Satisfied with the chips working and whatever other setup they’d done with the small electrical device coming with the case, Hamilton held out his left hand so Nate could implant the chip in the callused flesh of his palm underneath the thumb. The needle used wasn’t even that thick, and Hamilton barely winced, which gave me some hope it wouldn’t be too bad. He waited for Nate to open the lead box and hand him one of the vials, which disappeared into a casing that made it look like a stainless steel cigar. Grabbing that and a tube of lube—for whatever purpose we had been carting that around, I didn’t ask—he shimmied out of the car on the opposite side while muttering, mostly to himself, “Oh, how I’ve forgotten how much fun this is.”
I waited until he had disappeared into the woods before turning to Nate. He already had the next tracker loaded, but held out the syringe to me rather than waited for me to offer my hand. I took it, studying it for a moment, before mimicking Nate’s motions from when he’d chipped Hamilton. Yet rather than putting it back in the case, I handed it to Nate—and after a moment’s hesitation, held out my right hand. “Do me next.”
He didn’t halt as much as scrutinize my face before reaching for one of the remaining chips. “You sure?”
“Fuck, no,” I admitted. “But it’s the rational thing to do, right? You said so yourself—they’ll underestimate me, and I have the excuse with my trashed leg. If all else fails, wait those twenty minutes and then use me as a distraction. Promise, I won’t mind by then.”
He actually flashed me a grin for the joke, if a weak one. The chip hurt like hell going into my hand, and it didn’t get much better with the second one right beside it. I stroked over the raised welts with the tip of my finger before halting, suddenly afraid. “What’s the trigger sequence again?”
“SOS,” Nate said. “Three quick, short taps, followed by three slow taps with pauses, and three more short taps. Maybe don’t drum your fingertips on your palm for the next few hours, unless you need to.”
Surprisingly soon, Hamilton was back, even before Nate had prepped the other three charges. I silently accepted the lube from him, refraining from commenting on his speed and proficiency in hopes he wouldn’t offer to lend me a hand. My fingers trembled as I accepted two of the sleek tubes from Nate. They looked light but were surprisingly heavy, but then the atomic weight of plutonium was quite a distance from, say, carbon or magnesium. They also seemed a lot less sleek then they’d looked in Nate’s hands.
Cursing my own bravery and stupidity out in my head, I walked a short distance away from the Rover to hide behind a few bushes, and got ready to drop my pants. And yes, of course I needed a full five minutes, way longer than Hamilton, and as it turned out, Nate as well. So much for me not being the uptight one. And no, that wasn’t all that funny to me, either.
I knew it was mostly paranoia about possible leakage and instant immolation from the inside out, but while I waited for Nate to be done before trudging back to the car, I couldn’t help but shift my weight from one foot to the other, very, very uncomfortably so. Even using what had felt like half a tube of lube had helped only so much. How was anyone expecting me to act normal and be able to, quite possibly, fight like this?
Easy, as it turned out, as the guys continued to act as if everything was normal and there was no reason for me to dread sliding behind the wheel of the car. At least Nate didn’t insult me by suggesting that he drive the remaining distance. Hamilton kept smirking at me, even after we were—gingerly, in my case—settled in our seats once more.
The miles crawled by, until we finally reached Cumberland Lake, following one of the roads that passed by its southern shore. Ten more miles, five, and then all there was in front of me was a dirt track, somewhat overgrown. I told myself that we were still on the right track; if the cars that had remained with the Dallas lab had been the only ones to come here often, then it was well over a month since their last visit, if not longer. Of course nature had been crafty to reclaim what it could in the meantime, and it made no sense to advocate any bunker front or back door. Still, I couldn’t help but ask myself what we’d do if we found nothing at the end of the track. Getting jostled this way and that helped somewhat since I was all out of worry for finding nothing with what felt like the acute panic of instant immolation weighing much heavier on my mind.
There was one last bend, and the underbrush and few trees fell away, a sweeping meadow before us. I hadn’t expected to be able to, but I recognized the site from the documentary back in the day, but only because I knew what it was supposed to be. Maybe half a mile in, a single shed stood, built against the slope of a hill behind it—and that was it. There were no power lines or additional buildings housing generators. No parking spaces, but also no ditches or fences as outwardly visible defenses. It was anticlimactic in the sense of appearing exactly how a hidden doomsday bunker should be looking like—not there.
I didn’t need it, but at Nate’s grunt I brought the Rover to a stop and turned the engine off. I couldn’t help but stroke the steering wheel one last time. Technically, we’d only spent a week together, but new and old memories had already started to mingle in my mind. A shame to never return to the car again. It was a really nice car.
And damn Nate for joking that I could be bribed with a fleet of them, because right now I really wanted a better bargaining chip than my life. Since nobody presented me with that option, I swallowed my ire and got out.
We left all obvious weapons in the car, which meant we spent another five minutes actually pulling them and their holsters out of various open and concealed carrying places. I was so used to the weight distributed all over my body that I felt naked, even fully clothed with my jacket zipped up once more right to my chin. We could have done that already at our last stop, but since we hadn’t known what waited for us until we got here, it had seemed like a good idea to wait until the last minute to disarm.
