Resurgence: Green Fields book 5

by Adrienne Lecter

  Very reasonable. Very scientific.

  “Not gonna happen,” I told him, holding his imploring gaze evenly.

  His forehead furrowed, his surprise laughably genuine.

  “Why would you refuse? You’re a scientist—“

  “Was,” I interrupted him. “And as long as you treat me like an animal, I don’t see any reason not to behave like one.”

  His frown deepened. “You’ll start throwing feces next?” he guessed. “I didn’t expect you to be so unreasonable.”

  “Well, maybe you should check your experimental setup, or adjust your expectations accordingly,” I advised. With Taggard I was happy to reduce my vocabulary to a hundred words, and very colorful ones at that. But if I continued to sound educated with Ethan, I hoped that it would get harder and harder for him to forget that I wasn’t just one more test subject in what I was afraid was a very long line.

  Ethan hesitated, and I almost started to hope that I had him there, but rather than continue to plead with me—or even offer me a deal—he turned to one of the guards. “Get the samples from her. The blood will do for now.”

  The nurses withdrew as the guards took up position, but rather than storm the cell now, their leader sent two of them running from the room. They returned about five minutes later, wearing full portable hazmat gear. Conserving energy was one thing, but I wasn’t going to make it that easy for them. The glass pane receded into the ceiling slowly enough to give me time to come to my feet and ready myself. The second the two in the suits stepped into the room, I was on them, doing my very best to inflict the most amount of damage, ignoring the guns the rest had trained on us. I knew that they wouldn’t shoot with their own pretty much shielding my body, but that wasn’t necessary. I put up as much of a fight as I could—and the spacial constraints helped me somewhat—but after five minutes of struggle they had me pinned down on the floor, my body screaming with the painful flares of several well-placed kicks and punches. I still managed to somehow lock my arms underneath myself, not giving them access to the veins at my elbows, but before long they gave up. Two of the other guards helped fixate my outstretched left leg, keeping me immobilized so one of the others could punch a syringe into a vein at the back of my knee. It hurt like a bitch, but I did my best not to cry out in pain. While they kept me there to fill a second and third vial I couldn’t help but notice just how vulnerable and exposed that position left me, with the stupid gown bunched up around my throat and shoulders. At least some other samples they could have obtained with relative ease, but there was no way around that.

  I was actually surprised that no one rammed a gloved and likely unlubricated finger up my ass, but as soon as they were done drawing blood, they let me go. I was on my feet in seconds, coming right for the last guy who’d been a little slower than the others. And just as I’d hoped, me trying to grab him and pull his gas mask off made him whip around and punch me right in the face. My lip split on my teeth and blood started gushing from my nose. Staggering back, I reached up to drag my fingers through the warm liquid, then flung it right at the soldiers that were still standing around uselessly with their weapons drawn. Because they were that close and my cell was that small I hit three of the four, and only one of them was suited up. Shouts rang out and someone slammed a hand on whatever engaged the glass pane control, making the barrier come down between us before I had a chance to fling more of my contaminated blood at anyone. Their previously so well-concerted effort turned into a chaotic tumble, but I knew that it was more a gesture on my part than had a chance to unleash anything on them. I’d inhaled enough vaporized zombie goo in my time to know that a few drops of blood wouldn’t do any damage, unless maybe I got a chance to rub it all over an open wound. Maybe next time I would try biting one of them, even though with full hazmat gear that was about as promising an effort as this one.

  But what my actions did was to leave me standing there, tall as my chest and shoulders were heaving with exertion, blood smeared over half of my face as I kept jeering out at them. From what I could tell about the other prisoners, all of them had given up the fight if they’d even known how to put one up in the first place. I wasn’t going to go down like that, and they’d better not forget that.

  Ethan had watched the entire spectacle take place, and the horrified look he was giving me let me know that at least one part of my plan had worked. Now it was their turn to set the next action. Whether dehumanizing myself in their eyes had been a good idea or not, it certainly had worked.

