Green Fields (Book 3): Escalation (5 page)

Sadie frowned at the news, but not because she seemed to want to debate the validity of it. “Do you think that there will be more of them coming?”

Nate shrugged, but considering how relaxed he looked as he continued spooning stew into his mouth, he couldn’t have been that concerned. “I’d guess most of them would be smart enough not to climb through the mountains if they’d be much faster in the plains, where there’s more to hunt, too. That’s why I think they were already in the mountains, and it was just our luck that they came by here rather than elsewhere.”

“Yeah, or they smelled the unmistakable stench of urine from our perimeter markers and just had to follow the enticing notes of it,” I pointed out. Emma and I shared a suffering look while Sadie was grinning. Nate just gave a sigh that was a clear “not this again,” and for once, I left it at that. See, I could be pretty reasonable. Although I doubted that would hold up for long, as going looting would mean spending hours upon hours locked in the car together, and that usually wasn’t a guarantee for calm and quiet. Then again, the big issues of the last months—except our dwindling food stores, of course—had been several broken legs and arms, dislocated joints, and two rather nasty rounds of the common cold.
 

“Didn’t work with the others that came before them,” Nate replied, as if anyone even expected an answer. Eyeing him askance now drew a shrug from him. “You as a scientist in particular should be familiar with the drive to explore new theories.”

“So zombies are not lured in by the stench of urine. What a paradigm-shifting change. The world thanks you for your scientific contribution,” I said.

“Now you might be grumpy, but we did find out a few things,” he offered. “They like pepper spray, so macing them—not a good idea. They eat fecal matter if they are really starved, but they ignore leftover bones. Food, not so much. I expect we’ll find a lot less rotten produce this spring after they’ve been scouring the land for the entire winter.”

Information that might be vital—at least that bit with the pepper spray—but the very idea that we’d probably have to compete with the undead for any food that we planted wasn’t something I liked to consider.

“Does this mean that farming’s not really a good idea?” Sadie asked, already sounding disappointed.

Nate shook his head. “No, I think it’s the best and only chance we have at long term survival. But we might do without a compost heap close to the fields, or find some other kind of deterrent. Chain-link fence comes to mind. Or just dig ditches all around. I don’t think that you’ll get overrun here. There’ll always be the odd pack moving through, but we’ll probably clean them up for good around here in the next years.”

“Oh joy,” Emma grumbled, while her daughter took the news with much more enthusiasm.
 

“Wyoming’s not that bad for farming, really,” Sadie supplied. “We just need to dig a few more wells and map out the irrigation system. I already have a list for seeds and stuff, if you’ll go shopping any time soon.”

“You shouldn’t call it that. Looting is looting, and there’s no sense to beating around the bush,” Emma said.

Sadie seemed rather unperturbed by her mother’s chastisement. “Looting, then. Doesn’t change anything about the fact that if we want to turn the prairies into farmland, we need something to plant.”

“She’s right,” I interjected before they could go off on a tangent. “We’ll probably need a while to get everything, with none of us really versed in the art of farming?” The last part I said looking at Nate.

“We might have to skip over into Montana and Nebraska, but I’m sure that we’ll find everything you need. At the worst this summer, when all the plants are growing all over and we just have to dig them up or harvest them for seeds. Except for corn, everything else should be good for a few years now, and by then we’ll probably find someone who knows how to properly breed them so we can use them for several years in a row.”

Sadie nodded. “And if you swing by some university or agricultural school, bring me some textbooks. I’m sure I can teach myself everything I need. Just need some starters.”

“But that means that you will leave soon,” Emma said, her tone taking on a weird tint. We’d all gotten along more or less splendidly, but cabin fever was a real issue, even with rotations for pretty much everything going on to keep us all busy. I’d certainly butted heads with Emma a time or ten, so it came as a surprise to hear her so reluctant now. But maybe she was just afraid of what would happen if it was just them, without our protection?

