There were no poisonous spiders hiding in the sheets on the mattress in the otherwise empty guest dormitory. No one sneaked in to strangle me in my sleep. By the time the doctor dropped in to fetch me for breakfast, I was ready to jump at shadows. This was beyond weird. How dare people be actually honest and nice to someone who didn’t even have a chance to become a nuisance to them? The gall!
I didn’t let my guard down, and that was probably the reason why no one tried to mess with me. Even to me it was obvious that I acted like a caged animal—and that was ignoring the shakes and spasms that still plagued me, particularly in the morning after hours of inactivity. The doctor kept watching me closely, and eventually, I asked her to check on my nose and right hand, telling her I’d broken both months ago. If she really knew as much about the serum project as she claimed, she probably saw right through my lie but didn’t comment on it. The nose she declared as slightly crooked but okay if I didn’t mind the optics; I didn’t, quite happy not to have bloody sniffles for days again. I could tell that my hand in its general state upset her—she couldn’t hide her discomfort once I took the gloves off again, but valiantly tried nevertheless—but after carefully prodding every inch of my fingers declared she couldn’t really do much without an X-ray machine—and didn’t think there still existed an operating one of those. I didn’t correct her about it and instead listened to her verdict.
“You will very likely regain full functionality once everything is healed completely. But such things take time.” The pause that followed was a pregnant one. “What you’re really wanting to know is how long the withdrawal will last, right?”
My confusion must have been quite plain, but for whatever reason, that made her fleeting compassion turn to vexation once more. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I insisted. She gave me a rather hard, “Yeah, right,” look. “I really don’t. Lady, if you know as much about us as you say, you know that it takes a damn potent drug to even affect us. Trust me when I say that I really, really wished at one point in my life that painkillers were still doing a thing for me, but they don’t. And correct me if I’m wrong, most of the recreational shit is chemically pretty close to that.” I almost got into the structural specifics but stopped myself before I could out myself as someone I pretended not to be. Plus, the cursing seemed to throw her off as well.
“Right. And that tells me that whatever you’ve been abusing must have been some darn potent stuff,” she snarled, badly imitating my voice. “When did you take your last hit? Just before coming here? Or is the reason you ended up here because your people cut you off? That would explain why we haven’t gotten any news yet.”
My mouth was already open in protest but then something occurred to me. “You know something you’re not telling me.”
“Oh, I know a lot of things,” she huffed, narrowing her eyes at me.
“I’m not lying,” I insisted again, then looked around to make sure no one was close enough to eavesdrop. “And I think you know that. But you have seen similar things before. That’s why you don’t trust me. Tell me, what was it?”
“I will do no such thing,” she protested, but some of her ire had already transformed to curiosity. “Why should I, if you’re just a lying junkie?”
“What if I’m not?” Leaning closer, I made sure to catch her gaze and hold it, which made her mighty uncomfortable all of a sudden. “What if it wasn’t my choice to be drugged? What if I’m actually a victim and survivor? What do you think I’d do to someone who I suspected knew something about the people who victimized me?”
I didn’t get off on scaring people, and seeing her blanch like that didn’t give me any satisfaction. But if it got me answers—or even mere suspicions, which was more than I had at the moment—I really didn’t give a shit what I’d have to do.
“I—” she stuttered, blinking rapidly. “I don’t know anything.” The “know” she stressed hard enough that it only took a sharp look from me for her to spill the beans. “But there have been rumors. Mostly friend of a friend stuff. About recreational drugs that someone manufactures that actually do work on your kind. Tales of smuggling, and some more unsavory stuff.”
“You mean like forced prostitution and slave labor?”
“Lord, no!” she gasped, at first offended by perceived implications, until a possible alternative to the meaning of my words occurred to her. I knew the moment she came to the right conclusion—well, mostly right—when pity took over her face once more.
Before she could speak up, I quickly shook my head. “Not me, but—” I really didn’t know how much to tell her, and it wasn’t just a matter of trust. I didn’t know how far this thing reached, and the last thing I needed was to get someone killed just because I’d confided in them. “Someone close to me,” I settled on saying. “But believe me when I tell you, I didn’t take that shit willingly.”
She nodded, although I could tell that she didn’t quite believe me. Right now, that was something I could live with. “I don’t know anything about the compound. Just that it exists.” She weighed her options carefully before offering, “Maybe your friends in the west know more about that.”
I was shaking my head before I realized I was doing it, making myself stop. True, there weren’t many things I didn’t think Greene capable of, but this was too much even for him. “As I told your husband already, I don’t have any friends in New Angeles.”
“I didn’t say—”
“Is there anything else but that godforsaken town in California?” I griped—doing my best to throw her off again.
She gave me another one of those offended looks but appeared calmer once she opened her mouth to reply. “I wouldn’t know as I don’t lead a nomadic life. But what I do know is that nothing good comes of this. If one of your friends is caught up in this, I’m sorry. We’ve heard a few reports about people disappearing. It’s not safe to the east.”
That sounded about right. Too bad I only now heard of this apparently being common knowledge.