  Once everyone had left the room I hunkered back down in my spot, using some of the water from the bottle to slosh away the blood from my face. There still was enough of it to soak into the hospital gown, and I didn’t move a muscle to wipe up what had spilled onto the tiles. Staring at what remained in the bottle for almost a minute, I raised it to my lips and chugged it down. I could very well go without food for some time, but if they actually intended to bleed me like that each day I needed to replenish my liquids, unless I wanted to knock myself out within a day or two and make life easier for them.

  It had taken them all of thirty minutes to force me to start compromising. I was sure that before long this wasn’t going to be the only conviction of mine that would go up in flames.

  Chapter 22

  More nothing followed. Minutes. Hours. Eternities. As adrenaline leaked from my limbs, I felt exhaustion rear its ugly head. Even without Nate’s constant annoying urging I could tell that my body was starting to run on empty. My eyes continued to leak, even when I closed them, and I refused to lie down and try to shield my face with my arms to give them some much needed reprieve. That I was hurting myself with that just to make what felt more and more like an inconsequential stand didn’t matter. Guards patrolled through the room a few more times but at what seemed like uneven intervals. No one stopped, not even to taunt us. No one spoke, including the other prisoners. The highlight of what I considered was my “day” was that eventually, I had to relieve myself, and I made damn sure that no more than the inevitable splatters went anywhere but the drain—not just because I really could think of a better way to spend my time than sit in my own piss, but to ensure that they had nothing for their sample collection. That was, if they didn’t have a lower level and every single drain led into a separate container, thus making my endeavor not just pointless but utterly ridiculous. I didn’t care. It was about the act, and less about the outcome.

  Then the food distribution spiel repeated itself, and I had to accept that they were deliberately screwing with us when it was exactly the same routine as before, down to the shredded apple bits in the oatmeal. I grabbed the water but refused the rest. The guy in charge looked down at my mostly untouched tray once before he removed it, sparing me the pleasure of being subjugated once more. I was just about to relax as they rolled out the cart with their incomplete sample collection when another group of soldiers entered. I thought I recognized two of them from what I was thinking of as the morning shift. They went right past my cell, sparing me not even a glance. And then they proceeded to rape the woman in the cell that must have been right next to mine, judging from where the screams came. At least I thought it was a woman, although she sounded more like a dying animal.

  Boredom had been hell. But this? Having to listen to what was going on, torn between being frightened out of my wits and at the same time so fucking glad that it wasn’t me was beyond what I could describe with my thus far limited vocabulary.

  Once they were done, they left, and the following silence was just as bad, filled with her near silent crying and ragged breathing. While it was going on, the smaller woman across from me had huddled in on herself at the very back of her cell, curling up so far that I couldn’t even see any part of her anymore. The one with the bruised legs had remained immobile where she usually sat, not moving except for the occasional involuntary jerk.

  I wondered if now was the time to say something, but, honestly? There was nothing I could have said except for empty platitudes tha
t helped no one. So I remained silent, tired enough that it was hard to keep my head up, but as far away from falling asleep as I’d ever been in my life.

  More patrols—three this time. Then food and sample collection. The two nurses in scrubs were back but one of them was a different guy than before. They were quick with their visits all around the cells, but spent some more time with the woman next to me. She started crying uncontrollably at one point, and only shut up when someone slapped her repeatedly, the impact of flesh on flesh making me tense each time.

  I wasn’t surprised to see Taggard behind the nurses as they came up to my little cubbyhole, one of them stripping off blood-stained gloves in favor of a new pair. Taggard’s smirk begged to be wiped off his face, but I forced myself to remain sitting there, unmoving, and just stare at him.

  “Why, no profanities this time? Not such a tough bitch, are you?” he jeered.

  I remained silent, not giving him the satisfaction of screaming at him like he probably expected me to.

