The Fall (Book 2): Dead Will Rise (19 page)

Kell frowned. “I can manage, Laura.”

Will raised a hand. “You misunderstand me. I'm not worried about sending you out injured. Any team we send out won't go for at least a week. That should give you time to heal up enough to function,” he said. “My concern is more about what risks we should take to gather information. After all, we won't get much from going back to where you were attacked. This will be much farther from home, and much more dangerous.”

“I don't understand,” Kell said. “We've done this kind of work before. Yeah, it's a risk, but don't you think it's worth the effort to learn what you're—we're, I should say—up against?”

Will gave him an appraising look, grabbing the file from the cabinet as he leaned back in his chair. He opened it like a book, eyes scanning over the pages. “Yes. And we'll need all of you to have a shot at it. Long trips are murder. My larger worry is whether you should go.”

“Me?” Kell said. “I can already use my foot. In a week--”

Will waved him away, throwing the open file on the desk. “I don't think it's worth risking your life, Doctor McDonald.”

Kell tensed, freezing as he tried unsuccessfully to control the reaction. Laura flashed into motion, drawing her knife and stepping into a fighter's crouch. Will shot to his feet as well, knocking his chair over backward.

“Laura, what--” Kell sputtered, his brain unable to keep up.

“How long have you known?” Laura said, her voice hard and cold as iron. “What kind of game are you playing here?”

Will looked remarkably calm for a man half an inch from messy death, and his voice matched his manner. “Look at that file. I didn't know who he was until I found it. Not for sure. When you came in I thought he looked familiar.”

Kell leaned forward, spinning the file around. There was a picture of him—his old staff ID picture from the lab—as well as a short dossier labeled with Department of Defense heading. A quick scan sent his heart racing. Anyone who found these papers would know who he was and exactly what his role in the plague had been.

“I was a soldier in Richmond, about an hour from here,” Will said. “In the first few days of the outbreak, we were given a picture of you. They told us to bring you in at all costs, that we had to find you and keep you alive. When everything turned into shit, I broke into the CO's office. He was killed when the first waves of dead rose here in Kentucky. I found that in his desk.”

“So you just held onto it until you came here?” Laura spat. “Bullshit. I heard you got rescued from a crashed helicopter. You just happened to have this on you?”

Will snorted. “Hell no, do you think I'm an idiot? I locked this up and went back for it much later. The wrong person read it, and it would be a death sentence for the good doctor.”

“Laura,” Kell said. “Please put that away. You aren't going to kill the guy.”

“Kell, come on! He knows who you are.”

He stood and walked to her, gently placing a hand on her wrist to push the knife down. “I get the reaction, but he's not Phillip. But think about it, please. Some people out there
might
want to kill me for my part in the plague. Stabbing him will make sure everyone here actually will string us up.”

Breathing hard through her nostrils but looking somewhat embarrassed, Laura sheathed her knife. Will smiled wryly at her before righting his chair. “Don't be so sure about that last part,” he said. “I'm not as popular around here as you might think.”

Kell, back in his seat, cocked his head. “Oh? Why's that?”

Will shrugged. “You'll find out anyway, it's no secret. This is the second time I've been in charge. The first time I gave this place up to the soldiers I used to serve with in Richmond.”

Kell recoiled. “Jesus, why would you do that?”

Picking papers up off the floor knocked askew as he had bumped the desk, Will sighed. “Not a lot of choice. They were coming, we didn't stand a chance, and to save the most lives possible, I sold us out. Spent a long time as a convict here after it was all said and done.”

Standing next to Kell, Laura asked, “Why did they put you in charge again?”

“That's a long story,” Will replied. “We've got a guy who keeps a good record of that kind of thing, you should hear it from him. Shorter version is, I did my time and a few good deeds, and the people here thought I learned my lesson. Not that everyone is thrilled about it, but enough voters think I'm competent that I get the big chair.”

The room was still tense, but it was the strained polite atmosphere of people who were trying very hard to maintain civility. Laura had acted like Kate, who was rash and defensive enough for any three people. Kell hadn't reacted at all, which was a new and disturbing development. Will should have been upset, or showing some kind of reaction. Instead he casually tidied his desk. It was the sort of self-control that hinted at a psyche either abnormally solid, or, to quote Leonard Hofstadter, one lab accident away from being a super-villain.

Judging by the amused smile on Will's face, Kell thought he could discount any nefarious plans.

“As I was saying, I don't know if it's a good idea to send Kell—”

“Please,” Kell interrupted. “Use my assumed name or just call me K. It's safer.”

