Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 3 | Books 7-9

by Lecter, Adrienne

  Nate and Burns returning—bristling with ammo and weapons, what else?—prevented me from either having to go off in Red’s face, or continuing to roll around in my ever-present guilt, freshly stoked as it was by finding out that, contrary to what was common knowledge, me infecting that asshole hadn’t led to Petty Officer Stanton’s death but only her severe mutilation. “Tanner says to come see what you need,” Nate told Gita, waiting for her to leave before he dropped his load and turned to me. “I’m not sure if your shotgun will still be working for you, but any asshole can hit something with an M16. Think you can get used to that as your primary weapon? You like the M4 well enough.”

  I was tempted to tell him where to shove his sarcasm—and I didn’t miss the slight chiding note in there, putting an end to our ongoing debate why I always grabbed the Mossberg when I could get away with it—but left it at a nod. “Idiot-proof sounds right up my alley.” Was that the hint of a smirk I saw crossing Red’s face? Impossible.

  Nate went on as if he had assumed I wouldn’t protest. “Most of your gear should be good but I’m getting you a new jacket and some extra thermal underpants.” I would have grinned at that had it not hurt like a bitch. “Anything else you want? I know it must be heartbreaking for you that the one time we get an opportunity to go shopping, you’re down for the count.”

  Without Red standing there, I would have prattled off a list of absolutely nonsensical items, but it was bad enough that anything I’d say would have to stand the test of Nate’s judgment. I didn’t need that from another asshole as well.

  “Boots would be great,” I offered, raising my right leg just enough so I could look down at the scuffed one I was wearing right now. “Sole’s getting a little worn out.”

  Nate nodded, but hesitated as he turned to leave. “Size-wise…”

  “Same as usual,” I replied before he could say another word.

  That earned him a frown from Burns. “Since when don’t you know her size? You’ve been picking up clothes for her on the go for ages.” Then a possible answer must have occurred to him and his attention skipped from my boots to my gloves before hovering near my face. I held it easily when our gazes met. My worries about not being able to properly hold a gun should have given it away, but apparently, that had taken some time to sink in. I didn’t fault either of them that they were very quick to make an exit, leaving me sitting there with the packs, gear, and guns…

  Smirking over at Red, I snorted. “You weren’t afraid that he’d shoot you in the back of the head the second he got a loaded gun in his hands. You’re here making sure I don’t kill myself with one.”

  Red had the grace not to try to deny it, offering a small shrug instead. “I didn’t believe that you’d be that stupid, but others disagree with me.”

  “About me being suicidal, or me being stupid?”

  He wisely refrained from answering, but my guess was both. I really didn’t like that he continued to prove himself a good judge of character. As much as I absolutely couldn’t stand anyone associated with the bunch of lunatics that had, repeatedly, contributed to ruining my life, so far all of them had underestimated me, which had long since turned into a security blanket I had been basing a lot of my strategy on. Damnit. So much for that old adage about being careful what you wished for.

  It took a while until the others returned, Gita and Tanner first, with Burns lagging behind. Nate dropped two already stuffed backpacks next to me before he turned to leave again, hesitating when I spoke up. “I want an ax. Like the one Minerva was carrying? Maybe two. If there’s one advantage to being impervious to zombie bites and packing a little extra strength, it’s being useful with edged weapons.” I was surprised when Nate ended his brief consideration with a nod.

  “Tactical tomahawk,” Red said once Nate had left.

  “Huh?”

  “It’s not an ax. It’s called a tactical tomahawk,” he insisted.

  I couldn’t help but snort. “Really? That’s what you’re wasting your breath on?”

  “Proper designations are important. You’re part of us now. Might as well behave like it.”

  I refrained from mentioning all the wonderful activities that came to mind at that statement. Raynor, burdened with a large bag, stalking toward us, her heels clicking loudly on the concrete floor, made that all the more easy. I couldn’t help but tense—that woman just gave me the creeps, independent of what she’d done to me, but that sure didn’t help—which in turn made me wince. Damn, but I couldn’t wait for my body to heal up so I could do strenuous things like lounge around once more. She eyed me critically as she approached, dumping the bag unceremoniously beside my crate perch.

