Genesis (6 page)

Cooper simply ignored William and placed
the tray on the small table in front of the sofa, then sat back down in his
chair and addressed William as if he had heard none of his pleading for release.

“The tea needs a moment to develop full
flavor,” Cooper began to explain to William, but was interrupted by a loud and
urgent knock at the door.

“Right on time. With all those things
hunting out there, imagine the odds of that. Astronomical if you think of it. If
you will excuse me for a moment, I need to get the door. There are quite a few
of those things out there, and more keep arriving each hour. I would hate to
keep a lady waiting.”

“Who is it?”

Cooper said nothing, just patted his
revolver in his holster and motioned for William to keep quiet. Then he left
the room to answer the door. From where he was chained to the fireplace,
William could not see into the foyer, but he could hear what was happening.

“Hurry, come in. Wow, you look amazing.”

“Holy shit, it’s crazy out there. I’ve
never seen anything like it before,” a woman’s voice replied. William tried to
match the voice against any of the possible women Cooper was known to associate
with at the time, according to the file, but came up blank. It almost sounded
like….but that was impossible. He would know in a minute anyway, as they were
coming his way.

“You followed my instructions to the letter,
I hope?” Cooper asked.

“Yes, of course, I always do honey…” he
could hear the woman reply. William thought he noticed her words slur just
slightly, but couldn’t be sure. It could be a regional dialect. It was familiar
in a haunting way. But there was no way that was possible…

Cooper entered the room followed by *Ilsa,
a woman William did not need to be introduced to. She was trying to disguise
her voice, but it was her. He was familiar with her file as well although it
had been years since he last even gave her a thought. Why was she here? What
was she doing? She was dressed like some sort of high-class prostitute from the
1940s. Maybe she was finally living up to her full potential, he thought.

“Allow me to introduce you two.” Cooper
said as he ushered Ilsa into the center of the room.

“Hello,” William said, looking Ilsa in the
eye.

“Handcuffs. Kinky. I like it.” Isla either
did not recognize William after all of these years, or she did not want Cooper
to know that they knew each other. William was unsure, but played along. He had
walked into the middle of something; it would be best to see how it played out.
Besides, he was chained to the fireplace. What option did he really have?

Cooper ignored Ilsa’s remark and introduced
her to William.

“Ilsa, this person claims to be one of the
United States Marshals that are assigned to protect me. If that’s true, then as
you can see, he is not very good at his job.”

“You have U.S. Marshals assigned to protect
you? Ilsa asked, a look of concern suddenly crossing her face.

“Yes, I do. I have had them for some time. For
protection. Does that surprise you, Ilsa?”

“To be honest, a little. I never noticed
them, and you never seemed to want to use protection before.” Cooper and Ilsa
shared a private laugh. “But if he’s going to join us, it’s going to cost you
extra.”

The Ilsa that William knew was a whore, but
not a prostitute. Interesting twist, William thought to himself.

“No, he won’t be joining us. But please,
before we go upstairs, do sit down. I made us some tea.” Cooper handed the
poisoned cup of tea to Ilsa.

“There is nothing like a good cup of tea. In
fact, I can get a little crazy without my caffeine.”

“Perfect. Thank you,” said Ilsa. She
paused.

“So, can I ask why he’s in handcuffs if he
is not going to be joining us?” A coy smile played across her lips.

“Well, that’s sort of complicated. In
short, suffice to say, he is in handcuffs because he is not who he says he is,”
replied Cooper.

“I am a United States Marshal, Protective
Services Division, Special Operations.” The handcuffs rattled against the chair
as William struggled to sit up straighter.

“So he says,”

“Are you in the Witness Protection
Program?” Ilsa asked.

“Something like that.” Cooper playfully added,
“Although as you can clearly see, I can handle the protection department just
fine on my own.”

Ilsa set her teacup down and began digging
through her purse.

“Problem?” Dr. Cooper asked.

“I’m getting a headache.”

Ilsa eventually pulled out a small bottle
of aspirin, but she hid the pills she dumps into her hand and sorted them, shielding
her actions from both William and Cooper, eventually selecting one, and taking
it.

There was silence in the room for a few
moments, all except the sound of the ticking clock on the mantel, whose
presence in the room is always known, ticking, ticking, ticking away.

“So, what’s his story?” Isla asked,
motioning to the chained William on the floor.

“Do you want the long version or the short
one?” Cooper asks in return.

“You tell me; you’re the one paying.”

Cooper is very reflective for a moment.
“Indeed I am.”

“Well, if he’s not a United States Marshal,
then who is he?”

“Well, at first I thought he was a variable,”
Cooper replied.

“A what?” Ilsa looked confused.

“A variable. You know, a value that may
change within the scope of a given problem or set of operations. It’s the
opposite of a constant. Think of it sort of like a side effect if it helps. But
then, I think to myself, he has this badge, and all these lies that go with it.
And he knows my name. He has to be Agency.”

“Agency?” She frowned.

“Office of Strategic Services, CIA,
Homeland Security, Graywater, United Fruit Company, does it really matter what
they are calling themselves these days?”

“Who is he then?”

“It doesn’t matter who he is. All that
matters is that he is not who he says he is.”

Ilsa asked the most obvious question next:
“Ok, but if you have U.S. Marshals protecting you, then why is it so hard to
believe that they might send this guy to bring you someplace safe?”

