It dawned on me that the woman looking down at me wasn’t a figment of my imagination. No, she was real.
Breath left me as disbelief twined with guilt and astonishment cleared away some of the cobwebs in my brain. My voice was almost toneless as my vocal cords finally agreed to work again.
“Sam?”
Chapter 28
I knew that she recognized me before she whispered my name—“Bree?”—but I was still too dazed to react at first. It was only when one of the men spoke up in a gruff voice that I finally managed to shake myself out of it.
“That’s not that name she gave us,” he said, accusation heavy in his tone.
Sam’s eyes remained on me for another second before she looked away, likely at the source of the protest. “Short for Brianna. What did she say it was?” More grumbling ensued, but of a somewhat mollified nature. Sam looked back to me, doubt crossing her face but leaving it after she squinted at me again. “It really is you,” she whispered, and I didn’t miss the hint of… was that derision? Scorn? Or just that same disbelief that my mind had yet to disband?
“Daniel calls me Anna,” I murmured, clearing my throat to get a little strength back into it. Daniel? Close enough that I would hopefully remember. Nathaniel… Daniel… all the same in the end. Why my mind had skipped right on to the author of The Scarlet Letter I didn’t want to analyze, nor had the brainpower to.
“Daniel,” Sam echoed, a frown appearing on her forehead.
“Her husband,” the guy from before supplied, almost as a taunt. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”
Ah, so much for guessing what secrets to keep, and which not. But I immediately rectified that guess when Sam just gave a hint of a shrug, as if that hadn’t been directed at her. Or us. “We used to be close in college but kind of lost track of each other.” That was one way to describe it, but I held my tongue, also because Sam was kind enough to get the water bottle for me. With her help, I managed to sit up and lean against the palisade. The older woman continued to look at my feet but didn’t touch me anymore. The quizzical look she gave Sam made me guess that not everyone was as easily deceived as that guy.
Sam and deceiving anyone. Except for her rampant infidelity, that was a concept that was almost as unbelievable as… her not dying when the shit had hit the fan.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Sam offered as she nodded at the other woman, and together they pulled me to my feet. My sense of balance was way off, and when they realized that I wasn’t helping them much, the woman ducked away in favor of letting the man who’d given me the water before help. I tried to protest but was swiftly ignored as they carried me down the stairs that led into the settlement proper.
From the outside the settlement had looked larger than it really was, with only a few fields surrounding the center, not like in Aurora or Harristown. Even so they seemed to have a good hundred people here, if not more. How they could sustain themselves was beyond me, but it was entirely possible that I was missing something. I hadn’t exactly paid that much attention in Aurora, and in Harristown I hadn’t walked more than fifty yards from the gate.
Damn, but I was really sick of these settlements.
Once down on the ground I managed to remain standing, although I still needed support to walk. I tried to protest again that I needed to get to a radio first but the older woman told me in no uncertain terms that there was “always time for that later.” I didn’t care for that at all, but seeing as I couldn’t have stood my ground—literally—I let myself be shooed off to the bathhouse, as Sam called it. The older woman came with us, followed by another who looked to be in her fifties.
“Inspection first,” the older woman barked as Sam helped me sit down on a low bench. I didn’t have it in me to protest. And it didn’t come as much of a surprise. I was somewhat glad they hadn’t insisted on me removing my clothes in front of everyone.
Sam gave her a scandalized look. “Mary, please. She can’t even stand on her own. Can’t you show her at least a little bit of compassion—“
The younger of the two matrons shook her head but did so with a conflicted look on her face. “You know the rules. And you know that they are in place for our protection. If she’s been scratched, she could endanger all of us. You know that.” It sounded more like a token reminder, which made diffuse unease rise inside of me. Thinking wasn’t easy with my mind on autopilot, demanding only three things—water, food, and rest.
Sam tried to protest but this time I shut her down. “I understand,” I told her, briefly looking up at the others before I focused back on Sam. “Besides, these aren’t even my clothes. If you have anything that fits…”
“Of course,” the woman whose name I still didn’t know was quick to interject. “Once we have made sure that you’re not infected, we will leave you to clean up. Fresh clothes will be provided for you. After all, we’re not animals.” She ended that with a laugh that was too shrill and sharp to comfort me, but Mary gave her a look that made her stop. Who was in charge here was impossible to miss.
“Would you mind getting me something to eat first?” I asked, not having to act to sound desperate. “I haven’t eaten in“—hours, actually, but my body had long since run itself empty—“forever. Nuts, jerky, or an apple maybe?”
All three of them looked at me with puzzled expressions until Mary replied, “You can eat breakfast with us after you’ve cleaned up.” So much for that.
It shouldn’t have been that hard to shirk my clothes, but one day and night had been enough to either plaster them permanently to my skin, or turn them into rags. Sam gasped when the shorts hit the floor, and it took me a moment to remember the impressive amount of scar tissue high up on my thigh. Or maybe it was because of the bruises that had had enough time to bloom all over my body, mostly from where Taggard had kicked me. At least the hematomas from where they’d drawn blood had faded. Just thinking of him made my gorge rise, and I couldn’t hold back as I puked up bile and water. I felt pathetic and small as I was crouching on the floor, retching, but when I looked up again, there was only compassion left on the women’s faces—a bonus, I decided. Sam was quick to wipe everything away with my rags before she helped me get rid of the remainder of my clothes.
