“Penny for your thoughts?” Jason asked. I offered him a small smile back, but Burns was, again, quicker. What was it with him and interrupting me today?
“Better not ask. It’s never a good thing when she gets quiet.”
Ignoring Burns, I shook my head. “I just realized that as much as I may complain that I spend most of my days locked in a tin can or out facing mortal danger, I kind of like it that way. But that was before this idiot here opened his mouth and reminded me of what else my days are filled with, and I could so do without all that crap he’s constantly spewing.”
“Oh you’re just jealous that my crap’s stickier than yours,” Burns said, his smile way too toothy for his own good.
“Whatever,” I grunted.
We passed by another stretch of tarmac, right next to the houses. Warehouses stood evenly spaced next to each other, and I didn’t need the scent of motor oil hanging in the air to identify that part as the garage and body shop district of Dispatch. I tried to look for a familiar vehicle, idly wondering what they were doing to my poor, tortured Rover, but it was useless. Most of the scavengers and a lot of the traders had settled on SUVs, and even those that had started out brightly colored—like ours—had long since received darker paint jobs. I didn’t see any of our people, either, which was probably for the best. The warmth and fullness radiating from my stomach made me feel kind of mellow, and next time I saw Nate, I fully intended to tear into him. Might just give myself another couple of hours to relax before I had to get back into the saddle.
We reached the back side of the hangar where most of the operational stations interesting for us scavengers and the traders were situated, right where the cars apparently lined up to exit Dispatch through a similar gate than the one we’d come in through. There was the aforementioned post office and the quartermaster’s station where the official trading happened and people could call in their bounties, if they hadn’t already done so via radio. An entire section of the hangar was cordoned off, boxes of all shapes and sizes stacked up neatly on palettes. A couple of people armed with clipboards directed a never-ending line of departure-ready mercs to pack their allotted number of boxes to lug them to their cars—likely the pre-packaged provisions intended for the settlements. It was a well-oiled machine, and not one I felt particularly interested in joining. The skeptical looks on both Martinez and Burns’s faces made me guess that I wasn’t the only one who felt that playing delivery service was a little beneath our qualifications.
Last year I would have murdered for what was likely contained in these boxes. How things could change.
Then we stepped deeper into the hangar and Jason angled toward the back wall. I stopped in my tracks when I realized what we were headed for.
The Wall.
It was obvious from where the name hailed, because for the most part, it really was just that—a wall. But the entirety of it, from the bottom to the very top, only reachable by scaffolding and ladders, was covered with photos, bits of paper, and the odd small knickknacks taped to it. Candles had been lit at the very bottom, so many that the entirety of the Wall was illuminated even with no natural light reaching that far from the open hangar doors. And in the very middle of the display was a tableau, easily ten by five feet tall, displaying three columns of cardboard slats. As my gaze skimmed over it, I realized that the left-most must have been the settlements, arranged according to size. The right column was numbers only, the state abbreviations next to them making me guess that they were total population numbers, if only rough estimates. Those for Hawaii and Alaska were missing. There was no final tally, but none of the numbers was in the six digits, a few not even reaching five. And the middle column, that was us—thirty-five names of scavenger groups. I’d heard Tamara mention a few but most of the call signs were unfamiliar to me. Jason’s group was at rank eleven. We were nineteen.
“Don’t worry, your ranking will increase if you continue like this,” Jason remarked, tearing me out of my momentary reverie. His slight smile let me know that I’d been caught but he didn’t rib me for it. “You’re the first group that made it up there in under a month. Most of us have been farming since winter. If you stick around here long enough, you’ll likely run into someone who has a beef with you for pushing them right out of the top twenty.”
“Exactly what I need,” I grunted, yet couldn’t help but feel just a little proud. “What’s with the papers up there?”
“Names,” Jason explained. “Not everyone managed to grab photos of those they had to leave behind. And cameras got kinda scarce when food and weapons replaced everything else on the shopping lists. So now all that’s left for us is to write down their names, so someone else but us remembers.” He nodded toward a small sideboard next to the Wall. “There’s always something to scribble on over there. Some people have started collecting driver’s licenses. Or dog tags. Whatever’s left.” He paused, then turned to go. “I’ll leave you to it now. Everyone who comes here for the first time needs a bit. See you at dinner.”
All I could do was nod, my throat too closed up to even get out a grunt. It was hard enough to keep breathing without letting the tears that were welling up in my eyes roll down my cheeks. So many names. So many people lost. Suddenly, those numbers in the columns seemed oh so insignificant, even though I knew that, to us all, they were everything. Everything that was left. Everything we were fighting for. But this? This wasn’t a place of triumph, no ultimate “in your face, apocalypse!” This was a place of mourning. A place of remembrance. A place where, eventually, all our names would end up, sooner or later. Suddenly, everything else that Dispatch signified—the defiance, the holding on to old habits, the place to rest and take a breath while the world was still going to hell outside the gates—paled in comparison to what the Wall stood for. Dead they might be, but as long as there was a single person out there who remembered, who wrote down a name on a piece of paper, who stepped up to that wall and tacked it on with the thousands of others... as long as the Wall stood, we would all remain part of something. Part of humanity. Part of us.
