The Fall (Book 2): Dead Will Rise (7 page)

Wasting no time, Kell lunged again, taking the still-standing undead around the waist, both of them toppling over. Dirty fingernails skittered across the hard plastic plates of his armor's side panels, broke off in the exposed sections of chain mail at the joints of his arms. They twisted, wrestling like schoolyard children as each tried to gain control of the other. It was a contest Kell would have won easily had he not been holding a knife. The zombie had better coordination than its simpler brethren, but that was a relative term. Plus, dozens of hours of Kate forcing him to learn grappling made a fair fight a foregone conclusion.

Then he remembered the knife was a weapon and used it, taking advantage of an opening to jam the thing between two ribs. He twisted the handle to lock the blade in place and pulled, flipping the zombie onto its stomach. His free hand went to the little hair it had left, and yanked.

Another small opening, but enough of one to let him free the blade and put it through the zombie's eye.

“Son of a bitch!” Kell shouted as the blade nearly skipped across the bone. Damn close to his hand. A messy job, but done all the same.

He gave the knife a firm jiggle to make sure the enemy was finished, then turned to face the crippled zombie he'd left behind. The thing had pulled itself forward mostly with its hands, the legs flopping and twitching behind it. The cuts were deeper than he'd intended, pale bone showing through.

The thing had its face in the dirt, lapping at the small pool of blood like a man in the desert dying of thirst. It paid him no attention at all until he was right next to it, but by then it was too late. His knee came down on the zombie's neck with every ounce of his two hundred and thirty pounds. With grim determination, Kell stayed in that position and sawed between the vertebrae.

All went still.

His breath came out in twin cones of steam as he huffed through his nose. A quick glance around to make sure there wasn't a third zombie, then to his pack to clean and wrap his foot. When that painful chore was finished, he hurriedly repacked everything, put his boots back on, and began to erase the evidence of his camp before realizing the two corpses gave up his presence.

Limping, Kell walked with an uneven but frantic pace. The smell of blood would draw more of them, and he couldn't be sure any other undead wouldn't be able to scent his foot, wrapped though it was.

His options had narrowed significantly in the last half hour. The only choices were to cross the creek soon, even if it meant swimming, and find the rendezvous location and hope for a miracle there...

Or to seek help from whatever locals were nearby. Which meant putting himself at the mercy of strangers.

Lunch was the bag of chia seeds, but he only ate a half a handful. They'd been Laura's project back at the house. According to her, the seeds were a superfood capable of supporting a person's nutrition for an extended period of time. You only
had
to eat a couple tablespoons of them a day to stay alive. Which by no means meant Kell wasn't famished. His stomach rumbled in the digestive equivalent of giving two weeks' notice.

Even knowing a crossing was the safest option, an hour after the fight he still hadn't done it. The part of him that spent years studying all the ways small things could slip past your defenses and kill you railed against putting an open wound in the creek. It wasn't a phobia or even an unreasoned discomfort, but the genuine reluctance of a man who knew better.

An hour walking south along the banks yielded no crossings. Out here in the woods he didn't expect a concrete bridge or anything, but it seemed strange that no trees had fallen from one side to the other. There were certainly places narrow enough for it, and--

Of course.

Whoever lived on this side of the creek wouldn't want the zombies to be able to cross easily.

Clenching his jaw, Kell decided to cross at the next shallow area he came to. He'd been hoping for something less than knee high, as his boots were waterproof so long as the tops didn't submerge, but he'd take wading if he had to. Swimming if there was no other choice.

Determined, he picked up the pace as he marched the southern trail. The morning wore on and grew warmer. His gear felt as though it had taken another swim, his sweat permeating the heavy materials. Thirst began to gnaw at him, mutating into a painful grind in his guts. Still he soldiered on, looking for a way across that wouldn't sweep him off his feet.

Just below the peak of a hill, Kell stopped to rest. Sitting wasn't a risk he was willing to take; tired and thirsty as he was, he might not get back up. His leg throbbed up the back of his calf like an infected tooth, nerves lighting up with white heat on every footfall. Stopping was no better until he leaned against a nearby tree to shift his weight from it.

The sound of distant bells rang out. It was only then he thought to look down and saw the fishing line strung between the trees.

Kell was too exhausted to manage more than mild curiosity. A glance back down the trail showed a few glimmers of fishing line hooked to other trees. A system not unlike the one they'd used at the house in Michigan.

“Must be close to where they live,” he muttered to himself.

“You're a hundred percent right on that, mister,” a voice said from behind him.

