Resurgence: Green Fields book 5

by Adrienne Lecter

  This room had a T-shaped layout, with corridors branching off to my left and right—and the iron rungs of a ladder right in front of me. Looking up, I saw a hatch up there where the rungs disappeared into the ceiling. Shouts came from my left but they were still muffled by the closed door. The right one was open but the room beyond was dark. I hesitated only a moment, then vaulted at the rungs, scrambling up as fast as I could. I half-expected that the hatch would be locked—hadn’t Ethan been blabbing about combination locks?—but it only took one hard shove of my shoulder and the hatch door swung upwards. Heat and sunlight so bright it blinded me instantly beat down on me, but I didn’t need to see much to scramble out of the opening, ending up with dirt and dry grass under my bare feet.

  Shielding my eyes, I cast around, but there was nothing out there. No cars, no guard post, not even soldiers on patrol—that I could see through the tears that turned my vision into an impressionistic painting. The air smelled dry but was lacking even a hint of habitation, human or otherwise. I staggered a few steps forward until I felt the ground underneath my toes change—a gravel road, more like a path. I could vaguely make out tire tracks, making me guess that this was the way whoever came and went used. Chancing another look around, I took off in the opposite direction, running through the knee-high prairie grass toward the low-rolling hill ahead where I saw a few dark shapes looming. Trees, or maybe houses, I couldn’t tell at a distance. It didn’t matter.

  Because the only thing that mattered was that I was free.

  Chapter 26

  The first few hundred yards I ran full-out, doing my very best to get as far away as possible, as fast as possible. I barely felt the blades of grass nick my legs and small stones prick the soles of my feet, my loud panting the only sound in the world. My lungs didn’t ache and my muscles didn’t burn from the exertion, but I didn’t quite… feel right. Nate’s warning about dropping dead from over-exertion rang through my mind louder than before, but for the first mile I forced myself to ignore it. Periodically I checked over my shoulder to see if someone was giving pursuit, but it was hard enough to make out the line between sky and ground with my eyes still streaming tears continuously.

  I slowed down as I reached that first misshapen blob—a tree, gnarled and old, the thin layer of leaves barely lending any shade. By then I was sweating like hell, but that still didn’t make me feel happy about how exposed the soiled hospital gown left me. I came to a halt next to the rugged trunk, leaning against it for support that I didn’t feel like I needed but was certain I did. As my panting slowed down to less labored breathing I became aware of the sounds all around me—cicadas chirping, birds singing, the wind rustling through the high grass—and I felt myself relax as I realized that I was still on my own.

  Exhaling slowly, I craned my neck, trying to make out any details about where I had come from, but if anyone was fleeing the bunker, I didn’t see them. The meadow behind me looked undisturbed except for where the wind swept through the high grass, not even the gravel road visible. I told myself that this was a good sign, but not something I could rely on. It was only a matter of time until the soldiers would gain the upper hand, and if they didn’t already know that I’d fled, they would soon come to that conclusion. I had no way of knowing if anyone over there could track worth a shit—or whether they’d chipped me, like a dog—but making sure that I was out of sight by the time the smoke cleared sounded like a damn fine idea.

  So, priorities. First and foremost, disappear. Hydrate was a close second. I didn’t feel parched but the bottles of water that they’d let me have hadn’t been anywhere close to sufficient to keep me up and running, and at the rate I was sweating out what precious liquids still remained inside my body, I would die of heat stroke sooner rather than later. Third, find something to eat. And last but not least, find a suitable weapon.

  With two and three being unobtainable where I was, I looked around for a stick or something similar, but the only thing close to me were a few small boulders. Picking one up, I tried to get a feel for the weight of it, but it was too heavy to comfortably throw. Watching a few spiders and roaches scuttle away, something else Nate had told me swam up in the haze of my mind. Insects made for wonderful protein sources, didn’t they?

  I still hesitated for a few endless seconds before I smashed the boulder down onto the dry ground, wriggling it this way and that in the hopes that it would squish whatever I’d hit. It took me a lot of resistance to overcome to pick up the vermin and put it in my mouth. I’d never been more glad of my loss of taste, but that didn’t take away the texture—that crunchiness, followed by something soft leaking over my tongue. I felt my gorge rise but forced myself to swallow before I pushed more stones away in search of what else might be lurking underneath. It was slim pickings but better than nothing, I told myself, not very convincingly.

  I pulled out some grass next to try to chew the soft, fresh stems near the roots, but it must have been weeks, if not months since the last rain had fallen here. It was only then that I realized that I had absolutely no idea where “here” was—I didn’t even know what state I was in. Hot as it was I still doubted that they’d brought me into any of the southern states, but this rolling prairie could have been anywhere between the Rockies and the Appalachians. Glancing up at the sun, I tried to orient myself, guessing that I’d run off in a west to southwest direction. It was as good as any, really, with no idea where I was, and even less of a clue how I could get from there back to what counted for civilization.

