It was close to the end of my shift when I turned, and suddenly Nate materialized out of nowhere. He’d always been a quiet, deliberate mover, but I’d noticed in the past days that he’d upped his stealth game. Part of me wondered if that was a byproduct of what Hamilton had mentioned—our unmistakable deterioration into the perfect, unnatural hunter. More likely, it stemmed from having been locked in for weeks with brief intermissions of violent unpleasantries of all kinds. Or he’d always been like this when it hadn’t been just the two of us, and I only noticed it now because that had been a while. Whatever the cause, some subliminal part of me must have noticed him as I didn’t startle, just stopped and waited for him to close the distance between us. The faint moonlight was the only illumination, the other guards with their flashlights far enough away not to impede my night vision. Since everyone present had heard Hamilton’s assessment I hadn’t bothered with bringing something that would more blind and hinder than help me—and I’d noticed that I hadn’t been alone with that. Hill had been the only one of those who I knew were inoculated with the serum who had bothered with a flashlight. Theoretically, that should have boded well for the mission ahead, tunnels and all, but that was one detail I couldn’t help but freak the fuck out about. Nothing much had changed for me since I’d woken on what should have been my deathbed, but that had been just me, and knowing that my blood must have been teeming with viral particles at the time. Nate’s change had been easy to explain away with all the other small details he’d brought with him after we’d dragged him out of that blasted lab in Paris. But the others? As far as I knew, Burns, Richards, Hamilton, and Cole hadn’t gotten bitten or scratched there. None of the scavengers had been with us, and they had no problems navigating in the darkness, either.
We were all so fucking screwed, Dallas or not.
Nate didn’t say anything at first, just stood there and stared at me. I knew what he was doing—committing my face to memory. Why? Because I was doing the same, although my rational mind screamed at me not to—it felt too much like jinxing us. I couldn’t help it. Losing him for an endless nine weeks once was too much. Deep inside of me, a different kind of resentment welled up that had been simmering for a while but that I’d managed to keep at bay until now. Damn it, but I’d only just gotten him back! A little tarnished and chipped around the edges, but I didn’t give a shit about that at all. I deserved more time. We both did.
I opened my mouth to ask him… what exactly, I didn’t know; somehow, “Wanna fuck?” went miles by where my head was, and other body parts as well. He shut me up when he brought his hands up and cradled my face before leaning in, the kiss passionate and deep but not the kind that urged for the prompt removal of at least some of my clothes. No conscious thought was required to join and lean into him, desperation clawing at the back of my mind that my body was slow to translate.
I was the one to break away first, and the words spilled out of my mouth before I could think about holding back. “Promise me that this isn’t the end,” I whispered, my voice hoarse and pressed. “Promise me that you will survive.”
I expected him to laugh—or at least make fun of me—but while Nate hesitated, it wasn’t from trying to be diplomatic. “I promise,” he murmured back, the same desperation in his tone that I felt. I hadn’t expected him to say that; it actually weirded me out on some level since his usual MO was to insist not to make promises he knew he couldn’t keep. Maybe that occurred to him as well as a wry smile made it onto his expression. “Or I’ll do my very best to make that happen. I don’t think that this will turn into the last stage of our journey, and at the very least, I want to be around to see that miserable old fuck bite it.” No need to explain who he was referring to.
“You don’t think he’s hiding out in there?”
He shook his head. “If he ever was there, I doubt he’ll be there now. It doesn’t matter. We have our mission, and even if the odds seem overwhelmingly bad in our favor, we’ve survived worse.”
I wasn’t sure about either, but didn’t dare voice my doubt. Some things better went unsaid, particularly those where no one ended up alive to say “I told you so.” Instead, I licked my lips, trying to decide what—and how much—to say. I was burning to tell him about my recent discovery, but now was not the time to bring up my possible fertility status, even though it felt weird to think that now three people in this camp were aware of it and Nate wasn’t one of them. I told myself I’d have plenty of time to share the news—and very likely complicate everything—later, after we were back out of the hellhole waiting for us over the horizon. Instead, I went for a different kind of confirmation. “I know this is likely a very silly question, but I need to know this before we head out in the morning. You’re not actively withdrawing from me, right? This is just you playing your usual underhanded game of manipulation, right?”