Then we set out, Nate walking in the middle, me on his left, toward the shed.
I made it all of ten steps before I froze in my tracks, my mind going haywire with panic—but it was something else that sped up my heart into a frantic pulse. I simply couldn’t do this. I felt like a coward, and like I was letting Nate down, but if I was really going to die, I would do it with no regrets, and with a clear conscience. And if that meant dumping more shit on his shoulders, well, he’d better think quick on his feet about how to deal with that.
“Wait,” I hedged, the guys already a few feet ahead of me. Nate stopped immediately, turning to me, while Hamilton took another step forward, grumbling something that sounded awfully like “cowardly cunt” to me. I ignored him, instead staring at Nate, trying to come up with the right words. I could see disappointment etched onto his features as he jumped to conclusions, but he was quick to hide that from me. He looked glad for a second before even that was swallowed up in his neutral mask.
“It’s probably better if you stay with the car—” he started, but I cut him off with a vehement shake of my head.
“Oh, I’m coming. I just… I need to tell you something first.”
That’s about as far as I got before Hamilton started to cackle, although less in a “oh, this is funny” way, and more like he was about to lose it completely. I glared at him—which he ignored—but Nate’s weirded-out expression made him laugh all the harder, going as far as needing to wipe a tear off his cheek that had escaped. “Ah, this is too precious,” Hamilton grumbled, and when Nate still stared, he sobered up. “Congratulations,” he more jeered than wished. “You knocked her up. And now she’s going to ruin our entire plan. Perfect timing.”
“How did you—” I started but then cut off, because I had to. I had thought I’d already reached peak annoyance with Hamilton in the past. Anger—and fear; no sense about lying there—lapped at my mind, turning the panic in my stomach into a roaring inferno of rage. It was hard to take a calming breath but somehow I managed, the much bigger feat certainly that I didn’t launch myself at Hamilton and tried to beat him
to a bloody pulp right there. But then my gaze skipped over to where Nate was staring at me, and the rage died, once more doused by a wave of fear. Fear of rejection, but also fear of finding him passive, like this was just one more nuisance he really didn’t want to deal with.
Instead, a grin was blooming on his face the likes I hadn’t seen in… a very long time. It was an expression of carefree joy, the kind that was reserved for children too young to know better and the odd stroke of luck that came out of nowhere and left you feeling like you just won the lottery. He was back by my side in no time, grabbing my face and kissing me, deep and passionate and without a care in the world, as if he’d forgotten all about Hamilton, and Decker, and what else was waiting to kill us. And for a moment, I was right there with him, my soul singing with hope and joy that I’d forgotten I could still feel.
The moment passed, and Nate pulled back, if only far enough to start whispering in a low voice, almost too fast to make out single words. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? You must have known last night. Why did you let me drone on for hours and not say a thing? That’s why you freaked out about the nukes? Why didn’t you tell me half an hour ago, back in the woods?”
With my mind reeling and torn between heaven and hell, it was hard to find the right words, but I knew I only had a few more seconds. If they weren’t watching us already, they must have been alerted to our presence, and it was only a matter of moments until we were out of time.
“I didn’t tell you because until last night, I didn’t know. I thought it didn’t matter. What you said was convincing, and I’m sure it is a solution. But I couldn’t walk in there with you none the wiser. I’m sorry, but you have a right to know.” My thoughts were racing, and suddenly, something else came spewing forth than the speech of acceptance that I had planned. “You know what? Fuck your fucking plan! You think you’re the shit? You think you’re better than Hamilton, and Decker, and anyone else in the world? Prove it! If you’re really that strong and smart, get us back out of there, alive. I don’t give a shit about Hamilton, but I forbid you from getting me killed, or yourself, because I’m not doing this on my own! You better be ready to get yelled at and your hand squeezed and smashed nine months from now, do you hear? Now, think. You have maybe five minutes until we’ve reached the door of that hut. That should be more than enough time to come up with a new plan.”
Somewhere during my speech—around the part where I revoked my permission for any murder-suicide pact he might have come up with—he’d started to laugh softly, but dutifully stopped at the end to instead lean in and kiss me again, making it count. The retching sound Hamilton provided in the background just made it perfect. I allowed myself to linger for a second longer—a silent “I love you” since I could say that about as well as goodbye—before I pushed Nate away, doing my best to get back into the right mindset and stop my heart from wanting to burst out of my chest. No surprise that Nate looked calm and collected by the time we caught up to Hamilton, falling easily into step beside each other. While Nate’s expression remained passive, I could almost hear the cogs in his brain churning, a million scenarios conceived and discarded with every step. The thing was, I hadn’t just blurted that out to appeal to his vanity—I believed it. He would get us both out of this, I knew it. And then, we’d have a very long, likely very loud and heated conversation that had better end with bodily fluids all over the Rover’s interior. That lube really had no business going to waste elsewhere.
