Green Fields (Book 2): Outbreak (27 page)

Was this how Sam had died?

Thinking about her now left me feeling even more hollow inside. It wasn’t like I’d started to forget about her—or that the raging guilt deep in my soul had lessened as time went by—but watching Innes die made it all come up again. Those last words of his—“don’t let me die here alone”—kept repeating over and over in my head. Sam had died alone. All alone. That I couldn’t have done anything for her and likely would have died—either from the plague or because she’d turned and killed me—was no consolation at all.

And as I looked at the faces around me, I could see similar looks on all of them. Everyone had lost someone—more often than not everyone—they’d known. Loved. Been close to. And just because we’d gotten away so far didn’t mean that we weren’t up next. For the first few days, the very idea that food could kill us had horrified me, but this? This slap in the face regarding our mortality? This was much, much worse.

It didn’t come as much of a surprise that Madeline was rather busy that evening, and I didn’t find it in me to glare scornfully at anyone’s back who would disappear into the trees with her. Sex was the farthest thing from my mind, but the need for comfort and basic human closeness was strong. Erica clearly realized what her mother was doing but tried to put on a brave face. The younger children continued to stare into space, barely reacting when she tried to engage them in any activity. I still didn’t know what had happened to them to traumatize them that much, but didn’t really want to. As far as I was concerned, the sooner we could get rid of them all—in a safe, comfy hidey-hole or something—the better.

My indifference changed when, starting the next day, Madeline began actively approaching some of the guys—ranging from a few smiles and comments to more than just casual touches and outright flirting. At first, I was sure that it could only be hours until Pia would shut her down, but the Ice Queen ignored that behavior pointedly. I volunteered for perimeter duty as soon as we were done with the typical round of exercise, and even considered adding another when most of the camp was still awake when my time was up. Andrej had no patience for my antics, though, and ordered me right back to the camp site—where I found Madeline cozying up to Nate.

In his defense, he didn’t look particularly ecstatic to have her sitting beside him, chattering away with lots of smiles, but he didn’t chase her away. He usually wasn’t exactly keeping to himself, but knowing what those bandages covered that Martinez still changed every other day, it made sense that he wasn’t up for the usual sundown wrestling match. But he clearly didn’t mind that special kind of company.

That night, the cat food tasted even worse than usual, and I didn’t even pretend like I wasn’t glaring at them with a stony look on my face. Hopefully stony, because after that chat with Martinez I wasn’t sure how well I could hide my emotions.

And it didn’t just stay at that chat, no. The next day she left her usual place in the middle of the group—easiest to defend, least likely to get attacked—in favor of continuing their animated conversation. At least she continued to laugh and gush, and still he didn’t seem to mind. I so didn’t care for that anger and betrayal that was clogging my throat, but I forced myself to swallow it. Nate was his own man, and it was entirely up to him whose company he chose to keep. It just rankled so fucking much that it was impossible to bear.

But bear it I did, through the entire day and another endless evening. The very idea that now those hours of respite after the grueling day-long trek were what made me apprehensive was hilarious on so many levels, but I didn’t find it in me to laugh—not even at myself, although I really had it coming. Just to stay busy, I signed up for permanent guard duty in the evenings—not just the flexible rotation we had going at all times—and whenever I found someone up to teaching me something extra, I was game. Wrestling. Self-defense. Sprinting. Knife fighting—although we did that with sticks, for obvious reasons—and hot damn, Burns could move quick for a guy his size. I even helped dig the latrine hole and hacked away at dry branches to procure firewood. Yet nothing helped. At the end of the evening, I still spent way too much time staring across the campsite, watching Madeline coo and titter her way around the guys.

