The Fall (Book 2): Dead Will Rise (8 page)

He was given several blankets as night fell, one to sleep on and one to sleep under. Off came the belt pouch, which he sat next to his backpack. He left everything else on. The night would be colder than he'd like, and sleeping outside wouldn't be fun even with a heavy piece of cloth over him.

Danny and Pat came by just before Grim retired to his tent, gave the older man a hug each. After having watched the body language between them, the embrace was just another verification. The men were family, maybe sons, probably nephews. Neither of the young men favored Grim very much in appearance.

The two of them walked by Kell as he settled in for the night. Their faces were blank except for the eyes. Kell saw anger there, carefully controlled. Perhaps a dose of hate as well. It surprised him; neither had shown the slightest sign of it the entire day.

But now that their leader was going to sleep they were free to act any way they pleased.

Kell watched them go by with a determined lack of expression. Outwardly calm, his muscles tensed and burned. The men carried themselves like hunters who knew how to fight, steps light and measured, bodies moving with liquid grace. It was the same controlled power he saw in Kate, and brought out the ingrained reaction she elicited after so many hours kicking his ass: raw fear. The need for aggressive response.

But the men walked by.

They took up positions on the north and south ends of the camp, leaving a woman Kell had only seen in passing to guard the eastern edge, the one facing the creek. There was no guard posted at the west, near him. Probably owing to the five-story drop a few paces away.

Kell wrapped himself in the blanket but didn't lay down. Instead he leaned against the tree and watched. Every so often Danny and Pat would glance over at him. He returned their looks blandly, more interested in gaining an understanding of the people holding him hostage, polite as the incarceration might be.

He saw nothing groundbreaking. The guards were observant, never looking back at the fire smoldering in the middle of the camp. Over the two hours he watched, none of the three seemed to waver in their dedication. Which, he conceded, might be as much self-preservation as compassion.

At the end of those two hours, the three jogged from their posts to wake the next people on watch. That was the only way Kell knew how long it had been; there were three watch shifts, according to Grim. Two hours at dark, four hours after, and another two before dawn.

They went about waking their relief efficiently, only having to step away from their posts for a minute. When the crunching snap of a shattered twig reached his ears, Kell might have thought it was coincidence. But he knew better. They were smart. Smart enough to learn patterns of behavior. They could be patient to get what they wanted. Goddamn New Breed.

“Zombies!” Kell shouted, throwing his blanket off as the first gleams of light touched the dead flesh moving from the edge of the woods. He stood and moved, ready to fight with his bare hands.

The rope brought him to a full stop, yanking him off his feet and knocking the wind out of him as he slammed into the hard earth flat on his back.

His eyes watered as he scrambled to one side, pulling himself back to get enough play in the rope so he could stand again. Air came only by supreme effort, his burning lungs and ribs arguing with him about the need.

Half a dozen zombies walked into the clearing. Were there more? He couldn't tell. Gasping, spitting dust from his mouth, Kell rose on shaky feet.

Bound to a tree, weaponless, and held prisoner, he readied himself to kill or die trying.

Wonderful.

The problem wasn’t being outnumbered, it was being hit at exactly the wrong moment. Rather than having three ready adults to slow down the approaching zombies, there were several confused men rushing back to their posts while others tripped over themselves trying to exit their tents.

During the panicked few seconds between Kell yelling and people trying to arm themselves to fight, one of the zombies moved forward at the closest thing to a run it was capable of. Grim shot out of his own tent and ran to the right, oblivious to the zombie shambling at top speed toward Kell.

The thing came close, and he moved back toward the tree. He wrapped rope around his forearms and hands as he went, closing the loop. The instinct to use his hands fought against his idea on how to stay alive past the next fifteen seconds. When his back finally hit the tree, Kell used the leverage to brace himself, throwing the strongest kick he could.

He'd aimed for the chest in hopes of knocking the thing back to buy a little time. To his shock, the zombie tried to deflect the blow with its hands. Kell's kick took it in the right elbow, shattering the joint as it bent in the wrong direction. The force of the hit staggered the creature, giving Kell the extra few seconds he needed to finish drawing in all the slack in the rope.

When the zombie reoriented and came for him again, Kell pulled with all his might on the rope in his hands, now tightly looped against the tree. His abdomen flexed, his back pulled hard against the rough bark, raising his hips high enough that when his coiled legs shot out again, they caught the zombie in the face.

There was no gunshot-crack of breaking bone. Damn. Severing the spinal cord was the idea, the fastest and safest way.

Appearing somewhat drunken as it rose, the zombie moved slowly forward. Its arm stuck out at an unnatural angle, though the damage didn't seem to register. Kell readied himself for another kick. The zombie—the New Breed—stopped just outside of his range. Its eyes darted over Kell and the rope as the gears in its head, rusty and missing teeth, began to grind. It might not understand exactly what the situation was, but like all predators it read body language.

