“I presume you will want to let your people know what you’re up to, although not all of you are coming with us?” he asked, first looking at me but then addressing Nate instead.
Would you believe that display of civility?
Nate was as surprised as I was, but didn’t hesitate. “If you can get us a call through to Dispatch, we’d appreciate it.”
Red’s smile held a certain lopsided quality. “I can do you one better. Why not go directly to who you really want to get on the line? We have the open frequencies for New Angeles, and if they realize it’s you calling, they’ll let it go through, I’m sure.”
I didn’t mind not having to deal with Rita again, but his claim was a little disconcerting, if not that much of a surprise. They’d been quick enough to block us when Greene’s people had been blasting out my speech, and as far as I knew, there had been no change on the open frequencies. As for the rest, Gita was likely the only one who knew more about that.
“Much obliged,” Nate replied, his tone light enough that I almost believed it. The look he sent my way was cautious, making me roll my eyes at him. No, today of all days I wasn’t going to pick a fight with Greene just to make myself feel better. I doubted that anything short of Bucky’s head on a pike would accomplish that.
Red brought a small laptop over, handing it to Gita when she was the only one not looking stunned. There was minimal pointing and discussing involved, making me guess that they were using whatever satellite communications system was still operational that the Silo and Dispatch were also patched into. I used the time to rearrange myself on my crate in a way that made me think I looked slightly better than Burns’s earlier assessment when we’d gone out to fetch them, but not sure why I bothered. We all had to crowd together to make it into the focus field of the camera as Gita set the laptop on another crate, then let the connection come alive. The video call window remained black while she rattled off a sequence that I was certain someone was taking notes of but would be useless after that one call, then turned on to a view of Greene plonking down in his chair, two of his usual hench people visible behind him. He did a quick head count but his eyes didn’t remain trained on my and Nate’s corner of the view.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected call?” Greene asked, all relaxed as he leaned back in his chair. “You’re all looking mighty cozy for having officially been labeled ‘lost in the winter snowstorms.’”
Gita smiled. The others were mostly looking grim.
“Good to see you,” I said when it became obvious that no one else was going to.
Greene took it in stride, his game face spot on. “And a very nice day to you, too,” he answered with just enough of a teasing hint to sound like we were actually friends. “I presume you’re no longer in the Silo? Seeing as they kicked you out a week ago and all that jazz.” And again with the underhanded info dumping.
“Nope,” I agreed with him. “We’re in fucking Canada.” No one seemed to be paying attention to us, but I had a certain feeling they wouldn’t be happy if I blabbed about our coordinates.
“I see,” Greene said. “Visiting old friends?”
I wondered if my deadpan stare had given that much away, but I did my best to nod ever so slightly in Nate’s direction. Maybe Greene would get the hint, maybe not. It didn’t really matter.
“Looks like we won’t be home for Christmas,” I went on. “All of us. Can you call our people, and Minerva up in Utah? Just so nobody gets sent out on a wild goose chase with no geese to actually, well, chase. Charlie and Jason got their own mission, and they already called their people, but the more people know, the better.”
A brief smirk crossed Greene’s face, but rather than regale himself by pointing out my less than stellar verbal dexterity, he cocked his head to the side. “Planning on going somewhere?”
I gave a quick nod. “East. And then East some more. As in, east across the pond. Got some things to do, places to be.”
Greene’s smile turned a little strained. “Can you possibly be any more vague?”
“Nope. It’s all very hush, hush and need to know.”
“And you don’t,” he stated rather than asked. I tried to grin, but it mostly turned into a wince as my still swollen cheek didn’t quite cooperate.
“Something like that.” I wondered how much to divulge, but as Red hadn’t yet shot the laptop to scrap metal, I figured they weren’t concerned with us sharing information—not that there was much else to share. “You might actually know more about possible destinations over there than we do. You know, something remote; romantic; completely overrun with something you need to send twenty super soldiers in to retrieve something.”