Will nodded. “K, then. It's a bad idea to send you out. As leader here, it would obviously be better for all of us to have you working on ways to mitigate the plague. Too risky to lose what you might be able to contribute. On a personal level, well, you're a human being and you're hurt. I don't like sending anyone out if they're less than a hundred percent.”

Laura frowned. “You don't plan on telling anyone who he is?”

Will laughed and rubbed at his neck. “I think that's clear, especially considering the consequences.” Laura blushed, red from the base of her neck to the roots of her hair. “Let's try talking instead of skipping right to knives next time, okay?”

“Sorry,” Laura said. “I just...reacted.”

Will raised his hands in a 'what are you gonna do?' gesture. “World today has us trained to take out threats. You didn't kill me—thanks for that, by the way—and honestly I've suffered much worse from the people I was elected by. Don't worry about it.”

“So long as you're sure,” Kell said. “We have a history of problems with petty administrators.”

“I'm sure,” he said. “Truth is, my heart's beating like it's going to pop out of my chest, but fear is a daily part of life. And really, as you're the man who has a chance to stop this goddamn plague, and I desperately want you to, how does getting a knife pulled on me even matter?” He took a deep breath, seeming to weigh his next words. “You have no idea how difficult it is, doing this job. It would be a thousand times easier without all the dead people of the world trying to eat us, so I can't afford to shout 'seize them!' at the guards, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Kell said.

“Good,” Will replied. “You understand why I don't want you leaving. You can have your own corner over there in the expansion, and we'll get you whatever you need to work on this. I'm sure you have ideas. We have electricity, most of the time. And we have people who can quietly secure things you might need.”

Kell considered that. “I've been thinking of ways I can fight Chimera—that's what the plague was called when it was my work—but to be honest with you it'll be slow going.”

Will leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Is there anything you could use to speed up the work? Something the scouts could be on the lookout for?”

“Not unless you know where the government took all my old lab notes and equipment,” Kell said.

Will tilted his head at the open file. “Look at the last page.”

Excitement flooded through Kell. “Really?”

Will nodded. “And we've sent scouts there before. The same three I was going to send you with.”

“No,” Kell said. “The same three you
are
sending with me.”

After a long day of hashing out details, the trip was set for two weeks later. Upon learning Kell's identity, Will Price became more interested in a potential cure than quickly gathering information about the enemy. His reasoning was simple; a cure was vastly more important, both for the obvious benefits it would provide and as a bargaining chip with any enemies.

Who would choose to fight when they might get a cure for the plague, after all?

Not that the trip would be wasted as far as the scouts were concerned. The three women who would lead Kell and his chosen team to his research were to drop them off at the facility and then search for signs of the mysterious group.

In the meantime, Kell worked light duty jobs and healed. Every morning for the first week he visited Andrea. The kids had been forced out of the clinic after the first few days, but Kell found a place for them in the small enclave his people carved out for themselves. Michelle and Evan were careful not to speak his real name, and he enjoyed spending time with them.

He didn't have much of it. His mornings were spent on the Honey Wagon, which was as ironic as names got. The thing was an actual wagon pulled by two horses, though a backup—a pickup truck—was available if the horses were needed elsewhere. Every day at dawn he took the wagon around New Haven, gathering human waste in its giant vats. It was a necessary if unpleasant job, though aside from the smell he didn't mind. Others hated the work, but it gave him an opportunity to meet people. Laura and Kate occasionally joined him.

After so long with the three of them staying secretive, thick as thieves, it wasn't just good for them to meet people and socialize. It was a requirement. Staying here long term would mean interacting with human beings every day, and their skills were rusty.

The Sunday of the second week, Kell stopped the wagon in front of the blacksmith's house, which was also his place of work. The big man was already carrying a bucket through the front door as Kell rolled the cart to a close. A preteen girl behind him carried another, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Good morning, Patrick,” Kell said. “How's the hand?”

Patrick, a man only a few inches short of Kell but barrel-chested and far more massive, raised the leather-capped stump, waving it cheerily. “Feels fine, wherever it is. Did you bring it?”

Kell nodded, grabbing the spear from the boards at his feet and handing it over. “It's aluminum. Think you'll be able to sharpen it back up?”

Patrick handed his bucket to the girl, who had just finished dumping her own. “Oh, come on Uncle Pat, I already dumped the bad one,” she said, her light brown skin going green.

Patrick grinned at her. “Dumped it. Ha, you made a pun. Just pour it in, kiddo. It'll toughen you up.”

