“Uh, what the fuck is going on here?” I heard Hill’s voice from somewhere near the barn door. “Guys, don’t give me a reason to beat you up. You know what the LT said…” He trailed off there as he stepped inside where he could see more. “LT? What are you doing in here?” Everyone was staring at Hill, motionless, except for Parker, who was busy pulling off the surgical gown and gloves, both appropriately bloody.
If I hadn’t been one giant mass of agony, I would have started to laugh. Oh, the irony. Hill of all people, coming to my rescue.
Nate and Red traded glances, the warning on Nate’s face clear. Richards looked down at me once more, likely to make sure that I was, after all, going to make it, before he turned to Hill. “Some post-surgery complications. You know how it is. Would be much obliged if you didn’t go around camp, telling everyone about this.”
“Telling everyone about what?” Hill stammered, still reeling a little.
“Exactly,” Nate answered for Red.
Hill’s gaze dropped to me but I couldn’t read his expression, upside down and with my vision blurry with tears. “She going to make it?”
Parker, finally done, nodded. “As things are, she was lucky. The infection was mostly in the interstitial space, no previously unaffected organ directly affected. Her liver’s somewhat inflamed but should be okay in a few days, now that there’s no necrotic tissue covering parts of it. She was right. It was likely some residual bacterial necrosis from the initial infection. It’s a surprise Raynor and her team managed to clean her up as much as they did. Lucky you.”
Lucky wasn’t what I was feeling right then. Quite the opposite, really. As if almost rotting away once wasn’t enough. No, it had to come in stages. Rationally, I knew that this was likely the last I’d ever see of that, but with my body still hurting all over with every breath I took, it was hard to fight down the paranoia and panic. Although, right now, not having someone cut me up was already a huge improvement. Then again, I hadn’t really felt that lucky after Bates had died, cut to pieces by the cannibals, and we’d officially given our merry band of misfits a name—the Lucky Thirteen. I hadn’t been sure whether Nate had meant that in a sarcastic way or not. The same was still true now. Lucky me, indeed.
Hill disappeared after making a zipping motion over his mouth. Everyone else seemed ready to give me some space, but Nate remained by my side, conflicted. I could read that pinched look on his face even with serious distraction.
“If that’s all—“ Parker started, but Nate held him back immediately.
“Check her hand.”
Ah, right. Part of me wished he hadn’t snatched up that tidbit, but I only put up minimal protest when Nate reached for my left arm and pulled it away from my stomach. Parker scrutinized it for a moment before he started touching the affected finger, first prodding, then getting out a fresh, sealed scalpel and lightly nicking the pad.
“Not feeling anything there, huh?” he murmured more to himself than me. I shook my head. He did a few more nicks toward the knuckle, until I flinched. He continued to consider, turning my hand this way and that under his flashlight. “Might just be some residual bruising,” he offered eventually. “I lack the skill and knowledge. You felt your other fingers go numb before. You can probably better tell what’s going on than I ever could.”
He didn’t need to tell me this. I also didn’t need a recount of what might happen if I ignored it for too long. Maybe.
“Cut it off. Right to where the nerve damage has progressed. Still got the middle finger on my other hand to flip you morons off.” I didn’t even care anymore that my voice was shaking so hard I was surprised anyone could understand.
Parker hesitated, but then got a fresh pair of gloves and wiped off the blade and my finger. “I could be wrong—“
“Do it!” I screamed, way too loud for our damn undercover operation, making everyone jerk. Outside, I heard a flock of birds take flight, adding extra drama that I so didn’t need. Exhaling shakily, I caught Parker’s gaze, making sure that there was no doubt left on my face, even if my gut felt like it was sinking right into the ground underneath me. “Do it,” I repeated, calmer and more measured now. “I don’t have time to keep screwing with this. My body needs to heal, and it can’t heal if it has to fight infection over infection over infection. The loss of sensation is recent. I remember bumping the scars at the tip while training in the hangar, and it still hurt like hell. That was maybe two weeks ago. Now I can’t feel anything past the middle part. As much as I hate losing even a quarter of an inch from that finger, that’s still better than the entire finger, or more. Don’t make this any harder on me than it already is. Please.”
