And, wouldn’t you know it, one thing that hadn’t changed was that she still held the trigger to my instant defensiveness in her hands, and kept accidentally pushing it like there was no tomorrow. Granted, that was likely one hundred percent in my mind, but didn’t change a thing now.
“Like what you see?” I drawled, fighting hard not to curl my hands into loose fists to hide my fingers, or cross my arms over my chest to make them disappear in my armpits.
Sam’s gaze zoomed from where she had, indeed, been staring at my fingers to my face, physically drawing up short. She looked more horrified—in a sympathetic kind of way—than guilty for having been caught ogling me, and it took her a second to rein in her features. And because I could be a royal bitch when I wanted to—and suddenly, I did—I kept flexing my fingers, as if they needed any extra attention drawn to them.
“Of course not,” she whispered, her voice hoarse but quickly gaining strength as she did her best to compose herself. “But I doubt you need me to tell you that it’s horrible what happened to you.”
I almost laughed at how terribly predictable she was—but the same could have been said for me as I found myself doing what I’d just sworn I wouldn’t do as I cocked my hip and crossed my arms over my chest, pretending like I was so very much at ease in my nudity. I was totally not hiding my tits, or what was left of them after spending years on the lower end of subcutaneous fat percentages healthy for my height and weight—and the odd months way below that.
“No, I really don’t,” I answered her when nothing else came to mind. What was she doing here? I could tell that I made her uncomfortable, and probably the scars and other changes were only the most obvious but overall negligible part of it, as far as emotional impact went. I felt taken aback when I realized that I was likely physically scaring her—and while that did come with a hint of satisfaction since I’d absolutely earned that kind of reputation, it wasn’t anything I wanted to see in someone I’d once loved for real. Quitting my damn posing, I made a grab for a towel, slightly stained red from our previous not-quite beautification efforts, quickly drying myself off so I could start getting dressed.
Sam watched me for a moment before noisily clearing her throat. “You’re likely asking yourself why I’m here.”
“Naturally.”
She grimaced at my slightly acerbic tone—looked like I wasn’t the only one with those triggers still intact—but ignored it. “I think we need to talk.” When she saw me pause and look up at her, she quickly explained. “Or, I need to talk and I need you to listen. I’m not quite sure I even want a response from you since I doubt what happened in the meantime has made you any less defensive than you used to be—” All it took from me was to give her a blank stare like the one Nate so loved to direct at me, and she pretty much fell over her own words in her haste to get them out. “As am I, yes. I’m aware of that. Whatever—”
“Sam.” Saying her name out loud felt vaguely weird, like something long forgotten but suddenly remembered, but it only came as fragments, not a whole picture. She halted, briefly gasping for breath, allowing me to stop her right there. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you, or anything. Not for anything you said to me in Halsey”—that damn cultish settlement in the middle of nowhere in Nebraska, where we’d met again after I’d escaped from Taggard’s white-tiled prison—“or on the way back here.” Which had been after we’d attacked the base in Colorado and forced that truce on Hamilton that had done nothing, or nothing good at least. All that felt like it had happened a million years ago. “You had no idea about what had happened since we last saw each other, and with the settlement at least, you met me just after I’d gone through the worst few weeks of my life, and the—” I paused, trying to compile a quick list. “Something between third- and fifth-most traumatic experience until today. It really wasn’t a good time for me, and I was way outside of the emotional range required to deal with the fact that you were still alive. Which I was insanely glad to see, and still am.” I winced at how that came out. “Guess what I’m trying to say is, no hard feelings?” It was more of a suggestion than a statement, really.
She stared at me for several seconds flat even after I’d fallen silent, likely having to fight impulsive reactions while at the same time rearranging her inner talking-point cheat sheets on the fly. It was okay. I wasn’t quite feeling at my intellectual height, either.
“No hard feelings,” she finally offered, looking relieved for a moment. I could tell that she wanted to snap that she had done nothing to warrant the same on my side but wisely swallowed it, which I figured had more to do with the fact that she was feeling uneasy because of what she knew I could do now, rather than emotional maturity. Who was I kidding? She wasn’t exactly wrong there, although I sure hoped I wouldn’t fly off the handle and physically attack her.
Mostly to stave off the threatening lull in the conversation, but also because I was curious, I asked, “How are you doing these days? You look happy.” And she did. Thankfully, someone had found more sensible clothes for her than what she’d been wearing the last time I’d seen her, and she looked stronger and healthier as well, speaking of better food choices—and better psychological conditions as well, not that I’d expected any less from the people here.
“I am,” she admitted with a small smile, but it disappeared almost immediately, as if it made her feel guilty.
“Oh, come on. Just let me have it,” I teased. “It’s entirely unfair that you probably know details of my life that I’d rather not be public knowledge, and you’re not even telling me what made you smile like this?”
Sam grinned, almost bashful, before she inclined her head with purpose. “Okay, you asked for it. I’m actually happily married. To a woman who I love, also because she doesn’t take me seriously. And we have five kids together. Two are biologically hers; one is mine.” She paused for a moment with the goofiest grin on her face. “The eldest two we adopted, since there are too many orphans in this world and we wanted to get our little family started as soon as possible. My little girl’s just over eleven months now. And, I’m not quite sure yet, but she might be getting a new sibling soon. It’s a little early to tell yet.”
