Green Fields (Book 2): Outbreak (12 page)

“Move,” Pia hollered at us, not stopping as she ran through the trees, away from the highway. With fear and adrenaline still going strong, I didn’t hesitate but just fell in step behind her, panting as I forced my legs to start moving again. All that was left to do was run.

Chapter 8

A small eternity later—likely closer to an hour and a half—we’d finally gotten away from the last, most persistent zombies. And by that I of course meant that someone had stabbed or sliced or clubbed them to death. Unlike with Smith, waiting for them to bleed out wasn’t an option anymore. Unless it stopped moving, it wasn’t finished off yet. Although I figured the one that Burns left behind with broken knees and hips counted, too, although it was still trying to come after us, dragging itself forward slowly with its hands.

The screamer hadn’t been the only one we’d lost, it turned out. Both of the hunters had gone down after they’d been stupid enough not to heed Pia’s directions not to fire their guns if they could help it. One more of our guys, and the one of the guards from the barricade who wasn’t Santos had found their end on the highway. Several people were limping and I didn’t want to think about what tomorrow morning would bring, if today was any indication. No one said outright that they’d been bitten, but I doubted that all of the wounds sustained were just blunt force trauma. But for now we were dragging on, the setting sun ahead and slightly to the left.

I figured I should feel bad when relief only swept through me as I’d assured myself that Nate was still there, and looking relatively unscathed—but I just couldn’t find it in me.
 

After the forest, we’d walked across several fields until we found a small access road that was just deserted enough to make for better going. With exhaustion dragging on all of us but fright still too fresh for anyone to want to stop, we dragged ourselves on in a spread-out line over almost a mile. At first, I’d been eyeing every bush and tree large enough to conceal anything with anxiety, but for the past minutes just putting one foot in front of the next without stumbling took all my remaining energy. If we didn’t find shelter soon, I’d likely fall asleep on my feet, and if a zombie happened by and ate me, I’d probably not find the will to give a shit about it anymore.

Ahead, Pia stopped as the sentries came back, both looking just as tired as I felt. They remained with her, clearly waiting for the rest of us to catch up. As soon as I got there, I let myself drop into the grass at the side of the road, not caring whether I would be able to get up again or not.

“I think we’ve found something,” she explained as soon as the last had caught up to us. “It’s hell to defend, but remote enough that we probably won’t have to. Looks like some out-of-the-basement radio station.”

At Nate’s raised brows, one of the sentries shrugged. “There’s a sign. And we saw something move behind the curtains, but no banging. Might actually be someone hunkered down in there.”

I wondered just how happy they’d be about us barging in—or whether they’d be left a choice about that. Even exhausted, we still had our weapons, and whoever was inside likely couldn’t tell that we’d been on our feet almost since the beginning of this.

Unless, of course, they were some crazy assholes or something who’d put traps and mines all over their yard and we wouldn’t even get close to the house. Being blown up had lost a lot of its horror, though.

“Let’s try not to antagonize them from the get-go,” Nate said. “If there’s a chance that they’ll let us stay, we’ll go for it.”

With that decided, we set out again, Nate, Pia and the four mercenaries who looked the least like they were about to keel over in front, and the rest of us following. I wondered if I should have put away my bat—I’d cleaned it on some grass, but it was still smeared with dirt, and a little dented—not feeling like I still had the strength to use it, should I need to.

Soon we came to the aforementioned sign—spelling out what seemed to be a random acronym—right next to an even smaller, unpaved road that I likely would have missed if not for the sign. Everyone around me readied their weapons, tension ratcheting up, but Nate signaled them to keep them down. Slowly, we made our way down the road, across a bridge spanning a small creek, and onto the property. There was no gate, and beyond the part of the road that widened into a driveway I saw a quaint little house, half hidden between willows and birches. The rays of the setting sun were turning the white paint a burning orange, and the entire atmosphere was quiet and peaceful.

It could only be a matter of minutes until something terrible would happen. I just knew it.

Nate and Pia were cautious as they approached the front door, halting halfway to the steps leading onto the porch.