Parker inclined his head, whether to avoid having to continue to look in my face or to focus on his task, I couldn’t say. He tore open a sterile pack of gauze and spread it out on the tarp. “Put your hand there. Splay your fingers. I’ll try to make it quick.”
I watched as he fashioned a tourniquet, but then looked away as Nate reached around me and grabbed my hand just below my wrist, making it impossible for me to jerk back. He held my gaze evenly, a sure, “You can do this,” if I’d ever seen one. But at the last moment, I cast my eyes down, forcing myself to watch. Maybe that was the fever talking, but if they had to continue to cut me limb from limb, the least I would do was watch. It hurt like hell, but what else was new? Certainly not that sensation. Or what followed afterward, and Parker didn’t have Raynor’s iron-steady hand, nor her skill. I told myself it would be all right, but didn’t find the conviction inside of me to believe my own lies. How much worse could it get?
But then I realized, if the shit with Taggard’s trap hadn’t happened, it likely would have been Martinez’s job to do this, and suddenly, I was glad to be stuck with people I couldn’t stand in a country that, so far, had only been desolate and hostile. I knew that it must have been bad enough for the guys to hold me down while Parker did his job. Actively inflict pain and damage that could never be undone? That was a different circle of hell entirely. I knew that, but still it didn’t change a thing. Because it was my damage, my hand.
As soon as Parker was done, I dragged my sorry self over to my sleeping bag, having to wait for Nate to get it ready and help me bundle myself up so I wouldn’t freeze to death during the night. My body temperature regulation was shot, making me shiver with exhaustion and cold while I was still burning up. Spending so long with a substantial part of my core exposed didn’t help. Neither did the heat quickly building up do a thing to lessen the pain in my abdomen; on the contrary. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. So I curled in around myself, my aching hand inches from my cut-up stomach, and, quite honestly, prayed that I’d die.
Chapter 17
Nate and Red shared a few words before he and Parker left. I didn’t follow their exchange, but it didn’t sound very amicable. Neither the part where Red accused, “How could you let it get this far?” to what Nate bit back, “This is all your fault! She should still be in a hospital, not hauling her way too scrawny ass across Europe!”
Oh, the confidence they had in me.
Sometimes it was better for people not to tell me to my face what they thought of me.
Burns made sure to clean up everything that my blood might have come in contact with, while Tanner went out to relieve Gita of her watch duty. It was well past midnight now and everyone should have been asleep, but I heard their murmurs over at the other side of the barn continue for a while yet, likely the guys updating Gita on what she’d missed.
Nate joined me a little while later, ignoring my hostile grunt as he molded his body against my back, but he was careful not to connect with me other than my shoulders and below my hips, or reach around me and touch the war zone that my torso had morphed into once more. I couldn’t even say why I wanted to be left alone. Probably because that way, no one could have intruded in my wallowing. A few painful breaths later I gave in and let him offer his arm as a cushion for my head, pulling me closer where I could st
and it. And when he reached up and gently touched my cheek, I started to cry, for once not feeling like keeping all that pain and frustration penned up inside of me. It wasn’t even the physical aspect that brought me to my knees, although that certainly didn’t help.
“We’ll get through this,” Nate repeated that mantra that had lost any spark of hope it had ever been able to ignite inside of me. “You will get through this.”
I shook my head. Even that small motion made my torn abdominal muscles flare up. As did taking the next breath. If I could just stop doing that…
“You will,” he insisted, as if that would do anything for me.
“Maybe I don’t want to,” I mumbled, not caring whether he understood or not. “There’s always something worse coming up. Like, I’ll never be able to catch a break. It’s just not worth it anymore.”