“Yeah, but it pisses me off,” the girl said with a smirk. “Why do we need to save it, anyway?”

It was Kell who answered. “The solid waste we compost, which you probably don't want to think about very hard. The liquid we distill into several things, including ammonia.”

“Still really gross,” the girl said before walking off with the empty buckets.

“Kids these days,” Patrick said. “Oh, they'll stab a dead guy in the face, but ask them to pour out a bucket of crap and all they give you is grief.”

Kell smiled. “Is she yours? I can't help noticing she's mixed, and you're not. Blonde guy with blue eyes...”

“Most people call us Aryan, thank you very much,” Patrick said, laughing. “But no. She's my niece. Got another one around here somewhere.”

Jennifer's smiling baby face flashed through his head. “You're very lucky to have her,” Kell said, trying to keep the sadness from his voice. Not so much at the memory of his daughter, but by the way time was etching her features away.

“Luck, nothing,” Patrick replied. “I went AWOL and hunted for them. Nearly died trying to bring them back. Lost my parents and sister in the whole deal. Cost me a hand.”

The distant darkness on the big man's face was made worse by the loss of his normal cheerfulness. “I'm sorry,” Kell said. “Worth it, though, wasn't it?”

The cloud on Patrick's face blew away as if it had never been. “Fuck yeah, man. I'd have given the other hand too.” Taking up the spear, he eyed it carefully. “So how long until you need this? Any bells and whistles you want me to add?”

“No,” Kell said. “Just sharpen her up, make sure I won't break the tip. I like a smooth in an out when I work.”

Patrick burst into laughter. “Don't we all, brother.”

Six hours of making rounds in the wagon later turned into the daily four hours in the kitchen. This was a job he neither liked nor hated. It involved isolated work in the mess hall, doing one of a dozen duties over and over again.

After that came an hour of combat practice, though it wasn't the sort he did with Kate. New Haven had two years of strategies, tactics, and practical experience fighting the undead in every way imaginable. That, combined with the common survival methods and ways to communicate and move, left Kell with a huge volume of information to absorb before the trip. After some convincing, Will had relented and allowed Kell three companions rather than two. One was Kate, and while he'd have wished to take Laura or even Andrea given both already knew his identity and the trip would risk exposing the group to the truth, neither would be cleared to go by the doctors. Andrea had no expectation she'd be healthy enough, and seemed relieved she didn't have to make the choice.

Laura's x-rays, taken with a portable digital machine someone had hauled into the clinic ages ago, showed a fine spiderweb of fractures in her skull from the bullet fragment. Not enough to permanently damage her, and small—only about the size of a dime. Phil, Evans, and Gabrielle were united; no combat duty until the cracks healed.

Which was how Kell found himself standing next to Scotty Atkinson and Chris Vernick, two of the more trusted people from the Unit. It still made him shake his head to think of their little group of migrants by that name, but in his absence they'd all began using it to refer to themselves.

“Pay attention!” Kate said as she smacked a police baton against Kell's shield. “You're going to get your face ripped off if you aren't careful.”

“Will not,” Kell said. “And why aren't you right here with us? Seems unfair you should get to teach, you've only been here a few hours longer than I have, really.”

Kate smiled the wicked grin she used before handing out a severe beating. “I haven't been on light duty, sonny Jim. I'm as up to speed as I need to be. Now pay attention!”

Attackers came at them from three sides. The trick was to learn how to react on the fly to simple commands. “Me,” Kell grunted, ordering Scotty and Chris to step back, the line formed by the three of them rotating on its axis as he moved forward. The exercise was everything Kell hated about learning to fight; deliberate, coordinated, and meticulous.

He would have taken a pass if there were any other way, but Will categorically refused to let them go with the scouts without at least a basic understanding of the unit fighting New Haven citizens all learned. Out of the corner of his eye, another group trained with the makeshift shields, though they were already up to practicing on zombies rather than the living opponents his own team faced.

The distraction put his shield slightly out of position, earning him a slap across the face by a gauntleted hand. As slaps went it could have been worse, but it still rattled his jaw. Lifting the shield back into position, he tried to keep up with the others. It was much harder than it looked, watching the other groups practice. Timing his steps with Chris and Scotty was the least of it; the difference in their heights alone made the exercise torture on his arms and back. He took three more whacks before finally finding the rhythm, but Kate's disgusted sigh told him it wasn't near her standard.

Their hour ended with great relief on the part of the men, along with a healthy dollop of humility. Used to picking things up quickly, Kell flushed with embarrassment that children on the training ground worked together far better than three adult men.