I had to admit, what I was the gladdest about was the timeline of her pregnancy, because that meant that, however that baby had been conceived, it was long past when Sam had gotten away from that fucked-up cult that I was still convinced was the extended breeding program of whatever Taggard had been up to. It vexed me for a moment that I still didn’t know if it was all connected, down to the scavenger zombies we had to kill today, or just random offshoots of the same crazy tree, but it didn’t matter.
I could tell Sam relaxed—outwardly and inwardly—when I smiled back at her, trying hard to push away my speculations. “Turkey baster, huh?” I half-joked.
She chuckled. “Actually, yes, but our three… well, maybe soon four biological kids all have the same father. Vince lost his son and wife in the outbreak and I think he’s sworn to himself he’ll never cheat on her memory, but he always wanted to have a large family. Since we needed a donor and are very happy to have another pair of helping hands, it was a great solution. We co-parent the whole ragtag bunch together. Right now they are all too small to need any specific explanations. That’s a conversation for another day in the far, far future.” She sounded happy rather than wistful.
“Hey, no judgment from me,” I was quick to offer. “Two moms and a dad who love you? Sounds awesome to me. Then again, my definition of family nowadays is an unwashed horde of somewhere between ten to thirty people who I love, like, am able to stand, or absolutely hate their guts on a changing spectrum depending on the situation, so maybe don’t ask me about such matters.”
She shared my grin for a moment but then it slipped, and I could tell that we were closer to her real reason for accosting me. “That’s actually part of why I’m here,” she explained. She hedged around for a moment but then went for it, probably to get it over with. “I was with Charlie i
n the radio station when Alejandro called a few weeks ago. Martinez,” she clarified.
I gave her a hard stare. “Just because I’m used to calling most of these assholes by their last name doesn’t mean I’m not at least passingly aware that they do have first names, too. Only took me about three seconds to catch up.”
I could tell that my snide remark vexed her but she went on rather than reprimand me. “He’s taking it really hard, that all-of-you-dying thing, you know? You make up more than eighty percent of his closest friends, and it’s not helping that you’re all simply accepting it, and expect him to fall in line, too.”
I couldn’t help but snort. “Yeah, not so sure about the acceptance part of that. I’m maybe seventy percent into coming to grips with shit. But I presume what he meant was that we just up and decided to ignore it and went to get killed in Dallas. No need to cry over spilled milk when someone smashes your jug before you get to it.”
I could tell that my attempt at gallows humor didn’t sit well with her, but again she chose to surge on rather than bicker. “Be that as it may, he’s hurting. And I can only imagine how much worse it must be for all of you after what happened in your hometown. I’m so sorry for your loss. Words can’t describe how that hurts me, and I’m not even directly affected.” She paused, but before I could do more than nod in silent acceptance, my throat momentarily tight, she went on. “Anyway, listening to their conversation got me thinking. I never expected to talk to you again, truth be told. I think I know you well enough still that you would have been perfectly fine with us forever avoiding each other. But that’s almost like cheating, you know?” Now she did look guilty, but still wouldn’t shut up. “I just… I actually don’t know what to say but figured, this is likely my absolute last chance to sit down and have a talk with you, and for better or worse, here I am! Rambling, incoherently, making an ass of myself.”
She seemed taken aback when I smiled at her, and it wasn’t even a sarcastic emotion. “I’m not sure we could have had this talk any sooner than now,” I admitted. Look at me, all mature and ready to make concessions! “Sam, I should have had the guts to break up with you years before everything went to shit. But I wasn’t ready because I wasn’t mature enough, and because it felt like failure and I was afraid of feeling rejected, and it was so much easier to just ignore shit and thus condemn us both to being miserable. Or, I don’t know. We could have agreed to continue our cohabitation thing, maybe with benefits, maybe without, but with the open and honest agreement that you could date and have sex with whoever you liked, without it needing to be some kind of rebellion, or out of spite, or whatnot.” I hesitated, but she deserved to hear the rest, too. “I loved you, really loved you—once. On some level, I still do. But I fell out of love with you a long time ago, and you deserved better than being locked in a cage of cozy convenience.” She looked ready to protest—ever the good samaritan, needing to share the blame, so I let her have the rest as well. “But you could have done the same, or at the very least you could have told me, to my face, that you wanted an open relationship, and there was no need for you to constantly rub my face in the other pussy you were licking, so to speak.”
She let out a little guffaw in response that was part relief, part offense. “You’ve always had such a way with words,” she remarked.
“It’s my special superpower. Including inevitable foot-in-mouth moments. Half my reputation is based on that.”
“And the other half?”
I considered just how honest to be with that, but decided that, going with the honesty theme, she deserved to hear this—and be glad our lives had taken very different turns. “Following up on my threats in the most efficient, brutal way possible. And running with a crowd who see that as a virtue, not a horrible flaw.” It was obvious that this wasn’t something we’d ever see eye to eye on—but I was oddly okay with that. I wasn’t seeking anyone’s approval with my actions, least of all hers. And if all the shit we’d been through had taught me anything, it was that in the end, all I could do was be true to myself—because that was exactly what had gotten me through the worst of it.