“Soon, but not right now,” Nate clarified. “First, we’ll go look if anyone has left an answer to the messages that we’ve left all over. And we have to kill off that mob before they become a real problem. But after that—“

“On the road again, we’re on the road again,” I mumbled.

Nate flashed me a rather excited grin. “You bet.”

Chapter 3

Of the mob cleanup, I didn’t really see much, as the first raiding party went out before I was even awake and the second collided with my midday perimeter duty, so all I got to do was traipse across the frozen ground and listen to the occasional shot ring across the plateau. Bates looked about as enthusiastic as I was about being left out, but then I’d already done my share of body dropping and running for my life. It was only halfway through my watch that the impact of what had happened yesterday—and could have happened—really sank in. I hadn’t exactly become complacent over the course of the winter, but the human mind is a beautiful thing. After months of dull, regularly scheduled days, I felt like I’d somewhat recovered from the insanity that had been the first few months. But now, all of that was going to start again and probably get much, much worse. I just didn’t believe in everything working out in the end anymore.

Just after sunset, the second party returned, dripping with gore and other unmentionable liquids. I helped with the cleanup, mostly because it was fun to rub down Andrej and Nate with snow, and every so often not spare out their faces. That got me good and wet, too, but laughter was the best medicine against pretty much anything—and often our last resort. I was happy to go back inside, though, and thaw my freezing fingers in front of our little indoor camp fire. I was surprised when Nate sat down next to me, leaning in with one arm slung across my waist, but so didn’t complain. With a clear gender imbalance going on—and all females off-limits by either their own choice or social status that they had—Nate had pretty much slammed a no fraternization rule on the compound. Emma and Bert were exempt, of course, being married and all that, and no one would have dared even joke suggestively with Sadie. Pia had a lot of interests but hooking up with anyone wasn’t one of them, and that left me. Nate hadn’t been kidding when he’d teased me about not wanting to, ah, relieve stress in the same room as everyone slept in, but because more often than not I was on perimeter detail with him, we’d found a neat, hypocritical workaround for that. Not that we were fooling anyone, but I thought the guys appreciated that bit of foresight. Not that a few months without sex would drive anyone crazy, but it helped that there usually wasn’t much PDA going on. For Nate to break with that now was definitely a sign.

The next morning, Bailey and Bert came in from their morning round surprisingly worked up, and were all too happy to share the news with the rest of us.

“We got an answer.”

At first, I didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, until I realized that someone must have replied to one of the many messages that we’d left all over the region, if well outside of our perimeter.

“Where? What did they say?” Nate asked, obviously speaking for all of us.

“Down in Meeteetse, by the cafe. They spray-painted under ours. Said they’d drop by at noon today and would wait for an hour, if we’re up for a chat.”

Murmurs rose, but the general air was muted. So far we hadn’t had the best of luck with meeting people. Then again, so close to our home turf, things might be different. And if we were really living right next to a bunch of assholes, settling the score before things could escalate might be a good idea.

“I say we meet them,” Burns proposed. Almost everyone nodded agreement, with Bert the only neutral party.

“Not all of us, but we go with enough people, weapons, and ammo to show that we’re not to be fucked with,” Nate decided. “Four cars, twelve people. Decide between yourselves who goes and who stays.” Turning to me, he grabbed my shoulder, squeezing softly. “You’re coming with me.”

“Do I get a say in this?” I questioned, not sure why I even objected.

Nate gave me a bright grin. “I need someone who looks non-threatening in case they don’t turn out to be a bigger bunch of assholes than us. And while Bates loves to flash his baby-blues at everyone, not sure how that will work with a group of grizzled Wyomingites.”

