Green Fields (Book 7): Affliction

by Lecter, Adrienne

  “It’s a recurring theme,” I agreed. “Although the idea of spending the next ten years hauling crap isn’t very appealing.”

  Nate laughed at the clear annoyance in my voice. “I’m sure that someone else will be happy to take that job. They’ll still need someone to do the cleanup for them. Unless Greene and his people develop some kind of death ray that they can set up by their beacons and just draw the undead fuckers out to get roasted, that means we’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way.”

  “Don’t mention it to him. He might just set a team working on that idea.”

  We didn’t get farther in our musing as Jason stopping his car at the next rise on the road got me to do the same, rolling to a halt next to him. Why he’d stopped became obvious immediately as the view beyond the rise opened before us. The road kept sloping gently through the foothills—and smack in the middle of the plateau opening up before us, a group of zombies trundled along. After the streaks of New Angeles and Colorado, seeing a good five hundred of the undead on the move didn’t force the breath out of my lungs anymore, but there were more comforting things to imagine. Like puppies. Or the plateau deserted, without the shamblers.

  “What are we going to do about this?” I asked the others, being just a little faster than Nate to grab for the mic. “The smart thing would be to hug the mountains or remain here until they have passed through.” I was sure that with a detour of a few hours, we could completely avoid them. But where was the fun in that?

  Must have been something in the water for our breakfast coffee, as Jason echoed my sentiment in his reply. “Or we could just gun the engines and zoom right through them.” Glancing past Nate through the side window, I caught Jason’s accompanying bright grin.

  “We’ve had worse ideas,” I tentatively agreed, waiting for the others to voice their opinions.

  “Sounds like your usual MO,” Harris offered, chuckling darkly. “Haven’t been afraid for my neck in the past three days. Better not get complacent.”

  “We’re just here to tag along,” Tanner replied. “Besides, not sure if I could pry Burns’s hands off the wheel. He might bite my fingers off if I tried.”

  Even with Tanner holding the mic, it caught Burns’s chuckle well enough. “I just might.”

  That left the idiot brigade, who, for once, didn’t live up to the moniker I’d given them. “Are you all insane?” I heard Francis pant into the mic, sure that it wasn’t just an act—and likely only a rhetorical question. “Why the fuck would you risk your lives like that? Ours, too!”

  The answer to that seemed pretty obvious. “Because you only live once, asshat,” I told him, giving Jason my nod of agreement to go ahead.

  “Buckle up, buckaroos,” Jason told his people, and by extension, the rest of us as well. “Check that you have enough gas in the tanks for at least a hundred miles. Take care of business. Switch drivers so that whoever’s at it knows how to handle situations like that. You know who your aggressive road ragers are. Get them behind the wheels! We’re not planning on using them, but make sure you have your weapons fully loaded and at hand. Take five, and it’s on.”

  I gave Nate the most hostilely bland stare I could muster, which made him laugh after a second or two, raising his hands placatingly. “I’m not even going to try proposing that I take the wheel,” he opined. “After all, you haven’t totaled a car in over a month. Why would I be scared for my life?”

  “That never gets old, huh?”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  I did take the opportunity to hop out of the car and behind a bush by the side of the road, but except for that, we were all set. The air of excitement that hung between us seemed to be infectious as Blondie looked less scared than he’d sounded, but his enthusiasm was decidedly muted. Gita seemed a little green around the gills but between Tanner and Burns, I was sure that she would be okay. While she hadn’t voiced a single breath of complaint since we’d left New Angeles, the lack of excitement likely had been dragging on her spirit as well. Routine she could have had at home, and much easier at that.

  Then we were all set, and the only thing left to do was decide on the driving order, agree on forward meeting points if we got separated, and what choice of liquor to drink at our wake—Burns’s last-minute concern. We settled on Jason taking the lead with me as a close second, the rest following in pairs or threes at one-minute intervals. Should we end up totaling the cars, limping back to the settlement was the soundest idea; in the case of getting lost, trekking through the mountains until we hit the Wyoming Collective a close second. That it was highly irresponsible to endanger our cargo like that went without saying, but who was there to stop us?

