Martinez and Pia, to my surprise, took over taking care of the women and children. Like what I’d seen before, the fact that we were a co-ed group seemed to let them find a little faith in us, and that the guys knew not to behave like complete jackasses helped, too. For the first time ever, I got the reserved, bordering on scared looks that Pia usually drew—but then she hadn’t been the one to execute someone who cooperated, and sentenced the others to a fiery, gruesome death. Another day, that might have maybe made me feel somewhat accomplished, but today all I was capable of was… indifference.
Anger still churned low in my stomach, but except for that latent, deep-seated frustration, I felt cold. Empty. Like a shell, capable of movement and responding to stimuli from the outside world, but not to emotionally process them. Even aware of that, it was impossible to shake myself out of it.
The prospect of spending the night at the farm was nothing anyone wanted to discuss, but the fight had happened in the afternoon, and night fell by the time most of the fires had died down to the degree where they could be extinguished. Being responsible for the outbreak of a massive wild fire was the last thing we needed now.
Just before we left, we used the radio that we found in the makeshift garage to send out a message—the cannibals were dead. Campbell kept sending the same words on all frequencies that he could reach, but we had no way of knowing if it went out, or not. Time would tell.
No one protested when we broke camp at an hour when it was way too dark to be out and about. Putting the bunch of liberated now-refugees into the remaining cars the cannibals had used for their patrols, we travelled a few miles further and camped out in the open. I didn’t even attempt to sleep but took on two watch shifts instead, spending the remainder of the night sitting on the bumper of my car, shotgun in my lap.
The next morning, we had to face the reality of the consequences of our actions—except for, well, losing Bates—which meant that now we were stuck with a group of vulnerable targets who were in no state to defend themselves. We needed to stock up on food and find clothes and other things for them. But most of all, they needed a new home, because staying with us was out of the question—and not just from our side. The light of a new morning revealed that gratitude by far didn’t outweigh distrust, and I could tell from the frustrated looks a few of the guys exchanged that they were just as fed up as I was over the obvious lingering resentment.
It came as a godsend when one of the women—Nadia—finally spoke up, mentioning that she had a sister in one of the settlements, somewhere in Kansas. With her and her niece—the daughter of her other sister—still alive, she was sure that they would find shelter there. With no one else offering other options, it seemed like the way to go.
It took us a good two days to find two vans that were still in working order, so we could ditch the pickup and thus the last obvious reminder of their ordeal. And, just like that, we were on the road again.
I couldn’t exactly say why, but I avoided Nate as much as possible. Anyone, really, but with him always sitting right next to me, it was the most obvious. We barely talked besides discussing routes, our usual banter all but gone. He only tried to approach me once on the day after the massacre, but when I shut him out immediately, he kept his distance. I still noticed the worry in his gaze when I more dragged myself behind the wheel than slid in the next day, but didn’t try to strike up conversation. In a way, he gave me exactly what I needed—space. Only that this time I wasn’t sure if I appreciated it, or resented him for it.
When we made camp the third night and I retreated once again to my place on the hood of the car, Martinez made an attempt to approach me, his usual puppy-dog-eyed “I’m here if you need to talk” look firmly in place. I just kept staring at him until he gave up and went to do something more fruitful. When Burns joined me five minutes later, I was ready to pull my gun on him just to be left alone, but all he did was hold out a bottle of Jack to me that we’d found at the cannibal compound. I hesitated, but then took a deep swig, relishing the sharp burn down my gullet right into my stomach. We finished the booze off as we watched the day come to an end in one of the most spectacular sunsets I’d ever seen in my life—and all it did was make me feel dead inside.
Hours later—or minutes, really; with not enough food in my stomach to cushion the liquor, I felt rather intoxicated—I finally found the courage to say something.
“He was your friend, wasn’t he?”
Burns kept staring off into the night, not reacting for a full minute. He couldn’t have been much more sober than me.
“Went through basic training together,” he finally answered, his voice low and gruff. “Used to be my wingman whenever we were on leave. Asshole always stole my pussy with that fucking smile and his baby-blues. Might actually get laid now that he’s gone.”
I’d expected at least a hint of blame in his words, but there was none. Nostalgia, yes, but no blame.
“I can step in for that, if you want. Snatching the ladies right away from you, I mean. Not the other.” The laugh that came out of me then wasn’t anything I could have held back, but it didn’t sound very happy.
Burns snorted, giving me a look that was the opposite of sexual.
“No offense, girl, but you ain’t my type.”
“I’m not?” I scoffed, wishing there was more booze left. “How can you say that? I’m everyone’s type. In a world where there’s, what, like twenty percent women left, my cunt’s golden.”
Burns made a face as he was considering that, but his shit-eating grin won out, destroying the pretense.
“You’re like my lil’ sis to me, Bree. If you ever decide to stop screwing the boss, his replacement will get his ass kicked from me before I let him anywhere near you.”
“And if he’s a she?” I asked, having to pay attention not to slur the words too badly.
He considered for a moment. “Then I’d probably watch.”
“You’re such a misogynist pig!”