I couldn’t help but tense as I got up so they could look me over, although Sam did all of the actual checking with the other two remaining in front of me. A small blessing, really, considering the tattoo of my unit insignia on my lower back, and Nate’s name across my ass. Then again, neither would likely have tipped them off as I doubted they could have made the connection. I tried to relax and behave as passive as possible, but it was hard not to fall back into a defensive stance, my fingers itching to curl into fists. Every light brush of her fingers, faint as it was, made me jerk, and there was nothing I could do against that.
“I don’t see any bite marks,” Sam finally declared as she stepped away from me. It took me a moment to realize that she hadn’t just stopped in front of me as a coincidence, but seemed to try to hide my body behind hers. The other two women traded glances, and Mary finally gave a nod, even though it seemed to pain her to do so. That one was a tough nut to crack.
“Bring her to the main house once she’s cleaned up,” she declared. “We will decide what to do with her then. Margo, come with me.”
I should probably have relaxed now that they were gone, but nothing was farther from the truth. The silence following their exit turned awkward immediately, but before I could say something, Sam shook her head and turned to the claw-foot tub that stood in the middle of the room. “Just sit down while I get the water. It’s likely not heated up yet but better than nothing.”
Climbing in took more strength than it should have, and I was more than happy to just sag in on myself and wait. Sam returned with a long garden hose a little later, in passing holding out an apple to me with a smile. I dug in, not minding the juice running down my chin as I wolfed the apple down. The water from the hose was lukewarm at best, but on my sunb
urnt skin it felt good. Watching the water fill the tub reminded me of the jacuzzi in Dispatch, and with that came an entire world of hurt, my chest practically squeezing my heart to the point of bursting. Shit, but I missed Nate so much that it felt like a physical need. And not just because he was who he was to me, but also what he signified. Protection. Security. Right now I had neither, and I’d seldom needed them more.
After shutting off the water, Sam returned with a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo. I didn’t protest as she started washing my hair, but tried my best to clean my feet. The sensation of her fingers on my scalp was so achingly familiar but at the same time so alien that trying to make up my mind between the two opposites was its own kind of madness.
It was only when she was done and moved on to my shoulders and back that Sam spoke up. It was more a mumble to herself as she traced her fingers down the ridges of my spine, regret and disbelief heavy in her voice. “What have they done to you?”
I didn’t know whether she was looking for a reply, and if so, what to tell her, so I remained mute as I grimaced at the cuts and blisters on my feet. Those would become a problem all too soon, I was afraid—when they started to heal days before they should have. Already the damage was less than I’d expected. The bruise on my thigh that Taggard had poked yesterday morning was faint, looking at least a week old.
“Bree?” I halted, then looked over my shoulder back to her. Sam was still crouching behind the tub, worry etched into her features. She tried to smile as she caught my gaze but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Who did this to you? Was it your… husband?”
I had no idea what she was referring to—there were options, after all, beat up as I felt—but that very idea was ludicrous enough to make me guffaw. “Of course not.”
She halted before she scooped up some water to clean away the suds. “You’re just skin and bones. Doesn’t he at least feed you?”
The very idea of Nate “feeding” me was hilarious enough to make me crack a smile, but I felt it freeze on my face almost immediately. This was likely not the time to recount the glorious cat food story one more time.
“I told you“—or at least the guards—“that I’ve been out there for a week, with almost no food.”
She prodded something on my shoulder that didn’t feel like it had much padding, I had to hand her that. “Even with no food at all you don’t lose that much weight in just a few days,” she said, sounding increasingly agitated. “Have they been starving you? Bree, answer me!”
It came out more like a plea than an order, making me ease up a little more. Turning around so I could look her in the face, I reached for her hand and squeezed it for a moment, hoping that my lying skills had improved a lot over the last year. “No one has been starving me. But times have been tough sometimes. We had to ration. It happens.” I left out the parts about practically starving myself because I didn’t want to risk Taggard drugging me—and that entire fucked-up debacle that the factory hit had turned into. In the end I wasn’t even lying. Much.
Rather than look mollified, she broke eye contact and went back to trying to untangle my hair, if a lot less gentle than before. I’d forgotten how damn spiteful she could be. And just like it had always been, I remained silent at that, letting her do her thing while I glared at my—admittedly kind of bony—knees. Shit. How was she still alive? How was any of this possible?
Twice more she had me dunk my hair under water and shampoo it again before she declared me as clean as I would get, then helped me out of the tub and left me to dry myself while she fetched the promised clothes. What she returned with made me want to complain, but I wordlessly slipped on the camisole and long, loose skirt. I told myself that it could have been worse—the skirt could have been too constricting to let me kick anyone. My soles gave a painful twinge as I slid into the flip-flops provided, ignoring Sam’s offer to bandage my feet first. I was hoping that we could finally get me fed now, but Sam didn’t step away from where she’d taken position between me and the door.