I started noticing little things about her that I hadn’t seen when I’d been busy ignoring her first. She didn’t look unhappy about the attention she got, but in the few minutes where she found herself alone—and mostly unobserved—her shoulders slumped and her usually perky attitude gave way to frustration, desolation even. She was clearly fixating on Nate—although by far not as much as I was obsessing over her—but never let any opportunity pass if she could get something out of it. And that she did, way beyond that sense of protection that she seemed to think she had to buy with her body. Trinkets, items, and food passed hands, and it was then that I noticed that she or her children never had to resort to the most basic level food items that the rest of us subsided on. They were always nibbling on some treats, and I hadn’t seen a cat food can anywhere around them in days. My own stash had run empty by then, too, but I knew for a fact that several of the guys were still hoarding the stuff as a steady protein source. Then, one day after another seemingly fruitless looting trip, she was suddenly wearing makeup, the once familiar sight so foreign to me that it took me ten minutes to realize what kept my gaze snagging to her lips and eyes in particular. The very notion was ridiculous—but the steady trickle of bartering went on and on, as did her nightly discussions with our esteemed leader.

I probably could have dealt with all that and not lost it, if that had remained the extent of her idiocy. Yet two days after we traversed the Indiana border into Illinois, she uttered that one remark that sent me over the edge.

We were busy breaking camp, with Santos, Bates, Andrej, and me getting ready to do an extra circuit to cut around today’s route for some extra scavenging, when she held up Santos and Bates, smiling coquettishly at them.

“Would you guys mind doing me a favor?”

It wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary that someone would approach the now almost daily hunting party with a list of what was running low, but that’s why Pia kept a list, trying to redistribute between us all first if possible.

“Sure, sugar, just tell me what you need,” Santos crooned, earning himself some well-deserved snickers from Burns and Cho who were crouching nearby.

Batting her mascara-black lashes coquettishly—uselessly, really—Madeline replied. “Could you maybe look for some nice clothes for me? I’ve been wearing these same old jeans and three shirts for days now, and they really don’t accentuate my curves. Not that I’m complaining, but it goes without saying that the stuff those two—“ she was obviously referring to Pia and me, and even had the audacity to roll her eyes now “—are bringing back just isn’t very flattering. So if you find something, bring it back for me, will you? You know that I will appreciate your efforts a lot.”

Santos and Bates traded glances that had lost a lot of the playfulness of before, but—like the whipped, weak male duds that they were—they were already nodding. This was just too much for me to bear.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I screeched, coming to my feet, not caring if everyone was looking at me weirdly now. Stalking over to Madeline, I pushed the guys away to let me get physically in her face. “You want us to risk our damn lives just because you want some pretty clothes to wear?”

I fully expected snickers to rise behind me—I knew the guys well enough to bet that they were just itching to cheer for a cat fight—but the slight rustling of the wind on our gear was the only sound in the entire camp. That and my seething pants, but I tried to silence them, attempting to keep my rage in check.

Instead of being intimidated by my outburst, Madeline just offered me a condescending smile.

“Of course you wouldn’t understand. You’re a lesbian.”

For a moment, I was so tempted to slam the butt of my shotgun into her makeup-smeared face that it took actual work to make my grip on the weapon relax. Mindless screaming was my next option, but I cut that short before even a growl could make it over my lips. Instead, I just stared at her, unblinking, while I poured all my anger into my gaze. Oh, I’d learned a thing or two more from the guys around me than just how to handle my guns. Open, raging anger only got you so far—but cold, calculated fury was a hell of a lot scarier.

And I saw the effect my glare had on her in the way she first blanched, then visibly shrunk back from me, her smile withering. Inside, I was still screaming at the top of my lungs, hurling insults at her that had everything and nothing to do with that perceived offense—and everything else—but I forced myself not to betray any of that on the outside. Silence stretched and grew beyond uncomfortable, and for those moments, I reveled in it. Watching her squirm under my gaze now was oddly satisfying—as was the fact that, for once, I wasn’t on the receiving end of that treatment.

“Ladies, let’s go,” I called over my shoulder as I turned around, from one second to the next completely ignoring Madeline—leaving her both without an answer and the defensive hissy-fit I still wanted to throw. In passing, I noticed the rather amused look on Nate’s face, but chose not to react to it. There was only so much acting I was capable of, and I really didn’t want to ruin that stellar performance now.

At the end of our trip I dumped a whole trash bag overflowing with what could only be described as stripper-grade underwear into Madeline’s lap, making sure that the contents spilled out all around her. Because the high road? So not my road.

