Green Fields (Book 7): Affliction

by Lecter, Adrienne

  My silence must have gone on too long, judging from the tension in the air, but I didn’t feel much like dispersing it. Let the assholes roast in their own fear and guilt, afraid I’d shoot them all as soon as we got back to camp. Not my problem, really.

  Not soon enough, the cars we’d left behind for our shopping trip came into view. Blondie slowed down a short distance away from the main huddle, the Jeep already catching up to us. Yet before he stopped the car, he caught my gaze in the rearview mirror again. “So, we’re good? You’re not going to drag us out back and shoot us?” His eyes skipped over to the dark car now hulking right outside theirs. “Or let your man do the same?”

  I could have pressed some concessions out of them, but while I still hungered to punch them all in the face, I was aware that without Francis’s smart thinking and good acting, I likely would have been nothing but a puddle of blood on the parking lot.

  “Just try not to grab my ass in the future, and we’re good,” I agreed. See, I could be diplomatic, too—even if it made me taste metaphorical bile on my tongue.

  Francis nodded, ready to say more, but before he could make me regret pretending I could be reasonable, I shoved open the door of the still rolling car, hopped out, and bounced right over into the Jeep. Burns was driving, giving me a brief concerned look before he nodded, satisfied to find me whole and only moderately gnashing my teeth. Nate turned around in the passenger seat, scrutinizing my expression. “Do I need to get out there and break anyone’s face?”

  I couldn’t help but snort. “Need to? No, but I won’t get in your way if you want to. After all, as my husband you could defend my honor to the man who grabbed my ass.”

  “And saved your life with the yarn he spun,” Nate grudgingly offered.

  “That, and I think they’re actually sorry for acting like total asshats,” I hated to admit. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but they did sound like they’re in it for the long run. Being scavengers, staying on the roads, I mean.” I halted, then spilled the new information about the recruiting effort—and how most scavengers took it.

  Nate listened, his expression stony, but the nod he gave at the end didn’t look as resigned as I felt. “They wouldn’t have tried to badger us into joining if they weren’t desperate,” he observed. “And acting civil.”

  “Not sure it was an act,” Burns interjected. “That guy sounded like he meant it.”

  The twitch in Nate’s cheek made me guess that he agreed—as did I. And, my, didn’t that do a thing to add to my growing list of reasons to feel guilty for every damn soldier I’d killed in that base, too high on the booster to give a shit. Sure, Nate had warned me about it being different than killing zombies—or raining down deserved vengeance on the cannibals—but that didn’t exactly make it easier.

  “I wouldn’t take out your misgivings on them,” I said, mostly to distract myself, nodding toward the car now idling next to us, Francis peering through his window with concern etched into his features. “Whether it was an honest mistake or they’ve wised up now, I think we could badger them into becoming allies at the very least. I’d rather swallow my pride than have to watch my back constantly. Vote on it?”

  Burns grunted—obviously referring to the voting part—and after a moment’s hesitation, Nate inclined his head. “Sounds reasonable.”

  I let out a soft laugh. “Maybe later we can think of a way to bolster that ego of yours again?” I even did the suggestive eyebrow wriggling and coquettish smiling—only to succumb to another coughing fit, this one a lot harder than the last, and ending with me pushing the door open so I could hawk several globs of bloody phlegm onto the road, thankfully the side turned away from all the others. When it was finally over, my head was spinning, the hand I was using to cling to the door shaking.

