Green Fields (Book 10): Uprising:

by Lecter, Adrienne

  His lopsided smile was answer enough, but he still took the time to lean down and whisper into my ear, “Bree, it’s been months. Do I really need a reason to want to fuck my wife? There’s no force in the universe that could change that.”

  “Well, if that girl had bitten off your dick, that could have become inconvenient,” I pointed out.

  Another growl—and yes, this time it definitely was a growl—and he pushed himself up and off me, stretching to his full height. I ignored the hand he offered me, already scrambling to my feet on my own volition. I was ready to crack a joke—any joke, really—but the emotional weight on my mind was crushing me, keeping the humor at bay. Letting my breath out in one noisy exhale, I forced myself to utter what, out loud, sounded even more inadequate than it had in my head.

  “Look, I know I should say something now—something supportive, or sympathetic, but I’ve never really been good with words and I feel like the events of the past years beat what little empathy I had out of me and—”

  I could tell that, this once, Nate didn’t delight in watching me squirm, and I was rather relieved when he lightly put a finger across my lips to shush me. “Don’t. Just, don’t,” he murmured, sounding defeated for a second but quickly switching gears as he squared his shoulders, catching my gaze. “Wanna know what got me through it all? Every endless night, every day that made me dread what fucked-up shit would happen next? The knowledge that, for once, it wasn’t happening to you. I’ve lived the past years with the constant dread that I’m to blame for every damned bad thing that happened to you, whether it was being hunted down or almost getting killed, barely surviving getting infected to rotting from the inside out, and having to deal with people who taught you the very definition of hate. I’m not stupid. I don’t see this as some fucked-up kind of karma—but it was the one good thing in my life that I could cling to. And I know it’s selfish of me, and kind of unfair to you, but I need you to be my rock, at least for a while. I need you to be your usual irreverent, hilariously not-funny self—”

  “Hey, wait a minute! I’m damn funny!” I protested.

  “You think you are, hence the hilarious part,” he remarked, grinning wryly. “I need you to be you, as you are, as you’ve always been. That way I can tell myself that, whatever happened, maybe a part of me is still me, as well. If you suddenly turned into a caring, nurturing individual, I’d probably lose it. Just, don’t. Please.”

  Biting my lips, I nodded, but then just couldn’t hold back—and what the hell, he’d pretty much just told me not to. “You will probably bite my juicy ass for saying this, but your use of grammar has certainly been suffering. You disappoint me, kind sir.”

  Nate looked ready to bend me over his knee and spank me—and my, wasn’t that a mental image that would never get us out of this room—but left it at a chuckle under his breath. “Why was I ever concerned?”

  “Yeah, why were you?” I questioned, jutting my chin forward. “I’m like a dog with a bone. I keep gnawing on it, and gnawing—”

  He playfully drew his brows together. “I’m not sure Romanoff is the one I should be worried about with the bad jokes.”

  “I can switch over to tasteful gay rape jokes if you prefer that.”

  He visibly shook himself—without a doubt regretting having ever pleaded to my more sensible side—and reached for the door. Outside, two stacks of clothes, plus boots, handguns, knives, and food waited for us. Grabbing the stack intended for me, I snorted. “See what I mean about breakfast?”

  “And I’ve known Zilinsky for years and years longer than you—you can’t have her,” he snarked back, gathering his things.

  “Please, let’s keep this bickering up where she can hear us. I have to see the look on her face when we…”

  I trailed off, but way too late. Pia gave me a pointed look as she handed me a bucket filled with steaming water, some clean washrags, and soap. I quickly accepted it all and backed into the room, and thus out of the beacon of her glare. Nate didn’t bother with modest moves like that and remained where he was standing, dumping one of the rags into the water and then got some good lather going. “Bree already filled me in on the major points.”

  Pia gave a nod, the barest hint of a smile crossing her features. My, she really was happy to see Nate. “I know that you can be quite efficient about multitasking. That’s not why I’m here. We have guests. They insist they are both Richards’s spies. Since he’s not quite in the right mind to debrief them, I figured you could make that part of the meeting.”