  “In here is everything you will need to jump-start your GI tract,” she explained without preamble. “Once you start, you need to keep to the exact schedule. Shouldn’t be too hard, considering you will have nothing else to do for the next couple of days. I’ve added a list with the instructions, and recalculations should you be too much of an imbecile to keep to said schedule.”

  I could have come up with a million things to spew back at her, but kept it at a wry, “I won’t.” That must have annoyed her more, anyway.

  Raynor gave a curt nod as she reached into the bag, pointing out various containers—and the shaker, complete with hand-drawn marks in what I presumed was her scrawl. “We need to reestablish your gut biome first, so it will be another four days until you can start on semi-solid foods. Until then you will have to subsist on this cocktail of vitamins, fatty acids, oligosaccharides, and amino acids. Remember, the exact number of scoops with the exact amount of water, spaced six hours apart.”

  “You do remember the part where I’m a scientist and used to following more complicated protocols than ‘three scoops dissolved in sixty-four ounces of water,’ right?”

  I had to hand it to her, she smiled rather than scoffed, but that wasn’t much better.

  “Funny that you’d mention that.” It wasn’t. Reaching into the bag once more, she pulled out a thick wad of folders. “Here is the entire documentation on the serum project, as you like to refer to it. Including everything you brought us on that flash drive, with copies of your notes. I would be much obliged if you’d spend all that idle time you’re facing looking this over and supplying me with the answers you promised in your grandstanding statement upon your arrival at our doorstep.” I had seldom been less interested in anything scientific in my life, and that enthusiasm must have been plain on my face as a frown crossed Raynor’s expression. “You do realize that this personally concerns you now? If not to hold up Raleigh Miller’s legacy or save your husband’s life, you have stakes in this yourself. The serum variant you were inoculated with comes with a lot less drawbacks than the old versions, but what you likely consider the underlying flaw—the absolute potential of conversion upon the expiration of the subject—is still a very active, central part of it. I’m ready to offer to develop an antidote for you and a select group of your choice, but for that you need to do the research first. If you don’t, no one else will. It’s entirely up to you.”

  I was surprised by her offer, but not stupid enough to believe that it wouldn’t come with a catch—and there was still the testing of whether it worked or not. Finding subjects for that would be impossible, so the best she could offer me was hope to start with—and that was one resource I was not running very high on right now. I still inclined my head, mutely agreeing to her offer.

  A nurse approaching with two liquid bags put an end to that discussion—one-sided as it had been—making Raynor snap an irritated, “Finally,” to him before she nodded toward me. “Left arm, please. There’s not much more I can do for you, but a dash of liquids and nutrients never hurt anyone. Because of the massive wound healing that your body is still concerned with, and the damage your left femur has sustained, another blood transfusion won’t hurt, either.” She paused when she realized that I still hadn’t moved. “What are you waiting for? Scoot!”

  I opened my mouth t
o explain to her that right now I lacked the fine motor skills to accommodate her request—if you could call it that—but Nate returning spared me that. It was comical to see her tense as she watched him approach, a pack slung over each shoulder, an ax—excuse me, tactical tomahawk—in each hand. Add to that the blank look on his face—turning his expression decidedly homicidal—and I could see where she might have gotten a little cautious. Sure, she had saved my life, but apparently her narcissism didn’t go as far as to not realize how someone close to me might see that. And it wasn’t like any of us believed her innocent where the fallout of their conditions, for lack of a better word, was concerned.