There was a hint of condescension in his gaze as he studied me, a wry twist coming to his lips. “I thought we were years beyond the point where I needed to—repeatedly—express that I’d lay down my life for you in a heartbeat, and there is nothing and no one in this world that will change that.”
I hated how much I’d needed to hear him say that. “Why not tell me?” I waited for a moment, but then answered my own question since I knew he was about to offer up one of his favorite sayings—why ask when I knew, anyway? “You needed my authentic reaction. You needed me to strut around and throw a succession of hissy fits, particularly after how the three of us worked together interrogating our prisoners. But why? Everyone here knows that Hamilton and I will never see eye to eye, and I honestly don’t know how I feel about knowing you wanted to delegate me to the B team.”
Nate’s expression turned hard, to the point where reading him was impossible. “Last time I looked, you and Richards did a great job springing both Hamilton and me, so it stands to reason you’re not exactly playing second fiddle,” he observed. Was that anger in his voice? And regret? Like he hated the fact that it was true? The notion was so strange that it took me a little to wrap my mind around it, but it made sense in a way—and there was something else. I hadn’t missed how he’d pretty much growled Red’s name. Far was it from me to accuse my husband of being jealous—and I was sure that it wasn’t concerning romantic feelings in the least—but I figured, in a way that made sense, too. As grateful as he must be about the rescue—and he’d only ever been happy to see me grow more proficient and stronger—it must rankle that he didn’t feel like the unbeaten, unchallenged top dog anymore. Considering what I knew about Nate’s past, and how bitter and costly so many of his triumphs had been, it struck me as peculiar that he’d act like this now, but maybe that was just one more sign of just how thin his patience was wearing.
Either way, his obvious confidence in me was something that felt great to hear, and I hated that on some level I’d needed to know he was okay with all this. But that still didn’t explain why the subterfuge. “You know that I don’t need much acting talent to make it look real that I don’t want to be anywhere near Hamilton.”
Nate sighed and looked away, making me wonder why he was avoiding me—until I realized that he was listening into the night, making sure that it was only the two of us here. When he focused back on me, his expression was a different kind of bland, speaking of underlying anger, tightly leashed until it was time to let it all out. “Someone betrayed your rescue mission and warned the Chemist. Since we have no idea who, we can’t be sure they won’t do so again.”
“You think it’s someone who’s along with us?” With everything going on, I’d almost forgotten about that.
Nate shrugged. “No idea. Maybe not. Maybe their only job was to rat us out. They can continue to do that without a high chance of getting eaten.”
“They?” I echoed. “You think it could be a woman? Not that many choices.” My knee-jerk reaction was very focused on a single possible suspect, but I refused to believe that was true. “Do you really think Rita would betray you?” Just because she wouldn
’t help us didn’t mean she’d sell us out.
I didn’t like how dispassionate Nate looked when he responded. “Deliberately? No. But if this clusterfuck of a situation that we are in has reminded me of anything, it’s that often good people end up in situations where they are forced to do not-so-good things.” He paused, but then shook his head. “No, I don’t think it’s her. She wouldn’t have needed to risk her hide leaving Dispatch to betray us. But as you keep reminding everyone and their mother, it’s often a fatal mistake people make when they assume you’re just a pretty face. I won’t make that mistake.” Another pause. “But no, I don’t think it’s a woman. Sadly, that only barely limits the pool of possible suspects. But it’s another reason why I’m glad I can hand you off to Richards and his men. Then both of us can concentrate on something else other than looking after each other and getting killed because we’re distracted.”