  “Sure thing,” I answered just as Nate inclined his head. The Ice Queen looked from Nate to me and back, then turned on her heel and strode off.

  “Get that sorted out before you join us,” she advised. “The last thing anyone needs is to feel like Mom and Dad are fighting.”

  I stared after her, perplexed. “Did she just make a bad joke?”

  Nate chuckled under his breath. “Looks like it. Burns must be rubbing off on her.”

  Which reminded me… “By the way, he got hitched. Not quite tied the knot but that’s semantics only.”

  Nate considered but took the news with a small smile. “How big is the harem he’s gathered?”

  “Surprisingly, only one woman, but Sonia’s feisty enough for ten,” I gave my unbiased opinion. “I’d say I like her, but she doesn’t really like me. I’m sincerely hoping it’s just a random, unwarranted jealousy thing. We did tell her that even in a last-man-on-earth scenario, I’d rather have sex with Martinez than Burns.”

  “And what did Martinez have to say to that?”

  I shrugged, grinning. “I think he’s praying every night now that mankind doesn’t die out.”

  “His word in God’s ears,” Nate murmured.

  “Why, afraid your favorite snack is going to be too hard to find then?”

  I totally deserved the washrag in the face I got for that, both his action and the look on Nate’s face making me double over with laughter. And maybe the drugs, too.

  A few minutes later, we strode back out into the corridor, ready to face the music—and I wished to hell that I wasn’t wrong, and we would somehow make it through all this, together.

  Chapter 24

  We hadn’t been gone that long—and it was still the middle of the night, with the storm howling across the land, rain falling in sheets—but the base camp had changed a lot in the meantime. Everyone seemed to be awake, and if not quite ready, getting there by chugging some coffee and getting a very early breakfast started. Zilinsky had gathered a good fifteen people in one of the larger rooms at the front part of the building where it was too exposed and drafty for sleeping but perfect for avoiding eavesdroppers. Marleen, Scott, and Richards were there, as were Blake and a few of the higher-ups of all factions, including Martinez, Burns, and Sonia.

  I was just about to look around for the spies when I recognized them—and had to do a double take. It was two of the three guys we’d met at the betting ring who’d then—quite conveniently—invited us to come with them to the arena. I had to admit, it had been a brilliant move—not even I had realized that Richards had been doing more than chatting with random strangers. They recognized me as well as we joined the circle by the fire.

  “Hey, it’s you,” one of them said, whatever number I’d previously assigned to him long forgotten.

  “In the flesh,” I offered, not quite sure what etiquette was in cases such as these.

  His smile was bright and way too friendly—and froze a second later as his attention skipped to something behind me. The other one actually took a step back. “Whoa, why did you let that thing out?”

  I was sorely tempted to check Nate’s expression but the obvious fear on our spies’ faces was too captivating. “Well, that”—I made sure to put special emphasis on the word—“is my husband.”

  The spies exchanged looks with each other. Then their attention snapped back to Nate, but they were clearly still only talking to me when the second guy said, “You fuck that? A
ren’t you afraid it’ll rip your face off?”

  I was doubly glad I had my gloves back on—it was one thing if I joked about him gnawing my fingers off, quite another if anyone else did that—and was still debating how explicit my response should be phrased when Nate spoke up—ignoring the imbeciles in favor of addressing Red. “Richards, I’m truly impressed by your selection of these fine individuals to base your intel on.” The individuals in question gawked at him as if Nate had performed a neat trick. I couldn’t help but grin—sometimes, his penchant for convoluted phrasing annoyed the fuck out of me, but now was a great exception to the rule.

  Richards shrugged, looking more interested in the coffee he was nursing than playing referee. “They had to blend in, so I couldn’t send in someone who was too smart or whose reflexes would have given them away.”

