Adrienne Lecter

  His glare expressed his disagreement, but surprisingly enough, he dropped the point. That made me immediately suspicious. “Are you done playing social butterfly now?” he asked, not bothering to mask his annoyance.

  “You mean, am I being the adult here and trying to avoid giving your bestie the chance to be a royal ass wipe every chance he gets? He can’t act up if I’m not there to receive his unwanted attention.” Nate’s eyes narrowed, but the fact that he didn’t answer made me realize just how close to the truth I’d hit. That was unusual—and worried me a little. “Is he at least getting the same speech you’re burning to deliver to me? I bet he had quite the opinion on the stunt I pulled with the caravan today and wasn’t afraid to voice it.”

  A muscle jumped in Nate’s cheek, but that could have been amusement. I knew he was capable of being both amused and offended for me at the same time. Did it rankle that, obviously, he hadn’t gone off in Hamilton’s face for that? Yes, but the opposite happening would have surprised—and disconcerted—me more. “A few comments may have been exchanged that I think you don’t need to hear,” he offered up succinctly. “But it wasn’t a bad plan, or I wouldn’t have let you go through with it.”

  Maybe it was just my general level of annoyance, but his phrasing—that he let me do anything—made my hackles rise. I would have loved to claim that it was simply my normal need to constantly push against my boundaries, but that missed the point. Intellectually, I knew that we needed a leader—consensus only worked so far, and in many ways I was glad to have him back to his confident self I’d gotten so used to in the early days of the apocalypse. Yet as I was the first to admit, rationality wasn’t always my strong suit. It could have been something as simple as the lack of the people who usually reinforced the hierarchy and left no leeway. Not having Pia and Andrej around made it so easy to snap back to the mindset I’d cultivated over the past two years when it had been just the two of us. I hated to admit it, but having Martinez around to take my cues from and use as an emotional battering ram to tear down my stupid impulses was another factor.

  I could tell that some of my ruminations—or the underlying misgivings—were mirrored on my expression, but since I could do nothing about that, and didn’t necessarily want to pick a fight with Nate, I forced myself to ignore as much of that as I could. The patience he was showing as he kept waiting for me to go off in his face wasn’t something I was used to, and it was tantalizingly easy to guess where it came from. So very like him to turn a lesson forced on him into a tool going forward. That thought made me shudder deep inside—just how much had Decker and his people fucked with Nate’s mind in the past that his months spent at the camp were something he could just internalize and deal with, and move on with life? If anything, that hammered home that we really, absolutely, needed to put an end to all this.

  He was still waiting for an answer—or some kind of statement or concession—from me, so I forced myself to back off my anger-fueled high horse and straightened from my crouch to bring us as close to eye level as we’d get with both of us standing there, in the middle of nowhere behind a beat-up, dirty car, barely out of earshot of the rest of our little war party. “Look, I get it,” I lied, but tried to sound convincing. “For whatever reason, you think you need him along. Maybe because he is a good fighter, or he knows way more than anyone else, or because it’s so comforting for you to have the single person in the world along that you feel can commiserate with what you have been through—your little trauma buddy, if you will.” I should definitely call Bucky that to his face. Nate didn’t move a muscle, neither in amusement or protest. Fuck, I hated his stoic side when it reared its ugly head like this. How could I bounce my indignation off him if all the possible blows just glanced off without any effect? “Or maybe he’s just a meat shield,” I went on. I sure liked that idea. “Wouldn’t be the first time you used one of those. Whatever your reasoning, I am sure it is sound and you don’t feel the need to share it with me. And I get that nobody else wants to sit beside him at lunch for so many reasons so you have taken it upon yourself to do that. But while I have to accept all that, I won’t continue to subject myself to that bullshit. If you stick with him, I won’t stick with you. I won’t ride in the same car, and I sure as hell won’t be in a fireteam with you. I don’t think there exists a single person in this world I trust less with having my back then Hamilton.”

