Beyond Green Fields #5 - Survive: A post-apocalyptic anthology by Adrienne Lecter

Author:Adrienne Lecter [Lecter, Adrienne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-02-04T22:00:00+00:00

Hero

Hero: “Don’t be a hero. You know that heroes get killed.” But does she listen? This woman will be the death of me. - Nate's POV, later half of GF#2: Outbreak

Hero

What annoys me the most about the zombie apocalypse? That would probably be the water situation. Sure, we lucked out, starting it all off with a sporting goods store mostly untouched, meaning we have actual water filters and don’t have to use some threadbare cloth for the purpose, but what exactly do you want to filtrate when two-thirds of all sources of fresh water have something dead in them? And hot, bottled water only tastes tolerable when you’re already neck-deep in dehydration.

I’m sure we all have our own personal gripes. Romanoff won’t shut up about us needing to hit larger towns so he can replenish his booze stash—what for, I have no idea, but his suggestions have started to become an inside joke between him, Zilinsky, and me. Burns is jumpy as fuck because our ammo stores are, at best, at half of what they should be, and we carry zero explosives. I’m not sure what Martinez is more vexed about—the fact that he has less than a handful of Tylenol, or that we don’t go out of our way to change that. I think Bates is about to shit a brick if he has to eat animal chow one more time. Half of them are starting to complain because it’s been a month of daily, overly long marches, and it’s obvious that even more of them are wrestling with some kind of withdrawal—nicotine being the least of it and easy to replenish. Surprisingly, Bree is the only one not constantly complaining about something—with Zilinsky being the obvious exception. I’d love to chalk it up to women being a tad more resilient, but the day Zilinsky complains about anything is the day I’m ready to hang up my guns for good, and Bree is still too scared anyone will dismiss her as fragile and whiny. Half of the time I’m feeling ever so slightly guilty for reinforcing those beliefs, but mostly I’m glad she doesn’t need a babysitter all the time anymore.

I’d much appreciate it if she stopped thinking that celibacy is a part of her new life regime, but I’m afraid I’m partly to blame for that as well. Maybe even two thirds.

A moment’s distraction thinking about that juicy ass I’d really like to grab right now is enough, and Zilinsky’s kick hits my left thigh perfectly, unbalancing me. Never one to miss an opening when it presents itself, she follows up with a punch—squarely into the knot of new scar tissue on my upper torso. I fold as the pain exploding through my chest is unbearable for a few seconds straight, and if I’d tried to resist, her next kick would have punched my lights out—at least for a little while. When I’m able to straighten and breathe again, Zilinsky is staring at me, a disappointed frown on her face.

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