Catharsis

by Adrienne Lecter

  “I will talk to our quartermaster to make sure you will be provided a vehicle that does well in this climate and will bring you safely to whatever destination you have in mind. Once we’re back inside the base, we can sort out the details,” Red assured.

  That was settled then. I didn’t know how to feel about it. Relieved, sure, but I could have done without the dawning sense of just having signed their death warrants. Then again, they were likely a lot safer than the rest of us were about to be.

  Nate took pity on me and heaved me back up onto the bed of the truck without having to be prompted. I was too numb with pain to care much, but as I’d feared, being so obviously incapacitated in front of my friends made my ego rear up once more, beaten and bruised as it was. Stupid, really, because if there were any people in the world who I could trust not to abuse my current situation, it was them.

  There was a brief holdup when one of the soldiers bristled at the others of course bringing all their weapons with them, not just the packs. “Standard regulations for deserters and scum,” the soldier groused. His name tag read, “Russell.” How convenient that they had those. That one was going to be trouble, I knew it.

  Red frowned, clearly at odds with his orders and common sense, or maybe he was annoyed that one of his men was acting like a petulant child. Nate turned to him, ignoring the soldier, giving Red a perfectly blank stare. “We’re no good to you unless you arm us, so sooner or later you will have to give us guns with live ammo.” I would have added a few expletives, resulting in immediate denial and subsequent issues. Nate, for once the wiser, clearly had a better grasp on how to navigate the situation. I could tell that Red was glad about that, and could proceed by telling his man to stand down. Russell looked less than pleased about that but followed his orders without objection, much to the smirks of several of his peers.

  The others hopped up onto the back of the truck, sitting down in the middle of the benches lining the sides of the truck bed. We ended up wedged between the soldiers, shoulder to shoulder, the packs and weapons bundled up between our knees. I tried to keep my back straight but sagged right into Nate’s side, incidentally giving Tanner a little more space. Burns, opposite us, eyed my every motion critically while keeping a—clearly fake—grin up as he pushed a huge bag toward Nate that I was sure hadn’t been with us when we’d abandoned the wrecked cars. Inside were our sniper rifles—well protected in their cases—Nate’s AK, and a heap of our other backup weapons that Nate had opted to leave behind when we’d set out toward the base, just the two of us… what felt like a million years ago.

  Red looked on with vague interest—relaxed enough that I figured he trusted us not to be stupid and try to stir up some shit—but it was one of the other soldiers who couldn’t keep his trap shut. Cole, if my part-time double vision didn’t screw too much with me. “Aren’t two of them a little overkill? Compensating much?”

  Still keeping perfect control of his expression but as tense as a guitar string about to snap, Nate finished his brief check before he looked up. “Mine, and hers,” he said, first pointing at the newer model, then the older. “A blood-thirsty rifle for a blood-thirsty gal.”

  It wasn’t lost on me that this must have been the first time ever that he acknowledged—finally!—having relinquished ownership of his baby to me. I just couldn’t appreciate it as much as I would have a week ago. Giving a shit about anything right now was hard. But it was something.

  The significance was clearly lost on the idiot. “So you passed your old rifle on to your lady? Such a catch.”

  I almost laughed when I felt Nate stiffen even more, knowing exactly what part he took issue with.

  “That’s not just any old rifle. That’s one of the finest pieces of killing hardware ever created. And it’s seen quite some use.”

  Maybe he was just trying to defuse the tension, or jumping at a chance to learn anything from Nate’s—usually tightly locked-away—background, but Jason asked, “Like where?”

  Nate shrugged, although he tried to keep the motion small so as not to disturb me too much. He needn’t have bothered; the vibrations of the truck alone were enough to make me want to continuously yip with pain. “Iraq. Iran. Afghanistan. Saudi Arabia. Qatar. Israel. Somalia. Liberia. Côte d’Ivoire. Sudan. Burma. Prague.”