“Hello? Someone in there?” Nate called out, loud enough to scare a few birds from their perch on the branches overhead, and making me jump.
 

There was no answer, but I thought I saw movement at the curtains of the window next to the door.

“We mean you no harm,” he went on. “But we’ve been out there for two days, and we could really use a place to crash for the night.” He paused, looking back over our huddle of misfits. “You probably don’t know how bad it is out there, but it’s bad. None of us are infected, if you’re worried about that. And we’re happy to help you out if we can.”

I had no idea what we could have helped with—splitting firewood or something? Until it occurred to me that even if someone in the house was still normal, that didn’t mean that they didn’t have a former loved one locked away in a closet somewhere.
 

Before I could come up with yet more gruesome ideas, I heard the telltale sound of locks disengaging, and a moment later the door swung open. It revealed a man, at least in his late seventies, a rifle in hand, but he didn’t look like he wanted to use it. Nate froze, but then slowly raised one hand and made a downward motion, signaling his people to put their weapons down. I didn’t feel particularly happy about that, but the man didn’t look very threatening. He seemed a lot more frightened of us, and I figured we’d still have a good chance to dive out of range if he really shot at us.

“As you see, we are not defenseless,” he said, his voice pressed and raspy. “Just so you don’t get any funky ideas.”

Nate took a step forward, still moving with slow, deliberate motions, his body language open and friendly.

“Noticed, sir. Thank you for talking to us.”

The man looked from Nate to the rest of us, his gaze briefly stopping on Pia—but in no world would she have appeared as a noncombatant, even if she’d been wearing a pink tutu—until it zoomed to me. I tried to smile but my facial muscles just wouldn’t respond. With Skip and Steve ready to fall over next to me, we must have made quite the picture in between the more grim soldier-y types around us.

“That all of you, or you got more hiding in the woods?”

Nate shook his head. “It’s just us.” And those few words said a lot more than just that.

The man hesitated for another moment, but then eased up, bringing the rifle down to his side. He was still conflicted, but then I heard a female voice call out behind him.

“Gerry, stop acting like this. Let these poor people in!”

Gerry looked actually chagrined for a moment, but Nate managed to smile at him quite charmingly.

“We understand, don’t worry. And we don’t want to drag any dirt into your house, ma’am. Do you maybe have something for us to clean up with? A garden hose, or a tub where we can pull water from the creek?”

“Just use the water from the rainwater barrel,” she advised, still from behind Gerry. “But you can clean up inside. We don’t have any hot water because the power’s been out and Gerry won’t waste the generator on that, but we can heat some up on the stove.”

Nate kept smiling, but it lost some of its warmth.

“That is very generous of you, but the rainwater’s fine.” Belatedly, I realized that he hadn’t meant sweat and usual grime when he’d asked about the water. That just made me feel even more gross, and kind of grossed out. If I’d still had energy to give a shit, that was.

With that settled, we started unloading our gear—and wiping off blood, gore, and other undefinable dirt from packs, jackets, pants, and boots. Pia snapped at the guys to field-strip and clean their weapons, while everyone who wasn’t up to that—mainly just Skip, Steve, and me—were tasked with getting all the cleaned-up gear inside. I hesitated before pulling off my shoes, but—who would have thought?—kicking zombies in the face left traces, and once I realized what had dried in the profile of the sole, I couldn’t hop out of the second boot fast enough. Gerry already had a stack of blankets and old carpets ready where we could put our gear to dry in the foyer, helping me stack the heavy backpacks as soon as his hands were free.

Once inside, it also became obvious why Maude—his wife—hadn’t followed him to the door. She sat in a wheelchair—complete with a knit afghan across her lap—just beyond the door to the living room, watching us curiously. The blisters on my feet hurt so much that I didn’t dare peel off my socks, so I kept shuffling around like that, but as soon as I’d stashed away the last pack—and most were way heavier than my own, making me grunt just to heave them up from where Skip handed them inside—Maude made a clucking sound at me.

“That will have to be cleaned and bandaged, my dear,” she told me. When I opened my mouth to—I don’t know what, protest wasn’t really on my mind—she added, “Don’t even start. Once a nurse, always a nurse, and I won’t let anyone play tough boy or girl just because the world has gone to shit.”