A snort. “Hey, someone’s gotta honor the tradition now that Chris is gone, right?”
It didn’t go unnoticed that for what felt like the first time, he actually used Bates’s given name instead. Normally, I was the only one treated to that, if at all.
“Guess so,” I replied, what little humor the booze had incited gone again. Sighing heavily, I pushed myself back up into a sitting position from where I’d been practically lying across the windshield. “Listen, I’m so—“
I didn’t get farther than that before he cut me off, his voice gruff. “Don’t you fucking dare say you’re sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
I vehemently shook my head. “I messed up. I didn’t have his back. I—“
“There’s nothing you could have done differently,” Burns insisted. “Don’t buy into the shit Miller’s been spewing. You know as well as I do that he only said that because he knew that you needed to hear it. That you needed a reason to go all vengeful valkyrie on those fuckers, and that you needed to be the one who finished him off. They caught him with his pants down. It happens. It was a lucky break—for you. Otherwise, it would have been both of you down there, and trust me when I say that Bates gladly put his life down for you not to have to go through that. Any of us would. And not just because you’re a girl, or you’re the boss’s girl. Because you’re one of us. Now get the fuck over it and move on. That’s the best way you can honor his memory.”
I knew that he was right—probably. But that was a lot easier said than done. I wanted to thank Burns for trying, but somehow couldn’t find the words for it. So instead I went with, “And there I thought the best way to honor him would be to ride into the next brothel and fuck anything on two legs.”
Somehow, his answering guffaw lifted some of the weight from my chest. “That, too. But who knows if there are still any brothels left? Way it seems to me, all girls that are left are either married, or, well. You know.”
Drunk we might both be, but we still kept our voices low enough not
to carry. I couldn’t help but glance into the night where I knew the surviving women were sleeping, or at least trying to.
“Trust me, there are still brothels. They don’t call it the oldest profession in the world for nothing. And we’re heroes now, right? What woman in her right mind wouldn’t want to fuck a hero?”
Silence fell, until Burns reached over and clapped me hard on the back. “Don’t worry, girl. You’ll get over it.” He left me alone with the last dregs in the bottle and only my thoughts for company. I remained staring off into the starry night for a long, long time, not sure what to make of that vote of confidence.
The next morning started early and harsh, with exactly the kind of hangover that I deserved—and as I knelt there in the dew-wet grass, puking my guts out, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d really needed that. Not that the splitting headache was anything I wished even on my arch nemesis, but it made me feel alive—if in the worst kind of way.
The guys thankfully ignored the pitiful display I put on, and I didn’t even need to bite anyone’s head off for offering me breakfast. That was, until Nadia, the woman with the niece, approached me, looking about as if she were to engage a rabid dog.
“Hey. Do you have a minute?” she asked, eyeing me as if she was already regretting the decision to start a conversation.
My first impulse was to offer some acerbic comeback, but she really deserved better—even if I wasn’t sure I could do better today. “Sure. What do you need?”
A look of guilt passed on her face, and her voice was even softer as she replied.
“I’m really sorry if I disturbed you, but—“ She hesitated, yet forced herself to go on. “But I feel like I need to talk to you. Explain.”
I shook my head. Softly. “Don’t worry. You don’t. We understand what you’ve been through. No one’s holding that against you.”
I could tell that she tried to smile, but it looked more like a painful grimace. “You think you do. Understand, I mean. But you don’t.”
Unease crept up my spine, and I had to fight down the impulse to tell her to go look for Martinez if she needed a shoulder to cry on. “And you want me to? Understand, I mean?”
Ignoring the clear lack of enthusiasm in my voice, she wrung her hands but didn’t back down.
“It’s probably not fair to you, but I need you to understand. I can tell that you’re feeling bad—“
“Not for killing those bastards,” I assured her.
She paused, clearly trying to find the right words. “You hurt for your friend that you lost. I know what they did to him. I’ve seen it happen to so many men before him…” She trailed off, but when I didn’t speak up, she started anew. “They didn’t just rape us. Or eat us. We never knew which it would be when they came to get one of us. The first time they dragged me out, I thought I would welcome death. That was before I realized that they never just killed, but—“ Again she paused, and my mind was only too happy to fill in the blanks. That much had been obvious from the rants of the sobbing man.
Exhaling forcefully, Nadia made herself go on, her eyes finding mine. “In the winter, when food got scarce, they started rationing. They would just cut off one limb, or parts of it. Enough for them to eat. One every few days. But they were bored, so they pulled us out more and more often. And each time, we would pray that they would just rape us. Not slice parts off us. Do you have any idea how that feels? Begging to God that they will only rape you? Only torture you but not maim you permanently?”
There was nothing I could answer to that, so I remained silent. She took a shaking breath, finally looking away, making me feel like the lowest piece of shit for my inability to comfort her.
“And then a new convoy arrived,” she went on explaining. “With more women. More children. More men. And all I felt was gratitude, because that meant there were seven more people that might end up on the fire instead of me. Two more women that hadn’t been broken and shared by the entire camp yet. Five more men they could force to take their offer to join them, or end just like your friend. And because two of them were married, they made them watch while the camp raped their wives. And then they forced them to do the same to two of us. They weren’t all bad from the start, you know? But not a single one of them didn’t have it coming.”