  “Are you going to cooperate now?” he asked, all jovial and relaxed.

  “No.”

  His smile widened. “Too bad.”

  What followed was also a repetition of the day before, because I couldn’t just take it but had to fight back. This time they weren’t happy to just hold me down and I got a few extra punches that made me see stars. They weren’t satisfied with the veins in my arms, and my legs were probably too basic, so they forced me onto my back and stuck the needle right into a vein in my neck, forcing me to look right into Taggard’s stupid face while they filled their vials in record time. The puncture mark continued to bleed for several minutes after they were gone, soiling my already far from pristine shirt even more. It took me a lot longer to calm down than the last time, although I tried my very best to appear composed and bored rather than scared shitless.

  Patrols, again. Five. Food and sample collection. As I kept up my silent, defiant staring I noticed that the woman with the bruised legs didn’t move. What I could see of her body was shaking by the time the trays were removed. I could take a good guess why. Were they doing it on a schedule? In a systematic manner? I didn’t know what was worse—being afraid every time that bad luck might strike, or having to face the inevitable with lots and lots of hours spent dreading it.

  I only realized how little of a fight the woman next to me must have put up when the one with the bruised legs actually did. Somehow that was even worse. They kept giving her time to find new strength to scream and try to fend them off, just enough to make it even more obvious that she didn’t stand a chance. Eventually her voice was so hoarse that it was barely more than a scratchy whimper, her motions so sluggish that I could tell that she had absolutely no strength left at all. That’s when they dragged her out of the cell to continue what they’d started in the middle of the room, taking turns. When they were done the last one grabbed her ankles and simply pulled her lifeless body back into the cell. That’s when I got a good look at her beaten and broken body. That dirty blonde hair. The unmistakable but still slight bump, set apart by her otherwise lean body. Gussy.

  It was probably for the best that I hadn’t tried to eat anything because even holding that water down without puking it all over myself was hard.

  It took her forever to give even a single jerk, making me wonder if she’d been out cold or just too worn out to move. As the night—day?—continued she eventually pulled herself up into a half-sitting position until she unscrewed her bottle and tried to clean herself up. She must have been thirsty as hell but not a single drop went into her mouth. I could understand why.

  She didn’t cry and she didn’t whimper, making me wonder if, like me, she figured that was one sign of weakness she wouldn’t give them as long as she still had an ounce of strength. It was a meaningless gesture, of course. I was sure that she realized that, just as I did. As I did now, rather. I couldn’t imagine if any of them gave a shit either way, not after what they’d done to her. Yet to her it likely made the only difference there still was. Now it was up to me to decide if I still shared that sentiment with her or not.

  It was some time later when I realized that she was looking at me across the room, her cheek and temple supported against the cool glass. The eye on that side was swelling shut, and she kept reaching up to her jaw to dab at it gingerly. I felt like shit staring at her like that, but it was hard to glance away. I would have if she’d broken eye contact, but, if anything, it seemed to comfort her that I didn’t.

  “You were looking for me,” she rasped out, wincing either at her own voice or because talking hurt. I wasn’t sure if it was meant as a statement or a question, but I inclined my head. “Thought so,” Gussy went on. “Mary’s still unharmed?” When she saw my frown, she explained. “My sister. Younger sister. Seamstress.”

  “I think she is,” I replied.

  “Good,” Gussy more whispered than said, her eyes closing for a moment before she shifted, grimacing with pain. “I was afraid they’d kill her. But the way they work, they’d bring her here first.” She paused, her eyes finding mine again but skipping to the floor in the middle of the room instead. “They got my mother. Told me she would be safe if I just complied. But they lie.” Something between a snort and a cough followed. “They killed her, right there. Right in front of me. That’s why it always ends there for me. And one day they will kill me there, too.”

  So much for getting that woman’s help—but I had to admit, right now that wasn’t really that high up on my list of priorities. The fact that Gussy sounded more relieved than horrified with that statement bothered me a lot more. But in a sense I could sympathize with her.