  Exactly how long did I have to remain out there for Taggard to give up and consider me dead? And it wasn’t like I didn’t stand a very good chance of dying for real out here. The heat, lack of water, lack of actual edible food all could lead to my demise very soon, not to speak of zombies or other predators. I’d seen what damage a pack of wolves could do to a well-armed, well-trained group of people last winter, and right now all I had to defend myself with were my more or less developed hand-to-hand combat skills.

  I had to admit, I’d seldom felt this exposed and alone in my entire life.

  With any direction except for the way I had come being good, I remained on my current course as I aimed for the next dark blotches before me. More trees, a small thicket of undergrowth, and still more trees. I did my best to pace myself, trying to find deer trails through the high grass but more often stumbling over my feet when a hidden obstacle appeared out of nowhere. I stopped at every tree to look for more creepy-crawlies to eat, but even that was a virtually impossible task. I crested that hill and continued on into the flat beyond it until I reached the last of the scattered trees and all there was in front of me was grass. I must have run a good three miles by then, and my feet were appropriately scuffed and bloody. Boots would have been really nice, but so would have been a juicy burger with fries and some ice-cold diet coke. Hell, stale crackers and water sounded like a feast to me. Lacking either, I forced myself to go on, heading out into the open.

  Hour after hour passed as I continued to trudge on. It must have been late morning by the time I’d escaped the underground complex. I felt my strength take a noticeable downward dive at what I estimated was three in the afternoon. There was still no one coming after me, and I had yet to stumble over any sign of habitation. Deciding that it wouldn’t do me any good if I just dropped dead out in the open I stopped and reevaluated my course once more. Over there, west to northwest I thought I saw a straight line crossing the endless grassland. A road, or maybe just a fence. The grass was high enough that I could have easily disappeared from sight if I’d just dropped down onto my stomach, but I was still hesitant to head toward it. Taggard’s people would start searching the roads first, because it was the obvious route to take, rather than head into the endless nothing between the veins of transportation that crisscrossed our fine nation. Roads eventually led to people. I just wasn’t sure if I dared try that last resort yet.

  In the end it was the sensation of my parched mouth and cracked lips that made me deci
de to head toward that line. If it turned out to be a road, I could cross it, or shadow it at a distance. Maybe it would lead by a barn. Or a cistern, with luck still useable. With no real shade available, it was as good an option as just lying down and waiting to die.

  It turned out to be a fence, a few barb-wire cables slung between wooden poles, definitely having seen better days—in the eighties. It wasn’t hard to climb over it, but the way my hands shook as I tried to keep my body steady as I straddled the fence didn’t bode well. Beyond the grass seemed just a little less wild, for lack of a better word, and after about half a mile I finally hit a dirt path, the ruts so faint that it made me wonder if any tractors had rolled along it in the past ten years. I hesitated again, but then turned to the left and followed the path, running much easier on the even ground than cross-country before.

  I rounded the slope of a hill, and there it was—a small farmhouse. Hovel more like it, similar to that house where Nate and I had stayed one night on the way to the Silo. There was a car and small tractor rotting in the yard next to the porch, and as I drew closer, I saw that barely any of the window shutters still hung straight. But it was shelter, and possibly food—even rats or mice sounded better than nothing by now. I still took my time as I approached, moving as silently as possible as I rounded the house once, looking it over from all sides. The front door was shut but the one in the back lay destroyed on the ground, torn off the hinges. I found a few animal droppings around, but they were old, likely from before last winter. I checked the car first, hoping to find a shotgun or hunting rifle in there, but came up empty. What I did find was a blanket that would make for a good sleeping bag in a pinch, and I took the heavy wrench from the toolkit with me, hefting it like a club.

  Looking into the house through the busted door, I felt my shoulders sag with relief when I didn’t see anything inside except for dried leaves and the odd smashed piece of pottery. In the corner by the front door a raccoon or other small animal seemed to have nested over the winter, but it must have left long since, the air inside the house only faintly smelling of feces and fur. There was no fridge or dishwasher, and the few appliances I saw looked easily twice as old as me. There were a few chairs and a sofa scattered around the house, but not even an old pair of shoes. What I did find was an old bag of cornflakes, expiration date from before I’d graduated college. I tore the packaging open and started shoveling the yellowish stuff into my mouth, chewing just enough to moisten it to the point where I could swallow. It felt like sandpaper going down, but I forced myself to stop caring. Food now. Water hopefully soon after, but I didn’t exactly have the luxury of being picky.

  It took me some time to finish the entire bag. Sitting on the threadbare sofa, out of the sun, was in and of itself a blessing. Under different circumstances, the hovel would have made a fine sleeping place, but I didn’t dare linger too long. As soon as I felt like I could move again after the sawdust I’d just ingested had settled into my stomach I got up to look for the toilet. I was sure that the water in the tank had long since turned brackish, but there was no reason to waste the opportunity to use the facilities instead. Behind the house I also found a covered well, and I felt like I’d hit pay dirt when the bucket I dragged up was full of clean-smelling water. Without a sense of taste I couldn’t verify if it was actually good, but I figured that right now water that wasn’t entirely safe to drink was still better than no water.

