Resurgence: Green Fields book 5 (46 page)

Sam joined us about half an hour later, her hair still dripping wet from when she must have washed herself. I could relate—and was burning to get her alone somewhere to ask her what the fuck this shit was all about—but before she could even take the freshly vacated seat across from me, one of the other women hissed at her.

“Not again! I keep telling you, you’ll never get pregnant if you always wash it away right after!”

Now that sounded promising.

Sam stiffened but ignored the reprimand in favor of taking her seat and letting Mary hand her a bowl of stew.

“I’m not stupid,” she replied haughtily, giving the woman who had spoken a brief look. “I cleaned myself, but I made sure not to get anywhere close. Just the spills. God knows that I won’t ever get pregnant from that one if he keeps coming all over my ass—“

A shushing sound from Mary was enough for Sam to fall silent and dig in, but she didn’t look like she even tasted the stew. The other woman looked properly cowed as well, but wasn’t done yet.

“Do you keep taking your vitamins? We know that some women have trouble conceiving, but it has been five months and you haven’t missed a day, even once.”

Sam paused so she could give a curt nod, looking everywhere but at me. I forced myself to drop my gaze and glare at the stew rather than at her.

“Of course she does,” Mary interjected. “I always make sure that all my girls take their vitamins.”

That concluded that conversation, and the moment Mary got up, everyone else but Sam and me left. Mary hesitated a moment, but when Sam gave her a nod to go, she strode purposefully out of the room. Most people were done with eating by now, a few women lingering to clear the tables. I didn’t know how to start so I helped myself to more stew. Sam gave me a somewhat incredulous look as she watched me finish that off before she pushed what remained of her portion at me as well.

“I don’t get how you can stay that skinny if you eat that insane amount of food,” she offered, trying herself at a smile but falling short by miles.

“And I don’t get how you can let anyone badger you into having sex when you so obviously don’t want to,” I whispered back, making sure that no one else could overhear us.

As I’d expected, my words didn’t sit well with her, but she didn’t go off in my face like I deserved.

“You don’t understand,” was all she said, shushing me when I opened my mouth. “I’ll explain later. Now eat up. We don’t have a curfew but it’s better if we don’t stay out much past sundown.”

I did as she said, once more not unhappy that I didn’t taste anything. Like this, shoveling stew into my mouth in the most mechanical way didn’t need much persuasion. As soon as I was done, Sam picked up the dishes and brought them over to where they were cleaned in a huge tub of soapy water, alleviating some of my fears. At the very least I wouldn’t accidentally infect someone—at least not with my saliva, left on a spoon or cup. As for a possible other option—I didn’t have it in me to care if it happened in a different way that someone else might instigate.

We headed back to the building where I’d slept the day away, but rather than go inside, Sam walked around to the very back of it where a narrow set of stairs led up onto the top-most floor, which was barely more than a small platform directly underneath the eaves of the slanted roof, open on all sides. Turning away from what remained visible of the setting sun, I let my eyes get accustomed to the gathering darkness as I looked around, from the high vantage point easily seeing miles upon miles of prairie that I’d run through this morning. I thought I could even make out the last village that I’d dragged myself through, just before first light had turned to true dawn.
 

Sam’s loud exhale told me that she was ready to talk, even though she looked apprehensive as hell. “You don’t have to explain, if you don’t want to,” I told her before she could start. “It’s your life. I don’t need to understand.”

She shook her head, as if to negate a statement that I hadn’t even made.

“It’s not what you think,” she said.

“So you don’t have a thing going on here where you trade sexual favors with the guards in exchange for them guarding your village?” I guessed, incapable of keeping the scorn out of my voice. Yeah, me not being judgmental, not going to happen this century, however bad I might still be feeling about Erica and her whore of a mother. “Oh, and of course you dress it up as some kind of ‘women needing to get knocked up for the sake of the propagation of the species’ thing.”

Sam gave me a sharp look that had way too much agreement in it not to turn what she actually said into a lie. “You don’t understand. We have an obligation to bear children.”

“Bullshit,” I ground out. She gave me a scandalized look that made me sigh. “Seriously. Me watching my language is that important, compared to you getting raped—“

“No one is forcing me to!” she hissed out, chuffing when I was ready to object. “Do I like it? No. But it’s not that bad. I’m mostly indifferent to it. I just cannot stand that guy—“

“John!” I called out when my memory finally made the connection.

Sam gave me a weirded-out look. “Why do you know his name?” Suspicion followed. “Do you know him?”

I quickly shook my head, trying to salvage the situation. “Someone mentioned it in passing.” This of course didn’t explain my outburst, but Sam let it slide.

“Just stay away from him. He’s an idiot. Most of the others are nicer. They know that I don’t… and they usually make sure that it doesn’t take too long. Two of them even tried to do it in a cup and let me try… you know. Myself. But when I didn’t get pregnant it was decided that the…” She snorted as she cast around for words. “Mode of application was likely to fault. So now it’s good old-fashioned intercourse.” Another pause followed as she looked down at her steepled hands. “I wish I’d just get pregnant. I don’t mind having a baby. It’s just making one that I don’t much care for.” Her eyes flitted to me, the look of hope in them slaying me. “I always wanted to have kids, remember? The baby would be all mine. I’d finally have someone to care for again, someone who needs me and loves me—“

The sadness in her voice was so profound that I couldn’t help myself. I hugged her, gathering her close, pulling her head down to my shoulder like I used to do. She didn’t embrace me but also didn’t shy away, letting me lend her comfort until the pain had ebbed. Even then she seemed reluctant to break the contact, making me ache in a different way.