But didn’t that raise another question? “Why isn’t anyone doing anything about this?”
My question seemed to actually stun her. “Why indeed?” she offered as if that was answer enough. Huh. I was still mulling this over long after she’d gotten up and left me to my own devices. Somehow I got the sense I was missing a big part of the picture, and I doubted I’d find the answers here.
I was still thinking about this when Steven signaled me to join him. “Good news! We got some of your friends on the line.”
That was quick, although I did my best not to show my surprise. “That’s great! What did they say?”
“They will be here later today to pick you up.” Now that I hadn’t expected, and this time I was too slow to hide my reaction. “Something wrong?” he inquired, suddenly suspicious.
“It’s probably nothing,” I tried to assure him. “I just didn’t expect anyone to get here this quickly.”
He was still squinting, but in a less hostile way. “They said about the same. Dispatch confirmed that they were already signed in for the trip to California for the past couple of days. Must have gotten turned around. Or they were still looking for you.”
I absolutely hoped that wasn’t the case but I couldn’t very well explain that now since it perfectly matched the bullshit I’d dished out yesterday. Oh well—as they said, only one way to find out? But why, oh why, did I feel like, finally, that other shoe was dangling right above my head?
I tried to rest some more—which was a different way of saying that I was hiding from the people in the settlement, feeling a little overwhelmed after so much time on my own. I could sure use some sleep, but my mind wouldn’t shut up now that my alertness was triggered. I was also missing Nate like crazy, which seemed idiosyncratic at first since out there not having him around had been way more inconvenient than now, but that was probably the reason why—now that I’d let down my guard, even if only a little, the events of the past days were catching up with me. I almost la
ughed at how alone I could feel with hundreds of people around, while out on the road I’d been mostly okay.
Way too soon—or not soon enough for my agitated paranoia—Steven sent someone to tell me to get ready. I met him at the gate a few minutes later, busy stowing the last provisions away that I’d been handed—food for two days, and I’d refilled all my water bottles, even those scavenged from the bike shop. I got my rifle back, and Steven watched with a bemused look as I checked it over, then made sure that I had a round in the chamber. “Expecting trouble?”
I left it at a simple shrug. “So many things out there that can kill you. I didn’t survive this long by being stupid.”
Someone called down from the palisade that the caravan was arriving—apparently, my taxi had been hitching a ride with them, providing additional protection. I couldn’t help but hope that I wouldn’t have to shoot anyone in the face as soon as that gate was open. Guards all over were getting ready, but their generally relaxed state made me guess it was more for show and to help with hauling cargo from and to the vehicles than to make sure the settlement wasn’t invaded.
I couldn’t wait to be out of here and find someone who could—finally!—explain to me what was going on.
Steven and five other guards joined me at the gate to wait for the inner part to open. Apparently with more strangers outside they went through the usual procedures, locking us in for a good minute between the doors before the outer one creaked open. I forced myself to relax and clear my mind, prepared to do whatever would help my survival. If I recognized anyone from that damn camp, I’d try to alert the good people of Sweet Water; if it was anyone else gunning for me, I’d make a break for the next available cover and then get the hell out of here, hopefully avoiding civilian casualties. But, who knew? Maybe I really was just paranoid. Maybe those would be familiar faces waiting for me that I’d yearned to see, with all my heart, for months and months on end? That would cut down my calculated timeframes as well.
Convenient indeed, and highly unlikely, I told myself. Keep calm and roll with the punches.
Then the gate was finally out of the way and let me get a glimpse at my transport. I couldn’t hold in a short bark of laughter when I saw it—and who was waiting in front of it. “You got to be fucking kidding me,” I muttered to myself—but with the hint of a smile. I wasn’t quite ready to put away my rifle yet, but it could have been worse.
“Not quite who you were expecting?” Steven asked, studying what had caught my attention himself.
“Not really,” I admitted.
“You expecting any problems?” he went on.
I shook my head, if after a moment of deliberation. “Probably not. Nothing I can’t deal with.”
The guards around us had all snapped to attention upon seeing who the additional guard for the caravan was, and one of them gave me a weird look. “Who the fuck are you that they play pick-up service for you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I quipped in his direction, but since Steven seemed to wonder about that himself—and I didn’t want anyone to shoot me in the back once I started walking over there—I answered, leaning conspiratorially closer to Steven. “I really don’t have a clue what happened to this country over the past couple of years, but you can tell your wife that she knows who I am. She’s seen my tats. There are only two women in the entire world entitled to that tattoo, and nobody would ever confuse me with her. Tell her I’m the real deal.”
That said, I nodded to all of them, and started walking toward the Humvee idling at the side of the road.
Chapter 8
I might not have been afraid for my life as I approached the vehicle, but a million different reasons zoomed through my head why they, of all people, were here. The most likely was that I was seconds away from hearing some kind of ultimatum or other that I absolutely didn’t like—but I had to admit, if it got me help with getting Nate back, my threshold for what I was okay with was rather high.