There was only one way Nate ever reacted to me going on like this—and I probably uttered those words because I needed him to bark at me and tell me to stop being such a baby—but instead, he hugged me closer, his free hand lightly digging into my shoulder as he buried his face in my hair. Rather than comfort me, his show of silent support and affection made me cry all the harder, turning me into a sobbing, useless mess.
Weeks ago, the wave of mental exhaustion that swept through me should have been enough to physically pull me under, but that fucking serum was doing its job for once, keeping me awake and laser focused with every pinch and ache rolling through my body. I realized that sleep wasn’t just a long way from coming but likely impossible, maybe even for the next few nights. Perfect. That was exactly what I needed.
“Maybe I’ll just burn out,” I continued to sob into my sleeping bag. “Or there’ll always be a next infection, and eventually, there won’t be enough of me left. Once my GI tract is gone, it’s over. Unless you keep me hooked up to infusion bags that keep me alive, with nutrients going straight into my bloodstream. You’d do that to me, wouldn’t you? Make me suffer till my absolute last, agonizing breath.”
Nate remained quiet for a while, but eventually answered with a sigh that held a welcome exasperated note. “It’s more fun when you’re physically venting. That usually ends with both of us getting off, not just sounding like petulant children.”
My answering burst of laughter hurt like hell, but it actually felt good. “Why won’t you let me give up? At some point this year I must have surpassed the point where I’m still worth the trouble.”
Ever the bastard I so loved to accuse him of being, Nate took his sweet time to reply, but did it with a soft laugh himself. “I guess that says more about me than you.”
“Yup.” No sense in not agreeing.
“Guess I’m a lost cause, too. Like a honey badger. I’ll never let go once I’ve sunk my teeth into something.”
That made me snort. “You really are a catch. Insulting me, dehumanizing me—“
“Oh, shut up,” he grumbled. “Go ahead. Go look for someone else who’s willing to put up with you. And who manages to keep you the right amount of crazy so you’re motivated but don’t get any weird ideas.”
“You really think you’re doing that?”
“I know so,” he insisted. For whatever reason, that gave me a mental pause. People, motivating me… not quite something I wanted to think about right now. Yet now that my subconscious was starting to drag up things, it was hard to put the lid back on.
My silence must have gone on for too long as Nate prodded gently, “Why, would you want me to stop?”
“I don’t think you could,” I pointed out. “Because then you would get bored and stir shit up, and you much prefer to lean back and watch me do it instead.” I paused. “That’s what you have been doing the entire time.”
He didn’t answer right away. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
I gave that some thought, although my initial reaction was to snap that yes, it sure as hell was. I settled on saying, “It tends to add to my list of grievances,” instead.
I felt him tense behind me, sure that he would have rolled me onto my back so he could stare into my face if that wouldn’t cause me immeasurable pain.
“Would you really prefer to return to how things were when you spent your entire time throwing hissy fits behind my back because you felt ignored?”
It was a valid question, and one that was surprisingly easy to answer. “No.”
“Then what are you complaining about?”
“It’s just that I thought we were in this together,” I complained—more softly than I wanted, realizing that it was real disappointment that made my heart clench as I uttered the words. “As equals. Both signing at the same dotted line. Yes, I want to be part of the decision-making process, I want to shoulder part of the blame when it all goes to shit. But I don’t appreciate you setting me up as a scapegoat.”
And there I’d gone and done it again. That was real anger and heat in his voice as he responded. “You know me better than that.”
“Do I?” Now I was the one who needed to see the look on his face, and while it cost me a lot to turn over, I managed, somehow. His features were closed off, a stony mask not even I could read, but Nate was incapable of keeping emotions out of his eyes—yet rather than anger, it was pain that I saw there. Not what I’d expected, and that left me at a loss of what to say.