The zombie moved to the side and rushed again from the right. Kell only caught the problem after it became obvious; holding himself against the tree gave him reach and power, but made it impossible to move laterally.

He let go the rope and cast his hands to the sides instantly, trying to shake off the coils wrapped around his forearms. Then the thing was on him, tearing at his armor and going for his face.

Sharp pain lanced up Kell's leg as the added weight tore his wound open, buckling his knee and sending both he and the zombie sprawling to the dirt. Kell frantically threw his hands forward, shielding his face from the vicious claws and teeth gnashing
at him.

A loop of rope came between them, the zombie tossing it over his shoulder and out of the way. The nylon line landed in just the right position. With an insane laugh and a grunt of effort, Kell yanked his hand to the side, pulling the rope taut against the zombie's neck. The dead man seemed to leap away as Kell yanked, its head dashing against the ground with a loud but not fatal thunk. He kept tension on the rope as he crawled onto the dead man's back, wrapping it around his hand on one side while pulling hard with the other.

With a mindless shout, he put a knee to the zombie's neck and shifted his weight, and the fight was over.

Well,
his
fight, anyway.

Kell didn't bother to shout to be cut loose; the members of Grim's party were too busy fighting their own battles. The other five New Breed weren't alone, as another handful appeared on their heels. The battle was intense, and Kell found himself oddly fascinated by it. Not just the combat, but being in the curious position of observer rather than participant.

The party lost one man, unfortunately attacked three on one. The rest of the group took only minor injuries, and most of those related to their rush to defend the camp. Kell watched Grim fire three arrows in less than twenty seconds, each blasting into the face of an enemy and erupting from the back of their skulls.

He watched the older man put the dead member of his party down. The reanimation happened during the fight, a matter of minutes.

That
was something new. Excitement rushed through him, morbid as it was. His head spun at the implications. People were coming back faster. It used to take hours, sometimes days. Now minutes? What did that mean?

Heart racing and mind spinning, Kell lost himself in the possibilities as the rest of the camp cleaned up the mess, dragging off the bodies and resetting the defenses. He was eventually pulled from his reverie when Grim stopped Danny in front of his tent.

“What happened, son?” the old man asked. “Why didn't the bells go off? It was your turn to check the lines today.”

Danny flinched, his face going so red it was visible even in the dim firelight. “I don't know. I checked, they were fine. I'll go out in the morning and take another look.”

“No,” Grim replied. “You'll go out now. Take a flashlight. Figure out what went wrong. Stay out there until you're sure.”

Danny's face twisted into the beginning of a rebellious sneer, which was cut off by a hard slap to the side of his head.

“Don't you even think about it, boy.” Grim's tone had lost all trace of warmth. The laughter in his eyes had died. The man standing less than ten feet from Kell was cold. It almost came off him in waves. “Don't think for a second you can give me even a fucking grain of your bullshit. You go out there and figure out what happened, because Ralph
died
tonight. Twice. And I had to do it the second time. I had to kill my friend because
you
fucked up.”

It was said in an even tone, but all the more unnerving for that. There was no anger, just the dead icy voice of a man expecting to be obeyed. Danny sensed it, caught the sharp edges of finality in Grim's voice, and tucked his proverbial tail.

Kell was starting to think the man got his nickname for entirely different reasons than the one he'd shared.

He never did find out exactly what went wrong; by the time Danny returned, Kell was asleep. It was probably a fruitless idea anyway. In all likelihood the New Breed had studied where the trip lines went and avoided them. In the dark. Which was terrifying.

A hand shook him awake. Kell saw Grim through bleary eyes. The older man looked tired in the wan firelight, gray streaks in his hair stark against the black.

“Here,” Grim said, holding out a canteen. “It's still a few hours before dawn. I'll be heading out to hunt soon, and I wanted to make sure you had plenty to drink.”

“Thanks,” Kell replied. “Anything I can do to help? Not untie me, I mean, just anything I can work on over here while you're out?”

Grim shook his head. “Not unless you can think of a way to keep the ghouls from coming into the camp.”

Kell cocked his head to the side, curious. “Wait, you mean you don't know?”

Looking irritated, Grim said, “Know what?”

“About using ammonia,” Kell explained. “You put a little out and the smell keeps them back or at least slows them down if they're determined. I thought everyone knew.”

A look of careful consideration crossed Grim's visage. “We...don't keep in touch with many people. We had no way of knowing.”

“But if you've traded with other groups--”

“We haven't,” Grim said with an edge to the words.

“What, have you been living in a bunker or something?” Kell joked.

Grim gave a tight smile that didn't reach his eyes. “What makes you ask?”