Chapter 18

When Pia called me over next morning, I fully expected to get reamed good for my own idiocy, but she didn’t mention that extra sack of loot with a single comment. Instead, she held out the maps to me where the route for today had been penciled in already.

“You up for doing some recon today?”

I was a little taken aback that she figured I was ready for that, but quick to nod, already scanning the maps.

“Sure, just tell me what to do.”

“You’ll go with Burns, north. If possible cut through here and here,” she pointed at a couple of even smaller roads than we were already using. “Make sure there are no mobs around. And if you find any spot worth looting and it warrants sending anyone out for it, return. Otherwise, find us a good place to camp, preferably away from that fucking maize.”

“Will do,” I replied, and at her nod, took off after Burns.

The first mile we walked, then switched to an easy, ground-eating run that left me winded, but not beyond where all I could focus on was my breathing. The day was starting out hot again—what wonder—with barely any clouds in the sky. Rich farmland, this stretch didn’t look that different yet from what I’d expected of before, but it was only a matter of years, I figured, until the neatly planted rows of corn would turn into a jungle. The plants were already tall enough that I couldn’t see over them, and there was no guessing what might be hiding in those fields. We stuck to the roads, trying to keep as close to cover as possible but far enough away to avoid any nasty surprises. There were a few farms scattered between the fields, but we veered off our chosen path whenever we got close enough to see movement around the houses. Turned out that fences worked well on zombies, too.

We stopped at a small creek to refill our water bottles, and while Burns was grumbling under his breath about our rations, I walked over to the border of one of the corn fields, checking out the smaller plants that grew close to the road.

“Not a farm girl, are you?” he joked. “Besides, without a microwave, how should we make popcorn?”

Selecting a corn ear that had strawy, dark hair rather than silky strands on top, I broke it off, peeling it slowly. The kernels were still light, not that familiar opaque yellow, but that didn’t deter me. Gingerly biting into them, I rasped a mouthful off the cob, but spit it out after a few seconds.

“Told ya,” Burns observed as he watched me throw the cob right back into the field.

“That’s because it’s for feed production,” I griped back. “Maybe we’ll find a different one a few fields over.”

“Women,” Burns grunted, and when I looked at him sharply, he gave me a bright grin. “Always trying to feed the needy.”

“Shut up, asshole,” I shot back and set out again, loping down the road, with him at my heels.

The next field wasn’t better, and I almost gave up when two more yielded the same results, but the one across another access road was planted with a different sort of maize, this one sweet enough to the taste that I shamelessly moaned as I went for a second bite. Burns watched me with peculiar fascination, then got himself his own cob. And for the next fifteen minutes we did nothing but munch down one sweet baby corn ear after the other, dropping the gnawed-off cobs right where we stood.

“We’d probably have to eat this for hours to get some actual nutritional value from it, but I say it beats resorting to kibble next,” I observed.

“Don’t you dare diss kibble. It’s like the chocolate sprinkles of the apocalypse,” Burns noted around another cob, but didn’t protest when I whipped out two bags and handed him one.

“I’ll fill ‘em up, you keep watch,” I told him and dove right into the field. Burns followed, walking beside me as he tried to scan the field between the tall, green stalks. I was halfway done with the second bag when an unfamiliar sound made me pause, then look at Burns with a feeling of uncertainty twisting in my guts.
 

“Are you hearing that, too?”

He nodded, staring into the same direction.

“It’s an engine. Car engine.”

And not just one car, I realized, as the noise drew closer and I could make out different frequencies of rumbling. I wondered if we should wade to the edge of the field and look out for them, but when Burns made no motion to do so, I remained where I was, and at his downward gesture, I dropped into a low crouch, abandoning my bag in favor of my Mossberg.

The rumbling of the engines drew closer and closer, until I could hear the tires crunching in the dirt and gravel on the road. Holding my breath, I prayed for them to just drive by, but already I heard them slow down. They came to a rolling stop right in front of us, with only a couple of yards of corn separating us. Had they already seen us?