“Want to hear the full story?” I asked, a little surprised at myself for the offer.
Sam hesitated but then said, in a slightly shaky voice, “Yes, I’d love to. Whatever you feel comfortable sharing with me.”
I almost balked at the implication that I wanted to hide anything—but then realized there were a few things I either didn’t much feel like rehashing, or had no business telling her as they weren’t exactly my story to tell, like Nate’s imprisonment at the camp, and all the many absolutely convenient aftershocks of that we were still dealing with. But there was so much else that I could share, starting at the fateful Friday morning when I’d been so hell-bent on getting to work so I could be rid of my sick girlfriend that I’d missed that, for all intents and purposes, the world around us had already gone to shit. It had just needed another twenty-four hours for all hell to break lose.
So I told her about how it had come that I’d fallen in with that crazy lot I was still running with. How I’d learned to be strong and self-sufficient, and later deadly and brutal, but didn’t leave out the toll it was taking on me. How I’d grieved for her; how, in a sense, underneath all the grand speeches, she’d kind of become my personal reason to call for a change and rally scavengers from all over the country for my crusade. That, of course, I’d been out for blood and vengeance—but finally getting it had done little to heal me and had, for the most part, left a bad aftertaste in my mouth. Then sheer survival had become a new priority, and I’d been forced to compromise on things I hadn’t thought I could ever compromise on, not after what had happened mere months before. I even told her a little about the madness of crossing the Atlantic ocean in search of a cure that I knew didn’t exist, and how, maybe, or maybe not, that had played into our current problems. She listened to all of it in silence, never offering more than a nod or expression of sympathy—not like a priest hearing my confession; not even a therapist acting as a neutral sounding board. No, like a friend; like someone who, even though she no longer knew me as I was now, had once known me better than anyone else in the world, and some of that understanding was still there. I could discuss all this and more with Nate, and most of it also with Martinez, but somehow it was different now with Sam. Maybe because, of all the people who knew me, she was the least personally affected by it.
And still, she was who I hoped would very much profit from what would likely become our final mission.
“Are you afraid?” she asked when I finally fell silent. “Of dying, I mean? Because from what you’ve just told me of what you’ll do once you leave here, I’m not even sure that you’ll get much of a chance to worry about the details.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, and it wasn’t a nice sound. “There’s a huge chance none of us will walk—or even crawl—away from this. But I’m okay with that.” She made a disbelieving face, making me reconsider how to better explain it. “Sure, would I love to live another year, or even a decade? Fuck, yeah. I’d give a lot for that, but it’s not like this is a bargaining game. I can’t influence or negotiate like that. But what I can do is try to put an end to what’s been going on, what’s been dragging the world further and further into the abyss. And I’m so fucking over constantly having a target painted on my back. Although, it’s mostly just flakes that have rubbed off from the target that Nate has painted on his back. It doesn’t matter.”
She still looked rather skeptical. “Are you sure that’s all true? Or can even be true? No offense, but it does all sound like one huge conspiracy… made up by a paranoid circle-jerk by people too traumatized to still believe in the good left in this world.”
That made me laugh out loud—and partly in agreement. “That’s an entirely realistic possibility,” I admitted. “Maybe we’re all just psyching each other up, and then we’ll arrive at that doomsday bunker, all bent on raining down destruction on it, and all we find is an abandoned cons
truction site that was never more than a scam. I’m not even sure that’s the worst thing that could happen, if I’m honest. Maybe it’s all just in our minds. Maybe there never was an overarching conspiracy. Maybe there was but has long since fragmented, and we’ve killed off all but the last remaining cell of it. I don’t know what we’ll do if that happens, but at least I can say for myself, I tried. I tried to make the world a better place. It sounds so damn idealistic and naive, but honestly? Looking at what you’ve all accomplished here with this settlement, I have to agree that just maybe, that’s all any of us can do, and maybe that’s even all it takes. If I have that option, I’d like to go out with a bang and leave the world a better place. If I’ve already done everything I can, just as well. I’ll die with very few regrets, and that’s a lot more than I could have said for myself the last time we met. That’s something.”
I hadn’t expected to see her agreeing with me, but maybe I should have. While she still refused to carry a weapon beyond a utility knife—from what I could tell—she’d always seen her pacifism as a very personal thing that needn’t necessarily encroach on anyone else’s different view on life. It was kind of hilarious that I’d gone from being with a woman who wouldn’t hurt a fly but was getting off on emotionally manipulating me into being a victim so she could have someone to take care of, to, well, being with a manipulative asshole who mostly did it so he’d get me to where I was happy to fully accept myself, which he’d kind of done from the very beginning. Despite all the mistakes that Sam and I had both made in our relationship, I was sure that, eventually, we would have found a way to happily exist alongside each other—but it was only after I’d met Nate that I’d started to fully become confident and happy inside my own skin.
Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 4 | Books 10-12 Page 94