Greene’s face lit up like a small child that had just realized that he knew the possible answer to a riddle. “Oh, there’s Guernsey,” he mused. “But I think you’ll be heading to either France or Germany. Or Croatia, but that’s a stretch.” He paused, waiting for a reaction from me, but as I didn’t know anything, there was nothing I could contribute. “All lovely in the winter,” Greene went on. “Well, thanks for the call. Send a postcard once you get there, will you?”
“We will,” Gita replied before I could, making me guess that he meant for her to try to establish communications once we knew more. For the first time since dooming our friends to share our misery, I thought that having Gita—so very obviously the weakest link in our chain—along might just be a blessing in disguise, as she herself had insisted. That Bucky would vastly underestimate her was a given, but even Red had barely spent a moment judging her combat prowess and fitness. It wasn’t without humor that with my recent change in immunological status, she’d kind of taken my usual place. Hopefully, she’d fare better than I had of late.
That about concluded the call, and ten minutes later we were getting ready to move our gear. That also meant saying goodbye to Jason and Charlie, both looking conflicted, more so than before. Nate spent a good five minutes firing off whispered instructions that were well received by nods only, until we parted ways after a series of back slaps and hugs. We watched as the two Chargers left, hopping into a waiting Humvee that they had all to themselves that, minutes later, left with two more in tow, presumably as an escort. With everything that we couldn’t carry lost in our trashed cars below that crumbling bridge, we didn’t even have anything to send with them on their way. And then it was time for us to leave as well.
The hangar, as it turned out, was beyond the huge doors so far having remained closed, likely so none of us could sneak over there and sabotage the—honest-to-God—plane being refueled right now. The crates were loaded inside using handcarts, stacks of them disappearing into the maw of the plane’s body beyond the huge ramp. I’d only ever gotten close to commercial planes so seeing a different layout where the entire body of it—save for the tank, I figured—were open and accessible was strange. I couldn’t really take inventory of it, seeing as hobbling over there, most of my weight on Nate’s supporting arm and shoulder, took over the majority of my mental capacity. By the time he unloaded me into one of the seats on the left side of the hull of the cargo compartment, I was barely conscious and not much help as he strapped me into the belt harness. I had a brief moment of panic as he left, only to return with our packs, anchoring them to the crates still being loaded into the middle of the plane. They were stacked only one level high, leaving me a good view of where Red and Bucky strapped in opposite us. Sure, with twenty people and what must have been over sixty seats easily, we had to end up exactly there. Burns noisily plonking into the seat on my other side thankfully drew my focus away.
“Ah, good old C-130,” he remarked, rapping his knuckles against the hull behind his head. “Didn’t think I’d get to fly with one of the old ladies again. You’re in for a treat.” My skeptical look made him burst out laughing, loud enough that Bucky looked over, clearly annoyed with the distraction. “No comforts whatsoever, and loud enough that you’d think they’d strapped you right onto the wings. What�
�s not to love?” Just then, the engines of the plane came to life, proving Burns right where the noise level was concerned.
So many things came to mind, but sagging back against my seat was easier, so that’s what I did. What the fuck had I gotten us into?
And, even more importantly: how the fuck would we survive this?
Chapter 2
The flight to the east coast came rather close to my new definition of hell, and considering my recent experiences, that was saying something. Under different circumstances, I was sure that I would have dozed off within minutes, terrible drone notwithstanding, but it just didn’t happen. My body shut down all right, leaving me a sentient sack of meat slouched in the seat, barely capable of shifting to try to minimize my discomfort, utterly failing each and every time. Everything hurt, down to the roots of my hair. And there was nothing to distract myself with, giving my mind ample opportunity to get caught in mental loops and replays that did nothing to make me feel better. I soon gave up trying not to appear like I was a heap of misery, no longer giving a shit what Bucky or any of the others might think.