  The first guy took issue with that, apparently not too dumb to miss the implied insult. “Hey, now—”

  A hard look from Nate was enough to make him shut up. Oh, how I’d missed this! And there was no doubt who was in charge, and not just because the others had clearly been waiting for him to join them. No, it was the way he held himself, tall and strong, whatever doubt he’d let me see just minutes ago gone. He was Nate the Leader again, the second reincarnation of him that I’d come to be familiar with, after he’d charmed his way into my pants—not that it had involved a lot of actual charming. It hadn’t mattered back then that he’d almost died from being speared by a rebar; he’d always been in charge of us—across the country, to the bunker, through the winter, and as we’d set out into the free-for-all madness that our country had become. It was only now, looking back, that I realized how much his demeanor had changed after I’d almost died at the factory. Back then I’d appreciated him letting me hold the reins, at least sometimes, but this? This made me want to jump his bones right then and there, and screw whoever we made uncomfortable. And just like that, I’d realized how much I myself had changed as well.

  Nate took a moment to look at everyone gathered in the circle around the fire before he crossed his arms over his chest and spoke up, his voice strong and clear. “Thank you for joining this operation. My wife has already filled me in on the broad strokes, and we will have plenty of time later to hash out the details. I’m correct to assume that your intention is that, together, we do something about the tsunami of shit that has rolled over our country? Good. It’s about time that we, collectively, got our heads out of our asses.” No cheers followed but also no objections, everyone watching with rapt attention. Why could I never get that kind of respectful response? Oh, right. Not my style.

  “I know that you must have questions, but I’m afraid we are on a tight timeline with the deadline bearing down on us, and all that will have to wait. The most pressing matter now is that we get back into the camp before they can tighten security, or else razing it to the ground will become a matter of months with high casualty rates, rather than a lightning strike with minimal cost of life.”

  Scott, always the doubtful asshole in my face, gave a rather neutral nod. “You want to get revenge?”

  “You can bet your ass on that,” Nate replied with only the barest inflection in his tone, a hint of anger where I knew seething rage must be burning. “And before anyone thinks about calling me a selfish, vindictive prick, this is an opportunity that we cannot pass up on several levels. One, I think we can all agree that the camp, as it is, under current leadership, is a menace to whatever plan we will enact going forward. Two, under the right leadership it could become a base for our operations, but at the very least a stronghold that can provide shelter and provisions for any and all potential allies that might still be undecided. As you know, my wife and I have spent the last years living as nomads far outside of the ongoing conflict, but I’ve seen enough to realize that a steady supply of food can make a difference. And last but not least, three, we have the opportunity to recover certain assets from the camp that will both aide us in direct support, but may also be in the possession of key intel that we need going forward. Whichever way you look at it, going back in and upending the current hierarchy of power must be our next step.”

  Nods and minimal murmurs rose from all around, agreement turning into anticipation as Nate let that message sink in.

  “We can strike in a day or two,” Pia provided. “By then, our infiltrators will have had time to settle in and make contact with key personnel, and you will have had some time to rest up.”

  Nate allowed himself a pained smile. “As much as that sounds enticing, we need to move out within the hour.” That statement was met with surprise—and not all of it positive, particularly from those who hadn’t had a chance to crash tonight yet—but Nate talked right over any objection before it could even be brought forward. “Two reasons. The storm is still raging on. With no meteorological data, I cannot say for sure, but this looks like a tropical storm or maybe even hurricane to me, which means we have a chance that it will get worse rather than blow over before we get to the camp, making it much easier for us to move in and spread out. Nobody wants to be out in this weather, and guards will be more concerned with getting back inside than actually doing their duty. And second, as much as I would love to get more intel from our sources and infiltrators first, we have what we need, and we can’t waste any more time. It may have come to your attention that several of us are under the influence of a variety of intoxicants—I’m one of them. I have no idea how long I still have until I will crash, but my estimate is around twenty-four to thirty hours, and it should be the same for the rest of us until onset of the worst of the withdrawal symptoms. Either we strike now, or we have to postpone the entire operation for a week, and by then the storm will be gone and the perimeter guards will have found our scouts or this base camp. As they say, the only way is forward, and we will get things started right now.”