I couldn’t help but start laughing at such a sweet, old lady cursing like that, and she gave me quite the chiding look.

“I may know to mind my manners, young lady, but I’ve been a nurse in Korea and Vietnam. I didn’t get through all that without picking up my share of colorful expressions.”

She turned her chair around and rolled deeper into the house, clearly expecting to be followed. With nothing else to do, I did, trying not to limp too obviously.
 

In short order, Maude had me plant my butt on the couch where an entire stack of first-aid stuff was readied, ordering me to sit still and let her work. It was only when she started rubbing down my upper arm—feeling heavenly now that I was out of the sweat-soaked jacket in just a T-shirt—when I realized that it wasn’t just the bruises Smith had left there that were the cause for the infrequent twinges. There was a scabbed-over, angry-red streak there, the flesh around slightly swollen—and I had no idea how it had gotten there.

“The elevator shaft, remember?” Nate supplied from behind me, making me look up in alarm but fall back into the cushions as soon as my mind realized that he wasn’t one of the undead. “You were shot.”

Right. Compared to what else had happened since then—including the entire building coming down on us—I felt a little less stupid about forgetting about that.

“Barely more than a scratch,” Maude assured me, not blinking at hearing how I’d obtained the wound. After she was done, she also had me take off my socks and checked my feet, but told me not to be a baby and tough it out. There was already a line forming behind me so I forced myself to get to my feet and hobble over to the loveseat next to the couch.

As soon as my head hit the cushions, I felt myself drifting away.

Respite was short, but not because of what I thought at first—the house getting overrun by zombies, their screams still echoing in my ears from my nightmare—but because Martinez was nudging my shoulder, a conflicted look on his face. I blinked stupidly up at him, more than ready to try to ignore him.

“I’ve only been asleep for, what…”

“Maybe half an hour,” he supplied.

“Why are you waking me up?” It felt like a personal affront, really.

“Because I need your help,” he whispered.

Rubbing my bleary eyes, I looked up, realizing that all over the room people had unrolled their sleeping bags or were using old blankets and cushions for beds. I felt immediately loathe to vacate my much more comfortable sleeping place, but the worry in Martinez’s eyes got me focusing on him again. “What’s wrong?”

Exhaling slowly, he looked at the guy sleeping by my feet, before he jerked his chin toward the kitchen. “I’ll tell you in a minute.”

Groaning, I let him pull me to my feet and followed him, stepping gingerly. It was a little weird to see Martinez out of his gear, as he’d barely taken off his helmet twice when we’d stopped, not even for sleeping. His hair was army regulations short, and judging from the clean scent coming off him, he’d already used the opportunity to at least wash up, if not shower. That made me wonder if I should have done that, too, but just wiping off my pants had taken too much effort for more. I was sure that the white sweat stains on the dark fabric of my shirt were looking quite sexy.

The kitchen was empty except for us, and I accepted the bowl of steaming soup from Martinez as he handed it to me. It was just thin soup with barely any noodles in it, but it was hot and came with a spoon, and that was enough to turn it into a gourmet meal. I more slurped than spooned it, glancing around to make sure that Maude wasn’t watching.
 

“You didn’t wake me up for this, right?” I asked between sips, intent to enjoy my meal until the very last drop.

“It’s about Nate.”

That was enough to make me swallow twice even though the last of the soup went down on the first try.

“What about him?” I really didn’t like where this was going.

Martinez gave me a look that told me that I should already have known, but I just stared right back at him, letting some of my residual anger and fright heat my gaze up.

“You didn’t really think he’d just get up and walk away from being speared by an iron bar just like that?” he asked, his tone still hushed as he leaned close.
 

I kind of had, but I was the first to admit that it had come with a whole lot of wishful thinking.

“What do you need me to do?” I skipped right to the chase. He hadn’t looked too bad when I’d last seen him, while Maude was patching up my arm. The nasty voice in the back of my mind whispered that they wouldn’t have needed me to shoot him if he’d started to turn.