  I was still gasping for air when I heard Nate mutter darkly, “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  Chapter 11

  We arrived at the Salt Lake City settlement three days later. The settlement was, of course, nowhere near what used to be the capital of Utah, but instead stretched over half of the hills near Deer Creek reservoir. Even from what appeared to be the main entrance, complete with two barns to shelter their cars and ours, I could see at least five clusters of houses, with fields and vegetable patches stretching between them. There were pens for sheep, goats, chickens, and pigs, and from one of the barns further back the sound of lowing was audible every so often. The first of their defenses we’d encountered as far back as Salina, a network of guard towers and trails leading back to the settlement. They not only had sturdy wooden palisades but several rows of moats, trenches, and wire fences, and I would have bet my right hand that this was just the beginning. At first glance it all seemed like overkill, but considering there were over seven hundred people living here—maybe close to a thousand by now after the influx in late summer and fall—it made sense to not just rely on a wall alone. It was a farming community all right, but a very well defended one—and part of their mobile defenses were waiting right outside the gate. Not only was this one of the largest settlements—it was also home to Luke’s Chargers.

  Jason himself came trotting down the steep incline from the gate to the designated visitor area, with Charlie—his second in command—and the rest of the Chargers in tow. I didn’t get the chance to decide whether it was smart for me to get too close to anyone not immune to the virus, as Jason enveloped me in a bear hug before my feet even touched the ground as we piled out of the cars. Charlie was next, a little more reserved, but his welcome no less heartfelt. After Jason was done with us, he went right on to Harris and his guys, and Tanner and Gita also got the same treatment—much to Gita’s annoyance as Jason went as far as swinging her around, making Tanner hunch over laughing. The other New Angeles people watched on with slight bewilderment, and the asshole brigade seemed ready to hide in their vehicles, clearly not having expected this kind of reception. Seeing Nate smirk at them, they took it in stride, but didn’t stop looking slightly anxious.

  After our return from the mall, we’d broken camp and driven as far as daylight let us, just to make sure not to run into the same group of soldiers a second time. Tension had still been running high when we’d finally stopped, leading to a rather terse conversation between Francis and Nate. Apparently, Blondie had taken it upon himself to try to make amends with my man, which hadn’t exactly landed him on Nate’s good side. I remembered his exact words to have been something along the lines of, “Do I look like I’m my wife’s keeper?” and, my favorite: “She’s the one who will mobilize half the country just to kick your ass. I’m not the one you need to be looking out for.” Ah, young love.

  “We brought some goods over for you,” I explained, nodding toward the half-full cargo holds of the cars. “We hit a mall on the way up here. Didn’t yield much, but who knows what you can use it for?” I’d packed away two boxes of meds for the Silo that looked good as bargaining tools, and were also mostly useless for most other venues. “And the New Angeles people of course have the things your settlement put on their lists. Should we unload right here?” I nodded toward what looked like a warehouse next to the parking spaces.

  “Nah, bring it all in.” Jason motioned toward the gates that were already swinging open. “Outside should be free of the undead fuckers, but you never know. We already got people waiting to distribute and store everything away that you wanna drop with us. How was the trip up? Got any snow yet?” The last he delivered with a jovial grin. Looking around, it was hard to miss that all of the mountains of the range were tipped in white, with more surely to come even in the lower regions.

  “Just beach balls and surfboards,” I offered, joining him on foot as Jason started toward the gate. “Ran into some minimal trouble with a band of soldiers, but nothing dire. Some grandstanding and shit, that’s it. Do you know that they’re recruiting?”

  Jason nodded, turning somber. “They dropped by here a few times, trying to bribe their way in, but what do we need th
em for? Even ignoring the Chargers, we have over fifty militia people here, and that’s just us from Colorado. The resident Utahns weren’t exactly unprepared, either. You’ll see what I mean in a minute. We don’t need any outside help, least of all by people who, just months ago, would have shot us on sight.”

  I did—see, that was; right beyond the gate were proper barracks and an armory set up, manned and clearly well maintained. People were busy going about their lives, but even so, everyone was armed and wearing good gear, down to the two young girls I saw hanging laundry over lines between buildings. Sure, they also had the same abundance of children chasing after dogs that I’d seen in New Angeles—and that still felt so fucking unreal to me—but the dogs all halted to stare and sniff in our direction, and only at someone’s call resumed their seemingly carefree chase. The few guards eyed us with interest and a certain tension in their stance, but lacking the hostility I’d seen from most other settlements. No one checked our marks or asked about wounds or bites, a welcome change. One would have thought that over a year into zombies becoming a reality for all of us, people would have gotten the memo that no one would hide a scratch—or be able to, as I so well remembered from my own experience.