The door to the hut swung outward, admitting a single person. As he stepped out into the late afternoon sunset, I saw that it was a young man, maybe in his early twenties. Nobody I knew, but the fact that he looked soft, with slight pudge around his middle and the lingering softness of baby fat in his cheeks was stating quite plainly that this wasn’t anyone who’d had to live rough on the road for the past several years. He was wearing army fatigues with no rank, insignia, or name on them—also not a surprise, but on him they looked like a costume rather than everyday wear. He watched us approach, seeming not at all frightened, although even I must have had more muscle mass than him—and both Nate and Hamilton had bulked up once more since leaving the camp, if not quite to prime strength yet. I was sure that, Nate’s little outburst back there notwithstanding, we were looking like doom had come to knock on their door. He obviously felt like he was in no danger from us at all.
“Welcome,” he simply offered once we were in talking distance. “You are expected. Please follow me.”
Nate didn’t miss a step but he briefly glanced at me, a hint of bewilderment recognizable in his gaze. I gave a small shrug back. If they were stupid enough not to pat us down, well, it just so happened that I’d forgotten all about the knife in my left boot—and I was sure that between the two of them, Hamilton and Nate were still carrying a small arsenal. Better safe than sorry—and nobody would have believed us not to be carrying in the first place. Let them have a few triumphs…if they found them.
Just inside the door to the shed, there was a freight elevator waiting, and we followed the young guy inside, the door behind us closing with an ominous boom belying the flimsy look of the shed.
The elevator started its descent, and with a hint of amusement I realized that the churning in my stomach had stopped. Sure, I was still on the verge of panic, and any second with my mind being idle was bad, conjuring up a million ways to die. But, deep down, the conviction that we would make it was strong, my will to survive as unbroken as ever.
Well, maybe drinking my own Kool-Aid wasn’t the worst in situations like this. I had a feeling I’d soon find out how wrong I was about that—or how right.
Chapter 21
I wasn’t quite sure what I’d expected, being invited into a bona fide doomsday bunker. But for the first maybe five minutes, it all held up to my expectations… until it didn’t.
I was honestly surprised that when the freight elevator—after descending what felt like maybe twenty or thirty feet—came to a rocky halt and the doors opened once more, there weren’t a million soldiers waiting for us, guns at the ready. It was closer to twenty, and while they did stand at attention along the sides of the long, industrial-looking corridor, none of them got fidgety with his rifle. Why became apparent soon enough as we passed by the first one, and looking into his face, there wasn’t much staring back at me. Drones, again, like the scavengers who had overrun the California coastal settlement. Only these were all wearing the same uniforms with no scavenger mark in sight, and whoever was responsible for their PT regimen was going way too lax on them. While I did feel more with the scavengers, this was no fate I wished on anyone, and seeing so many young men who were—as far as we knew—a step away from brain-dead was like a punch in the gut.
What I’d also expected were a few literal punches in said region, but at least for now they seemed all about courteous behavior.
I was sure that would change when, in the very middle of the corridor, our guide stopped in front of the single break in the walls—a small room, complete with a desk right by the door. Anywhere else I would have guessed it was a coat-check room, but that couldn’t be it, right?
Wrong, as it turned out, since our guide turned to us, indicating the table. “If you would be so kind to leave your jackets and any bulkier clothes you are wearing underneath here? You can collect them again on your way out.” His gaze then skipped to my hands. “You can of course keep your gloves on. We are very considerate of our guests’ well-being, and that includes not making anyone uncomfortable.”
I cast a questioning look at Nate—who stared blankly at the guide, but I could tell he was equally as bewildered as I was—but then unzipped my jacket and dropped it on the table. It was a relatively new jacket, only mended in a few places and carefully scrubbed clean to avoid getting zombie guts all over the inside of the Rover, but it wasn’t in as pristine a condition as the soldier uniforms around us. While I was a hundred percent sure this was a measure to both make us uneasy but also make concealed carry much harder,
for a second the idiotic idea zoomed through my head that, just maybe, they were asking us to leave our old, stained gear out here as not to drag any dirt inside. Ditching the jacket meant I was down to the tight black T-shirt over my somewhat ratty tank top and bra, quite obviously not having strapped three guns to my ribs and lower back. I was disappointed that Hamilton wasn’t wearing a white shirt with pink hearts underneath, but hey, a girl could dream, right?
Once we were done, the guide still wasn’t satisfied. “Please drop any weapons you are carrying here as well. I will perform a quick pat-down. It would be a shame if I had to actively filch you.” Going with his casual tone, I was surprised he didn’t offer to fetch a female colleague for me to do the deed. Neither Hamilton nor Nate made a move to put anything on the table, so I didn’t, either. The guide didn’t bat an eyelash as he did a—very lax—pat down, starting with Nate. He looked oddly satisfied not to have found anything. He barely touched me when it was my turn, which was all very gentlemanly, but not efficient at all. While he was doing Hamilton, I caught a look of doubt crossing Bucky’s face that I understood all too well. What the fuck was going on here? I didn’t buy the nice act at all. It set my teeth on edge more than a brutal, thorough takedown would have. I’d expected that. But this? This was bordering on creepy.
Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 4 | Books 10-12 Page 104