  Part of me waited for his immediate denial—and maybe a laugh to make fun of my grand stance there—but neither came, which made something inside of me run cold. Gee, some things I really didn’t need a confirmation of. When he finally did stoop as low as opening his mouth to respond, Nate still sounded too level for his own good. “I see you’ve put some thought into this.”

  “Really not necessary,” I retorted. “For that, snap judgment is enough.”

  That earned me a momentary grin, but it was a rather mirthless one. “Who are you going to pester instead? Blake will be wanting to have his marines work as the well-trained team that they are, and Burns, Sonia, and Marleen haven’t expressed similar levels of resentment as you.”

  Way to make me feel singled out—but that was exactly what I wanted, right?

  “I’ll go with Richards,” I decided, trusting that he wouldn’t mind since we had already been in the field together—including underground labs overrun with super-juiced zombies. I didn’t want to jinx it, but how much worse than Paris could it get?

  Nate accepted that with a nod and looked pleased for a second, making me wonder if that had been his plan all along. It made sense from a tactical standpoint—both to even out the teams in number of people, and to spread what counted as the command crew out further. Then again, I was still surprised they’d all just accepted Nate’s leadership like that since Scott and Blake were more than capable of running this ship as well, as was Richards, I figured. If the scavengers loved having me along as a mascot, they still hadn’t overcome their starstruck awe at having Nate to stare at, so they were the faction I expected the least resistance from—and also the least discipline. I couldn’t shake the feeling that would mean they’d have better chances of survival if my own still-alive status was any indication.

  Burns interrupted what I only then came to realize was my completely derailed attempt at expressing my indignation by joining us, grinning at us both. At Nate’s questioning look, he shrugged. “I’m here to ride to the rescue.” When we both had just confused—or, in Nate’s case, his usual stoic—looks for him, he laughed. “I saw you both stalk over here, bristling like cats. It’s been over ten minutes and you’re still not fucking each other’s brains out, so something is definitely wrong.”

  While it was impossible to disband the wry smile from my face at his words, I couldn’t help but be a little annoyed. “Do I get this right? If we try to hash things out like rational, normal people, something’s wrong?”

  “One hundred percent,” Burns agreed wisely. “On your own, you may—sometimes—act rational, but you’re never normal, and not when you’re having one of your powwows. Not defusing the situation with sex always results in at least one of you stalking off mortally offended, and since this mission doesn’t allow for this level of shitheadedness, let’s hash this out in a more mature way, right now.”

  I wondered if Pia had set Burns up to babysit us. I didn’t think it beyond either of them, if entirely unnecessary. Nate seemed to agree with me, but he still didn’t rise to the bait. Since I was more than happy to do so, that was for the best. “What, just because I like to get naked and hang out of moving vehicles I’m immature now? You wound me.” I cast a sidelong glance at Nate to gauge his reaction. Still nothing. He was starting to freak me out a little. I turned back to Burns. “But to answer your burning curiosity, we were talking strategy. I’m sorry to inform you that you’re stripped of your usual babysitting-me-in-the-field duty. I’m going with Richards.” Since he now had Sonia along, that was for the best, but I didn’t voice that; I had no idea of her fighting prowess, b
ut it was obvious that she would be his number-one priority. It only seemed to be my husband who let me roam free wherever I wanted—which was one of the reasons why he was my husband. Maybe for the first time ever, I considered how things might have been different if Nate hadn’t gotten badly wounded right at the start of our fight for survival. I presumed he would have still left it up to Andrej, Burns, and Martinez to chaperone me and give me options aplenty to vent or cry on a shoulder when needed, but I doubted he could have kept himself from messing with me more. I was suddenly burning to ask Pia’s opinion about that, knowing all too well that if I questioned Nate, I wouldn’t get a straight answer out of him—and even less so an answer that I liked.