A man walked down the hill, assault rifle pointed at Kell in a lazy but efficient way. The sort of loose-armed grip a man used to hauling a gun around all day used. The fellow was tall, though not close to Kell's own height. His skin was a deep tan color, hair black, but with startling blue-green eyes. The geneticist in him started breaking down probable ancestry, the habit so ingrained it was involuntary.

“Heard you coming,” the man said. “Been watching you for a while, and had you come over that hill you'd have seen me waiting for you. Circled around a few minutes ago when we figured you'd walk right into our camp.”

One hand still planted against the slim trunk of the tree, Kell smiled. Which drew a frown from the other man, eyebrows knitting together. “Something funny?”

Kell shook his head. “Not really. Just that I was so worried about running into people, and now I find myself relieved.”

“Why's that? Aren't you afraid I'm going to shoot you?”

Kell shrugged. “Yeah, but that begs the question, doesn't it?
Are
you going to kill me?”

The other man studied him for a while, then whistled. Two sharp notes. The clomp of boots through underbrush and dead leaves ended with two new arrivals, both young men. Mentally, Kell kicked himself for not noticing them. They'd been less than thirty feet away and he hadn't seen a thing.

“Well, sir, whether or not you die remains to be seen. We'll have to have a talk, you and me.”

Kell raised his hands over his head in the universal sign of surrender. “While you're making up your mind, could I trouble you for a glass of water?”

The camp was indeed just over the hill, though Kell would have walked right by it if he hadn't been captured. The trees along that part of the trail were unusually dense, the underbrush thick and probably bolstered by the people living there. They'd chosen the spot wisely. Close to water, screened from casual view, and, as Kell saw once they emerged from the narrow trail leading to it, defensible.

The man and the two young men with him were not alone; eight or nine other people milled about the space, preparing food, cleaning weapons, one person even planing a length of wood. None of them gave him more than a glance.

His captors had taken his weapons, only searching his bag long enough to be certain he wasn't hiding anything dangerous in there. His arms were loosely bound behind his back, the rope tight at the wrists but long enough that he didn't have to keep his limbs at an unnatural angle.

Kell was led to the far side of the camp, where they stopped at a tree abutting the woods beyond. The older man put a hand on his shoulder, gentle but firm.

“Now look, son,” he said, looking Kell in the eyes. “I don't know what you've been through. Must've been bad for you to assume I was just gonna kill you. Had you drawn on my boys or me, I would have. As it is, I don't know you, so we're going to compromise. I'm going to give you a chance to prove you're not one of those crazies going around the country raping and murdering, and you're going to let me restrain you until I'm sure you aren't.”

Kell chewed on that for a few seconds. “What's the other option?”

The other man ran a hand over his stubbly chin. “Ten feet past this tree, the woods drop off. It's a good fifty feet. Some kinda landslide ages ago. If you don't want to talk, we lower you down there and send you on your way. We keep your weapons. If we see you again, we assume you're an enemy.”

“Well, when you put it that way, sir, I can't help but accept whatever hospitality you're willing to offer.”

“I'm no 'sir',” the other man said with the shadow of a smile. “My name's Gary, but most people call me Grim.”

“Nice to meet you. My name is Kevin, but everyone calls
me
K.” It was a small lie, and close enough to the truth to be convincing. Why he bothered out here in the woods, where the chances of anyone knowing anything about him approached zero, he didn't know. Long habit can do strange things to a person.

“Grim, huh? That's a strange nickname. I'd love to hear how you got it. Over some water, perhaps?”

Grim nodded. “Sure. Danny, Pat, go get us some water if you don't mind. I'll secure mister K to the tree.”

Kell glanced at the tree. “That might complicate my going to the bathroom. Which, I feel obligated to warn you, is going to be an issue in the near future.”

With a smile, Grim guided him to the base of the tree. “Sit here. Please don't get up,” he said before ducking into the nearest tent. He reappeared almost instantly, a coiled length of rope in his hands. “Here, this ought to be plenty.”

Confused, Kell watched as he was tied to the tree. At first he expected to be bound directly to the thing, but as Grim worked he began to understand. The rope was about fifteen feet long, as thick as his thumb, and made of nylon. Grim looped it around the tree and tied each end to Kell's wrists, giving him a long tether to allow him freedom of motion.

“What's to keep me from untying the knots?” Kell asked out of sheer natural curiosity.

Grim raised an eyebrow. “Other than your good word? This,” he said, producing a thin spool of wire from a pocket. A multi-tool followed, and the man set about weaving a complex net between the strands of rope, threading the wire through and back again before twisting the ends shut with the pliers on his tool. “There. You can probably get through that with enough time, but I reckon someone would notice before you managed the job.”