And we would never forget.
Chapter 15
I could have written a million notes and tacked them to the Wall—for my parents. My friends. Co-workers. People from high school and college—but in the end it remained at two only. One for Sam. And one for Bates, because Burns insisted that no one could have ever deciphered his scrawl. Martinez concurred. I did my best to write in my most girly script, dotting the “i” in “Chris” with a heart. He deserved that much. I even managed a smile once I stared up at my calligraphy masterpiece. I was sure that later, we’d bring the others here so everyone could pay their last respects. Nate still had the dog tags that he’d liberated from the zombies when we’d gone hunting for evidence. They would end up there soon, too. Martinez had his own note to add, but he kept Smith’s dog tags. Burns just watched, somber for once.
And it was seeing that note with Bates’s name up there that made me feel as if the wound had finally scabbed over for good and was ready to heal. I figured that was the true purpose of the Wall. To let us move on, because that was the only thing we could do.
I had another hour to burn until my “appointment,” and as much as I liked hanging out with Burns and Martinez, I told the guys to get lost. I had nowhere to go—not even my home on four wheels—so I drifted through the base aimlessly. I could have hunted down Jaymie, but I didn’t really feel up to joking. On the off chance that she was actively trying to get into my pants it was probably better that we didn’t cross paths until I had cleared up my beef with Nate. As I stepped out of the hangar, I idly wondered if either of us would ever have to write the other’s name on a note. I doubted it. If he bit it, chances were that I wouldn’t make it out alive, even if he wasn’t the direct cause for my demise. The other way round seemed more plausible, but I had a vague feeling that he wouldn’t just move on without me. Maybe I was just being delusionally sentimental there, but after an entire year of biting each other
’s head off I felt like this was it for us. Now I just had to make up my mind whether that was incredibly romantic or horribly depressing. Probably a little bit of both.
Even though visiting the memorial of all memorials had put me in quite the somber mood, my previous ire resurfaced as 3 p.m. drew closer and I made my way over to the whorehouse. I’d seriously contemplated not showing up, but there was a part of me that was still convinced that Nate hadn’t completely lost his mind and wasn’t about to give me a really good reason to castrate him. There was also the fact that he’d told me to go there, and if the last year had taught me anything, it was that I followed his orders. I tried to find comfort in the fact that I didn’t necessarily have to do it quietly, and didn’t intend to make an exception today.
I’d never been to a brothel before—just a strip club, and not of my own volition—but as I walked into the building, I couldn’t help but think that this was not what I had expected. Everything about Dispatch was utilitarian at best and patched up at worst, and this place was no exception, but someone had at least tried to make it a little more homey. There were carpets and pillows everywhere, making the crates that seemed to serve as seating in the reception area look a little less rickety. The walls were painted an off-white color, lending the whole place a friendly rather than dingy air. I tried to seem relaxed—likely failing by miles—as I entered, and after taking a hesitant look around approached the group of women who were standing over by a surprisingly sturdy reception desk, chatting animatedly with each other. There was no one else in sight, a small mercy. Apprehension still crawled up my spine, and not for the first time I asked myself why I was doing this to myself.
One of the women, a statuesque blonde, noticed me and gave me a shrewd look that flawlessly turned into dismissal. The dark-haired beauty beside her smirked briefly—at the other woman’s antics, or so I hoped—before she looked at me expectantly. Even here it was warm enough that the dresses they wore weren’t exactly more revealing than what anyone else outside was clad in, but I couldn’t help but scrutinize them. Yeah, I was so looking like a judgmental bitch right now.
“Hi,” I said, feeling like the dumbest git ever. “This might sound really weird but I’m supposed to meet with someone here?”
The dark-haired woman’s expression changed immediately, the friendly if somewhat reserved mask turning into a real smile. “Oh, you must be Bree.”
I didn’t know whether I should have been relieved that Nate had apparently told them about me, or angry. I certainly felt the need to explain why I was scowling like I was about to launch into a preachy, prejudiced tirade.
“I’m sorry. I’m absolutely not judging what you ladies do here. Any and all resentment I’m radiating right now is for the asshat who clearly warned you about me.” Squinting, I asked, “Exactly what did he say?”
The blonde had a hard time keeping her amusement contained and was only too happy to reply. “I think ‘bristling cat’ was part of it.”
That was milder than I’d expected, but then she probably felt like keeping the more succinct terms to herself. Bad for business, maybe.
“Well, how would you feel when you get a ‘meet me at three at the whorehouse’ called after you less than ten minutes after getting here? No explanation, no nothing.”
The girls exchanged looks before they both started to laugh. I couldn’t hold that against them. If our roles were reversed, I probably would have done the same.
“Would you like to have some refreshments while you wait?” the brunette asked. “We have coffee and tea. Or just plain water. Lorrie won’t let us serve clients any booze. You can take a seat over there.” She nodded toward the crates.