The guy in question got a few good-natured slaps on the back, but, really? He so had that coming, and not just because so far he’d labelled himself as the resident manwhore—now out of commission, as he frequently complained. While most of the others kept their hair short—in Nate’s case the dyed black had long disappeared in favor for his blond almost-buzz cut—Bates was growing his golden locks out, most of the time keeping them gathered in a short pony tail. But every so often he would whip off the hairband and shake out his glorious mane—leaving everyone teasing him mercilessly about it. Which he deserved, using more shampoo and conditioner than us three girls—Pia didn’t count with her pixie cut that she miraculously maintained herself. Come to think of it, my hair really was a mess, usually braided up or in a tangled bun, the roots now grown out to my ears. Maybe I should pick up some new dye on our next loot run, if we ever made it close to a drug store. Flaming red might not be wise as camouflage, but considering that Nate had no qualms dumping gallons of mud on my head to also conceal my face, I didn’t think that it would be an issue. And it certainly beat the faded, half-pink ends that I was sporting now.

The team was assembled quickly, and within the hour Nate sent us scurrying for the cars. It only made sense to arrive early, leaving enough time to clear the area, and maybe even spring a trap or two if need be. We’d been to the small town a few times, but had mostly driven straight through as it didn’t really hold much of interest as we hadn’t wanted to blast through every single door. With just a little over three hundred former inhabitants, it hadn’t really yielded that many shamblers to start with, and a small team had cleared the few that had made it out of the houses in no time. I’d been busy doing an apple run that day, but I still knew where that meeting point was supposed to be.

The sun was shining brightly as I walked over to the garage, for once not bundled up in layers and layers of gear and overwhites, but just what I needed to stay warm. Martinez was already inside, doing a last checkup on his babies—our small fleet of nine cars, all scavenged either on the trip across the country, or close by.
 

Like all the other cars, my once sky blue Range Rover was sporting a dull green-brown allover camouflage pattern, making it almost disappear in the gloom of the room. The matte outer layer of paint hadn’t been on the last time I’d taken it for a spin, just three weeks ago. It looked even more snazzy now, the glass over the lights the only reflective part of the car. Even the new ram-proofing at the front had been disguised.

While I’d spent most of the winter learning how to move silently, shoot true, and all-around survive in the great outdoors, Martinez, Andrej, Burns, and Taylor had been busy working on the cars. Better suspension, new tires, the camo paint-job—and that was just the beginning. All the seats had been outfitted with harnesses rather than belts, the frame reinforced with a roll cage, everything superfluous in the back was gone to create more space for cargo, and the center consoles turned into gun racks. It had taken the better part of the winter to rebuild one car after the other using the parts we’d scavenged from no less than thirty other cars, lacking the actual rally cars the guys had used as a vague guide for their modifications. I’d spent my share of time helping, learning on the job how to service my car should I end up stranded somewhere, alone, with just the proverbial pantyhose for repairs that I didn’t actually wear—just one more thing I hadn’t expected to ever have an interest in,
Before
.
 

And it wasn’t like I’d only looked at the car from the outside.

Now with the snow starting to melt—or at least no longer increase—in the low meadows that led away from the mountains, we opted to leave the snow chains in the back and just eyeball it down the hillside to the next access road. There was a quick debate about driving order, but Nate cut that short, declaring that we might as well use this as a dry run for what we had planned once we’d move out for good. That meant one huge change from before—I would drive the lead vehicle.

Back in the comfortable leather seat, my fingers—gloved, but still—wrapping around the steering wheel again, I couldn’t help the wave of nostalgia that came up inside of me. There shouldn’t have been anything to be nostalgic about our trip from West Virginia to Wyoming, but at least driving the car had had some advantages, like not being stuck out in a three-day torrential rain. And the extra light armor plating on the rear might help against all kinds of predators—biped or other—too.

With two hours until our meeting, we rolled out, all four modified SUVs making their way through snowy grass down the hill, avoiding the gravel road until we were well past our mined checkpoint where Bailey was again playing hide and seek with himself in his ghillie suit. I was still amazed that through the entire winter, nothing had set off the Claymores buried there, but then I really didn’t want to jinx it.