  The last got not only my interest piqued. Burns let out a brief chuckle. “When did you off someone in Prague? Don’t remember any official missions in Europe. Or unofficial ones.” I doubted that anything any of the resident grunts had done in the past decade had been officially sanctioned by anyone. They’d probably dunked their mission reports in tar to make the redacting easier.

  “Personal matter,” Nate offered, guarded as usual. “Was just Romanoff, Zilinsky, and me.” His tone was final enough, silently stressing that whatever had happened in Prague was staying in Prague. It sounded recent enough that I figured it had been part of preparing his takeover of the Green Fields Biotech building, and thus our not-accidental-at-all meeting. No swooning from being overcome with romantic nostalgia from me.

  It was only then that something occurred to me that I probably should have considered much earlier, but I could see where my mind had drawn a blank on it before. “Shit. How am I ever going to shoot a gun again?”

  I got a confused look from Burns that I ignored. Nate’s small snort was comforting. “With lots and lots of practice,” he offered, trying for a light tone but it held too much strain to be real. “You had no fucking clue how to hold a gun two years ago, either. We’ll get you there before you need it.” I tried not to, but of course couldn’t help but look down at the thick, padded gloves that kept the bandages on my hands well hidden.

  Fuck. Just fuck.

  With no other way to vent the rising frustration inside of me, I let my body sag against the backrest of my seat. Pain exploded through the right half of my torso, making me sit more upright immediately, that damn whimper finally making it over my lips impossible to hold back. I could almost taste Nate’s frustration with his inability to do anything to help. Burns, again, noticed, and this once didn’t simply file it away for later.

  “Exactly how bad is it?”

  Considering Nate’s surprise when Raynor had made me strip upon our arrival at the base, I guessed that none of my friends had a clue exactly how far my physical health had already deteriorated when we’d split from them, and I had absolutely no intention of giving a detailed answer now with too many ears around that had no business knowing. I was sure that Red had gotten an update complete with assessment from Raynor and her team, but I wasn’t going to volunteer anything else. What I could be open about was the way more permanent change.

  “Let’s put it this way,” I started, giving him a humorless grin. “If I thought I’d stand a chance in hell of you being able to knock me out if you socked me a good one, I’d be begging for it. But as that seems to be a thing of the past, I’ll refrain. I’m bruised up enough as it is.”

  I didn’t need to check with Gita, Jason, and Charlie to be aware of their confusion. Hell, I’d spent over a year traipsing through the post-apocalyptic world, barely knowing anything about the effects of the serum except that it made its recipients immune to zombie bites. No wonder my statement didn’t ring a bell with them. For Burns, no further explanation was needed.

  It was Tanner at my other side who let out a low whistle. “So they finally got you for good, eh?”

  “Yup.”

  “Tried to sleep yet?” he continued. “Took me a good two weeks to manage, and over a month to get some actual rest. That shit’s nasty to get used to.”

  So much more to look forward to. Just what I needed.

  “Why?” Burns’s question made me raise my brows at him, so he reiterated. “Why did they shoot you up with that shit? You’d think that if they wanted you there, they wouldn’t risk the fifty percent conversion rate.”

  I briefly glanced at Nate, who’d once again fallen into silent fuming. “Guess they figured it was still bette
r than the zero survival chance they gave me without,” I offered. “Although I vaguely remember their overall optimism clocking in somewhere around thirty percent. It doesn’t really matter as going without wasn’t an option either way. I doubt I’d still be alive right now if they hadn’t inoculated me, independent of any downsides.” Which raised the question of what my body was running on right now, as I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten anything. The infusions they’d given me couldn’t sustain me for long.

