“Care to explain why we’re really heading down to the city? Because while I find it touching that you care for the damage you’ve done to my dental health—“
“I told you—“
I cut him off with a huff. “Yeah, it must have been infected, else you wouldn’t have been able to knock it loose. Not the point here. Last winter I sprained my ankle, dislocated my shoulder, even broke two toes and a finger in training, and all you did was tell me to get over it once Martinez had put me back together. So why the concern now?”
While I talked, I angled the rearview mirror so I could study my jaw. There was some swelling going on, but I looked a long shot from the abusive relationship PSA I’d expected. It certainly felt worse as I gingerly prodded the puffiest part of it. The fact that Nate was neither looking at me nor my reaction only added to my suspicion that this wasn’t about the tooth—or at least, not just about it.
“Nate?”
He was still considering his answer—never a good sign with him—but ended up shrugging. “Just a hunch.”
“A hunch.”
He snorted. “Am I not allowed to have hunches?”
“You’re usually not that vague,” I retorted. “Besides, what kind of hunch could you possibly have—“
His grunt cut me off. “You taste funny.”
Now that wasn’t anything I’d expected. “I do what? Exactly what do you mean by, ‘I taste funny’? Don’t tell me you licked the blood off your knuckles after busting my lip along with ruining my perfect smile.”
I just loved drawing that exasperated sigh from him, but it was his fault. He could have cut right to the chase minutes ago. “First off, it was a molar. Last time I looked, even your brightest fake smile you reserve for the people on your kill list isn’t bright enough to flash it.”
“If you say so,” I quipped. “You must know, intimately familiar as you are with said smile.”
“And second,” he talked right over me, only raising his voice slightly. “Is your memory already that shoddy that you forgot said activities you referred to during what ended up being a very sorry excuse for a sparring session? About me, appreciating your womanly wiles?” When he was still met with a frown, Nate laughed. “When I went down on you? That taste? Ring a bell?”
I wondered briefly if that was meant as thinly veiled reproach, but that wasn’t the kind of opportunity Nate would miss. “I washed up last night. If you can’t handle that, maybe you should just, I don’t know, screw yourself? Literally?”
“Figuratively,” he grumbled, but there was a sudden strain in his voice as he went back on topic. “Trust me when I say that this has never been an issue, and you very well know it. It’s you who’s prone to complaining about ball sweat and beans.”
Could this conversation become any more mature? Certainly made me glad I hadn’t started it with Martinez and Andrej still in earshot. The entire camp would have heard every single detail within the hour.
“What, no witty retort?” Nate teased. “Not even something along the lines of what a cunning linguist I am?”
That got the blank stare it deserved. “You really think you can one-up me there?” I scoffed. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty sure I’ve clocked more hours than you orally satisfying women.”
He obviously didn’t agree with me—and that smirk definitely didn’t help—but he left it at a, “Too bad that’s one competition neither of us can really win, right?”
Maybe him being the reason why half of my face was doing weird things was screwing with my head, but I didn’t care for that insinuation at all. “What, you really want to have a threesome? And with whom? Hate to break it to you, but I think my former girlfriend would only get close enough to you so she could gut you.” And me as well, I figured.
“Like you could stand seeing me do anything even remotely sexual with another woman.”
“Would you want to?” If he thought he could make me act all defensive, he’d bet on the wrong horse.
Not surprising, his return question was a simple, “Would you?”
“Didn’t think that was anything I’d ever need to consider. You know, with that whole ‘until death do us part’ thing going on between us?”
Why Nate felt the need to look satisfied at my retort, I didn’t know, but it was just as well. Until I remembered what we’d been discussing before going off on yet another tangent. I hated when he managed to almost make me forget things like that. Even more so, how often it worked.
“So, define funny. It’s not like I can just shove my hand down my pants and see for myself.”
He grimaced, but did me the courtesy of replying. “If I could define it, I would have, and consequently, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But it wasn’t on the ‘so good I need fucking more of this’ side of the spectrum.”
“There is such a thing?” I quipped, but mostly to suppress the shudder wanting to run through me. Nate didn’t reply, just making things worse. “That bad, huh? Why not tell me right away? And, far as I remember, you did spend some considerable time down there.”
“So she doth remember,” he mumbled, flashing me a quick grin. “Mostly because I figured it wasn’t worth the trouble. You’d just get annoyed and self-conscious, which in turn would mean I’m not getting any, and on top of that have to deal with you being insufferable for the rest of the week. And don’t you dare tell me that’s not an accurate assessment.”
It was, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t try to turn this around on him. “Let me get this straight. My health is less important to you than you getting your rocks off? You do realize that if I get something like toxic shock syndrome, I’ll die, and then you’ll never get laid again.”
“Last time I looked—“
“But I’m the only woman who can put up with you for more than the five minutes it takes you to come, so unless you want to spend a lot of time in a lot of silence, don’t finish that sentence.”