  Nate, walking next to me, was still busy scrutinizing the low, wooden buildings and people around us, but I felt myself relax. I was well aware that I would do well to watch what I was saying around here—there was a good chance that half the people here were Mormons, and I knew that they’d integrated at least part of an Amish community—but it felt the most like an actual home and thriving community of all the places we’d been to so far. New Angeles was friendly to us, no shit, but whether it was Greene’s presence, or the fact that they still had zombies in their maze and the gigantic numbers in the streaks outside, it never let me fully relax. Our camp was great, sure, but only in the very beginning stage of what the people here had established a year ago. People here seemed curious, but in no need to appear openly hostile. Except for the Chargers, I also didn’t see any other scavengers around that weren’t part of the community already. More than a few uncovered hands had marks on them, I noted, but that didn’t set their bearers apart. I could see why Jason always sounded proud whenever he talked about home.

  As soon as all the cars were inside, people set to unloading them. We didn’t have much except what little useable winter clothes we’d found in the mall, so Burns was done quickly, catching up to us. He and Charlie started chatting while Jason regaled us with a few updates on how they had fared over the past weeks as we were waiting for the others to be done. Calls rang out up on the palisade, making all of us halt, but it was only a single pick-up truck that ambled through. There were no less than three dead deer in the back, next to three people in hunting gear. Even before the vehicle had come to a halt, one of them jumped right off, her long, black hair swinging behind her in a braid, hunting rifle in her hand that she handed to one of the people streaming toward the truck to unload what I supposed would become dinner. Even without anyone pointing it out to me, I knew that she was in charge; that drop from the truck was that same kind of swagger-laden bullshit I would have pulled, likely for that exact reason. As she drew closer, I realized that there was gray streaking her hair, her eyes and mouth surrounded by laugh lines, forcing me to add a good twenty years to my estimate of her age. She carried herself with strength and certainty that made the jump unnecessary, but there was a certain gleam in her eyes that made me guess that she’d be one of those grandmas who’d rather climb trees to get apples for her baking than shoo the kids outside to do it. Her features were Native, no question, and besides the rifle she also carried a tomahawk strapped to her jacket, the blade smeared with dried blood.

  “Minerva, may I introduce my friends?” Jason boomed from beside me before anyone’s staring could turn the moment awkward. She shook my hand first, her eyes lingering on my face for a second too long, making me feel like she’d just seen right through all the bullshit I’d ever told anyone. Yet once she was done and turned to our group at large, her deep voice was friendly.

  “Let me welcome you to our homestead. Please, come along so we can get business out of the way. Gives my people time to get dinner set up for you. Follow me.” The first part she delivered amicably enough, but the last was definitely an order. I caught Nate’s smirk as he turned to fall in line behind her. Yup, she definitely must have reminded him of someone, too.

  She led us to one of the houses close by. Like the others, it was made from wood, but it was twice as long as those nearby. Inside, there was a single room holding a wooden desk with three chairs around it, and a lot of open space. Minerva didn’t bother with sitting down, just waited until all of us had piled in. As the New Angeles and Vegas people had the most to unload, it was just the three of us, Harris, Tanner, two of the townies, and the asshole brigade tagging along. Jason and Charlie followed, remaining by the door after closing it behind them. I glanced back over my shoulder in their direction, not quite sure what to make of that, but Jason’s smile put my nerves at ease.

  “I’ll get straight to the point. No need to waste anyone’s time,” Minerva said, drawing my attention back to her. Good thing as she was staring straight at me. “If your purpose in coming here is to recruit, you can pack up and leave this very minute. You won’t get a single follower from our settlement, however worthy you think your cause might be. We’re happy to shelter you for as long as you like, but only if you keep your mouth shut.”