  I could tell that his order made the Ice Queen want to rip his head off but except for a tick at the corner of one eye she didn’t show it. “I will rouse everyone and get things started as soon as we’re done with this briefing,” she provided. “Everyone will be up and ready before sunrise.”

  Nate acknowledged that with the barest of nods, his attention still on the group at large. Turning to the spies first—who had been listening, mutely, in awe and a different kind of terror—he started on the instructions. “You, draw us a map. As detailed as you can make it. Buildings, guard posts, usual patrol rounds—whatever you can think of. Better to use too much detail than too little.” They were quick to agree, and quite happy when Pia handed them some loose paper and pens so they could get to work right away and out from under Nate’s attention.

  “How many people do we have?” he asked Pia.

  “Enough for five strike teams,” she responded. “If we can reach all our infiltrators in time, close to sixty people.”

  Nate considered for a moment. “Even if we can’t, that should be enough.” The marines—and several of Red’s soldiers as well—got twitchy, and Nate was quick to elaborate. “They have guards aplenty, and a lot of people who are part of the raiding parties, but the entire camp is set up to keep what’s already inside in, and less to defend against an invasion. I doubt that many of the scavengers and other guests will come to their defense if we act quickly enough—that’s why we need to strike now, before they can be rallied and convinced that it’s in their best interest to die defending what isn’t even theirs. Most of the normal inhabitants have no skin in the game if we don’t set the entire town on fire. They won’t care either way, or might even realize they are better off living in a town that’s not under martial law. Our concern are the guards and their command staff. From what intel I’ve been able to gather, that’s less than three hundred people, and half the guards at the gates and perimeter might be easily convinced that it’s of vital interest to them not to make us kill them. The citadel guards are all loyal to Cortez, and I wouldn’t hesitate for a second to blow their brains out once you encounter them. They will do you
the exact same favor—and if not, you better pray that our mission succeeds, because the alternative isn’t something I can recommend.”

  There was no need to explain what he meant, and no objections followed. Andrej cleared his throat, drawing Nate’s attention. “How many prisoners do they have? And how many of them will be able to fight with us?”

  Nate did a quick tally in his head. “Around fifty, give or take. Most of them will be quite eager to take revenge but unless we’re losing badly, I’d keep them in their cells until we’ve cleaned out the citadel—that’s what they call their stronghold in the mines below and around the arena. We’ll have to do psychological assessments who’s still fit to fight and that will take time. But I expect at least half of them will be happy to join us going forward.”

  Maybe it was just me, but I felt like he was forgetting about a cohort of potential fighters. “What about the labor slaves?”

  Nate half turned to glance my way. “What about them? I presume that because of the storm they won’t be herded out onto the fields in the morning.”

  His dismissive tone rubbed me the wrong way. “I’ve seen how many of them there are. Hundreds. If what you say about the guards is accurate, they alone could be enough to be an overwhelming force.” As I said that, I realized that I must be missing something there—how could so few guards keep so many people under these conditions without an instant revolt? Particularly considering how tight their security seemed around the arena prisoners.

  Nate looked at me as if I’d gone insane until something occurred to him, his frown turning pensive. “You don’t know.” He then looked at the others, meeting similar confusion. “They won’t be able to help us,” he finally explained. “Because none of them possess either the drive or mental ability required to.” He shot another look my way, murmuring, “I know you’re going to love this.” Louder, he explained, “Remember when we had that standoff in Colorado, at the army base? Part of the conditions we demanded for the truce were that those soldiers who had been inoculated with a faulty version of the serum—that turned them into mindless husks most of the time, but sometimes progressed to full conversion—would be taken care of. Looks like someone found a way to keep them occupied.”