I didn’t care for the considering look he taxed me with, but he ended up shaking his head, chuckling under his breath. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’d miss these conversations more than the act you so love to get annoyed about. Happy now? If we don’t leave soon, we’ll miss the ships, and I’m not particularly looking forward to having to wait until tomorrow with you growing more antsy by the minute.”
Grumbling that I would show him “antsy” if he didn’t shut up soon, I started the car, briefly waving at the gate guards. The drive wasn’t a long one—just over three miles along a dirt track that was easy to traverse except in bad weather, and then it was a winding road along the coast for another thirty minutes. A quick call ahead was all it took. By the time we reached the makeshift dock, two small ships were bobbing up and down, waiting for their cargo. The very idea of scaling that cliff would have given me a heart attack two years ago, but it was only a minor nuisance now. Of course it would have been easier to use one of the many already existing docks along the coast, but they usually came attached to towns that were still heavily infested with the undead, and last I looked, they still had a hard time with height differential obstacles. Once or twice a few had stumbled down the cliff, but the approaching boats made them too eager, and consequently they’d ended up in the ocean, the problem having taken care of itself.
The crates we’d brought were soon winched down and stored on one boat, with the other accepting the human cargo. As the boats cast off, I looked up at where we’d hidden the Jeep under a tarp close to some trees, hoping it would still be there when we got back. Andrej would so have my ass if I lost it.
I never would have guessed that, very soon, the state of our vehicles would be the last thing on my mind.
Chapter 2
“The swelling is already going down. I don’t think you need to be concerned about losing the tooth,” the doc—or nurse, or medic, or whatever—stated, continuing to shine a light into my mouth. It was hard to gauge what he was, still in dusty fatigues, just back from his guard shift in the
derelict maze outside of the city. Even with my head tilted back, I didn’t miss the frown line that perfectly bisected his forehead.
“But?” Nate asked before I could.
Anderson blindly fished one of those hellish wooden tongue depressors out of a cup on his desk so he could get a better look at the rest of my mouth. “I guess it’s a stupid thing to ask, but have you kept up with your regular dental hygiene?”
Of all the things to keep in mind in the event of the apocalypse, never forget to floss!
“I might have been a little lenient from time to time,” I hedged once he got that fucking torture implement out of my mouth. “In my defense, I have recently been locked in a cell for almost a week, with not even enough water to keep me hydrated, let alone consider brushing my teeth. They didn’t really feed me, so I guess that wasn’t too bad, but—“ I cut myself off when Anderson’s inquisitive look turned decidedly bored. So much for sympathy for my plight. “And no, I don’t regularly floss and use mouthwash, but I try to pick up new supplies whenever we come across some.” I certainly did a better job of it than most of the guys had. It was likely too much to hope that the virus that had turned my body upside down had also killed the bacteria causing cavities, or whatnot. Considering that my digestion was still working, it was a somewhat stupid idea.
The doc didn’t look very impressed. “Have you had gingivitis before? Family history of periodontitis, maybe?”
I shook my head. “Not really. My grandpa always used to brag that he still had all his teeth, right until he died.”
“Did you bring the tooth?” I handed it over with increasing reluctance, and after looking it over closely, Anderson shrugged. “The easy answer is that you simply need to take better care of your teeth, particularly if you think it’s smart to let someone punch you in the face.”
“I’m generally opposed to that very idea,” I offered. “The letting myself get punched part.” I paused, mulling over his phrasing. “And what’s the not-easy answer?”
“Any other conditions I should be aware of? Symptoms, changes, you name it.”
I snorted. “You mean besides me already mentioning that I’m kinda half zombie?”
Anderson was nice enough not to turn condescending at that point.
“More recent changes that you don’t chalk up to said condition,” he prompted.
I hesitated, trying to decide what to tell him, but Nate wasn’t that circumspect, prattling off my various shortcomings of late—which mostly boiled down to exhaustion, and the aforementioned change in the composition of my various bodily fluids. Anderson listened dispassionately, nodding as he started scribbling on his notepad. I figured that level of professionalism hinted at him being the real deal, not just someone who’d studied a field triage manual.
“You know, I can speak for myself,” I remarked snidely once Nate was finished.
His answering smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Can, yes. It’s more a question of whether you would.”
Anderson followed our exchange not without amusement. “At the very least we should do a small blood panel,” he advised once Nate had fallen silent. “And a routine physical wouldn’t hurt, too. If you want, I can call in one of our female nurses…”
“That won’t be necessary,” I was quick to assure him, considering it was just the three of us in the infirmary, and said “calling in” likely meant someone would have to come back from guard duty or some other work detail. “I’m not that squeamish.” Not that the idea was particularly thrilling, recent events notwithstanding, but that level of pampering made me more uncomfortable than dropping my pants for a stranger. Nate looked tempted to hang around but, at my glare, excused himself, telling me to meet him at the bar below Greene’s observation room once I was done.
