Green Fields (Book 4): Extinction (31 page)

Because we’d exited the lake close to the tower, our way back to our camp led us right by the Girls again. Jaymie heaved a theatrical sigh and called a sweet, “Can’t compete with that, sorry,” after us. I felt Nate’s chest shake with suppressed laughter.

He let me slide down once we’d made it back to our car, his hand lingering a moment longer on my lower back.

“I could get used to this, you know?” I commented, smiling softly.

“Yeah, don’t,” he advised, drawing an exasperated sigh from me.

“Well, then you won’t object to me taking a long, hot shower alone?”

That made him pause, and I had to smile at his considering look. “Grab your spare clothes and hop back on,” he said. That was exactly what I did. Very convenient, that man.

I would have loved to spend the next few hours catching up on the sleep I hadn’t gotten last night, but the sun wasn’t even halfway to its zenith when Nate shooed me out of the relative shade of the tarp that Martinez and I had suspended between the cars, telling me to get ready. For what? The shooting range, of course. Because a bad headache was no excuse not to go check out some new guns. With “check out” he of course meant “shoot enough ammo until you’re stupid from pain.” How I managed to even hit a single target was beyond me, but in the end my aim wasn’t that bad, all things considered. Ruth—the woman Jason had told me about the day before—seemed used to her clients showing up more dead than alive, booze obviously taking priority over weapon mods. Andrej, Pia, and Nate gave her a run for her money—or near-endless scavenging points, rather—but she still took her time explaining the advantages of the different sniper rifles to me that she had me try. Two of them I might have selected, but mostly to spite Nate and his constant complaints I refused, instead getting new sights for my Beretta, two heavily modified shotguns, and the M4 carbine Pia refused to take back once she’d pressed it into my hands. I had to admit, I wasn’t doing too shabbily with it.

As it was, Rita had to drop by just as I started getting comfortable with my new weapon, the hits not living up to my previous ones with more familiar weapons. Of course she couldn’t walk in on me practically pulverizing the target with the shotguns. Her smirk mostly made me mad at myself, though. I had nothing whatsoever to prove to that woman. Nothing.

Once Nate was satisfied with my selection, he let me trot off again, but rather than return to the cars, I took a lazy stroll through the markets again, but avoided the pastry stall. I’d successfully managed to hold down a piece of fresh bread. There was no sense in pushing it. It was on my way back toward the runway when I noticed a small camp inside the tent city reaching up to the command center. The tarps were of the permanent kind, suspended from high beams and lashed down securely to withstand much stronger winds than the light breeze teasing my bare neck today. A battery of generators stood to one side of the camp, and if I wasn’t entirely mistaken, they were connected to the solar panels slapped onto the roof of the adjacent building. As I drew closer, I saw that they didn’t just have an entire bank of laptops set up next to each other, but also a large screen suspended above that looked so strange to me after not seeing any electric gear that I kept staring at it for far longer than warranted. The satellite dishes also fixed to the roof almost paled in comparison to that.

The guys—not a woman in sight, very stereotypically so—fit the nerd mold so perfectly that they seemed even more out of place than their gear. Funny slogans on T-shirts. Unpractical shorts and sneakers. Only one of them had a gun holster strapped to his hip, but didn’t look fit enough to be able to outrun a zombie for a mile, let alone get away clear. Most of the people in Dispatch had accumulated a healthy tan by now, but they looked unhealthily pale to me. Yet it wasn’t them or their gear that drew me closer, but the inherent promise of communication. Because if I wasn’t terribly mistaken, I was sure that from this setup here, they could likely contact every single remaining scientist in this world.

Now I just had to decide whether I wanted to do that, or not. Decisions, decisions.

I must have spent too much time staring into space as one of the resident geeks noticed me, hailing me with a somewhat belligerent look on his face. “No free TV here. You’ll likely want the guys next door.” I raised my brows at him. “The hangar, you know? You’re one of the trader floozies, right?”

This certainly was the first time anyone had ever referred to me like this, but I found it greatly amusing that, unlike the woman at the pastry stall, he immediately—and dismissively—put me into the wrong category.
 