  Burns took my words for what they were—a sound explanation, interwoven with lies everyone was aware of and nobody wanted to voice—and gave a brief nod, likely coming to the same conclusions, including Sonia, and my real reason for why getting constantly ribbed by Cole and Hill might be the pleasant alternative for me. “Doesn’t explain why you’re still standing here, talking.”

  Nate finally showed a hint of a smile—and turned to go. “I’m getting some chow. Feel free to keep ranting about me behind my back.”

  I stared after him for a moment before I turned to Burns—pretty much doing exactly what Nate had just accused me of. “Yes, I’m fucking annoyed, and more concerned than I like to admit, but it’s not that outside our usual MO not to be all over each other.”

  Burns made a face. “When either of you is deeply traumatized, yeah. Guess that’s been going on long enough that it’s gotten kind of regular behavior for you now.”

  That statement should have given me pause maybe, but I wasn’t going to indulge his badly concealed and equally just bad attempts to play shrink. “You know the company I keep. How is that still surprising to you?” I would have loved to continue trading quips with him but saw Sonia lurking in the background, glaring in my direction. “Chow doesn’t sound half bad, don’t you think? You can tell me all about my dysfunctional relationship if I still have one three days from now. No worries getting my panties in a twist when there might not be a reason for it if the shamblers eat us.”

  As expected, Burns found my optimistic attitude funny but didn’t protest. Maybe it was for the best. And, if not? I really didn’t have the mental capacity to care much about anything except our immediate survival.

  We spent the evening in quiet contemplation, or as quiet and contemplative a group made up of seasoned soldiers ever got. There was food aplenty and we were in relative safety, so by everyone’s definition, life was good. With one more day just like this to look forward to, it was easy to ignore what would come after that. Except that it wasn’t, because the aspect of walking into a city the size of Dallas went beyond comprehension. We still didn’t have the maps we needed, and I couldn’t help suspecting that “winging it” would not just be our last, but only option. How some evil scientists and a handful of henchmen could have made that trek not just once but several times was beyond me. Clearly, they knew something that we were missing. But what?

  I had the sinking feeling we’d either never find out, or find out way too late, and I didn’t get my hopes up that this endeavor would go down any better than Paris.

  Chapter 8

  The next day wasn’t exactly boring, but came and went without any noticeable events. Like every single time we’d traveled over a state border before, it was kind of anticlimactic. Keeping to small roads farther away from the trade network and going at a slower pace meant we didn’t draw anyone’s attention—that we were aware of. We finally got a chance to acquire some maps, and I spent the last two hours riding shotgun with Blake studying them. I’d never been to Texas before the shit hit the fan, but even so I was aware that the Dallas-Fort Worth area was one of the most heavily populated regions in the country. The heat might have been the only thing working in our favor, but I somehow doubted that it had driven the millions of shamblers out of the area. All former population centers had remained heavily infested, and I doubted Dallas was the exception. With buildings providing easy shelter and a river running through the city as a reliable water source, it wasn’t a bad setup—for them, which made it very inconvenient for us. It was impossible to shake the latent unease that knowledge left, sitting deep in my stomach.

  Dinner turned out to be a somber affair, the tension in the air palpable. I wasn’t yet halfway done with my hunk of bread when Nate spoke up, making it a point to look at every single one of us—minus the guards out on perimeter duty—as he addressed the assembly. “I hope that as we get closer to Dallas, we’ll manage to get better maps, but for now, these will do. This is the situation: we need to get into one of the buildings in downtown Dallas, and nothing less than up to several million zombies stand between us and our destination. Options and opinions, please.”

  At first, nobody wanted to speak up, until Amos cleared his throat. The tall scavenger looked as subdued as the rest of us, but the way his leg kept bouncing spoke of a need to burn energy that I decidedly didn’t feel. “I guess simply not going there is not an option?”

  “It’s not,” Nate agreed, a little softer than I was sure he would have with me. Amos nodded, but didn’t offer anything else.

