Resurgence: Green Fields book 5 (13 page)

That admission weirded me out, as most of the things did pertaining to the recent events, but his vote of confidence did a thing or two to make me relax.
 

“Still. You are counting on them not just locking us—or at least me—away the moment we get there,” I noted.

He mulled that over for a second, then gave a curt nod. “I am. Maybe that’s stupid, but I am. Feel free to bitch me out later if I’m wrong.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” Here’s to hoping that I wouldn’t get that chance. But it wasn’t even that aspect that made me hesitate. Nate was still watching me, calm, waiting for me to finally cough up whatever was bothering me. “You know that there’s a good chance that I am still infected?” I pointed out. “The virus… serum… whatever you were inoculated with never left your body. It integrated into your DNA. We know that, otherwise it wouldn’t have been in your sperm. Same is probably true for what almost killed me. Only that what I’m carrying isn’t the dormant, inert form.”

“And your point is?” he asked, frowning.
 

There was no beating around the bush this time. “I’m probably closer to a zombie than a human, if you look at my immunological status.”

His frown deepened, until something must have occurred to him. “Wait. Is this your circumspect way of saying that you’re still afraid you could infect me? Because I don’t fucking care. It’s bullshit. Days have passed since we’ve shared saliva, and I hate to break this to you, but I don’t even feel a scratch in my throat. You couldn’t catch anything from me before, and the very same is true for me now. Except the obvious, but—“

“Shut up,” I advised as I snapped open the buckle of the belt harness, and with a push heaved myself onto his lap, straddling him.

Nate grinned up at me, his hands settling on my ass to pull me against him. “What, that’s all it takes to get you going nowadays? A blind vote of faith?”

Snorting, I shook my head as I pulled off my shirt, then started getting my pants off. That would have been so much easier if I’d done that before moving over, but who cared?
 

“Nate, there’s a good chance that they’ll shoot me either on sight or once they get the blood test results back because they can’t risk me turning into a post-apocalyptic Typhoid Mary. If that happens, I want to say that at the very least I got to have sex one last time before that.”

“Shit, you know exactly what to say to make a guy feel appreciated,” he jeered, momentarily disrupting my undressing disaster by grabbing my sports bra and pulling it over my head.

“What, just because we’re married now you think you can get out of this? I’m filing for divorce if that’s the case.”

“More like annulment,” he interjected, keeping me from replying by shoving his tongue down my throat. His arms came around me, his hands busy getting me out of my pants now. “I should have pushed for a prenup, including a detailed list of mandatory spousal obligations.”

“Yeah, because that’s always been such a problem with us,” I harped, wrenching his shirt off in turn, but then halted. “I’m not scraping zombie goo off the car only because now there’s a good chance I’m as immune to it as you are. Equality is one thing, but I’m drawing the line at that.”

He paused and pulled back, giving me a downright hostile stare. “Are you trying to get me to lose my boner, or what? How do you even think of shit like that when we’re about to get it on?”

“Multitasking,” I offered, unable to hold back a laugh. “You’re probably not doing a good enough job distracting me. Besides, you know that I’m weird. Infected or not doesn’t change anything about that.”

Nate snorted before he pulled me toward him again, his hands holding the sides of my face. “Trust me, I’m well aware of that. My life would be so incredibly dull without all your idiosyncrasies. What is it they say? Once you go half-zombie, you never go back?”

His laughter drowned out my grumbled expletives, but thankfully, I knew a way or two to shut him up—and that’s exactly what I did. And wouldn’t you know it—whatever else had changed between us, the important things remained the same.

It was noon when it became obvious that we were getting close to our destination. Strictly speaking it was too bright out there for me to still be driving, but for today we figured that, should we have to make a quick getaway, Nate was more use shooting than driving. Even squinting perpetually, it was impossible not to see the two separate plumes of dust that rose behind the small rise we were currently navigating. My first reaction was to turn around and find another way—we’d seen several dust clouds in the past days that had all turned out to be convoys that we’d decided were likely hostiles rather than friendlies—but Nate told me to go on. I still left the road and brought the Rover to a halt behind a few trees at the very top of the rise, partly obscuring us from view. In the plains beyond it was easy to make out the closer group of vehicles, and it only took Nate a moment’s glance to check up on them before he relaxed. “Looks promising,” he said as he handed me the binoculars.