“Not here for that, thanks,” I answered with about the same level of enthusiasm in my voice as his had held. Rather than give him the time of day, I focused on the big screen and the diagrams displayed there. I had to admit, it all still looked like they could be working on their cure. I just didn’t buy it any longer.
 

The guy got up to his considerable height, but I still wasn’t impressed. The display on the screen changed, and for a second I thought he’d blacked it out just to spite me, but then two new windows appeared. Video conference windows, I realized belatedly. So they didn’t just have satellite reception, but real-time, face-to-face communications—straight out of a sci-fi movie, nowadays.

“Step aside, please,” one of the other geeks said, while the grumpy one continued to glower at me.

“Yeah. We have important business to conduct. Goes way over your thug brains.”

From the corner of my eye I saw a third video conference window appear, and I couldn't help but smirk when I recognized Ethan’s face. He’d been practically glued to my side in those few days in Aurora, at their lab. So much for playing guessing games who was involved with this.

“Howdy, folks,” one of the other guys from the conference call said, his drawl so fake that I guessed he’d never even been to Texas, let alone came from there. His eyes quickly flitted from the geeks to me, a somewhat shrewd look—but without recognition in it—coming to his face. “You got reinforcements, I see?”

Grumpy talked right over anything I could have offered. Not that I tried; just seeing him flounder around me was way too much fun to deprive myself of that spectacle.

“She’s not with us!” he said, offended. “She just walked up to us, five minutes ago, and since then she’s been staring at the screens and generally making a nuisance of herself.”

I shrugged at his accusations. “That’s my new goal in life.”

His eyes narrowed. I didn’t miss that the others behind him, and on the video wall, looked quite amused by his antics.
 

“What are you even doing here? You can’t possibly think to understand any of this. This is science.”

“And because I’m a woman I can’t possibly comprehend such grave man-stuff, eh?” I replied.

He let out a dismissive sound. “Nah. Because you’re a dumb knuckle dragger you don’t.”

I couldn’t help but look sideways at Ethan. Oh, he had recognized me, and was biting his cheek right now to keep silent. The other guy had noticed Ethan’s reaction, scrutinizing me more closely now. “You seem familiar. What’s your name?”

“She’s no one,” Grumpy complained.
 

That made me smile. “I’m annoying you, so clearly, I must be someone.” To the screen I explained, “I’m Bree. Co-leader of the Lucky Thirteen.” If I might have made sure that my tattooed hand was the one on top when I crossed my arms over my chest, it was pure coincidence.
 

No one seemed particularly impressed by my credentials, but the other geek gave Grumpy a sideways look that let me know that he, at least, knew it was kind of an insult to call us scavengers traders. Not that I felt personally offended, but that guy was just weird.

“See? Knuckle dragger,” Grumpy offered.

“Stop making an ass of yourself, Sanders,” the video conference guy advised before he turned his attention back to me. “I’m Dominic Curran from the Silo, but everyone calls me Dom. That over there are Stu from Coulter, and Ethan from—“

“Aurora,” I interjected. “We’ve met.”

Dom’s brows furrowed before his face evened out. “You’re that chick Ethan’s been unable to shut up about. From—“

“The video,” I finished for him. Turning to Sanders—Grumpy—I gave him a dazzling smile. “I don’t know what your credentials are, but mine are a PhD in virology. I probably outrank all of you where my science street cred is concerned.”

“Not quite,” Dom corrected me. “I hold a PhD in microbiology. But yeah, Sanders only has one year of undergrad chemistry. But then you look like you could wipe the floor with him even if you’d never set foot in a lab.”

“Gee, you say the sweetest things,” I acknowledged with a grin, ignoring Sanders’s frown. “So I see you guys all have your cozy network set up here?”

Ethan had the grace to look a little guilty, but I didn’t hold it against him that his people had been a lot less forward with sharing information with me than they had let on. That just lent more credibility to my paranoia, of course.

“Good to see you again,” Ethan said, actually sounding sincere.
 

“You too.” That much I owed him. The pause that followed was a little awkward, but gave me the perfect excuse to move on. “Lucky that I found you guys here. You see, I have a few questions, and maybe one of you fine gentlemen can answer them for me?”

