Kell accepted his with grace, still smiling.
“Shut up,” Kate said.
“Blown tire!”
Kell heard the voice ahead bellow the bad news and held up a hand, signing a general halt. The migration slowed and stopped, which wasn’t a difficult task given the slow crawl the vehicles were forced into.
Many hours past lunch and far beyond the range the escort scouts had searched, the last ten miles were exactly the kind of nightmare the group was hoping to avoid. Blown-down trees, broken glass and debris from cars and spilled cargo. A minefield of sharp objects and obstacles capable of stopping them dead.
Now they were.
“Dan,” Kell said loudly as he moved toward the vehicle ahead, which tilted down slightly on one corner.
“I'm here,” the older man huffed as he jogged to Kell's side. “What's up, boss?”
The two of them stood a few feet away from the shredded tire as a small group of migrants stood nearby, shaking their heads and trying to figure out how to fix the problem.
“What's the problem, fellas?” Dan asked, stepping forward.
As the other man engaged the migrants, Kell got a good look at the damaged tire and understood the problem. There was a pit in the ground, a pothole with a piece of fabric jutting out over the lip. It was a trick Kell himself had fallen for, a covered trap filled with spikes to ruin a wheel. Except this entire stretch of road had been inspected for such things only days before.
This was new.
Kell spun, quickly striding back to the RV to speak with Laura, who was the current driver.
“That truck hit a marauder trap. Send Scotty ahead to check the road. They'll need to push that thing out of the hole before they can jack it up and replace that wheel. Have a team of three go forward and clear the road as fast as they can. Get everyone else inside vehicles.”
Kate jogged up, and Kell filled her in.
“Damn it,” she said. “Bad enough we've had to idle along and walk in front to watch for debris, now we have to wait for a repair, too? How did they miss the trap?”
Kell shook his head. “Easy mistake if you're looking for obvious, natural stuff. You don't think to look under every scrap of fabric when you're walking through an area as strewn with garbage as this.”
“But still,” Kate said. “We should say something--”
Laura cut her off. “It happened. We can't go back and change it. We'll warn them what to look out for, but you can't blame them for not knowing.”
Kate scowled, which she was good enough at it was almost a talent.
Laura only raised an eyebrow in return, stepping from the RV and slapping Kate on the shoulder. “Come on, grumpy. Let's take care of business.” She turned to Kell. “You're going into the RV. Sit in the lab, don't leave, and let us handle this. We may have to camp here. If so, you'll have plenty of time to work today.”
Kell tried a scowl of his own, but Laura pointed to the door of their vehicle with a look that bore zero bullshit. A foot and a half taller, a hundred pounds heavier, and armed to the teeth, Kell bowed his head and went inside.
“Good boy,” he heard Laura say as she locked the door behind him.
He wanted to bristle at being hidden away, but there wasn't any room for it in his head. Logic overruled emotion. By the time the tire was fixed, it would be his turn to drive anyway. There were dozens of people working to clear and secure the area. He wasn't needed out there. As he entered the heavily modified bedroom of the RV, with its books and equipment carefully strapped in place, he was reminded sharply that his value was best measured not in combat or leadership, but in this.
He was the best—and possibly only—person in the world equipped to handle the plague. Kate and Laura were still the only people who knew of his role in the outbreak, and the two of them knew any cure would almost certainly be his creation.
The sounds of the vehicles and people outside faded. Seeing the notebooks full of data he'd recalled and written down, mounds of information to be reviewed in an effort to strike the spark that would give him the answer, Kell began to relax.
Not the careless relaxation of someone without concerns. Kell felt his focus slide, mind reorienting, until it found the comfortable middle gear where his best work had always happened. Two years of thinking about the problem made it easy; his brain craved the academic challenge of trying to figure out a cure with nothing but his mental blackboard to work with.
For a long time he simply organized the facts. A timeline of Chimera, with every change and mutation he could recall added in. The overall picture was fascinating, from a detached point of view. Months after the outbreak, Chimera mutated to protect itself and its hosts from cold. Another variation also showed up well after the initial outbreak, which were the smart zombies he'd heard some people call Smarties. It was a stupid name, but at least accurate. It made him think of candy for some reason.
Long after that, the New Breed appeared. Smarter, stronger, faster, more coordinated, and with physical abnormalities making them more resistant to damage. The bone density loss—likely through malnourishment—wasn't present in the New Breed as it was in other zombies. The bands of thick, fibrous material beneath the skin in vital areas were invisible if you didn't know what to look for, but made attackers work to pierce them. Where survivors had been able to pierce the skulls of the undead with relative ease previously, thanks to weak bones and wasted skin, now they had to put tremendous effort into each strike.
In the weeks since learning about the New Breed, he'd worked the facts over in his mind. Based on the state of the smart zombies he'd seen, Chimera was either becoming geometrically more efficient at preserving the tissues it fed, or those smart zombies were fresher. Made much later after The Fall. The New Breed appeared much later still, though he'd been unaware of both until recently. The New Breed were as well preserved as the Smarties.