He gave a loud chuff as if to shake himself out of his funk, cocking his head to the side as he, in turn, took in every line of my face. Considering how dark it was inside the barn, he couldn’t really be able to see much. “Bree, what’s going on? You know that I don’t mind being your punching bag, emotional or physical, and I make you repay the favor more often than you likely signed up for, but this isn’t you. You have to give me something to work with. Not shut up, almost mid-sentence, and close me out.”
Easier said than done. “I don’t know,” I confessed. “Some of it is just pure and simple frustration. And I’m scared shitless, that’s not helping. But there are some things that people said—“
“What people?”
Assholes, the lot of them, but that wasn’t specific enough. “Mostly Richards and Hill.”
“Fraternizing with the enemy, huh?” he teased.
“That’s Burns. I just seem to have a sign over my head that says, ‘randomly accost me to screw with my head.’ At least with Hill I’m sure he’s not doing it deliberately. Red? Very much so. Makes it less effective, but might still be working.”
“Why, what has your granny panties in a twist?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Ah, you noticed.”
“Like anyone could miss that,” he chortled.
“Room enough inside for both of us, if you ever get tempted,” I snarked, but forced myself to stop getting sidetracked. “It was something that Hill said… I don’t know, yesterday? The day before? Shit, it’s all blurring together. Fucking fever.” At least I hoped it was that, because if the next festering abscess turned out to be in my brain, that was it for me. I was a little surprised that this aspect made me mad rather than that it presented a welcome alternative.
“Bree?”
“Thinking.” My hand shot up as if to raise an admonishing finger, but the motion was enough to send pain racing down to my elbow, making me remember. Right. “I’m not even sure what it was, but something he said tipped me off. And it wasn’t that part about not believing how Alders and his flunkies kicked off the apocalypse.”
Nate’s mouth twisted up, as usual when his closer-than-comfortable involvement with that turned into a conversation point. “He’s not the only one. I’ve talked with a few of the guys, also the sailors and marines on the destroyer. It’s too farfetched for most to believe, and absolute nonsense for the rest.”
“But we all know that the sugar is contaminated, and nobody’s stupid enough to deny that the serum and virus originated from the same source.”
“Still doesn’t explain how one insane scientist and a bunch of vegan hippies managed to pull off what every terrorist
organization out there couldn’t.”
“You don’t believe it?” I didn’t have to feign surprise there. We’d never actually discussed the point, mostly because I didn’t want to prod that figurative sore wound in his side, but I’d assumed we agreed on this.
Nate shrugged, softly enough not to disturb me. “Not saying that. But I can see where someone with Hill’s intellectual horizon would dispute it.”
“Oh, such a fancy way of calling him stupid. I’ve missed that, you know?”
He flashed me his teeth in an approximation of a smile. “Do you believe it?”
I closed my mouth when the answer didn’t come right away. Had I mulled the possibility over? Of course; many, many times. “It doesn’t matter. We have no way of verifying any of it, and the last two people that we knew were connected to that are dead now.” There still was my old co-worker, but her mind had been too far gone to make sense of much anymore. I doubted that she could have provided any answers, even if she’d known anything, and I sincerely doubted that to begin with.
“That’s not what I asked,” Nate remarked. “Do you believe that they did it? How they supposedly did it?”
I debated with myself what to say, but didn’t come to a conclusion. “I want to deny the possibility more than anything, but that’s the only part we can’t deny. It all happened, and it keeps happening. It would help if we knew how they contaminated the syrup. And how they managed the distribution logistics. The only actual detail that we have is that your brother, for whatever reason, was working with a weaponized version of the serum, the activated version. I’m sure that, by now, I’ve read a huge chunk of his research, and I still have no clue about the why. They spent decades putting shackles on the virus to ensure that the serum was stable until after the demise of the subject. I have no freaking clue why he undid that, and what he was up to with the new ideas that he was waiting to implement until he could work on them with me. I’m likely missing something there. Or maybe it was all sanctioned from higher up. Who knows?”
Green Fields Series Box Set | Vol. 3 | Books 7-9 Page 62