She glanced down at the floor in front of us, and this time remained silent.
Clearing my throat, I asked, as softly as possible, “The leaders. Or whoever started it. Do you know who they were?”
Nadia nodded. “They had no strict hierarchy, but the one whose nose you broke was one of them. And the one who lost it. He was one of the worst. Didn’t just do what all of them did, but actually enjoyed it. He didn’t deserve an ounce of mercy. I’m glad that you didn’t show him any.”
That made two of us.
Looking up again, she tried to smile, but it fell short by a mile. “Thanks for listening. I didn’t want to burden you with this, but I know that you hate us for not being grateful.”
“Hate’s too strong a word,” I said, feeling like I owed it to her to be honest. “And as I said, we understand. Now more than ever, but all of us do.”
She nodded. “I can tell that your men are decent men. Well, as decent as they still come in this world, but I guess it takes a certain kind of ruthlessness to survive. I meant no offense.”
“None taken,” I replied.
“Please know that we are grateful. For setting us free, for taking revenge for us. For giving us food, clothes, shelter, and for bringing us to safety. Even if we can’t show or express it, because the mere thought of anyone touching me, of being locked in again, helpless, defenseless… It’s too raw. But we do understand the risks you take, and we will forever include you in our prayers.”
That last bit made me grimace, and not just because I wasn’t exactly a bible-thumping kind of girl. Although she spoke with a soft, midwestern accent, Nadia’s complexion looked as if she could have come from India just as well as around here, with thick, dark hair and matching skin.
“After everything that’s happened to you, you still believe in God?” I asked, incapable of toning down the disbelief in my voice.
She considered for a moment, but didn’t seem offended by my question. “I guess when you have nothing left—no dignity, no freedom, maybe not even the will to live—what else but faith will carry you into the next hour, the next day? And didn’t God bring me my avenging angels?”
There was a lot I could have answered to that but likely not anything she would have liked to hear, so I kept my trap shut. It wasn’t my place to diss the one thing that she clearly felt no one had managed to take from her yet. Holding my gaze a moment longer, she then looked away before she turned and left me to myself.
Way to start the day.
When Nate joined me in the car half an hour later, he wordlessly held out a bottle of painkillers to me that I happily accepted. I silently dared him to taunt me for drinking too much last night, but he just buckled himself in and got the map ready, tracing the route that we had selected for the day.
“Ready when you are,” he told me—and I got the feeling that he didn’t just mean about rolling back onto the road.
Chapter 20
We made it to Aurora, Kansas, in under a week, thanks to the largely deserted back roads. I didn’t know what I had expected, but not the giant ring of palisades easily visible from a distance. It must have taken weeks to erect them, miles of circumference as they seemed to have. A sign post spelled out three more miles at the intersection where we stopped, maybe a hundred yards outside of what looked like a rather formidable gate. Glancing at Nate, I waited for him to voice an opinion, but he just shrugged. I wondered if we should tell the women they could go their own way now, seeing as they were all crammed into the two vans that were of no use to us, but that seemed rather cruel. And in some ways, talking to Nadia made me feel kind of responsible for her well-being. The least we could do was to make sure that they were finally safe here—and I didn’t
want to consider what we’d do if we found out that they weren’t.
“Do we approach the gate?” I questioned, not quite sure why I even asked for Nate’s permission.
He glanced up toward the men silhouetted against the sky, holding watch above the gate—who’d clearly seen us, likely following our way for the last fifteen minutes. “I think they would have shot at us already if that was their intent.”
I couldn’t help but remember those hillbilly assholes Madeline had left us for. Back then, I’d had a really bad feeling about this. Now? Not so much. I wondered if it was Nadia’s hope that deluded me into a false sense of safety, or if deep down a part of me longed to rejoin society as it used to be, making me equally blind to danger. The fact that I felt like assuming the worst was my default setting now gave me an answer in and of itself.
Easing the car toward the gate, I let it roll until we were in talking distance, the others following behind. One of the men up on the palisade was leaning forward, so I shouted up to him first.
“Hey there.”
A woman appeared by his side, her grey hair whipping around in the light breeze. She must have been sixty, maybe even older, but looked as spry as a teenager.
“Are you the folks coming over from Illinois?”
There was caution in her voice, but also a measure of hope. I briefly looked at Nate again, but he still seemed set on letting me do the talking.
“Did you get our radio messages?” I asked, cautious about answering her question first. “We weren’t sure anyone would receive the transmissions.”
She hesitated, but then nodded. “We did.” That obviously still left some guessing open to who we were, but I decided to just go ahead.
“We have several women and children with us who need shelter. A place to live, permanently, if possible. One of them told us she has family here. Her name is Nadia. Her niece is with her, too.” I cast around my mind for the girl’s name, but kept coming up blank until Nate whispered, “Penelope,” to me. “Penny,” I shouted up to the woman.
The Green Fields Series Box Set: Books 1-3 Page 83