The lead vehicles, the same as the two bringing up the rear, were heavily fortified—and modified—SUVs, some painted black, the others in dull camouflage patterns. The cars wedged between them were smaller, barely fit for off-road duty. They were going at a sedate pace, giving them enough time to react to the obstacles ahead, not unlike the way we, as a group, usually drove. That the heavier vehicles were guarding the smaller was obvious. My guess was that they were a band of scavengers who were helping some traders get where they needed to go. And if they were out and about in this heat, they must have known that they would soon be out of it.

In the distance, barely visible even with the binoculars, a heavily armed train of cars was going south, away from wherever the others were headed. And as I kept scanning the area in between, I noticed that there were a few more cars scattered all around natural covers like stands of trees or the odd hollow at the foot of a hill. Last time we’d come through here the entire stretch of land up to the tarmac patch right atop the Silo had looked completely uninhabited.

“What do we do now?” I asked, handing the binoculars back to Nate.

“Unless you feel like more life-affirming human interaction...” he asked suggestively, making me scoff. Looking back out onto the plains, he shrugged. “Forward.”

We could have continued our duck-and-run routine of the past days, but I didn’t really see the sense in it any longer. Just how useless it would have been became obvious as soon as we were about a mile away from the trees, when I realized what the weird specs in the air above us were. “Are those drones?”

Nate, craning his neck, tried to get a better look. “Yes. And I think I just saw a gyrocopter take off from over there, to our ten.”

My eyes likely looked ready to pop out of my head as I watched the little vehicle circle above where I guessed the main part of the rocket silo compound lay hidden. “You got to be shitting me.”

“Looks like we got air surveillance back,” Nate offered. “Just keep on driving. I’m sure they’ve seen us by now.”

Seen us, maybe, but there was a good chance that they hadn’t identified us yet. My side of the Rover especially was so riddled with bullet holes that there was a constant stream of air coming in somewhere, and the door decal was completely destroyed. The one on Nate’s side was mostly obscured by mud and bits of grass, and the splashes of remaining red on the hood could have been anything. Add to that the finger-thick layer of dust, and I wasn’t sure if the car could even be described as “dark” anymore.

Shifting into a higher gear, I let the Rover pick up speed, soon drawing parallel with the convoy, with about half a mile of distance between us. I was sure that they were eyeing us as critically as we were them, but they seemed to come to a similar conclusion as we had—we were on the same side. Someone from the back row of the lead vehicle waved at us, and a few moments later the driver honked the horn, the sound carrying over well. I was still debating whether I should honk back when Nate slammed his hand on the button in the center console, making me jump just a little. So much for keeping a low profile. Not that we’d intended to.

Without a convoy slowing us down, we soon drew ahead. The road led by one of the cars parked by some trees, the lookout reporting something into his walkie-talkie as we passed. A few hundred yards down the road, one of the larger drones dropped out of the sky until it hovered smack in the middle of the road, low enough that I would have careened right into it if I hadn’t slowed down. There was a cardboard sign hanging from it, spelling in bright red letters, “Turn your radio and transponder on.” It bobbed up and down a few times, then took off again, zooming toward the convoy. I gave Nate a look but he made no move to reach for our radio. They’d seen us—that had to suffice.

Or not, I realized, when about a mile later the radio suddenly lit up, remotely activated through the emergency bulletin alarm. Nate had reconnected it this morning but made sure that it was off. He gave another shrug but didn’t turn it on. Thirty seconds later, the radio gave a static squawk as it activated itself—so much for us being in control—and a slightly harassed-sounding male voice came blaring out of the speakers.

“Unidentified vehicle approaching from the northeast, please identify yourself. You’re about to breach our five-mile perimeter. If we haven’t heard from you yet at two miles, we will assume that you’re hostiles and we will take you down. If you need technical assistance, please halt the car now and wait until we can send a drone with a walkie-talkie over to you. Silo actual, out.”

Clearing my throat, I chuckled. “Gee, someone’s gotten paranoid.”