I doubted that anyone dropping by would have confused me with any of the girls working here—even ignoring my clothes, I still hadn’t had a shower, and both looked and smelled like I’d spent way too much time on the road—but sitting down was the last thing I wanted. Checking my watch, I saw that Nate still had three minutes to spare before he’d be late. I’d give him two, then I was so out of here.
“No, thanks. I’ll just wait, if you don’t mind.”
“Suit yourself,” the blonde said, then focused on something behind me. Drats. Of all the times he could have been punctual, did he have to show up ahead of time now?
I so did not care for the jovial smile Nate beamed at the ladies as he slung his arm across my lower back. I made no move to relax or drop my arms that were still crossed defiantly over my chest.
“Care to explain what this is all about?” I grunted at him, but—as usual—he ignored me. The brunette was already shimmying off her chair and turned toward the curtained door to the left of the reception desk.
“If you will please follow me?”
Nate pretty much shoved me into motion, but I followed her willingly enough, as making a fuss now would have been even more embarrassing. The door opened into a hallway—also painted white—with doors leading away left and right. I figured this must have been some kind of office space before. It was surprisingly bright here, thanks to the row of windows that had been installed in the roof overhead. The same was true for the room behind the first door on the right that the woman held open for us, making an inviting gesture. “I’ll be right back. You can leave your gear inside after you change. We have the corridor monitored so no one can sneak in here.”
She closed the door right after Nate had followed me inside, biting her lips to keep from laughing.
I only gave the room a cursory glance before I rounded on Nate, narrowing my eyes at him. “Explain. Right. Fucking. Now.”
Instead of doing so, he started to undress, dropping his clothes in a heap on the small bench next to the door. It was pretty much the only piece of furniture in the room, as it was just the floor and a mattress with sheets and pillows on it. He stopped after dropping his shirt on top of his boots, taxing me with a look that was split between exasperation and amusement.
“When have I ever led you astray?” he asked.
“Did you forget how this thing between us started?”
That he had the audacity to flash me a grin was so typical. “No.” Stepping up to me, he reached for my cheeks but I stepped away, yanking my head to the side. Nate sighed, weighing his options, and left it at a simple, “Give me five minutes. If you still feel like punching me in the face by then, go ahead. I’ll even let the first one through.”
That made me scoff. “I might not always win a sparring match against you, but I can get through your defenses without you letting me. Easily.”
He looked ready to contradict that but instead turned away, undoing his belt.
“Will you get naked now? You’re usually not that recalcitrant when we’re getting it on.”
I made no move to remove even a single layer of my clothes. “So that’s what’s going on? Because you forgot to tell me. Anything.”
His pants landed right on the stack, leaving him in just boxers and his socks. Even angry and annoyed I could appreciate the view. I wasn’t dead yet.
“Stop staring at my ass. You’re wasting time.” When I still didn’t move, he turned back to me. “Trust me, okay? You already showed up, so you might as well follow through with this. Come on. You’re normally not that much of a spoil-sport.”
That was true, but then he seldom left me in the dark like this. I really didn’t care for how those occurrences were piling up of late.
“Maybe I just don’t like being the butt-end of a joke?”
Was that a flicker of doubt crossing his face? Interesting. But he didn't add anything further as he pushed down his underpants and kicked off his socks.
“Undress. Or I’m cutting you right out of your clothes, and it’s going to be a damn long walk of shame back to our cars. Is it really worth that?”
My gaze was inadvertently drawn to his knife, resting on the floor next to the bench, ready for use. Andrej had taught me a few tricks to fend off someone with an edged weapon, but I wasn’t wearing any kind of
body armor—or even any layer of clothes on my arms—and, really? Making my point was not worth shedding blood. And I really liked this tee, one of those liberated from Sioux Falls, with a zombie fairy blazoned across my chest. So I heaved a loud sigh and started shucking my clothes, making sure that not a single motion was anywhere near seductive. That Nate still watched me with a slight yet triumphant smile on his face just spurned me on.
“Happy now?” I asked once my panties hit the floor.
Instead of answering he pelted me with a cotton bathrobe. It smelled like spring and was so soft that the sensation of it on my skin was almost alienating. It was also white—as in straight-from-washing white, without the grayish tint anything I’d seen in the last year had.
“Put that on and my answer is yes,” Nate replied just as the door behind us cracked open. I quickly slid the robe on, tying the sash to secure the robe over my front. It was a little on the large side and made my skin look twice as grimy as it really was.
“Ready? Please follow me,” the brunette from before called in. I gave Nate another look before I let him push me back out into the corridor. I couldn’t help but smirk when I noticed that he scooped up both his Smith & Wesson and my Beretta. We didn’t have to go far as the woman opened the door directly across from ours.
That room had the exact same layout as the other, but with one glaring difference. The moment my eyes fell on what took up most of the space, I couldn’t help but utter a low, “You’re such a fucking asshole,” but it came with a smile.
“It’s all yours for the next thirty minutes,” the brunette explained. “I’ll drop by and knock at twenty-five so you have time to shrug back into your robes, or do whatever else you might still need time to finish. Lorrie told me that you can have the other room for another three hours, maybe longer if it’s a really slow day.”
Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 2 | Books 4-6 Page 20