I didn’t hear Nate’s alarm go off, but when he unbuckled himself—ignoring whatever bullshit Bucky hollered across the crates in return, I didn’t catch it—he went through the pack Raynor had packed for me until he resurfaced with a bottle of water, the shaker, and the white container, equally labeled with Raynor’s exact instructions. Nate studied it for a moment before he unscrewed it, dumping five randomly filled scoops rather than three exact ones into the shaker and using at the most three quarters of the water indicated. He made sure to block Bucky’s view of me as he shook the shaker long enough to dissolve everything, then held it to my lips so I could drink without even having to try to grab it myself. My mouth was parched from the dry air inside the plane, but swallowing hurt. It took me a little to realize that was not just because of spending way too long with that intubation tube rammed down my airways, but were likely the aftershocks of almost getting strangled. One more reminder I could have done without.
I didn’t feel any better after downing the contents of the shaker, but nausea soon joined the myriad of other protests my body was lit up with. I managed to keep everything down, but that sapped what was left of my strength right out of me. I barely noticed as the aircraft touched down, although the absence of the droning noise was much appreciated. Nate pretty much dragged me out of my seat and onto the tarmac, the icy wind slicing across my face rousing me a little. It was dark outside, the lights indicating the location of the landing strip the only illumination besides the stars. They seemed dim compared to what I had gotten used to, but as Nate dumped me on a crate to get our packs, I had a moment to look at our surroundings. My eyesight was still weird, but I could definitely see quite well in the dark. I tried to remember if I’d mentioned that to Raynor, or anyone else around here for that matter, but came up blank. I’d have to see for myself—literally—if that was some advantage I’d managed to hide from the people thinking they were in charge of me now.
We’d landed on an airstrip belonging to a base similar to the one in Canada, only much smaller, and lacking the underground labs from what I could tell. There were some buildings, one hangar large enough to house the aircraft once it had been unloaded, but that was about it. It was cold but somewhat warmer than at the beginning of our journey. As I inhaled deeply, I thought I caught the scent of the ocean on the wind. It was anyone’s guess where exactly we had touched down, not that it mattered.
There were some vehicles stationed at the base, but they were used for cargo hauling exclusively, leaving us to make the trek down to the nearby dock on foot. It was less than half a mile from what I could tell, but that was still way too far for me. From how they had handled getting on the plane, I’d figured that Nate and Burns were trying to make me appear stronger than I was, but that attempt died a quick death when I couldn’t even manage to remain standing on my own for ten seconds, let alone walk twenty steps. Nate ended up carrying me in his arms like a small child, silently laboring under my weight. If anyone was making stupid remarks, I was too out of it to hear them. Nor did I care. Everything was god-awful, everything hurt, and it just didn’t end.
The air grew warmer as light hit my half-closed eyes, a chemical smell replacing the cool ocean breeze. We must have entered the ship. The sound of unfamiliar voices, drowned out by my own near-silent whimper as Nate had to shift my body, the narrow walls around us necessitating that. Steps up, down, more corridors. A brief spell of vertigo as I was set down, hard, padded body being replaced by more fluffy sheets and a mattress. I thought I recognized Red’s voice but deliberately blocked it out. I just couldn’t go on anymore. It was all too much.
My mind, of course, had other ideas.
A loud thump—flesh meeting steel—followed by a low curse made me look up. All I could see of Nate was his back where he was standing in the cramped space by the end of the bunk bed. Judging from the tension in his shoulders and how he began shaking his left wrist, that had been his fist connecting to the steel wall.
“You done yet?” Burns remarked, uncharacteristically acerbic from next to him.
“Not by a long shot,” Nate mumbled under his breath, his voice hard, laced with frustration.
“Well, feel free to resume once we’re settled in. Until then, move it.” It took my dear husband a good ten seconds to shake himself out of his stupor of rage, but pretending like he had neither conscience nor emotions wasn’t new to him. I still saw the strain left around his eyes. Oh, he was livid, and I had a certain feeling that wouldn’t change any time soon. Good.