“Because I have a special arrangement with
the United States Attorneys’ Office. I know all of the Marshals that are
assigned to me because I hand pick each and every one of them. I review and
approve the file of every person that gets to see my case. It is a verbal
clause, special and unique to my particular case. They are never, under any
circumstances, to send anyone to this residence without my prior knowledge and
approval.” Cooper turned directly to William. “They never have, and they never
would.”

“You don’t know me because I am not
assigned to you. I told you, it’s a mess out there. Many of the agents are not
reporting in. They are heading home to be with their own families. Most
everyone has given up. I was just the closest agent when the request went out
to pick you up.” William tried to explain.

Cooper cut him off. “That request is
something that would never happen. You are a very convincing liar, whoever you are.”

“I don’t know Coop, it sorta seems legit to
me. It really is a mess out there. Maybe we should un-cuff him before we get
into trouble,” Isla reasoned.

“Before we get into trouble? Are you
fucking for real? You are trapped on a small round rock hurtling through the
vacuum of space with a growing cancer on it that views you as its primary food
source. Oh yeah, and you are seven weeks pregnant. An event perfectly timed to
coincide with the end of the industrial world and civilization in general. For
fuck’s sake Ilsa, I don’t know how the rest of your days normally go, but take
it from me, you’re already in fucking trouble!” Cooper turns his rant to
William. “And so are you! I know factually that you are not a U.S. Marshal, and
showing up here pretending to be one can only mean one thing!”

“I’m telling you the truth,” William
pleaded.

“Sorry, son. I happen to know otherwise.”

“Ok, so let’s pretend he is not a U.S.
Marshal,” said Ilsa. “So then, what are you going to do with him?”

“We don’t have to pretend. If anyone
arrives on my property without my advance knowledge, I am to do two things. The
first is to push this.” Cooper revealed a small panic button on a necklace
hidden under his shirt. “Done. Quite some time ago.”

“What does it do?”

“At this point, probably nothing.” Cooper
turns to William and mocks him. “But one can have faith.”

“And second?” Isla asked.

“After that, I am to use my best
discretion. I can either lock myself into my safe room in the attic, or I can
resolve the situation myself.”

“Resolve the situation?”

“I think we sort of left that part vague
for a reason,” Cooper replied, just as a clock began to chime in another room. “There
you have it. Time waits for no man. Honey, you can head upstairs. There’s some
champagne on ice, and we can start the party as soon as I get there. I just
need to wrap a few things up down here with our guest.”

Ilsa got up and started to leave the room,
pausing briefly in front of William, then turned to Cooper and asked, “You’re
not going to hurt him, are you?”

“No,” Cooper replied. “I won’t hurt him.”

Ilsa left the room without looking back. Cooper
turned his attention to William, pulling a small syringe out of a case on the
table. “Don’t worry, asshole; this won’t kill you. I’ve got a party to go to
upstairs, and you’re not invited. Can’t have you messing about down here while
I’m messing about up there.” Cooper stuck the needle into William’s neck, and
the fog began to deliver him into darkness once more.

The rain did not last long, but that was fine with
Che. The cool drops of rain falling on his naked body had felt amazing for the
first few minutes as it cleaned the filth from his skin, but once wet, his lean,
muscular body quickly became chilled. The light wind that was blowing dried
him, but the night had been left cool by the passing thunderstorm, and the
chill from the wind only made it more so. But still, even being cold, Che was
thankful for the wind more than anything.

The wind was absolutely critical in hunting
the walkers and runners, and if Che had to name the single most common deficit
amongst the fighters in the Resistance who repeatedly fell short of their full
potential on hunts, it would have to be their ignorance of the many ways that
the wind can hinder or help them in their hunting sessions.

Perfectly calm outdoor air is actually a
quite rare occurrence, and scents drift, linger, and flow with the winds.
Sometimes they prevail in one direction, and other times they ebb and flow like
the tide, with complicated currents based on the geography of the area.

Che believed that no matter whether these
things turned out to be alive, dead, or something in between, no matter how
sensitive a nose he was dealing with, it would be physically impossible to
smell any free floating scent or odor upwind of its source. Regardless, even
though he was freshly cleaned from the cool spring shower, Che stopped at a mud
hole and began to liberally apply mud and grime to his body. He rubbed the wet
dirt and mud onto his skin until it covered him completely, until once again he
smelled like the depths of the Earth he had just emerged from.

If all was going according to plan, then
someone would have laid a trail of blood and body parts from the town leading
up to the mountain for those things to follow, but the rain had most likely
washed away any chance of those things being able to follow the blood trail up
the mountain, so he would need to get closer to town if he wanted to find one
soon. Che started heading down the trail in the direction he knew they would be
coming from and figured it would only be a matter of time before he ran into
one. The wind was favorable to his intended direction, and he was making good
time.

Not that anyone was out and about, but if
someone had been, they would have seen a very filthy yet agile naked man moving
at a remarkable speed for how silent he was being. That is, if they could have
seen him at all.

The moon was hiding behind a layer of
clouds now, diffusing the light and giving the mountainside an almost a
dreamlike appearance, softening somewhat the harsh reality of the situation Che
was facing.

There was movement ahead.

Che froze in his tracks seamlessly and
effortlessly disappearing into the brush, where he waited patiently, ready to
spring his trap.

Che began to count down the seconds.

One Thousand One.

One Thousand Two.

One Thousand Three.

One Thousand Four.

It was a young girl. The skin would be
soft, but no way would there be enough for what he needed. Che was about to reveal
himself and put the thing down when he noticed more movement behind her. It was
a larger male. He would work just fine. There was plenty of undamaged skin on
him to make his suit, or at least a mask.