Feral

Chapter Twelve

Atticus never thought he'd be back here. Entering Kansas was hard enough, once  out, he promised himself he'd keep as far away as he could, and once he stepped onto plains soil in search of the cure he promised he'd never return to the backwards part of the state he was currently leading the cure and her annoying duo of hapless boobs through. It wasn't where it'd all started for him. Those cards were drawn years before, an entire lifetime before coming to Kansas, before even the outbreak, when he'd been naive enough to think he would make it so long as he kept fighting against the rest of the world. None of that blindness was left in him now. But Kansas held too much of a different him. Of what he'd become once he'd been stripped of everything left.

But this was bigger than him, so he sucked it up, and came back to the only option he could think of to get this cure back to her labs.

Supposedly.

He didn't know if the rumours were true, or if he believed them. When he was honest with himself, he didn't think much of it, didn't spend hours agonizing over it like others he'd known. During his time in prison, then with the Scavengers, and then with Rogers and Jones after that, nothing but a pack on his back and time to think, he'd heard many different retellings of the girl with the cure in her veins; She'd been born with it. She was a government engineered experiment. She'd escaped from a bunker in Area 51. She'd gotten bitten and it screwed up her blood. She was a cancer survivor and the chemo messed her up inside. The worst he'd heard, she was an alien, so human rabies only made her stronger due to her extraterrestrial sensitivities.

Atticus looked at Paige as she trudged through the grass ahead of him, chatting amiably with Jasper. Probably something along the lines of ice cream sandwich sizes or where SPAM really came from. Jasper screamed of those deluded nutbags who thought SPAM stood for Sliced. Processed. Alien. Meat.

Did he think Paige was an alien?

If she's an alien, she's definitely from Venus, Atticus thought grudgingly. Those rumours could have mentioned she was a loud mouthed, spoiled, pesky Princess who attracted trouble worse than spilled soda brought ants. But the rumours could have said she was a hobbit or a giant talking tree for all he cared. She was with him now, and he was the only person who would see her to that Facility in Louisiana.

They'd left Anthony eight days ago, their process slow in the beginning, his injuries taking their sweet time to heal. Too many people used roads, and now, with everything but Adam's pistol was gone, they were too vulnerable. Paige countered his decision to stay off raods with the annoying point that trampling through the grass would slow them down and leave a trail. He'd bitten down on the impulse to call her Princess and whatever else came to mind, and calmly explained why his plan was better. When she remained difficult, he reminded her he was the only one who knew the direction they needed to go to reach his friend, and he would lead them how he damn well pleased.

She'd shut up after that, and he suffered his grass stains and bug bites in triumphant, mildly uncomfortable silence. The wading did slow them down, and when Travis nearly turned his ankle on a hidden rock, Atticus almost reconsidered. But he'd won this one and he wasn't letting it go. She had two arguments on him already, three if he counted the dumb dog. They'd walk his way or limp quickly.

Adam shuffled to walk beside him, his pale eyes on the three ahead of them. "You're set on this idea?"

"We're practically on his doorstep and you pick now to open your mouth?" Atticus didn't take his eyes off the path ahead. "You have a better one?"

"No," Adam said, singularly and calm.

Atticus' scowl deepened. Ever since they'd escaped the Scavengers it seemed Adam didn't tread so lightly around him as he used to. Jasper tried to talk to him about his stupid theories on prison slave labour rights. Travis kept trying to get him to pet his dumb dog. It all felt chummy and he didn't like it. He didn't have time for chummy. He despised the idea they were giving him pity wins because he got his ass-kicked to keep them from getting caught. If they wanted to apologise they could start by acting like capable human beings. The ass kicking wouldn't be necessary.