  I would have loved to keep the staring match up that they had going on, but I sorely lacked the energy required. “Help me?” I asked, raising my left arm as I nodded toward the nurse, still holding the liquid bags. Without a word, Nate dropped his burden and set to extricating enough of my arm so they could reach the crook of my left elbow. Part of me was still wondering why they hadn’t left a line in me to make this easier—at least until I caught a glance at my wrist, previously quite bruised from the multitude of needles they’d stuck into me there. The surface was completely healed, only the barest hint of a greenish cast underneath visible where the deepest of the bruises had been. Maybe that shouldn’t have surprised me, considering how well my body was working with less than a day since it had been a slab of paralyzed meat on the operating room table, but it did.

  “Start with the liquid nutrition in exactly six hours.” Raynor’s bark drew my attention back to her. Rather than ask what she was referring to, Nate quickly set an alarm on his watch before he accepted the bags from the nurse. Apparently those wheelie stands were overrated—or they were afraid one of us would use it as a blunt weapon. Considering the amount of ammo I was sitting on, that idea was hilarious—until I realized that it wouldn’t be me doing that bashing, considering that my hands had about zero grip potential at the moment. Truly, a gift that kept on giving.

  Raynor continued pointing out the next stages in my nutritional journey back to a working GI tract before she halted, something else occurring to her. “You are aware that you’re running on borrowed fuel? Your body has barely enough energy on its own to sustain what’s left of your muscles and reserves. If you key up now, you die.” For once, she interpreted my deadpan stare as what it was—confusion. “Key up? Mobilize reserves only granted to you because of the metabolic changes due to the serum?” Raynor prompted. “You do that, you’re toast. Also no overexertion of any kind. No running, no panic attacks. It will take a while for you to feel moderately human again, and until then you have to keep your metabolism as low as possible. If you can, don’t even think.” She said that like it wasn’t something she thought I needed to concern myself with. “Your body will do its best to conserve energy. Don’t do anything to antagonize it.”

  It was obvious that she considered her work done as Raynor turned to go, but me calling after her made her halt in her tracks. “Do you have any antiandrogens stocked here? As a personal favor to me.”

  Just to see surprise on that unshakable expression was worth the try. “I told you, you need low levels of testosterone for muscle regeneration—“ she started, but cut off when I shook my head.

  “Not for me. Her.” I jerked my chin toward Gita. “But you do it as a favor to me. I won’t let anyone else get caught up in this who doesn’t have to. You want my full cooperation? Give me a reason to trust you.” Raynor frowned, without a doubt gearing up to say something that would piss me off, but I forestalled her. “Yes, you saved my life, but that only goes so far. You’re playing games. You want me to be an active participant rather than a pawn? Give me a reason.” Talking so much in one go made me want to whimper with pain, but I did my best to ignore it. Getting confirmation for that guess in Raynor’s eyes was worth it for sure.

  She gave the idea some thought before she offered a brief nod, stepping up to Gita for a quick conversation. I didn’t miss the torn look Gita sent me, but I ignored that as well. If I could have thought of anything else to get out of this damn deal, if you could call it that, I would have voiced it. Raynor stalked away and was back just as the nurse disconnected the clear nutrient bag and swapped it for the blood transfusion. She handed Gita two bottles of pills and a handwritten note, followed by what I was sure were equally asinine instructions as I’d gotten minutes before. She ended it with a succinct—and loud enough to carry to the rest of us—“If you decide you do want to go through with the operation, our facility is likely the last place on earth that is fully staffed and equipped for it. Even discounting that, if you grow tired of always being the weakest one of your friends, you know that we can remedy that, too.”

  Raynor was quick to leave after that, before I could change my mind regarding coming after her with the next best thing I could use to inflict blunt force trauma—lacking grip strength, any body part would do. I’d happily take the pain I’d inflict on myself that way. It was only then that I realized that if Raynor—like her entire staff—had also gotten inoculated with the serum, she could likely wipe the floor with me as it was. A sobering thought, but nothing worth dwelling on.

  Gita was still frowning after Raynor, which thankfully made her miss the calculating look that crossed Tanner’s face before he wiped it clean. My hostile stare catching his might have done the trick. It was none of my business, but I’d be damned if I kept my trap shut about that.