I had to admit, I was glad that he pretty much confirmed that he still trusted Richards with his—and now, more pressingly, my—life. The fact that Red had felt the need for a detour before joining us again hadn’t sat completely right with me, but he had explained that they had been on a mission before and likely had to get that underway before they could help us. And they had shown up, with backup and extra gear, and the second half of his group was now dutifully running wherever Zilinsky pointed. Or they were embedded where on their own they could never have gotten, in the perfect spot to tattle on us.
Why was I even concerned about the millions of zombies that, come tomorrow, would do their best to eat us? They sounded like the easier and way more predictable enemy for sure.
“Bree, I need you to promise me something as well.” Nate’s words made me frown at him, which was enough for him to go on. “I know you know this, and I know you’ve excelled in the past at ignoring this, but now I need you to promise me that you won’t play the hero. I mean it. Everyone knows that your friends are your biggest weakness. I can’t lose you because that’s what you are to me—my weakness. If worse comes to worst, I need you to let someone else die for you so you can get away. So you can fight another day. And if that means that you’re the only one of all of us who gets away, even if you have to walk from Texas to California or Utah, I need you to do that. Promise me.” I already had my mouth open—to say what, I wasn’t quite sure, but certainly not to agree—when Nate grabbed my arms, looking ready to shake some sense into me if need be. “Promise me!”
A million denials ran through my mind, starting with the point that it was unfair to expect anyone to die for me, and whether I’d even get the choice, but that was before the panic in his eyes registered. It was that small detail that fell into place like the last piece of the puzzle, and suddenly, his behavior since we’d taken over the camp took on a different meaning. The near-constant cold-and-warm behavior; how he could both seemingly ignore me and give me way more space than I needed, then turn around and give me concessions that surprised me because they almost went against his usual MO; the fact that he knew that I was highly competent and could take care of myself, but looked ready to beg me to wrap myself in layers of protective material so nothing could get close to me. I’d chalked some of that up to him dealing with all the shit that had happened to him and simply not having the mental capacity to factor in all my needs as well. Now I realized that I had been wrong: Nate was, indeed, factoring in my needs, likely prioritizing me way higher than was good for either of us—because he was scared shitless. Scared shitless of losing me; probably more of someone using me against him than me simply dying, but that was a very real possibility as well. Most other men would have been afraid for their own lives and sanities after what had been done to him, but if not quite taking that in stride, Nate was dealing with it in typical Nate fashion: accept that it happened and move on. Yet for whatever reason, something about that experience had turned his usually appropriate level of care and protectiveness for me into a manic bordering on hysteric need—and while I would have loved to shake it off as paranoia, I had the sinking feeling that the reason for that was that he was convinced that I was in real danger, and he couldn’t live in a reality where what he was afraid might happen to me would come to pass. Considering both our rap sheets, that made a shudder run down my spine that had nothing to do with the—thankfully lessening—withdrawal symptoms.
Considering all that, it was easy to give my answer—and mean it. “I promise.”
There was no relief on Nate’s face, hammering down just how serious this was for him. A mere token promise of mine not to get myself deliberately killed wouldn’t have done the trick. The fear clawing at the back of my throat was back, but now it had nothing to do with the danger we would be walking into come tomorrow. I didn’t say anything because I knew there were no words in the universe that could bring relief. I also didn’t try to jump his bones in an attempt to make myself forget, if only for the next twenty minutes or so. Nothing like feeling very small and oh so very mortal to act like a bucket of ice-cold water on my libido.
We could always catch up once this was over—if we were still alive.
“We should both try to catch what little sleep we still can,” I proposed, grinning at the irony of me of all people saying that. Then again, I wasn’t sure how many hours Nate had slept tonight, if at all. His wry smile told me he agreed—at least with the fact that me acting all mature was a novelty, and quite strange. Oh well. I was sure that, sooner or later, I’d get a chance to prove that was all just pretense.