  The truck rumbling onto the base proper kept me from having to offer up further information. Instead of going back to the creepy-as-fuck underground complex that I now knew went far beyond the surface area of the base, it ambled toward one of the warehouse-sized buildings topside. As abandoned as the outside of the base seemed at a first glance, the interior was bustling with activity, people on foot and in smaller vehicles going this way and that. The lot of us was deposited by a growing stack of crates and bundles. The soldiers remained with us, because obviously we’d all been biding our time to infiltrate their home and now were about to rain fiery destruction upon them—for all of three seconds that it would take anyone to gun us down. In all honesty, I could understand why they wouldn’t just let us wander off, but it was amusing to watch them watch us cautiously as Nate not only armed himself, but also made sure that all my backup guns were loaded. I got comfortable on the crate he deposited me on, careful to only lean my shoulders against the crate atop mine to remain in a somewhat upright position. It was warm enough inside that I could have ditched a full outer layer, but I still didn’t feel the need to, nor was I particularly fond of the idea of taking off my gloves; getting them on had been bad enough. Gita and Charlie did the same, both still not quite recovered from the wolf attack.

  Before Nate was done loading up, Red stepped up to us, ignoring the scowls of his men pretending to guard us.

  “Hill over there will set you up with a radio so you can call whoever you want. Let me know when you’re done,” he told Jason before he turned to Nate. “We have about an hour left until the containers are loaded into the plane. If you got a minute to stop being needlessly paranoid, you might want to consider updating your gear.”

  While the offer sounded amicable enough, I didn’t miss the slightly condescending note—and that wasn’t aimed at Nate’s penchant for stocking up on weapons. Unlike what I would have done, Nate didn’t sneer right back into Red’s face that we’d done a fine job dragging our weapons and tactical clothing out of every hidey-hole we’d encountered, but instead asked, “How much do we get?”

  “Whatever you need,” Red offered, looking toward the huge doors at the back of the building. “Over there are our stocks. Just don’t needlessly ransack it, and only get what you can actually carry. There are washing machines on board the ship for the first leg of the journey.”

  I idly wondered if anyone would be interested in hearing my observations on exactly how long some people could make their underwear last before it fell off them in rags, but refrained. The swelling in my lower jaw had receded to a general state of puffiness without making me feel like I’d stuffed my cheeks with marshmallows, but talking remained uncomfortable. That still made it pretty much the least painful activity I could think of.

  “Weapons and ammo, too?” Nate asked when Red made no move to leave. Good little soldier that he was, he likely had his pack ready for departure. Ah, to amuse myself with my own jokes…

  Red glanced at the heap of weapons that Nate had dumped next to me before he answered. “Get as much ammo as you reasonably think you will need. Weapons only what you have to.”

  Nate wasn’t exactly pleased with that response. “How shall I know what you consider reasonable when I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re setting us up against?”

  For once, that gripe seemed to amuse Red. “Expect heavy opposition, damn hard to kill. About what you would have brought here if you hadn’t had to bank on our goodwill to help your wife.”

  Nate didn’t react to that jibe, but instead turned to Burns. “Fifty percent ammo, thirty percent for rations, twenty for clothes.” That was pretty much what we’d been stocking last summer—or aiming for, never getting anywhere near those amounts of weapons or whatever they could shoot. Burns nodded, then grabbed Tanner and they headed toward the doors. Nate hesitated, giving me a downright uneasy look before he trudged after them. I had no idea what that had been about, and no intention of investigating.

  Through the open doors, I got a pretty good look at what Red had described as their stocks. It looked like a mix between clothing storage and military surplus warehouse, at least the parts I could see. I figured this was where all the things that had been raided from the houses we’d checked in North Dakota a few months ago had ended up. They must have spent a lot of time dragging anything remotely useful up here.

  As if he’d read my mind, Red noted, “We don’t keep it all to ourselves. Most of the things we store are for the settlements. We only need so many teapots in the mess hall.”

  “You mean, the settlements that lick your boots and roll over the second you come anywhere near them,” I grumbled.

  I was starting to wonder if they’d selected Red to be our babysitter simply because it was impossible to get a rise out of him. Rather than get annoyed at my needling, he shrugged. “We help those that accept our offer, yes. We don’t run a charity, and neither do you.”

  That rankled. “Yeah, but we don’t raze them to the ground when they do something differently than what we think they should.”

  “No, you just infect them and turn them into walking bombs,” he shot back. Ah, there was that annoyance that I’d been fishing for—only that it came with a rebuke that I couldn’t quite refute.

  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 appare
ntly, 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.