  Oh, and whiskey, because that’s how we roll.

  Settling into my seat, I started the engine, missing the lower rumbling sounds of the Rover compared to the slightly higher Jeep’s. It just wasn’t the same. Jason inched forward and I followed, still feeling a little off. “Think we should have gotten the ram guards out?” I asked my—so far—silent passenger.

  Nate shook his head. “If you collide with the shamblers at fifty miles per hour or more, not even that will save us. Just, you know. Don’t deliberately kill us so you can whine again about the Rover.”

  “I’m not whining,” I complained. “Just missing the best car ever made on this planet.”

  “That, and several million others,” Nate grumbled, but his attention was on what lay before us. “How about you skip over to the southbound lanes? A few more wrecks there but that might work out to our advantage. Provided you don’t slam right into them.”

  Rather than respond, I did what Nate had proposed, sending the Jeep through the overgrown strip of grass to the other road. We hit a few bumps that were too soft to have been rocks but I doubted came from animals. Behind us, I could see Harris’s two cars getting ready, Harris himself turning his vehicle to follow us while the other went straight. The moment I had asphalt under my wheels, I floored it, making the Jeep streak ahead to draw up to Jason’s vehicle. I had to admit, it had good acceleration, pulling steadily even with our cargo hold full of heavy sacks of wheat.

  The first handful of shamblers I simply zoomed by, mostly ignoring them. They were staring at us all right from where they stood beside the road and in the strip of green in the middle, but between our car and Jason’s, they looked moderately confused. It took them about ten seconds to decide what to make of us—and by then we were already past. The ones that came after them had about the same ten seconds but were either closer or easier agitated, because they started moving toward us, any sense of self-preservation they’d ever had long gone. I had to start swerving to avoid hitting them right on, but while that slammed me nicely into my belt harness, it was still easy going.

  Until the smarter ones that had been hiding in the middle of the bulk came for us—better timing included—and things started to get interesting.

  I narrowly avoided clipping the first that tried to collide with us, but the swerve forced me to slow down a little, letting two more—coming from the left side of the road that I hadn’t been watching too closely—slam right into the side of the car, one just behind my window, the other into the back. The sound of the impact made me scream just a little and tighten my grip on the steering wheel, the car bucking hard, the rear threatening to lose traction. That distracted me enough so that another one managed to slam into Nate’s side, making the car rock onto the other side’s tires for a second. That one was going to leave a crater, that much was certain.

  “Fuck!” I shouted, hard-pressed to keep concentrating on the road rather than trying to assess the damage. The thick of the fray was still ahead of us, an entire crowd of zombies now streaming onto the road, howling with excitement. I went right between two wrecks, then braked hard to make it around the heap of metal that had been two trucks that must have collided with three cars wedged in between them. I was still going a good thirty miles an hour by then, so when the car slid off the road and onto the dirt n
ext to it, it shook me hard. For a moment I lost control of the wheel, making the car do a little loop further into the dirt before I managed to stabilize it and send it back onto the road. There had been more zombies hiding behind the wreck that now came after us full force, one even managing to bump into our rear but not climb on. I accelerated again, weaving left and right wherever the wrecks allowed me to.

  “Right! Hard turn right!” Nate shouted. I blindly wrenched the steering wheel to that side, sending the car into a spin as I was still going too fast. Not a second too soon, it turned out. Rear-first we slammed into a knot of zombies that had seemingly popped up out of the blue, mowing right through them. The Jeep spun a good three full circles before it rolled out onto the middle strip, the change in terrain letting me steady it again. I realized we were facing the wrong way when I saw Harris blast right by us, and two more cars following on the other side. I had no time to check on the others. Cursing, I plowed through the high grass in a tight circle, trying to get back to the road. There were a few zombies in the way, but at barely more than running speed I simply went over them, the series of bumps under the tires very satisfying.