  “If you do, make sure to only let them shoot you up with that shit after they’re done with the rest, even if it holds the potential of being inefficient as you might very well die from the serum,” I called over, getting Gita’s attention.

  Her brows rose in confusion. “If I’m stronger afterward, wouldn’t it make sense to go the other way round?” she asked.

  The very idea made me cringe hard enough that she saw me physically recoil, only increasing her bewilderment.

  “Trust me, that’s not something you want to be awake for,” I grumbled. When that didn’t do the trick, I snorted. “The serum turns your body immune to a lot of things, including painkillers and most anesthetics. So if you have a choice—use it. I didn’t have one.”

  The expression of abject horror on Gita’s face shouldn’t have made me feel vindicated, but it did, a little. At least I’d made sure that she wouldn’t run headfirst into her doom without anyone letting her read the fine print first. I knew I’d jeered too soon when the quality of her gaze changed.

  “Wait. Does that mean that they did to you whatever they did to you while you were fully conscious?”

  I avoided looking in Nate’s direction—knowing that he knew was bad enough—but that got me a good look at the guys’ faces. I really didn’t care for the sympathy on Burns’s, but at least he did a good job reining it in, knowing from experience that I didn’t deal well with that. Tanner had definitely changed this stance toward Raynor’s suggestion, yet didn’t look that surprised. I was starting to feel that anyone associated with that damn serum program was quick to jump to the worst conclusions. Now, Jason and Charlie, freshly back from their radio call, looked like they dearly needed a hug themselves on top of those they wanted to dish out. I almost quipped at them whether they were ready to change their minds about helping Martinez, but it was too late for that, anyway. If it helped straighten out their expectations, that was fine with me. And maybe now they understood why Nate was so adamant about our medic getting his way, whatever he chose.

  “Didn’t have a choice,” I repeated. No explanation because my jaw was giving me enough grief from all the talking I’d done. More to distract myself than because I was actually interested, I glanced at the transfusion bag. It was almost empty, making me frown. I had virtually no experience with things like that, but I remembered that normally it was a process that took hours rather than fifteen minutes. Neither that nor the nutrients before made me feel any different, but it was hard to say underneath the all-encompassing level of discomfort I was existing in.
The nurse noticed my gaze but didn’t explain. Considering that I had gotten the feeling that the staff here saw their patients more as subjects—as Raynor had repeatedly stressed herself—I figured he wasn’t used to anyone wanting an explanation.

  Ten minutes later, that business was concluded, and I was wrapped back up in my layers of winter clothes, still not breaking a sweat while the others had stripped off their jackets by now. Considering how warm the nurse’s fingers had felt even through the latex gloves, I doubted that my body temperature was in the normal range. I couldn’t find it in me to care. Right now, just continuing to breathe felt like a laborious task, yet the two times I deliberately stopped, my lungs expanded to draw in another breath about ten heartbeats later. It was somewhat comforting to realize that while my mind was going interesting places, my body did a good job running on autopilot.

  I must have been staring off into space for at least twenty minutes, ignoring the bustling activity around us, when a sort of commotion running through our group drew my attention back to what was going on. Nate and Burns had been busy stowing away our gear in the large cargo crates that had been provided to us, but both halted now, staring toward the other side of the building. Nate was already turning away, but the light frown on Burns’s forehead gave away the fact that something was indeed happening. I tried to make out what, but the only thing I saw was a bunch of soldiers lugging their packs and crates to the growing stack near the doors. It took two of them actively avoiding looking in our direction that I realized what this might be about.

  “Someone you know?” I asked in their general direction, guessing that Nate would ignore me, anyway.

  Burns continued to watch for a moment longer before he focused on me. “Know, yes. Those are Murdock and Davis. Haven’t seen them since—“ He stopped there, scratching his chin. I didn’t miss the sidelong glance he cast Nate’s way, who was industriously stowing things away now. “Any reason you keep avoiding ‘em?”