  Since nobody else was speaking up, I went next. “Can we use the river that runs through the city and around the western and southern half of downtown Dallas? On the maps it looks like Trinity River has a nice, wide bed that’s easy to follow.”

  I expected Nate to shoot me down. Scott took that over from him, instead. “I doubt it.”

  “Why—”

  The marine leader grimaced. “I presume you got the idea because of how you went about your thing in France?” I was surprised he knew about that—including the details—but maybe shouldn’t have been. Nate and Hamilton had spent some quality time with Scott and Blake both. It only now occurred to me to question why they hadn’t included me in those meetings. Maybe I had been expected to join? Nothing I could do about that now.

  “Won’t work,” Scott professed. “I’ve never been to Paris, but I presume the geography of the city and river helped. And that it was winter, too. We don’t have any current data from the large cities in Texas, but we know they got hit hard by draughts and tornadoes. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the city had burned at one time, and storms and rain washed all possible debris into the river. Think canalization, dead people, still moving dead assholes—you name it. It wouldn’t have taken much to clog up the river, turning the water brackish and into a breeding ground for all kinds of critters and diseases. Even if we found boats and ways to get around everything that gunked together in the water, half of us would probably be too weak from fever and diarrhea to fight by the time we dragged ourselves into the city.”

  That made sense. I could think of a better way to spend my time than to drag myself through foul swamps. The storm that had come down on the camp had likely affected Dallas as well, if not directly then by sending water into the tributaries of the river.

  “What about the storm drains?” one of Blake’s marines offered. “Some might be clogged up, but if they have been washed free, they might be a way to get through some tight spots.”

  I continued to study my maps, but no drains or ditches were marked in there. “Or we could just walk right along the interstate,” I proposed. “US-75 runs straight into downtown.” Usually, highways were a no-go closer to cities, but since we could just walk around the heaps of rusting wrecks as we’d leave the cars farther back, it was an option.

  I knew Hamilton was about to shoot me down—and dreaded what I was sure would be a great reason—but surprised the pants off of me when he agreed. “That was my idea, too,” he said, pausing a moment to smirk at me. I just glared back. “In most parts, the highways are elevated and out in the sun. Only a stupid mofo of a zombie would be insane enough to be up there in the middle of the day. They must have stripped anything organic from the cars before the first winter. With luck, not too many o
f the overpasses will have been destroyed, but we’ll bring ropes to get over any gaps.” His triumphant smirk took on a really nasty twist as he singled me out again. “No worries for those who are climbing impaired. We’ll just tie a rope around your useless carcass and drag you along with us.”

  Three of the scavengers laughed. Eden didn’t, her eyes narrowing at Hamilton’s attempt at a joke. She didn’t speak up, but I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Her attention flipped to me, and I gave her my best, “yeah, that asshole!” look. That did the trick and pulled a smile out of her, but it wasn’t a pleasant one. I wouldn’t exactly have called her a surprising ally—not after finding out how much the actual scavengers diverged from the tales told about them—but it was good to know that if I needed someone to hold Hamilton down when I finally decided to castrate him, she’d lend a hand. The male scavengers, too, I was certain, if only to be part of something bloody and brutal. Musing along those lines made Hamilton’s assessment of my moral deterioration echo through my head, which was the last thing I needed to consider right now.

  Nate ignored the glaring going on to instead voice his opinion of the plan. “That might work, or it will turn into a kill chute for us. I say we consider it but it needs further assessment as we get closer to the city.” He glanced at his maps. “I say we try to drive the cars on US-75 as close as we can—likely north of McKinney. That way we’ll have an easy time finding them again and we can use that spot as a fallback and rallying point.”

  I tried to gauge the distance. “That’s, what? Forty miles from our destination?”

  Nate nodded. “Give or take a few, depending on how many detours we will have to make. I expect it will take us two days to make it since we can’t just waltz into there without looking left or right.”