Sanders gave up and beat it to one of the other workstations, from where he continued to glower at me. Ethan looked a little cautious still, but Dom and Stu seemed all ears.

“Sure. What’s up?” Dom asked.

“You see, we’ve had quite the interesting week around Harristown—“

Dom snorted. “You got blacklisted for that, right? Read something about it in the weekly update.”

“See how much I care about that,” I said, giving him a toothy smile. “Fact is, we had a really tough time taking care of some of the super juiced ones this time around. Anything you guys can contribute to that?”

Of course I didn’t know the others as well as Ethan—and how well did I actually know him stood to reason—but I was met with identical looks of guileless concern.

“Define ‘tough time,’ please,” Dom said. Apparently the moniker we’d given those zombies didn’t need an explanation.

“They were faster, for one thing. That’s enough to make them a menace.” I debated how much else to tell them. “We also found a normal one, a fresh one, with extensive needle marks in his neck and arm.”

Dom was the only one seeming alarmed about that, making me trust him just a little more. “As in from sample taking?” he guessed.

I nodded. “Can’t be sure, of course, but he had restraint marks on his wrists and ankles. Doesn’t look like he played the voluntary guinea pig, if that’s what happened. No way to know, of course.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me,” Stu interjected, speaking up for the first time. “No offense,” he added to me. “But what you’re really saying is that you think someone deliberately turned him to track the time course, right?”
 

Clearly, Stu was a bright cookie, and had some background in scientific analysis at the very least.
 

“Probably an unlucky coincidence,” Ethan offered. “Like, he was infected when he got to a town with a lab, and they made the best of it. Whether he wanted, or not.”

“Yeah, consent is such a hot commodity these days,” I jeered, my fingers itching to scratch at my neck mark again. Although, in all fairness, I’d had the choice, even if it hadn’t been a tough one for me.
 

“But none of you knows anything about this? So he wasn’t from your town?” I asked.

Three heads shook in unison. I wondered what to say next when I saw them focus on something behind me. A glance over my shoulder made me smirk as Nate stepped up to me, scrutinizing the setup with a quick look but not commenting on it.

“Did you ask them about the tech yet?” he wanted to know.

So much for whether we’d keep that under wraps.

“No.” Turning back to the guys, I focused on Dom’s face, but with no idea where the camera was that picked up my image, I could have been staring at anyone. “We also found some kind of device affixed to one of the juiced zombies. We think it was a tracker.”

“Affixed?” Stu asked.

“It was wearing a vest,” I explained. “That shit also seemed to attract the normal zombies around him. Still think that’s a coincidence?”

I didn’t miss the sidelong look Ethan gave someone or something off-camera, but he sounded sincere when he replied that he had no clue whatsoever. Stu followed, while Dom mulled that over.

“Honestly, I wouldn’t know how that should work. Do you still have that device? I presume you took it with you?”

Nate replied. “We did. My guess is that it emits some kind of frequency that’s too low or high for humans to perceive.”

Dom took that in with a nod. “Would you guys mind dropping that off with us?” he asked.
 

“If you tell us where ‘us’ is?” Nate inquired.

“The Silo,” Dom said, not without pride. “Ask Tamara to plot you a course to us. You should be here within five days or so.” He paused, contemplating for a moment. “Think you guys could do me a favor?”

“Depends on what you want,” Nate said before I could. I tried not to look too annoyed at that, portraying unity and all that jazz.

“Do you think you could hunt us down one of those more resilient ones? Doesn’t have to be a live one, of course.”

I was surprised when Nate eyed me askance. That sounded way more like a decision he had to make, rather than me. I shrugged before I looked back to the screen.

“It’s probably easier if you just tell me what you need for sample collection. We’d have to dismember it anyway to make sure it doesn’t rear up again and chomps through our cargo hold. I for one wouldn’t mind not having half my car reek of dead guy.” Realistically, it would end up in the Jeep with Andrej and Pia, not with us where it could still, theoretically, infect me.

Dom looked a little disturbed at my inquiry. Apparently, this microbiologist didn’t do much dissecting in his spare time.