Cole snorted. “Are you going to keep stirring up shit now that you’ve proven that you’re an eternal troublemaker?”
“Why, would you want me to stop?”
Cole considered his reply, and I didn’t like the knowing look he gave me. “It’s way more entertaining this way,” he admitted. “And kudos to you. You’re a way better actress than they told us you’d be.”
I didn’t quite get that—mostly because, as much as I hated to admit, I did a shit job hiding my emotions most of the time.
Case in point, a frown flitted over Cole’s expression. “Shit. You really don’t know.”
“I usually know more than people think,” I offered, trying to bullshit my way through this until he’d drop a hint or two. When he didn’t, I shrugged, trying hard to hide my returning annoyance. “Come on. Doesn’t all that baiting the bitch get old eventually? Sure, I get it. The guys have told me, time and again, that me having hissy fits like a cat can be amusing, but I think we’re past that. I’d be a lot more useful if I knew why the powers that be forced me to tag along. We all know it’s not because I’m the most accomplished fighter.”
I hadn’t expected him to reply—I’d tried the very same spiel more than once and had never gotten an answer, let alone a satisfying one—but after another glance toward the front of our column, Cole opened his mouth.
“You probably remember the part where Miller’s brother was looking for a way to stop turning us into zombies once we die?” Both Nate and Burns did a bad job hiding that they were suddenly very interested as well. I nodded. That tidbit was hard to forget, even more so as it impacted my life—and what came after—now as well.
“Yeah, I read his files. Even handed a bunch of them to Raynor,” I reminded him.
Cole snorted at my attempt to look like I wasn’t ready to jump him and choke the answer right out of him. “Well, rumor has it, he was a lot closer to solving that than anyone else knew. In fact, one of the people he had been cooperating with apparently found the answer.” When I just kept staring at him, his face split into a grin. “We’re here to get the cure.”
“The cure to what?” I asked, disbelief and hope waring for dominance in my mind, almost choking me up with sudden excitement.
Before I got my answer, we had to climb out of the ditch, cross a road, and disappear into the next tunnel, and by that time, Cole had hung back to where Hill and Munez were guarding our rear. I couldn’t help but vexedly cluck my tongue, which made Burns chuckle all the more.
“You’re too easy sometimes,” he professed.
“First time you’d be complaining about that,” I offered, deciding to drop the point. I wasn’t even sure he could have given me an answer had he wanted to—and it made much more sense to continue to string me along after throwing me that morsel. And what food for thought that was. It was rather unexpected that I could put Cole down on the list of those that might not shoot me in the back of the head out of spite. No idea if that sentiment would survive the next hour or two.
Two more tunnels and through what might have been a forward guard post—now abandoned, the dug-out walls covered in ice—and we ended up at the edge of a small plateau, forest on two sides bordering the overgrown meadow. The French moved forward without hesitation with only the most cursory glance around for danger, making my own paranoia surge. There were no roads leading forward, not even a dirt track, but the snowy grass wasn’t undisturbed.
We were way past the halfway point toward the woods when the guy we’d been talking to before stopped, his raised hand a universal gesture that didn’t need translation. Bucky still barked at Gita to ask him what was going on, but the man ignored them both. He let out a sequence of whistles that sounded eerily haunting in the cold air of early evening, carrying across the entire open field around us.
A similar sequence answered from somewhere over by the trees, making a few of the soldiers turn that way, hands tightening on weapons. Two short, shrill whistles came from seemingly out of nowhere from the barren meadow to our right. The guy gave a brief nod to his people, then signaled us to follow. He kept heading in the same direction as before rather than ambling for either checkpoint. Ahead, there was a small hill by a ditch—maybe the border between two fields—and it took another minute of us heading in that direction before I realized our path was curving toward the other side of that small elevated point.
It was when we were almost halfway around it that I noticed the group of at least twenty people standing at what looked like an arbitrary point in the next field over, clearly waiting for us. A few of the others drew up short in surprise, but no one was stupid enough to shoot. When the French guy stopped this time, he let a string of words fly at Gita. “He’s telling us to wait,” she explained. As soon as her words were out, he motioned his people forward, apparently trusting us not to follow. We didn’t, although the twist that came to Bucky’s mouth was rather amusing. He really didn’t like being told what to do. Made it almost tempting to try to weasel a deal out of Raynor on our return that made it mandatory for him to listen to me. Almost.
As soon as our French merged with the other group, the low burr of voices in hushed conversation rose, but I doubted that even Gita managed to catch more than a snippet of that. There didn’t seem to be anyone they reported to, several people talking over each other. It took them a good five minutes to sort things out, and a lone figure started off toward us. It was a woman, easily a head taller than me, looking reed-thin even in the layers of winter clothes she was wearing. I didn’t see her carrying a weapon but I was sure that she was armed. As she drew closer, I could see her features better; she had a rather symmetric face with high cheekbones that lent her the flawless beauty of a fashion model, except for the jagged scar that ran from her left jaw over her brow to disappear behind the dark, broad scarf that was wound across her forehead, holding back a riot of dark, short coils. Behind her, about a third of the waiting group merged with those we’d followed here, all of them heading toward the mound. There must have been a door leading to a cellar or bunker hidden there because it took them all of a minute to be swallowed up by the ground, leaving us facing the remaining guards. They were armed, if not wearing any kind of discernible uniform. In fact, they reminded me a lot of hundreds of traders I’d met on the road this year.
The woman stopped about ten feet from us, far enough away that should we start any funny business, she might have a head start running, but close enough that we could talk without shouting.
“I am Elle Moreau,” she introduced herself. “We have been expecting you.” Her voice was deep and full, her French accent obvious while her English was fluent, if with a certain British lilt, and something else that I couldn’t place.
Her words made me crack a smile I hadn’t known was so ready to appear. Oh, this was going to be good, I just knew it! And judging from the light frown on Bucky’s forehead, he knew it as well.
To be continued in Green Fields book #9
Acknowledgments
A huge thank you goes out to my beta reader team. You are amazing, and my books have improved so much since I found you! Also, my sanity.
I’d be lost without my editor and cover designer, because they make this madness look downright professional.
I have the best readers in the world—so thank you as well! I’m reminded of that every time I check my books on Amazon, open my inbox, or log into facebook. If you want to connect with me and other fans of the series, you can now join the facebook fan group. It’s an amazing place to hang out and chat!
Oh no, another cliffhanger! And thanks to the feedback I got from my beta readers, it’s 2x worse than I intended it to be! Speak about needing book #9 ASAP. Don’t worry, I’m on it! One thing I can tell you already: it’s going to be one hell of a ride!
If you want to be extra awesome, please take a moment and leave a review on Amazon. Even if it’s only one line, it means the world to me and makes a huge difference for us Indie authors! I’m not just saying
that because, like all authors, I hunger for feedback and appreciation, but because more reviews mean more new readers getting dragged down into the rabbit hole—and there’s nothing wrong with that! I don’t have a publisher, PR team, or whatnot—but I have you! And that’s the best thing that has ever happened to me. THANK YOU!!
About the Author
Adrienne Lecter has a background in Biochemistry and Molecular Biology, loves ranting at inaccuracies in movies, and spends increasingly more time at the shooting range. She lives with the man and two cats of her life in Vienna, Austria and is working on the next books in the Green Fields series.
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Books published
Green Fields series
#1: Incubation
#2: Outbreak
#3: Escalation
#4: Extinction
#5: Resurgence
#6: Unity
#7: Affliction
#8: Catharsis
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Catharsis Page 37