Anderson took his time, prodding my lymph nodes, checking my eyes and ears, and then continuing on to the rest of my body as I shed my clothes. He didn’t comment on anything—not even the lump of scar tissue on my hip that usually drew a lot of attention—and from what little reaction showed on his face I figured that nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary. “Come back early tomorrow so we can discuss the preliminary results. No breakfast should we need to do more extensive blood tests,” he told me—and handed me two plastic containers. “Bathrooms are around the corner.”
I left five minutes later, not quite sure if I should be vaguely disconcerted because of Anderson’s general air of relaxed ignorance, or comforted by it. It hadn’t been his behavior that set my teeth on edge, but Nate’s. Maybe he was just bored now that all the doom and gloom of the past months had lifted, and our lives were settling into a similar, mind-numbing rut as last fall—all there was to do was keep fit and get everything ready for the endless winter. Considering that we didn’t even insulate our new homes for snow, it should have been a lot more laid back rather than a race against the seasons.
I wasn’t two blocks away from the clinic yet when a familiar face popped up in front of me. Back on our crusade, Gita had quickly ditched the makeup, but now her dark eyes were once more heavily lined. The previously brightly dyed shock of hair on her head was black now, if with certain blue tints, if the late afternoon sun wasn’t playing tricks on me. She was grinning brightly as she held out a travel mug full of what could only have been coffee to me, the universal welcome gift if there was one.
“Ran into your husband earlier,” she explained after hugging me fiercely. “Figured I might as well get you some pick-me-up, seeing as you had to let the doc prod and poke you.”
I couldn’t help but snort. “It is so much more fun when it happens consensually. Guess you already got the news that we’re crashing here for the night?”
Gita nodded, her excitement barely contained. “Signups for tonight’s poker game are still open, if you can stand getting cleaned out. Nate’s talking to the quartermaster right now to get you set up somewhere.” She paused, as if she was trying to pace herself. “It’s good to see you around.”
I couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “You know, you could drop by our cozy town a little more often. It’s only a boat ride away.”
“And get roped into working myself ragged? Fat chance.” She huffed, shaking her head at my half-gloating grin. “That’s not a town. That’s a labor camp. Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Your choice,” I harped back, but didn’t quite find it in me to protest. She kind of had a point there. Maybe escaping to New Angeles had been more necessary than I’d thought.
We chatted amicably as we made our way through the deepening shadows in the maze of streets between the buildings. Progress was slower than I was used to as people kept insisting on greeting me, and more often than not a playful slap on the back turned into several minutes of catching up. A lot of the scavengers that had joined us on our little crusade were still considering me one of the good guys, whether they agreed with the truce that Bucky Hamilton and I had struck or not. I’d heard a few stories that further north my popularity was diminishing, but then what did I care, really? With luck, the fact that we’d mobilized and united would be enough to keep us safe next year, and hopefully many more years to come. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about the details as long as that remained. And who knew? Maybe five years down the line, nobody would remember the weird red-haired bitch who’d almost led them to slaughter.
Night had fallen by the time we made it to the stairs leading down into Gabriel Greene’s headquarters. I did a double take as I found him next to Nate, both leaning against the bar as they were nursing twin glasses of beer, talking to each other in what looked like a non-hostile way. Stranger things had happened, but those were few and far between. Judging from Greene’s grin as he saw me approach, I wore my misgivings plain on my face, but for the simple joy of not letting him get a rise out of me I exchanged my scowl for a neutral, bordering on pleasant, expression. If this year had taught me anything, it was not to show my emotions too openly.
“Ah, the prodigal daughter returns,” Greene g
reeted me with, his pearly whites in full view. How he managed that level of dental perfection given the circumstances, I had no idea. Before today, I wouldn’t have noticed.
I ignored him in favor of accepting a beer from Nate, figuring that my metabolism would easily burn through it as long as I didn’t have any for breakfast. Besides, I still wasn’t convinced Anderson would find anything in his screen except for all the usual weirdness that my body had turned into. It seemed unlikely that he’d need to draw blood again.
As if he was reading my mind, Greene looked me up and down. “You don’t really seem sick.” To Nate he asked, “You sure that your wife didn’t just use this as an excuse to see me again? You know how fond of each other we are.”
Nate shrugged, surprisingly indifferent. “Seeing that there was almost some kicking and screaming involved, I might consider that a possibility.”
I was sorely tempted to roll my eyes at him, but instead focused on Greene. “Exactly what does all this ‘I’ve got shit on you’ info dumping do for you? So what, you talk to people, and they sometimes give you details before telling you to go screw yourself. Doesn’t really prove anything except that you have a memory slightly above average for a man of your age.”
Greene’s smile never faltered. “Call it morbid curiosity, if you will. With winter approaching quickly, there’s not much else to snoop into. And as much as I’d love to claim that I’m deeply invested in your emotional and physical well-being, it’s mostly a matter of security. Your little encampment houses over twenty potential walking time bombs if anyone manages to make you all convert—and that right in front of our doorstep. And if it’s something else—“
My snort cut him short. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to spread my girl cooties all over your little town here, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 3 | Books 7-9 Page 2
