“Eat,” Nate repeated for what I realized was likely the fourth or fifth time. I let my gaze drop from his face to the sandwich, then accepted it, chewing listlessly—what else?—on the heap of sawdust.
“Could have done without that,” I replied once the food was gone. “Getting my ass handed to myself, again. Losing people, again.”
Nate’s own frustration hung like a cloud around him, infusing his every twitch.
“We were stupid,” he agreed with me. “Blind. Overconfident. And we underestimated our adversary.”
Just thinking of Taggard made my spine turn into steel, but I forced myself to exhale slowly to calm myself, for all the good that did me. “It was a deadbeat plan to begin with. Running blindly after someone like that, it was bound to end in a trap sooner or later.”
Nate’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you speak up before if you found my plan idiotic from the start? Oh, right, I remember. Because it wasn’t my plan, it was your plan.”
“So now it’s my fault? Last time I checked, military decisions were yours! I’m just here to balance you out, and deal with the inevitable fallout,” I hissed.
“And what fallout would that be?” he questioned, his tone hardening. “Can you, for once, maybe do something other than whine and complain? But, please, don’t crawl back into that dark hole that you’ve dug yourself where you can pretend that the entire world is full of assholes that are out to judge you. I can’t deal with your personal shit on top of everything else.”
That accusation left me gasping in fury, but mostly because it was closer to the truth than I was comfortable with. But for him to slam all that in my face now was such a low blow that it took me a few seconds to come up with a response. “Yeah, because you’re Mr. Supportive! You’re one to talk! You’ve done nothing but drag me into more and more of your shit, and then you leave me standing in the rain, railing for how to deal with something I would have never had to deal with if not for you pissing off virtually everyone who ever crossed your path!”
The scowl on his face deepened. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you still not over how this all started? Are you going to start crying now because I betrayed your trust?” And because his words weren’t enough, he had to pitch his voice into a simpering sing-song.
“It all keeps coming back to this, doesn’t it?” I noted, my own voice gaining volume. “If not for you dragging me into your bullshit I would never have ended up in that fucking cell! I wouldn’t have had to slay zombies and eat fucking animal chow! And I certainly wouldn’t have turned into everyone’s favorite fucking science experiment!”
It briefly occurred to me that maybe that tidbit was a bit of a stretch, considering that I hadn’t really been in the mood to share all the glorious knowledge I’d gleaned from my conversations with Sam in Halsey, but Nate knew me well enough to sort everything into the boxes it belonged.
“You’d really prefer to have ended up with the sheeple, pampered in some underground lab? Selling your soul in exchange for them letting you keep your girlfriend who never had the guts to tell you to grow up? Sounds like you’re doing a lot of regressing these days.”
“You are such a fucktard!” I shot back.
“Bitch,” came his snide reply.
“Oh, really? That all you can come up with?”
Nate’s snort was short of derisive. “What, for the first time in your life you want to hear the truth? Whenever I tell you that you’ve turned into a stone-cold killer you get all flustered and agitated, adamant on insisting that it isn’t so. Cue more whining. I’m sick of constantly having to deal with your bullshit, and you heaping even more bullshit on me with your denial.”
My open mouth snapped shut as I swallowed that very denial that he’d just accused me of. Exhaling forcefully, I closed my eyes and counted to ten, but rather than find my inner sanctum, all I saw was Campbell lunging for Nate. And the smoke. And burns. Cuts and broken bones. Limbs twisted in directions they shouldn’t go. That distinct terrible sound of joints popping into place the right way round again. So not helping.
When I opened my eyes again, Nate was still staring at me, visibly seething, and that did its own to fan the flames of my anger.
“So decent of you to finally divulge how you really see me,” I bit out, crossing my arms over my chest.
Nate let out his breath in something very close to a growl, and when he took a step closer—deliberately towering over me, not a hard feat to accomplish—I had to steel myself not to hunch back from him. “Do you have any fucking clue how utterly frustrating it is to watch the woman that you love turn from a passionate, intelligent, fierce woman into a depressed, whiney, sentimental little girl? I have done everything I could to drag you along when you couldn’t hold your own, but I’m fucking sick of having to listen to your excuses! Grow the fuck up, Bree! Life sucks! You deal with it, or you give up, but when you do that you lose the right to complain because it was you who chose to forfeit. What’s it gonna be?”
My jaw hurt from how hard I was gnashing my teeth. That I was well aware of the fact that he was deliberately stomping on all my triggers was just making it worse—but also impossible to back down and fold, which, I guessed, I should have been grateful for.