Confused, Kell asked, “Why? Why not keep me bound tight?”

“Aside from making less work for my people by letting you feed and care for yourself, I don't want your death on my conscience if any ghouls show up. This way you'll at least be able to defend yourself a little.”

Kell frowned. “That happen a lot?”

Grim nodded. “Fairly often.”

Danny returned with a large canteen of water, which he handed to Kell.

“Thanks.” He took a long drink, then leaned against the tree, sliding to the ground. “So tell me, how does an affable guy like you get a name like that?”

Grim peered at him as if determining whether Kell was being sarcastic, then gave up. “Used to work in a mine. I was a supervisor, which made me a safety officer. I'd have to report safety issues all the time since those things are—or were—mostly deathtraps. Every time I had to talk to the boss about something, the boys said I got quiet and serious. They started calling me Grim Gary. After a few months they just shortened it to Grim. Even my wife started doing it. Couldn't catch a break.”

Kell smiled. “It's better than what people call me. They started out calling me Big K, like the soda brand. Curse of being a giant, I suppose.”

Grim smiled back. “Well look at us, talking like real people. Don't often find that in the world today. Not since this mess began.”

The amusement drained from Kell as if someone pulled a stopper inside him, replaced with a sharp pang of guilt. Grim was cautious, naturally, but he was being fair to a stranger wandering in his territory. Kell was going to lie to him as he'd had to do with everyone but Kate and Laura. He was almost certainly going to commiserate with the man, who'd probably lost more loved ones than he cared to count, as if Kell himself wasn't responsible for it all.

“No,” Kell replied, his voice soft. “Not much chance to just be people.”

Dinner was a quiet affair, venison and rabbit kebabs. There were vegetables between the chunks of meat, and Kell got a potato. Someone brought salt by and offered him some. It was all surprisingly homey for a group of people living out in the woods. Grim brought two squat stools from his tent so the two of them could talk while they ate. Though Kell knew the man was measuring him as a threat, gauging every word, there was a something real there. A resonance between them.

It came to him just after dinner was over; this was a man made weary by his responsibilities. He hid it well and smiled often, but Kell knew he was right. Takes one to know one and all that jazz.

Kell sat his empty plate on the ground and patted his belly. “That was excellent, thank you.”

Grim waved his fork. “No problem. Food is one thing we have plenty of.”

“I noticed that,” Kell said. “I'm curious how many people are in your main camp. You know, the one you normally live in.”

Grim's fork stopped halfway to his mouth, which was conveniently already open, saving the man the effort of gaping. “I'm sorry? What makes you think that?”

“Your reaction, for one. I had a hypothesis, you just gave me confirmation.” Grim tensed. “Oh, not like that, man. I don't need or even want to know where it is. I just wanted to know if I was right.”

“Why?”

Kell shrugged. “Years of training, I suppose. Ingrained need to know the answers to things. Too much practice observing. Would have driven me crazy not to be sure.”

Grim's mouth quirked. “How did you know, if you don't mind me asking?”

“Well, I'm tied to
your
tree, after all, which in some strange way makes me the guest. It would be rude of me not to oblige.”

He pointed at Grim's half-full plate. “You've got lots of meat, so much you have people smoking it, drying it. You have potatoes and other vegetables, but every inch of this camp is dedicated to shelter and the needs of the camp. No garden. You're cautious as hell and these woods are dense, so chances are slim there's some little plot of land nearby with food growing. There are extra weapons all around, mostly bows and rifles.”

Grim's eyebrows rose steadily as Kell continued his litany.

“At a guess I'd say you're a hunting party for a larger community, but only one of several. If you were in a hurry or if your work was crucial, you wouldn't have taken the chance bringing me here. I think you'd have sent me on my way, maybe down the cliff—in a nice way—or maybe with an escort until I was far enough away you didn't have to worry about me anymore. But then, I've seen nicer people do worse. I've done worse myself, come to think of it, so maybe you'd have killed me.”

Kell shifted his weight on the stool. “How'd I do?” he asked casually.

Grim gave him an appreciative nod. “Mostly correct, son. The only part you got wrong is that we aren't a hunting party. Well, we aren't
only
a hunting party. We're also looking for new places to settle safe from the ghouls. Obviously, this isn't one.”

They talked for a while longer, mostly about the little things. Kell shared some of his own tips, and in return Grim told him quite a lot about surviving alone in the wilderness. He cautioned that being told what you could eat and how to build shelter were a far cry from knowing how, but Kell thanked him anyway.