“We should,” he replied, but made no move to return to the campsite. A few moments passed, making me wonder if I’d read the situation wrong and he was looking to score, but then he signaled me to turn around as he stepped closer. I couldn’t help but relax just a little as his arms wrapped around me from behind. We both stared up into the night where the Milky Way stretched, impossibly bright, across the dark sky above us. I couldn’t count the many evenings we’d spent together, staring at the spectacle up there, and for a second, it was easy to pretend that the past two months hadn’t happened, and we were still at our tree house, or maybe at the lake, or back at the caves, or one of our many other hideouts.
But that time was gone, and if I was honest, I was glad about that. Sure, it had been downright idyllic—but we’d always known that it wasn’t for forever, and things would get way worse way faster than we could anticipate. That had turned out to be terribly true—but we were still here, still standing; still fighting. And I would be damned if I let anything in the world change that.
Chapter 9
The mood in the car was, frankly put, subdued going on graveyard, but I didn’t find it within me to try to change it. I knew it was more than just bad practice not to sleep the night before what would be one awful tour de force, but at least the drugs had finally worn off, and most of the withdrawal symptoms were gone, too. I felt more like myself than in what seemed like months rather than the realistic week that it had been—which was great, seeing as being myself would be all the better if I got torn apart by the Dallas resident undead population. Red was driving while I was riding shotgun, poor Gallager again exiled to the jump seat in the middle of the back row. The soldiers seemed more somber than depressed, as if staring their own mortality in the face was business as usual. In many ways, it probably was. For me? Not so much.
We had our gear ready to leave the car on a moment’s notice, but as it turned out, that wasn’t necessary. Twenty miles outside of our designated drop-off zone we ambled onto the highway to start the agonizing and slow trek toward Dallas. Even that far outside the city, the road was jam-packed with car wrecks, and no clean-up effort had even started, let alone shown progress over the past years. I’d been aware of how much the trade routes had been prepped, but only after seeing the stark difference here did it hit home how much work and man hours had been put into keeping traffic up across the country. In a sense, that made me hopeful for the future, but it also underlined just how devastatingly destructive the events of the past years had
been. Our country was fighting, tooth and nail, but with the chokehold of insanity slowly but steadily killing progress. If I hadn’t had reasons aplenty for this mission, that realization would have been enough to make me dare the hike into Dallas ten times over.
Progress ground down to barely faster than walking speed, and we spaced out the cars farther and farther with every mile southwest, both out of necessity but also to attract the least amount of attention possible. The wrecks were abandoned for the most part but a few shamblers popped out of them whenever metal scraped on something, forcing us to mostly use the middle strip between the strips of tarmac, or the shoulders wherever not packed with mangled cars. There were traces of fires raging across the road and tornadoes hurling cars this way and that, which helped as much as hindered our progress. I thought the first few miles were bad, until we reached what I realized would be our final stopping point five miles outside what we’d hoped would be our drop-off, where a giant heap of metal blocked the entirety of the road. What seemed to have started out as a roadblock probably enacted by FEMA had turned into a barrier that nature had smashed cars on cars into, erecting a now permanent wall. Sure, we could have found a way around it and progressed forward, but it was too obvious a waypoint to ignore it. Even the smartest shamblers would have trouble overcoming that barrier while retreating humans could find ample cover. If we’d planned it, we couldn’t have produced a better fallback point.
Nate’s voice was clipped as he sent a brief command over the coms. “This is it.”
Because we had the time and opportunity, the drivers arranged their vehicles in a pattern set for a quick sortie that would let them peel off should we come back with seconds to spare to get away from snapping jaws and grabbing claws. I waited until Richards shut off the engine before I got out, the heat of the sun immediately sending rivers of sweat down my body. No, I hadn’t protested when I’d found out this morning that the assholes hadn’t cut their AC out, but had taken the short reprieve for what it was. My watch showed that it was just after ten in the morning, so the heat would get massively more awful still. Nothing I could do about that, so I made sure my shades and ball cap were covering as much of my face as possible, leaving the scarf loose around my neck for now. Even out here, the stench was eye-watering, and I’d soon be glad to have something to cover my mouth and nose—but until I absolutely had to, I would leave the bottom half of my face bare.
Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 4 | Books 10-12 Page 57