“You’re one to talk,” I ground out. “You think you’re so supportive? What have you done, besides physically drag me along? And just so you remember, Burns, Martinez, and Zilinsky did most of that. With you it’s never support. It’s either scolding, or you hulk in the background, frustrated but utterly incapable of lifting even a finger to help. With you there’s just no space for anything but always performing at a hundred and ten percent. Else I’m slacking off, or I’m complaining, incompetent, or generally making a nuisance of myself. Has it ever occurred to you that what you think of as encouraging is actually killing every ounce of light there’s still left inside of me? Oh, but you know that, don’t you? Because if you finally drag me down to your level you aren’t so utterly alone down there anymore.”
Nate’s fingers flexed as if he was itching to strangle me—and part of me wished he’d try, because then I could have lashed out myself and found a physical release for all that pent-up emotion roiling deep inside of me—but he chose what he thought of as the high road. “Says the frigid cunt who has issues with the smallest show of affection.”
“You didn’t just say that!”
He laughed softly. “I did, and you know that it’s true. You complain that I don’t show more compassion for you? You couldn’t stomach it if I did. You always rely on my strength to pull yourself back up. The second I try to act like a normal human being you get in my face, accusing me of treating you like a fragile porcelain doll who can’t handle anything.” He paused for a moment as if to give me a chance to contradict him, but of course he knew that I wouldn’t. Couldn’t, really. “I don’t mind playing the punching bag for you. That’s what our relationship is built on, after all, isn’t it? That you can pour all your self-loathing into me and fuck yourself into oblivion, leaving you with guilt and remorse to fuel the cycle for the next round. After all, anything vile or evil you ever did, it all comes from me. It’s not like that was always inside of you and I’m simply man enough to accept you whether you can do so yourself, or not.”
I’d probably had that speech coming for a while now, but tonight was not the time when I could stomach that slap in the face. All I could do was stand there, vibrating with tension and anger, incapable of dealing with either. Just trying to clear the red haze of rage from my mind to grasp a clear, logical thought was impossible—and it got infinitesimally harder when I felt a pulse rock through me that made every hair on my body stand on end. Nate raised his brows as I jumped, but I silently shook my head. Just the town’s zombie defenses, coming on now that the last of their outposts had returned to town and they’d circled the wagons.
Jared joined us, looking grim and tired—and utterly ignorant of the hornet’s nest he was stepping into—but he didn’t appear ready to t
urn in for the night just yet. For better or worse, that put a momentary damper on our sorry excuse for a fight.
“You got those from your recent visitors?” I hazarded a guess, belatedly realizing why the town’s chief of security was looking at me strangely. “Those zombie aversion pulse thingies, or what’s it called. You just turned them on, right?” Any distraction was welcome right now, keeping me from choking on my ire. Unlike me, Nate had no issues pretending like everything was just fine. Asshole.
Jared’s frown remained as he nodded, but then shook his head. “Turned them on, yes, but we already brought them with us.” Another pulse went out. Even anticipating it, it was hard not to react to it. So much for getting any sleep tonight—not that the events of the day would have let me catch any rest to begin with.
While I continued stewing in my own glum thoughts, Nate turned to Jared. “Any idea who manufactures them? We came across a few, but didn’t get a chance yet to ask.”
I didn’t get my hopes up as far as possible information was concerned. It was highly unlikely that whoever manufactured them would tell everyone where their base was—and even if they did, Taggard wouldn’t be stupid to hunker down there.
“Sure thing,” Jared said, rocking back on his heels. “They’re from New Angeles.”
That I hadn’t seen coming, and judging from the surprise on Nate’s face, neither had he. “Come again?” he asked, not exactly enthusiastic about the news.
“Can’t tell you any names, of course,” Jared divulged. “But they have an entire division of engineers who tinker on stuff like that. They did portable ones last winter, too, I hear, but they only last a few days, a month max. The ones we have are hooked up to our generators. Not sure how useful they’d be for someone like you, but someone with tech skills could likely do the trick with a strong-enough portable battery.”
Only that our someone for that kind of job was dead now, his pyre reduced to ashes next to Ethan’s.
“You’ve been to New Angeles before?” Nate asked, taxing Jared intently.
The other guy shrugged, but it looked fake. “Maybe.”
Nate scoffed. “Considering everyone else only knows a guy who knows a guy, I’ll take that as a yes.”
Jared made a face, but inclined his head, if reluctantly.
“Been there, and I’m still not sure it was a bright idea to leave.”
“Settling not your idea of fun?” I hazarded a guess.
“It does come with annoying surprises,” Jared admitted, but there was no bitterness in his voice. “Nah, it’s all right here. Good people, for the most part. You been to Dispatch? Then you know that a place with more than ten huts for a home is different. New Angeles is a different kind of different. It’s the people, not just strength in numbers. Guess I don’t have to tell you what a difference that makes.”
No, not after today. I still wasn’t ready to admit that “crushing defeat” described it best, but then I didn’t think that I had to put that in words for anyone to get it.