  “You’ll understand in a week or two,” she rasped out, as if she’d read my mind—or not quite. Her face turned into a grimace, and it took me a moment to interpret that as a smirk. “You still have something to fight for. But eventually, they get you to the point where you just can’t give a shit anymore.”

  I thought she meant moral principles like dignity or pride, but then I realized that her hands weren’t just convulsing across her belly because of the pain she must be in. That all too familiar ache flared up inside of me, but fear and exhaustion took the edge off it.

  “I don’t,” I said, my voice turning lifeless on the second word. “They already took that from me.”

  Gussy’s features twisted with confusion before they evened out. “So it’s true. You didn’t get away from the factory.”

  I shook my head. “No. They got me. Shot me and one of our guys when we were trying to get out through the office wing. That’s how the fucking shamblers got me.”

  She just stared at me for several seconds straight, too tired to show any emotion. “So when you rescued me—“

  “I was already infected,” I agreed. “I patched myself up and figured, what the hell. This ends with me today. I’m not going to let any of my guys die if I can help it.”

  The snort she gave sounded strangely satisfied. “I thought I was done when they had me kneeling there, gun to my head.”

  “Not that it matters anymore,” I remarked.

  She mulled that over for a few seconds but didn’t respond. Her eyelids fluttered shut a few times but then she gave a violent jerk, and she was back again.

  “Your guys know that you were looking for me?” I nodded. “Then it does matter. That makes my guys and your guys. We’re the only ones here who have anyone who’s out there looking for us. Even if it’s too late for us. Me,” she corrected. I didn’t dare contradict her there. As slurred as her speech was getting, I wasn’t sure if it was humane to wish her to recover once more.

  “I got myself into this,” she said next, drawing my attention back to her. My mouth snapped open, ready to protest, but the slight shake of the head she gave shut me up. “Just listen. I need someone to know. I’ve been here the longest. Of this batch.” She coughed, a wet, hard sound that made her clutch herself harder. “Just like Justine. She told me. And the woman who was longest here b
efore her told her. Those fucking suckers have been doing this for months. But now they’re getting organized.” She had to stop to gather more strength, and when she resumed, at first I thought she’d switched topics.

  “It was one of them, the blond guy? Who has that weird look now. They did some shit to him. When I met him early spring and we hooked up he wasn’t like that. Was sure one of ‘em already, but he was normal. Chino warned me not to screw around, but I spent the entire winter living like a fucking nun. I had enough. It was when we dropped by my mom’s for a supply run. They were there, helping. That was before they started the fucking network thing.” She paused, her eyes taking on a faraway look. I hoped that it was a good memory, whatever it had eventually turned into. “He told me he couldn’t knock me up. You know, because of the serum? And I believed it, because I didn’t know any better. Didn’t know he was lying.” Her eyes skipped to me again. “He never got it. Not the real one. That was the lie. But how would I know? Should have, when we met again, same town, two months later, and he kept insinuating shit. I knew I was knocked up by then but lied right to his face. Chino got real paranoid after that, but I chalked that up to them inking us up.”

  Another, longer pause followed. I didn’t find it in me to prompt her to go on, but eventually, she did.

  “We almost dropped out of the hit when we heard you signed up for it, too. Because there were six of you. Chino said it makes no sense that this is not a trap. There were too many women gone missing after screwing the likes. But Tamara vouched for you, so he said, we spring that trap, interrogate you. Sounds pretty stupid now, doesn’t it?”

  I shook my head. “We thought you were setting us up for something, too,” I admitted. “Not sure what, but things weren’t adding up.”

  Her face fell for a moment but she shook it off with a raspy laugh. “They’d been tracking us. Likely you too. If not this hit, it would have been another. They knew exactly what they were looking for. Taggard confirmed it. Fucking asshole.”