  Two enterprising shamblers jumped onto the hood but flew right off as I accelerated once more, a hard swerve sending a third off that had tried to climb the rear. A second car went by me but had to brake hard when more zombies streamed toward us—one of the smaller vehicles of the Chargers. More agile than the Jeep—and from the sounds of it, fitted with a mean engine—it shot right ahead as soon as we cleared the undead, weaving around the wrecks with ease. I tried to follow but they left the shamblers clustered too tightly in their wake, so I went for the dirt to the left of the road once more, this time deliberately. The car shook hard under a few more impacts until we cleared the worst of them and I dared to go back onto the road. The next car drove by us—the idiot brigade inside—leading a good fifty-zombies-strong entourage along. I crashed right into the middle of them, gritting my teeth against the multiple impacts. A few landed on the hood, some more vaulted onto the roof, rocking the car for several seconds.

  “I thought the idea was to avoid them,” Nate pressed out, glaring at our new hood ornaments.

  “Do I look like I have a plan?” I called back as I eased my foot down on the accelerator once more, quickly gaining speed. Two zombies flew off, some more remaining. Heavy pounding sounded from the roof. There were several lumps on the road where the other cars had already taken care of the resident population. I gritted my teeth and went right over them, the third rocking the car hard enough to send the roof pounder toppling backward off our vehicle. That left only one more zombie behind, half-splayed across the windshield as it was. “Brace!” I stepped on the brakes and it flew right off, letting me roll over it consequently. Ah, good times!

  Ahead, the road was clear, with most of the shamblers behind us now—and gaining fast. I floored it again, shifting up as quickly as the car would let me. I caught up to Blondie and his gang but made sure to stick behind and to the side of them, nodding for Nate to hail them on the radio. “Tell them that they have to go faster. If we don’t outrun the undead fuckers, they’ll swarm us, and then we’ll wish we’d had the ram guard on!”

  He quickly did so—adding a few choice expletives—getting Blondie to floor it as well. On the other lanes I saw the cars well ahead of ours. Jason had clearly taken the running part more seriously than the slamming-into-things strategy I’d employed. Maybe there was a reason why the Rover wasn’t with us anymore.

  “All clear,” Nate reported in, half turned around to check on the stream of shamblers behind us. “Looks like they are already falling back. Good job everyone.”

  Cheers rose to answer him. I allowed myself to crack a smile when Blondie came on. “Fuck! That was the most insane thing I’ve ever done!”

  Burns laughed loudly at that, but it was Jason who answered him. “You haven’t been running with Bree for long, eh? That was barely the start.” I half expected there to be more shamblers up ahead but Jason had clearly meant that in the metaphorical sense. Our side soon traversed the strip of grass to join the second half of our convoy and we resumed our previous driving order, everyone a little jumpy after the adrenaline rush, but in high spirits.

  About an hour later, we left the interstate to avoid some of the larger towns ahead—until light snow started to fall. Not enough to obscure the roads by any means, but with the sky darkening further by the minute, it didn’t look too good for driving into the night.

  “Shall we make camp?” I suggested when I had to turn the wipers on to continue to see what lay beyond Jason’s car in front of mine. At least that took care of the last smears of gore that matted the windshield.

  Jason didn’t hesitate long with his reply. “There’s a hideout we’ve been using before maybe fifteen miles north. Let’s stop there.”

  The hideout turned out to be a larger ranch with two barns next to a long house. By then it was dark enough that I was sure I was the only one who could still see well without an additional source of light. We quickly secured the area, then cleared out the house. “Safe” it might have been, but a bunch of raccoons had taken up residence. They might have served us for dinner but I was kind of glad when we saw them scurrying away toward one of the barns instead. We had fresh provisions from the morning; no need to cull the local wildlife.