  Shutting my mouth was all right, but not for long. “Recruiting for what?” So what if that sounded as lame as it came. I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

  Minerva’s dark eyebrows drew together as she scrutinized me, torn between surprise and annoyance. “So you’re done tearing the country apart? All the better. We’ve lost enough people to useless shit like that.”

  I couldn’t help but crack a smile. I liked her, even if she didn’t sound like she was my biggest fan. “That was never my intention to start with. Just needed to settle the score and make sure to put an end to the senseless slaughter that had been going on. If I never have to climb up on a stage or ask anyone else to follow me along on anything again, that’s fine with me.”

  She gave a satisfied nod. “So why are you here, then?”

  I opened my mouth, but deflated somewhat when my own words turned right around to bite me in the ass. Crunching my eyes shut for a second, I muttered, “To ask if someone wants to tag along on the next leg of our journey. But this is different. I swear.”

  The irony of the situation was clearly not lost on Minerva, but rather than rub it in my face, she leaned back against the desk, relaxing a little more. “We got the call from Greene, telling us you would be dropping by on your way to the Silo. You are aware that they won’t let you in?”

  I shook my head, although the news didn’t exactly come out of the blue. “We don’t need to get in. I just need to have a quick chat with some of the scientists. Got something that might interest them, and I’m counting on it being important enough for them to intervene on our behalf.”

  She gave that some thought, but then shook her head. “It won’t work. Wilkes hasn’t exactly proclaimed martial law, but the balance of power has shifted a lot at the Silo over the past months. Like us, he wants to remain independent, but unlike us he only thought of that when independence was already a dream quickly fading away for them. Half of the people who came to us in the past months are from Montana. As secure and warm as a bunker might be for the winter, too many can’t stand the idea of being locked in for months, if not forever.” She paused as if she was debating with herself. “Greene likes to delude himself into thinking that his reach goes well beyond the borders of California, but he’s wrong. They will work with him if they need his intel or manpower, but that’s just another leash, and one easily ignored as it isn’t enforced at gunpoint.”

  Why did that not surprise me? Although this once I would have enjoyed being wrong. “And you’re telling us t
his because you can get us inside?” I hazarded a guess. Playing dumb with her would only get me kicked out, that much was obvious.

  Minerva didn’t look happy as she inclined her head. “We’re much closer, and the lack of a megalomaniac agenda makes us trustworthy. Or more trustworthy than New Angeles, at least. Next to the Wyoming Collective, we’re the only other group that’s large enough to be both autonomous, and produce enough surplus for trade. Secure that missile silo of theirs might be, but they only started planting crops this spring—way too late, and far too few for the people they now need to keep fed through the winter. Wilkes knows that they will starve if we break our trade agreement. And he knows that a lot will die if I pull my weight and get Emma to break hers, as well.” A slight smile played around her lips, whether it was because she knew our connection to Wyoming’s self-proclaimed governor, or she just liked the idea of holding that much power. “I don’t need to explain that such a move will strain our relations, so you need to give me a much better explanation than you wanting to shoot shit with other nerds.” She spread her hands in front of her. “Convince me, and you won’t have to convince anyone else.”

  I glanced at Nate, hoping to glean a hint from him how much of the truth to divulge, but the look I got back was rather ambiguous.

  “If you have to get your story straight first, that’s not going to be good enough for me,” Minerva harped, sounding almost happy to give me a blanket rejection.

  Turning back to her, I did my best to appear sincere, which likely looked more bleak than I liked. “You know how I got the three marks on my neck?”

  Her gaze briefly flitted to Jason but she answered readily enough. “The undead fuckers got you, but you’d already built up enough of an immunity that you didn’t quite die.”

  I kind of had the feeling that she knew the details as well, but really didn’t mind not having to roll that out in front of everyone else—particularly people like Harris and Francis’s bunch who likely hadn’t heard the story yet.