“Not necessarily a bad thing,” Nate noted—and made no move to grab the mic.

“Shouldn’t we call in?” I asked.

“Not yet. Keep on driving.”

I did, although I tried to pay better attention to my surroundings. Oh, they were definitely watching us, I was sure, but I could only make out two more lookouts in a tree and up on a larger boulder. Two drones came zooming our way and kept hovering above us, making me just a little uneasy. About ten minutes later, next to a yellow wheat field, the radio came on again.

“Unidentified vehicle, you are about to breach our two-mile perimeter. Identify yourself stat, or we will take you down.”
 

A third drone, this one larger, came zooming over the trees at the end of the field, this one with what looked like modified small machine guns attached to the bottom. Nate gave it a considering look, but he still looked awfully relaxed.

“Shouldn’t we, maybe, answer?” I suggested.

A “pop” came from the drone, and a tuft of dust rose from where the single bullet hit the road ahead of me. Grumbling under my breath, I slowed the car down, but only enough so that I could still keep it on the road driving with just one hand. With the other I grabbed the detachable mic from above the radio and hit the “on” button.

“Silo actual, be a dear and call off your little watchdog there.”

The answer came almost as soon as I was done talking. “Unidentified vehicle, turn your transponder on, now.”

“Not gonna happen,” I replied, giving the drone one last nasty look before it disappeared from my view. “But I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t shoot us. Been there, done it, didn’t really like the experience.”

This time, there was a notable pause, likely as whoever was manning the radio debated with someone else how to proceed.

“Identify yourself,” he ordered as he came back on.

I hesitated, but there was no reason to play any games—and it wasn’t like I intended to just drop into their midst without giving them time to prepare. I wasn’t that keen on being shot on principle.

“Lucky Thirteen Alpha speaking,” I replied, then glanced at Nate, disengaging the mic. “Why don’t we add that ‘actual’ thing?”

He snorted. “How much more fancy of an address do you need?”

The following pause from the Silo tower was longer still. Then, incredulity lacing his voice, the radio guy came back on. “Bree?”

I knew—guessed?—that he couldn’t see it, but still had to grin. “In the flesh. Don’t sound so disappointed that I’m still around and kicking. That whole ‘you should be dead!’ spiel is getting tiresome.” I debated what more to say, but decided that it was the best plan of action to be candid. “We’re coming in hot. If you actually use that decontamination shed of yours for something, tell your guys to suit up. I’m afraid that no part of the front of the passenger cabin hasn’t been drenched in contaminated liquids.” That was one way of saying it. Nate still looked amused, even if the humor had left his eyes. I was tempted to bark a, “Too soon?” at him but decided to keep my trap shut.

“Copy, Thirteen Alpha,” the tower guy confirmed. “Just come on over to us. We’ll clear the way for you.”

I was still wondering if they’d cleared their mine fields as I got no further instructions, but that answered itself when I came around the next bend in the road that got us leaving the cover of the trees again. Last time we hadn’t approached from the north, but I still remembered the wide open, free space around the small tarmac field atop the Silo, with just a shed and the barn that concealed the ramp down underground from sight. Now, there was a ring of trenches there that cut straight across the meadow, with only the road we were going on left intact. Cars, three deep, were parked on it, oriented toward each other so that ramming into the first would just push them all together to create an unbreachable barrier, except for maybe a heavy tank. As we got closer, I saw that they were easing every second car back, creating a small, winding open space between them, just large enough that I could maneuver the Rover through. There was no one sitting behind the wheels of the cars—and, come to think of it, I didn’t hear any engines rumbling—so they must have been remotely operated somehow. Guess that’s what you got when you had too many geeks in one closed-off space.

Beyond the barrier the trenches continued, left and right of the road, leaving just enough space for two cars to pass each other. And beyond that, where there used to be nothing but grass and wildflowers, was a more or less orderly campground, with several wooden sheds in various stages of being built. It wasn’t as chaotic as Dispatch, but there were easily a hundred cars scattered across the former meadow, with tents and fire pits between them. Ahead, two more roads cut through the multicolored sea, converging on the familiar patch of tarmac ahead. A good section of the small forest we’d come through last time was gone now, obviously providing the wood for the new buildings.