Gita, just inside the door where she’d halted to give Nate and Burns room to move, cast a quizzical look at Tanner over her shoulder. Burns noticed, turning back to Nate. “Care to tell us what happened?”
I didn’t miss Nate’s passing glance in my direction. “That’s not enough?”
“Enough to explain why you’re frustrated as fuck, sure,” Burns enthused. “But not wall-punching livid.”
Someone else might have looked chagrined at that observation. Nate held Burns’s gaze unflinchingly. “Nothing.”
The short bark of laughter he got back wasn’t very amused. “Same as her ‘nothing’ that ended up with us fighting our way through half the country?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
Nate’s rebuke was sharp enough to hold a decidedly final note, but Burns shrugged it off without a care in the world.
“Have it your way,” he drawled, then cocked his head to the side. “When’s the last time you slept?”
“Sleep? Huh.” Nate raked a hand through his hair, making it stand up at weird angles. He rolled his shoulders, as if that would help him think. “A week ago? The night before that snafu at the lake. When we still had cars.”
“Healthy,” Burns provided, but let his pack drop from his shoulder, no longer ready to keep Nate from smashing all the bones in his hand to powder.
Nate’s ire, barely dissipated, came flaring right back to life. “You think I could sleep knowing that they’re cutting up my wife, not knowing if she’s going to survive and if I should even pray for that to happen? Or after they brought her back as a bloody, swollen, whimpering heap of misery? You tell me you could have acted any differently!”
Burns mutely raised his hands, signaling Nate to calm down. When he replied, his tone held a fake note of levity. “You might as well have. Nothing as simple as that will get her down. You know her better than that. Tenacious bitch won’t bite it just to spite you.” He got an answering snort for that, most of the tension dissipating once more.
The two of them then debated in hushed tones before they set to stowing away our gear. I turned my head, also so I wouldn’t get lashed by whipping belts, ending up with my face mashed into a lumpy pillow. That made for a great view of the beige wall, the steel frame of the upper part of the bunk bed I was currently curled up in at the lower level, three more bunk beds lining the walls of the now terribly c
rowded cabinet of a room, and some lockers by the door. Every available surface—including some of the beds—was heaped with packs and gear as the others got comfortable, or as comfortable as possible. There was theoretically room for twelve, but the five of us did a great job filling the room. Gita did the smart thing and climbed up onto the upper bunk of the last bed at the opposite side, taking herself out of the equation of where to fit everything. I could only see one of her legs hanging down, but she kept joking with Burns as he kept unpacking. I was a little surprised that Nate had unloaded me onto the bed closest to the door rather than stashing me away in the back corner, but I certainly appreciated the fact that there was some more space around here to let the door open into the room. Sheesh, but whoever had furnished this room hadn’t left an inch of extra space.
So far, I wasn’t very impressed with this ship.
Things quieted down eventually, Tanner picking the upper bunk above Nate’s while Burns took the lower one opposite—putting him where I planned to stash my feet, if behind the frame section—with all the middle bunks used for storage. That left Nate opposite me, not much of a surprise. Rather than plonk down on his bed, Nate leaned into the space occupied by my body—I wouldn’t have called it having gotten comfortable as comfort was as far out of my reach as the sun. He scrutinized my face for a moment, his own expression pinched. He’d calmed down some, but the trepidation rising in his gaze didn’t exactly make me feel better. I looked up at him with my one uncovered eye, not moving a muscle.
“Let’s get you out of all that before you overheat,” he mumbled, already reaching for me so he could reposition my body for easier access. I didn’t try to help, too drained to attempt to bat his hands away.
It took him a good five minutes to peel me out of my jacket and the thick layer of fleece underneath, incidentally hurting me enough that I considered kicking him for real, not just accidentally. As soon as he let me go, I flopped over onto my stomach, trying to stifle my groan with the pillow. “Can’t you just let me die instead?”
Catharsis Page 4