It could have been worse. Honestly, when I’d seen the Humvee, my immediate fear had been that I’d have to deal with Hamilton again—although that would have made hunting him down so I could eviscerate him much, much easier.
Still, I much preferred to see Richards, Cole, and Hill standing by the armored vehicle.
There was also some other guy I didn’t know hovering beside them. If he was much older than eighteen, I’d be damned. He also obviously had no idea who I was since he kept eyeing me with amusement and the other three with something akin to confusion. So they must have told him something, but not everything.
That begged the question—what on earth were they doing here?
“Don’t tell me it’s coincidence for you to show up here,” I offered instead of a conventional greeting. Just because I might have been willing to cooperate with them didn’t mean I had to show it.
I got a tight grin from Cole and a snort from Hill, while Richards crossed his arms over his chest. “Nice to see you, too,” Red shot back, calm as always.
I hated to admit it, but seeing the three of them here made me realize that, on some level, I’d missed them, too.
“I’m sure it is,” I drawled back. “Cut the crap. Why are you here? And before we have to dance through an entirely necessary conversation, yes, I’m still paranoid as hell, and no, I still won’t trust you if your answer involves the term ‘classified.’”
Richards considered—which meant he knew exactly what information he was ready to divulge but was letting me stew without admitting as much—before he pushed away from the Humvee, still the picture of lack of concern. Sure, I didn’t have my rifle at the ready anymore, and it was unlikely I’d try anything with the caravan and settlement guards close by, but he knew what I was capable of—probably more so than any of the others. The new guy sure seemed to be bursting with curiosity but didn’t dare speak up. Sheesh, how was I going to survive that? He’d probably start “ma’am”ing me in under ten seconds flat.
“You missed a drop-off date so I figured I should come investigate why,” Richards explained, confusing me both because it did sound honest, and I had no clue what he was talking about—but I could guess.
My answering smile couldn’t have been very warm—or friendly. “Come again?”
Red didn’t even grimace as he kept staring at me, unmoved. “He didn’t tell you.”
“Who?”
“Guess.”
Really not that hard to do, but it rankled to have to realize that, once again, I’d been in the dark about something. “My husband.”
None of the others reacted, although when I glanced his way, Cole gave me a look that spoke plainly that he’d expected me to be smarter. Oh well. Story of my life to keep disappointing people. I took a few seconds trying to remember how Nate had sprung the idea on me to disappear off the side of the earth, and how we’d gone about it. I vaguely remembered him letting me choose what to do and where to go for a long time—until he’d started making suggestions again that had, eventually, turned into him making the decisions. Ah. Smart move, outsmarting me by playing me against my ego. It didn’t even hurt. I even knew exactly what he would have said had I confronted him about it now: “What did you expect? For me not to have a backup plan?”
That explained parts of it, but not all the details—particularly those that still had my paranoia raging inside of me. “That explains why, maybe, you should be looking around northern Arkansas, or maybe the border to Alabama. Not here.”
Richards seemed a little surprised I took all this in stride, but not devastated by it. “We checked on your last two known locations and the nearest bug-out cache. I presume you know that your tree house is completely destroyed?”
I shook my head. “No, but I figured there was no use wasting time checking on it.” I was tempted to say more—wasn’t that one of my fatal flaws?—but didn’t. Two could play this game, and if Red wanted me to dish, he’d better go along himself as well.
He went on explaining after a curt nod. “After we
’d confirmed that there were no other instructions left behind, all we could do was wait. I presume your gear is from the storm cellar?”
Now he was starting to freak me out. “Who says—”
He cut me off before I could get any further. “No offense, but you’re not looking your A-game right now. That makes me guess you had to fall back on what you could find on short notice and had to rely on an old cache. The only one between your last confirmed hideout and here is the storm cellar cache. Just continue to blink in irritation if I’m right.”
I forced my eyes to stop doing exactly that, going completely still. Sadly, that had no effect whatsoever on Richards, although Cole and Hill seemed a breath away from laughing in my face. Great. Exhaling slowly, I did my best to keep my vexation under tight control. “To sum this up, you know all this because, somehow, Nate managed to relay the information back to you. Coordinates, I presume?” I got a nod for my guess. “How did he get to you in the first place? Because I don’t remember leaving him alone for long enough to accost you, and I distinctly remember Hamilton scrutinizing him like a hawk all the damn time on the way back to the States.”
Red’s grin wasn’t a fond one. “That’s because he didn’t do it himself.”
“Burns.” It wasn’t a hard guess—and it also explained why Nate hadn’t considered it necessary to inform Burns of his plans. He’d already known. That made me feel vaguely stupid, and it didn’t take away from my own guilt of having disappeared without a word. That still didn’t change one fact: I was married to one deceptive asshole.
And, shit, I missed him.
Richards didn’t seem bored of this game yet, but Cole and Hill decidedly were. It fell to the latter to speak up. “Long story short, either you’re hitching a ride with us, or it’s going to be a long, lone walk for you. What’s it gonna be?”
Green Fields (Book 10): Uprising: Page 10