  Although there were a good ten rooms in the house, we all camped in the large main room just beyond the entryway, next to the partly stocked pantry. Someone had arranged cans and sacks of rice neatly, making me guess this wasn’t even the fifth time Jason and his guys had hunkered down here for the night, but instead closer to the tenth. Burns and I got last watch while Nate and Tanner got first, leaving me with some quality time on my own. Francis was still unnervingly hyper from our little zombie chasing action, but that actually made me like him just a little bit. I ignored him otherwise, snuggling up in the dank-smelling love seat in the corner, happy in my layers of sleeping bag and blankets.

  One moment I was smiling as I listened to Charlie regale us with an anecdote about goat herding—only passingly concerning goats—the next I found myself startled awake, with Gita nudging my shoulder. My head was spinning and I felt disoriented as hell, needing a few minutes to get my gear in place and ready to step out for my round on the grounds. The cold air hit me like a freight train, but rather than wake me up, it made me feel drowsy. Snow was still falling, a good three inches deep now besides where tracks showed the previous watch shift had trudged along. I forced myself to get it together, pretending like I was still a little sleepy when I met up with Burns after two quick rounds to make sure nothing had ventured any closer to the farm in the last twenty minutes. The smart thing would have been to duck inside, rouse Nate, and tell him that I didn’t quite feel up to the task. If I’d expected any kind of actual danger out there, I would have, but it felt too much like me slacking off, so I forced myself to go on.

  By the time breakfast was ready, I was a breath away from keeling over, but ignored Nate’s questioning looks. Instead, I shoved oatmeal and eggs into my mouth, barely chewing enough to be able to swallow, and went straight over to the passenger side of the Jeep when it was time to go. That more than anything must have alarmed Nate, but he took it in stride without comment.

  Driving quickly turned into a game of chance. All cars had tires equipped for winter, but with no snow plows clearing roads and the temperature just warm enough that in patches the snow had melted and frozen as ice once more, it was far from easy going. We spent half a day for a stretch of road that should have taken us no more than two hours. All that slipping and sliding made me feel queasy, and I didn’t protest when Nate continued to drive after our noon rest. The silence stretching between us was deafening, but with us maybe a day away from the Silo, there was no sense to debating anything.

  We stopped for the night maybe sixty miles south of our destination, using another abandoned farm for quarters. We could have driven on into the gloom
of dusk and made it to the Silo before full nightfall, but with the snow coming down in uneven bouts, it was uneasy going—and considering that we had no idea what reception we would be met with, it was smarter to get another night’s good rest. Nate took last shift with me, but rather than wake me up at four in the morning, he did so at six, a steaming mug of tea and some hot oatmeal ready. I still felt like I’d spent the entire night up on my feet rather than sleeping a solid eight hours and then some. Yesterday morning I might have been able to hide how off I’d felt, but today I was a sniffling, coughing heap of misery that earned more than the odd concerned look. Before we broke camp, I went through the shelves in the bathroom by the master bedroom, finding some expired meds, but anything was better than nothing, I figured. I dosed myself with enough to make sure I wasn’t ready to drive anymore, but seeing as Nate was ready to hog the wheel, that didn’t matter. That I felt the effects of the meds was more than a little disconcerting.

  On and on we ambled through the increasingly heavy snowfall, forcing us to slow down to a crawl. At least we knew that we were getting close to the Silo when the road up ahead was suddenly only dusted with snow rather than packed. I expected to be greeted by the drones that had been up in the air on our previous visits, but there were only a few signposts on the side of the road.

  The forest that we’d had to traverse on our very first visit up, taking the very same entry vector, was gone now, a few stumps here and there still marking the borders. About a mile out from where I knew the blast doors that led into the decommissioned missile silo lay, clusters of log cabins started, getting more organized as we drew closer. Last time there had been maybe fifty of them. Now, easily over two hundred. We were clearly expected, the road having been cleared of barriers ahead of time. I was still surprised that they let us roll into the center of the aboveground village, right to the small patch of tarmac where the ramp down was located.