“The scars on your hip—“ she started, biting her lip in discomfort. “How did that happen?”
I stared at her blandly, hoping that would make her jump to conclusions—any, really, I didn’t care—but she kept looking at me until I heaved a sigh.
“Animal attack. A couple months ago.”
Her brow furrowed, and I could tell that she didn’t believe me. “I didn’t look too closely but that didn’t look like—“
“Sam, what do you want me to say?” I questioned, deliberately making myself sound more exasperated than I was. “Things happened. None of that is any of your damn business.”
The look she gave me for that was appalled, and it took me a moment to realize that it was likely due to the expletive, not my reluctance to share. I should have apologized there, but the less she asked, the better—at least until I had a good grasp on the situation at large.
“You are right,” she replied, still hurt, and finally turned to the door. “Breakfast should be ready now. Stay with me.”
I made as if to follow her, but paused when my gaze fell on my reflection in the mirror. It had been a while since I’d gotten a good look at myself that was more than my eyes in one of the mirrors of the Rover, or as a warped reflection in someone’s sunglasses. What I saw didn’t shock me as much as it clearly had Sam, and for the first moments it was impossible not to see the strong, partly defined muscles along my neck, shoulders, and arms, accustomed to wearing heavy gear, or get a good feel for how quick my more compact frame would let me move compared to someone twice my size. But then all that fell away to leave a scrawny, hollow-cheeked husk behind with eyes that were too wide and cuts and bruises all over. I knew that this wasn’t me, but how could I explain that to her?
Should I even try?
I turned away before my already beleaguered mood could take a nosedive, and followed Sam outside.
The moment the sun hit my eyes, they started tearing up again, making me feel even more miserable. Yet the promise of food—and the scent of bacon in the air—got my spirits to pick up. We only had to go—or, in my case, hobble—across the open space of what looked like the town square, into one of the larger buildings that must have started out as a barn. More people were up and about now than before, but I ignored them in favor of getting a better idea of the buildings. Ten in total, most of them with solar panels, and two large water towers. Only half of the buildings looked like they’d been erected before the apocalypse, the others mostly closing the gaps. If I wasn’t completely mistaken, this had probably been a ranch before.
The people we passed eyed me curiously, but without much suspicion on their faces. That also didn’t change as we entered the main building where long tables filled most of the room, people already getting busy distributing bread and scrambled eggs between them. Sam walked over to one of the tables in the very back where eight other people already sat, Margo and Mary among them. I wasn’t surprised to see them again, and at least Margo gave me a small smile.
Saliva started pooling in my mouth as soon as my gaze fell on all that food in the middle of the table, and I was cramming half a roll into my mouth before I’d even sat down. A faux-pas, as I immediately realized when Mary started droning on, shooting a venomous look my way.
“Oh Lord, thank you for gifting us all this fine food…”
I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had said grace before eating, and not just because the guys were a rather mixed bunch where religion was concerned—and even more so about practicing it. Even in Aurora, where things had been more or less civilized, no one had hesitated over full plates. I was used to meals being a noisy, often bordering on raucous, but generally busy endeavor, thousands of calories getting decimated within minutes. What table manners I’d possessed I’d lost over the summer last year, and not even Emma’s attempts to retrain us had taken root. Why bother with cutlery if you had bread and a knife?
Now I found myself sorely lacking in the restraint department. Spitti
ng out the roll would have been worse so I kept on chewing, but did my best to do it as stealthily as possible. Sam was scandalized but the guy across from me—the one who’d given me the water bottle, I realized—smiled good-naturedly, if with the odd smirk toward Mary following. I put the rest of the roll down after swallowing, my fingers itching to finish it off right now. This was ridiculous. I was starving, and they expected me to hold out just so they could mumble their way through words they likely didn’t even believe…
Mary finished to a chorus of murmurs before everyone sat down and finally started into their food. This time I waited to make sure I didn’t do anything wrong, or too hasty. I even used a fork rather than shoving scrambled eggs into my mouth with the roll. And chewed, a rather arbitrary move with no sense of taste, but they already looked at me weirdly. It was better not to antagonize anyone needlessly. I needn’t have bothered, I soon realized, when I reached for a refill, then another, earning myself a few more glares from Mary. Apparently just because there was food in abundance didn’t mean I should have helped myself to it. I didn’t care, not with my middle feeling like it consisted of a gigantic hole, lack of hunger notwithstanding. Conversation was low and few and far between, another stark difference to what I was used to. I decided it was all the better, because it meant I didn’t have to come up with more lies. I was exhausted enough that I likely would have blabbed about something I shouldn’t have—but it sure made for an uncomfortable air. In this I must have been the exception because the others around me looked quite content, tranquil even, except for Sam. She kept glancing my way almost as much as Mary, watching my every move. Nothing I could do about that now, but I was sure that later she would let me know what that was about. I was probably embarrassing her with my lack of manners.
Resurgence: Green Fields book 5 Page 33