“I was just joking, man. Relax. I'm just surprised you didn't know.”

“Well,” Grim said, relaxing somewhat, “we didn't know. And we don't have any ammonia at any rate, so it'll have to wait until we can spare the people to search the nearest town.”

Kell smiled widely. “I've got a couple homemade ammonia bombs in my pouch here if you--”

The other man snatched the pouch with unnerving quickness. “You've got weapons in here and no one found them? I'm gonna have words with those boys.”

“No, no,” Kell said quickly. “They're just Christmas ornaments filled with ammonia, waxed to keep them from breaking in my pouch and capped with resin. No one would think twice about them. They aren't dangerous to people.”

Grim pulled the ammonia bombs out, along with a small sealed vial. “And what's this?” he asked, rolling the vial across his palm.

“Don't open that!” Kell said vehemently. “No matter what you do, leave it sealed.”

The older man frowned. “Why not?”

“Because it's a sample of a mutation of the zombie plague that will kill every person here.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. They weren't loud enough for anyone else to hear, and by Grim's reaction that was a stroke of luck.

“Why on earth would you be carrying this around? It's like having nuclear waste in a lead bag in your pocket. Jesus, son, you should have told me.” The words flowed from the man in that cool tone, the same one he'd used on Danny. “I don't have time right now,” Grim said after a few moments, voice still icy. “But when I get back, you and I are going to have a long discussion. Before I go, you need to tell me why you had this. And if I think you're lying to me, I'm going to put a bullet in your head.”

Kell shook. The fear was real, as was his total lack of self-control. He'd allowed himself to get sloppy, get captured, and to make assumptions about these people. He didn't even think about lying. He'd known this situation might come up, and practiced for it.

“I'm a biologist,” Kell said. “I've been studying the plague to see if I can figure out a cure. That sample might be the key.”

“Wow,” Grim said. “Okay. Listen, we're going to talk about this when I get back. If you're telling the truth, it makes up for you not giving me the heads up on this stuff.” He tucked the vial into his breast pocket and patted it. “I'll keep this safe for you. Don't want any accidents. You get some more sleep, I'll see you when I come back.”

He gave Kell a gentle slap on the shoulder before signaling to Pat and Danny, who looked put-out. The three of them vanished into the early-morning dark. He counted to a hundred after they left, then searched beneath his Kevlar for the other two vials. Still there.

Silently cursing that all three wouldn't fit in the small pocket Laura had sewn into the hem of his armor, Kell went about getting ready for the morning. Sleep would have been wonderful, Grim was right about that, but there was simply no way. Though the parting words were more kind, Kell wasn't fooled. They were the words of a man interested in what he could get from the situation. In another world, Grim could have won Oscars, or at least some lesser award; the greed in his eyes was evident even as he'd tried to placate Kell.

The first vague plans for escape were forming in his mind when a gentle tug on his rope nearly made him scream. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, Kell craned his head toward the woods and the hidden cliff behind. Nothing. Maybe he'd imagined it.

“They're not watching you,” a low whisper said, the words nearly inaudible. “Kick your pack behind the tree, then grab the bucket and paper. Pretend you're walking back here to go to the bathroom. They won't think to look for you for a while.”

For a moment he seriously considered the possibility he'd lost his mind. It defied logic that the second he wanted to escape, someone magically appeared to help him do it.

“Who are you?” he asked in a low voice.

“We can talk about it later,” the stranger replied. “You don't have long, I have to leave here in a few minutes. Once the sky starts to brighten we'll be in danger of being seen. Either do what I tell you or don't, but make the choice now.”

Kell hooked his foot on the bag and, when no one was looking, blindly kicked it back. His pouch went back on his belt. There was nothing else to take. He stood and took the waste bucket and roll of paper in hand, his movements painfully casual. One of the guards caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. Kell raised the bucket and gave it a little shake. The woman standing guard made a sour face and nodded.

Hoping he hadn't gone crazy, Kell walked into the dark. At first he saw nothing. It was only when the figure spoke that he was able to make it out.

“Put that down and come as close to the edge as you can get,” it said in a low whisper.

He did as he was asked, then walked to the end of his tether with arms outstretched. The shadowy figure stepped forward, resolving into a slim form. Even wrapped in camouflage from head to toe, his rescuer was obviously female. The dull glint of a knife, pressure against the rope, and suddenly Kell was free. The knots were still around his wrists, but that could wait.

“Follow me,” the woman said, stepping back into the woods.

Kell snatched his backpack from its landing place and took off. He nearly ran into her right inside the treeline. In the weak light filtering down through the trees, he saw her point. “We're going to hug the edge of the cliff,” she said. “Best thing is to watch my feet, okay? The footing here is solid, and they don't watch this area, but we'll have to step over the edge of their damn trip line system.”