“You could go to a different town,” I suggested softly, trying to not make an ass of myself. “I’m sure they will be happy to welcome you everywhere. Somewhere where no one pushes you to do something you don’t like. Where maybe you’ll find someone else who’ll love you, too.” For a second I wondered if I should try setting her up with Jaimie—but then I would never be able to get anywhere near Dispatch again or the combined wrath of them would rain down on me like a fiery apocalypse. “And if you still want a baby, I bet there’ll be lots of happy sperm donors lining up to help you with the turkey baster.”

A laugh burst out of her that was so typically her that it made me both smile and want to cry. She was still chortling under her breath as she shook her head.

“I couldn’t,” she replied.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m special.” Oh, she was, but before I could protest she forestalled me with a raised hand. “I haven’t told you the rest yet. I do have an obligation. Not to the guards, or anyone else here. To humanity, as a whole.”

“I don’t understand—“

“I’m immune,” she whispered, then quickly spoke on when she saw the frown on my forehead. “All of us are. Well, the younger women, at least. They tested us. We can’t get infected. And there’s a good chance that our children will be, too. You used to study this stuff. You probably know better than me—“

“Sam, there is no natural immunity against the virus,” I said, my voice losing volume as I spoke.

Of course she ignored me. “How would you know?” she exclaimed, her voice that special kind of sharp that told me that she wouldn’t listen to any protest I could bring up. “You’re just a trader. The people who said so, they are scientists. They tested us. That’s why we are here, being kept safe. They are making sure that we have everything we need—shelter, good food, doctors and nurses when we need medical attention. It would have been highly irresponsible not to help, but they gave me a choice. I chose this. Do you understand?”

Oh, yes, I understood. Enough so that I felt my body start to shake and my mind begin to scream, but I forced both down with a deep exhale.

“Why are there no children here? Or pregnant women?” I asked—and this time it was me who didn’t want to hear the answer.

“They are in another village, silly,” she explained with an offhand gesture. “They have special needs compared to us. Whenever one of us is pregnant, they bring her there.”

Staring into the deeper darkness I couldn’t suppress the shudder running through me. I knew exactly where that destination was—somewhere out there, beyond those low hills I could see in the distance.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe what she told me was the truth. Maybe—

But I knew that it wasn’t. It all made too much sense. The guards who all, from what I’d seen, looked exceptionally fit, and very, oh so very eager to impregnate anything on two legs with a womb. I was sure that if I asked, Sam would tell me that they were on rotation, too, to maximize the possible gene pool. And she would have a story for why they never heard from any of the future mothers again.

“It’s so typical of you to react like that,” she said, tearing me out of my glum considerations. I frowned at her, not getting what she meant, earning myself a heavy sigh. “You’ve always been so condescending when someone made a choice you didn’t like,” she accused. “I know that my situation is maybe not ideal, but it’s a lot better than that of many others.” Meaning me, that much was obvious.

“It’s not that—“ I tried to explain, my mind failing to come up with a good explanation. Not that she would hear it.

“You’re such a hypocrite,” she hissed. It was obvious that she was still mad at me for my admission that I’d betrayed her. “You can’t even admit that you’re wrong when you’re literally about to die from starvation! Why should I leave the safety of our town here? So what if I have to have sex with some men even if I don’t like it? It’s a small price to pay for being part of a bigger cause. What are you part of? You’re just as selfish as you always were. I already forgot about that, but now it’s all coming back to me. Just because you choose to live a meaningless life when we, as women, have a responsibility to bear children and make sure that we don’t die out—“

I was hard pressed not to laugh in her face—her words were too close to what I’d said to Ethan, down in that damn cell—but it would have been a harsh sound.

“It’s not that,” I insisted, swallowing my misgivings. I wasn’t selfish. Or hadn’t been, not to her. Not in our relationship. It had always been all about her. Right?

“Then, pray tell, what is it?” she harped, glaring at me.
 

I swallowed the impulse to say what I actually needed to say, and tell her every single gruesome detail of what I knew was going on here—and would happen to her should she manage to get knocked up. She would likely not believe me. But I had something else I could use to explain my behavior, and that was what I used now.

“I had a miscarriage. Five weeks ago. And every time anyone mentions a woman getting pregnant, or I see children playing and laughing somewhere, I get reminded of that. That I lost my baby. And there’s a damn good chance that I won’t be able to have another.”

If not for my stellar low-light vision I wouldn’t have been able to see every detail of how her face fell, how her mood changed from anger to sympathy, and how she wished she could eat her own words. I felt bad for her—she didn’t deserve that—but part of me disagreed. Maybe she had a point about me being selfish. It was a low blow that I delivered, but the only I could think of.

“Bree, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her hand partly obscuring her mouth. “I didn’t know… why didn’t you tell me… oh God! And there I go prattling on and on—“

“It’s okay,” I told her, taking her hand in mine and squeezing lightly. “It’s okay. I know. And I didn’t tell you because it hurts, so fucking much.” Exhaling slowly, I waited for her to reprimand me, but apparently, losing a child excused you from using clean language. “It’s still hard to talk about it, you know?” She nodded, her bottom lip quivering. Just great. The last thing I needed was for her to start crying now. “Just pretend I didn’t say anything, okay? But now you know.”

She kept nodding, and after a few seconds she got a grip on herself again.

We remained sitting there in silence, staring out into the dark night for what felt like ages. Sam drew my attention back to her when she cleared her throat.

“Can I ask… about it? You don’t need to. I understand if you don’t want to talk. It’s just…” She gave me a hopeful look that I shouldn’t have been able to see.

“Sure,” I lied. Talking was the last thing on my mind—but considering that my thoughts tried to snap back to that cell and what had happened around me there, talking about what had until then been my least favorite experience in life was somewhat of a relief.

“Is it connected to… how you got that scar on her hip?” she asked, her voice soft. I nodded. No sense in lying about that. “It wasn’t an animal attack like you said, right?”