  I used the rest that remained in the bucket to try to clean myself up a little, but it was hopeless. It still felt great to douse my hair and head with the cool liquid and soak the hospital gown to the point where it would feel somewhat fresh at least for a while. There was nothing I could do against the sunburn that I felt developing down my back and all over my face, so I didn’t bother. If that was the worst that would remain from my stay…

  But I already knew that it wasn’t as I whipped around at the sound of a branch cracking somewhere behind me. Just the wind, I realized, but it had been enough to send my mind into high alert. There was nothing I could do about that right now, so I didn’t bother. Looking around me one last time, I set out west once more, falling into an easy jog that I would, hopefully, be able to maintain as long as I needed to. Too paranoid to backtrack on the road that had led me to the hovel I went across the meadows again, doing my best not to break my ankle if I could help it.

  Before long I came across a real road, paved and all. I hunkered down in the shade of one of the sparse trees close by and watched it for a while, listening to see if I could hear cars or people in the distance. The wind kept blowing whiffs of something I couldn’t quite place over to me—roadkill most likely. Something to smash a small animal might mean cars, and that might mean a way to communicate with someone who could get back to my people so they could find me. It could also mean more soldiers who were just waiting for me to walk straight into their trap. And even if I was lucky and got picked up by traders, it didn’t mean that they wouldn’t sell me out to the highest bidder—or like the unlucky folks we’d run into on the way to the Silo got picked off themselves. Too many possibilities, too many options.

  Yet further down the road I could just make out a sign post, and that was definitely something useful. If I knew—roughly—where I was, maybe I could find a settlement, or the next larger body of water that might make travel just a little easier. Boats would still work, at the worst as a raft. Trying to find spare car batteries all spring long had taught me that a year into the end of the world simply hot-wiring any car wasn’t a thing someone like me just did—and I doubted that even a car fanatic like Martinez could have pulled that off unless he got exceptionally lucky.

  I kept watching over my shoulder the entire way over to the sign post, and just standing there, in the middle of the road, when I finally reached it gave me the creeps. There was no indication what state I was in, but the signs read “Brewster” and “Dunning,” both less than fifteen miles away. I doubted either town was still inhabited, but chances were great that I would find something to wear, and likely a lot to eat that was more nutritious than stale cornflakes.

  The asphalt was hot underneath my raw feet, but not having to pay attention to every step made for much easier going. I stopped every few miles to seek shelter under some trees and get out of the open, but except for some minimal wildlife the area was completely deserted. Every time it was just a little harder to get up and move on, and more than once I debated resting in the shade until sundown. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept, and not being out in the blistering heat sounded like my salvation. But I was too afraid that if I let myself fall asleep I wouldn’t wake up again, so I made myself go on.

  I was so lost in trudging along the almost straight road that it took me half a mile to realize what the stark glistening to my left meant—water. And not just some puddles in a field, but a stream, wide enough to maybe even be called a river. There was no debating involved as I veered off the road and ran straight across the field until I reached the river bank. Sliding down, I eased myself into the river feet-first, chuffing at the ice-cold water. It was probably warm, shallow as it was near the edge, but in contrast to the redness spreading all over my skin it was heaven. Considering how running through the dusty day, sweaty as hell, had contributed to my already far-from-clean state, I waded out into the river until I could crouch down and let the water run over me, dunking my matted hair last until I was fully submerged. I started to shiver all over, and long before I ran out of air I had to surface simply because it got too cold, but it made me feel remotely like myself again.

  Half-swimming, half-crouching I made my way across the river, crawling out onto the other bank where the small bridge threw shade across the lush vegetation surrounding the water. I stretched out, staring at the dark band of the bridge surrounded by all that mercilessly cloudless blue of the sky. It took me a little to manage to roll over onto my stomach and scoot back to the edge of the water so I could scoop up some and drink it, feeling the liquid burn down my
throat into my stomach.

  As I kept looking around, I noticed another, smaller bridge spanning the river to my left. It looked somewhat rickety—likely the old bridge that the one I was lying under had replaced—but not fallen that much into disrepair yet. It reminded me too much of the railroad bridge close to that town with the school that we’d stayed in for a few hours last summer not to get my hopes up. Bridges spanning rivers you had everywhere. But alternate, old ones that were still maintained?

  Scrambling up the river bank, I craned my neck, letting out a whoop that sounded more like a grunt when my eyes fell on the structure in the—rather near—distance. A house. Not just a barn or shed, but a real house where real people had been living. Something rustling in the grass reminded me to remain quiet, particularly this close to what might turn out to be more than just one single building, but still. Civilization. Which meant clothes, food, and all the other modern comforts that on the road I’d never fully appreciated until they’d been torn from me.

  I still made sure to stay alert as I approached. I hadn’t yet crossed half of the distance to the first house when I saw a few more properties behind it, dusty roads connecting them. Stopping for a moment, I tried to decide what to do before I strode toward the next house, farther to the right. That first one would have had everything I needed, I was sure—but even armed to the teeth and with heavy backup I would have avoided it. It was several stories tall with easily ten rooms, and the boarded-up windows made it plain that someone in there had tried to hold out when the shit had hit the fan. That meant likely they’d died in there and were still around. A smaller, more accessible house had much lower chances of something trying to chew my face off as I drew closer.