The four of them—Kate was done for the day as well—walked back through the east gate and into the expansion. Past the mobile homes and gypsy tents, through a forest of freshly raised beams meant to support some new structure, and up the hill to their little corner. As always, fires burned, lighting an increasingly permanent panorama. There was nothing obvious to it, no building foundations or gardens in the slice of land set aside for their group, but many small things added up. A half-built table, woodworking tools casually set aside for dinner. A stone grill eight feet wide was already in operation, put together by half a dozen of the Unit over a vigorous seven hour marathon. It was simple but large, and a source of pride since enough food could cook at once to feed them all twice over.

There was none of the chaos evident in the first few days. Everything was more organized, from the arrangement of tents to the way group interactions and private time worked. The area was large, but shelter was thin on the ground, leading to a few scuffles. The man walking down the hill to greet Kell was responsible for organizing the group.

Dan Rickwalder had an eye for that kind of thing. He was smart, observant, and, crucially, infinitely patient. Without him to take up the slack as Kate worked and Laura sulked, they might have fallen into
Lord of the Flies
territory. So far no one was looking for a conch.

Chris and Scotty chatted with Dan, Kate ran off, and Kell followed the smell of food. He had eaten while working in the mess hall, but the rabbit stew constantly being brewed for the masses grew boring very quickly. Walking up to the grill, he peered over the shoulder of one of the men cooking.

“What do you have there, Drew?” Kell asked.

Drew stepped to the side, still flipping meat. “Deer steaks, some potatoes, and if you can believe it, fresh corn.”

Stomach knotting with hunger and mouth watering, Kell grinned. “Yes, please. Where did you get corn this time of year?”

The other man nodded toward the southern end of the expansion, where three mobile homes butted against each other end-to-end. “Turns out those are greenhouses. Had no idea until I took a walk by there this morning. Guy that runs them must have spent a lot of time modifying those things. Can't tell from here, but the roofs are mostly gone. I traded him for a basket of corn.”

“What did you have to give him? You paid for it, man. I don't want to impose...”

Drew smiled boyishly. “Hard to believe a box of old Playboys would be useful, but the guy was happy to make a deal.”

Kell laughed, taking the plate Drew made for him. “Nice. A little creepy, but nice.” He turned to leave, but Drew stopped him.

“Here, have a little butter for your corn,” Drew said as he slid a pat onto Kell's plate. “I can't believe all the stuff they have here. Back home it was nice to just have food.”

“They got an earlier start on building a home,” Kell said. “Plus all the farms around here, you know. Cows for milk means butter, cheese, you name it.”

Drew began making plates for the other people waiting. For a second Kell felt bad when he realized he'd cut in line, but then the smell of venison lightly seasoned with garlic salt took over and he had no attention for anything else. Had he not been so distracted by hunger, Kell would have been interested to note how the rest of the people waiting deferred to him. They had only begun to approach after getting his food.

As it was, he didn't see it. Kell moseyed over to the folding steps leading into the RV and sat in the open doorway, plate balanced on his knees. People-watching as he ate, Kell took in the small community within a community, made up entirely of his neighbors and volunteers from up north. The few children in the group sat together on a worn blanket, gabbing at each other in the rapid, excited patois reserved for them. A rotating cast of adults eyed them, a habit long ingrained from months and years living out in the woods with no protective wall.

Some might say it was an unnecessary habit at this point, but one of the more impressive aspects of their new home was how strongly the citizens encouraged vigilance. Other places with walls as strong might allow the population to relax behind them. Not so, here. Enough accidents and mistakes over time taught the value of never taking safety for granted. Not only did guards patrol the walls themselves and sentries watch from stationary positions, but the occasional patrol walked by each of the isolated camps out in the mostly empty expansion.

Drew waved one such patrol down, offering them his cooking and asking the three men to stop by the guard posts on the wall to share.

“Move your ass, stretch,” a voice said from behind him. Kell craned his neck back to see Laura, bottles in hand. They were beaded with condensation, still cold.

“Laura,” Kell said. “Is that beer?”

She held a bottle out to him. “Yes, K, this is beer. It's home brewed. That guy Will pointed out to us the other day, Dave? He was the one Will said was in charge of all the construction around here. He also brews his own beer.”

Kell took the brown bottle gingerly, top already removed. “How'd you score these? Part of Drew's deal with the corn?”

“Nah, the guy just came by with a big cooler full of them. Turns out beer is now a commodity. We,” she said, waving a hand to indicate New Haven in general as she sat next to him, “even trade out kegs to other communities. More than enough left over for us. Cheers.”