Nate’s gaze briefly flitted to me before he focused on Jared again. “Why not go back? Can’t be the responsibility you’ve accepted that’s holding you back. Only takes a few weeks to train your successor, and your people have proven today that they know how to handle shit. Why not grab a car and just drive south?”
“Easier said than done,” Jared jeered. “Do you have any idea how hot it gets there this time of the year?”
That statement surprised me, but it likely shouldn’t have. California wasn’t known to be a rainy, temperate state. I just hadn’t expected the town to be anywhere near any of the deserts. People had more than once described it as an oasis—but not a literal one.
“So you know where it is?” I asked.
He gave me a “duh!” look back, but when I raised my brows at him, he shrugged. “I can tell you, but that will only help you so much. I can show you on the maps, but getting there is an entirely different thing.”
Part of me was waiting for Andrej to materialize next to Nate, maps ready, but of course that wasn’t going to happen—not now, and maybe never, depending on how grave his injuries were. Nate did the trick himself, and after a few seconds of resentful lingering I stepped up next to him, watching Jared trace the California coastline. His finger settled farther south than I had expected—or Nate, judging from the light frown appearing on his forehead.
“You sure?” Nate questioned, his tone apprehensive rather than doubtful.
Jared nodded. “The heat in summer makes the passage south almost impossible to traverse. And in the winter, the wider area will be overrun with the undead once more. New Angeles doesn’t need great defenses—it’s enough that they are relying on what is already in place there. Spring and fall are the only times when it’s possible to get in or out without risking your life, when the nights are long enough that you can get through the desert, and there might be enough distraction for the zombies not to eat you.”
My first impulse was to question whether there even could be a settlement down there, but that part I didn’t doubt. It made much more sense now that for the majority of us it was all hearsay—and those who knew better likely kept their traps shut, biding their time until they could return, if they wanted to.
What that meant for us—or if it even meant anything—was anyone’s guess.
Jared kept eyeing us cautiously, making me guess that he wasn’t as oblivious to our bickering as I’d thought at first. “We can talk more in the morning,” he offered. “Titus and the others are still debating what they’re going to do now, but you don’t have to worry about your guys. They can stay however long it takes them to get better. Or longer, if they want to. We’re in it for the long run, and we’d never turn away anyone who wants to help, or at the very least can teach others how to not get eaten by wolves out there. Some of ‘em are awfully quick to adopt that settlement mindset. Does them some good to be reminded that the world’s not all sunshine and rainbows just because we’re sitting behind a wall now. Or will be, soon.”
I was a little surprised that Nate glanced at me before he answered. Apparently my constant whining was still appreciated, or at least tolerated. I didn’t feel like adding anything so he took Jared’s offer with a nod. “I still have to talk to my people, but I think it’s obvious that a few of them won’t leave here anytime soon.” Having to acknowledge that fact grated on my very soul, but Jared’s casual demeanor made it a little easier to swallow.
“Sure thing. Let us know what you need.”
He left us to our own devices then, but before either of us could rekindle our special kind of animated discussion, the Ice Queen returned from where she’d been keeping watch over Andrej and Martinez, her face a stony mask.
“Are you done behaving like children?” she grated out, the steely look she gave Nate making him swallow his protest before a word of it could come forth. It was kind of satisfying to see that I wasn’t the only one she had that effect on, but far was it from me to gloat, or else she might have scolded me outright. I was okay with the silent kind, thank you very much.
“We need to decide what to do next,” she went on as if she hadn’t just chastised us both, but her tone still held a hitch that was usually missing from it. “It’s getting light in an hour from now. We could be underway by then, if we knew what to do.”
The very concept of abandoning our wounded so soon made me want to retch, and when I voiced my opinion, I could tell that Nate agreed with me—but not openly so.
“Nothing is going to change just because we waste a day or two sitting on our asses,” he said.
“So, we do what? Just leave everyone else behind and run straight into the next trap so they can make sure to kill off the rest of us?” I, well, complained. Shit, but I could see how Nate was getting tired of listening to this. Clearing my throat, I cast around to better explain my misgivings in a way that wouldn’t get me ignored. “We still don’t know if Taylor and Martinez are going to pull through. And you can bet your
asses that Taggard is still watching us. The moment we leave the settlement, the game’s on again.”
Neither of them contradicted me, but the Ice Queen didn’t look like that idea intimidated her. “If we don’t go north, they won’t come after us,” she stated with certainty that I didn’t feel. “They could only spring the trap on us because our people were stupid enough to lumber right into it. We drop our chase and turn the tables on them. If we head out soon, we have a head start. They won’t risk a direct confrontation, so we will be in the clear if we make sure that we outrun them.”
Neither Nate nor I spoke up in protest, but I could tell that the idea didn’t sit well with him. “I hate the very concept of running,” he supplied.
Green Fields (Book 6): Unity Page 7