The simplest and most likely explanation meant both variations reanimated from people who died recently.
It wasn't a flash of insight like many he'd had in the past, but more a final conclusion that his theory was the most likely explanation. A sense of certainty bordering on absolute.
Kell thought out the possibilities, then opened a small safe in the corner. Though he had to remove the contents blind, the space too small and cramped for him to do more than awkwardly crouch in, he was infinitely careful. Fingers graced the sides of cool glass tubes, vacuum-sealed plastic halfway down the sides. Deep-seated rubber corks, sealed as well as he could manage. All sitting in a padded rack with ties holding the tubes in place.
He sat back, prize in hand. Each of the tubes, filled only a few days before, held two things. The first was a small piece of venison, straight from the chopping block and bloody. The second, small biopsied sections of lung from the same person.
Ten samples of what everyone in North Jackson called The New Plague. Another name Kell rolled his eyes at, and again accurate despite its drama.
A knock from the bedroom door, followed by Laura, who stopped short when she saw what Kell was holding.
“Do you think it's a good idea to have that out?” she asked. “I got those samples because you asked, but I'd rather you not spill that shit in the RV while I still live here.”
“I won't.”
“Good, because that stuff is dangerous. We missed the worst of it living away from everyone, but it killed a lot of people before someone figured out how to treat it. Even now cases still pop up, or I wouldn't have been able to get those for you.”
Turning the tray of tubes over in his hands, Kell mused. “You told me the way this 'new plague' was finally treated was with very hot air, correct?”
Laura nodded.
Kell ran a finger along his bottom lip. “Seems pretty lucky, doesn't it? That hot air would stall this version of Chimera?”
She shrugged. “Not really. People have noticed almost since the beginning that zombies don't like temperature extremes.”
Leaning forwar
d suddenly, eyes alight, Kell nodded. “Yes. The organism mutated to adjust for cold temperatures, but never managed to do so for heat. Convenient. In fact, I think it's a shade too lucky.”
Laura's brows knitted. “What do you mean?”
“I think this is engineered. A fail-safe inserted by the men who took my work before it was ready. I'm not sure how they did it, but I know they did. It's the only thing that fits. We tested Chimera in all sorts of environments, including pairing it with heat-resistant bacteria. It never had a problem in our trials.”
“How does that help us?” Laura asked.
Kell shook the rack of vials slightly, sloshing around the devoured protein inside. “This is the key. Think about it, Laura. It's a version of the plague that tries to overwrite other strains. We know it makes people sick, living people I mean, but do we have any idea what it does to the undead?”
She paused, considering. “No, I don't think I've heard anyone mention it.”
“I didn't think so. If it affects the dead, they'd probably remain in their hibernation state to fight the infection. We probably would've overlooked every clue. We need to test it.”
He removed three of the vials in a blink, yanking the ties holding them in the rack loose. Laura stepped forward, put a hand on his arm.
“Whoa, there. Hang on. Do you think it's a good idea to go opening those around here? Jesus, Kell, think about what you're doing.”
He hesitated, though there was no trace of contrition in his eyes. “You're right. We should wait until we're stopped for the night.”
Laura pinched the bridge of her nose. Kell could swear he heard her counting down from ten under her breath. “That's what I came in here to tell you. We're camping for the evening. We put it to a vote,” she said, talking over his squawks of protest. “Yours wouldn't have made a difference. The consensus is to hunker down here, let scouts clear the road ahead, and if this is a marauder trap, be ready for them. Better immobile and ready than to flee into unknown road conditions with enemies on our tails.”
Mulling it over, he eventually agreed. “You're right. Plus it will give me time to scrounge up a zombie and test a theory.”
Laura shook her head, wisps of red hair drifting from her ponytail. “I think you should wait until we get to Kentucky, Kell. It's way too risky out here. Besides, you wouldn't have the time you'd want to observe and record.” She pointed to the vials still resting in his hand. “Why don't you tie those back up, stick that thing in the safe, and try to work out ways to cure people instead of just thinking of ways to kill the undead.”
He smiled at her, a thin and fluttery thing, coming back to ground level as his excitement faded. “Of course. You're right.”
Laura grinned at him. “I usually am.”
She set the lock before she left, the door closing with a heavy click behind her. Kell sat staring for long minutes, mind working out the possibilities, the endless permutations of all the available data.
The rack went back into the safe, locked in tight and secure from casual harm.
Wrapped thickly in fabric and bundled together, the three vials went in the pouch on his belt.
Four
The sky gaped wide above him, stars shining bright. At three in the morning, Kell barely noticed them. There were no fires, no sources of light to make it easier to spot them by anyone who might be watching. On his stomach, on top of the RV, he watched for trouble.
His turn on watch duty would be over at dawn, when the rest of the camp rose and readied to travel. When Kate woke him for his shift, he'd worried the other migrants would be careless, forcing him and the other three people in his group to spread out and watch the entire camp themselves.
Faint guilt flushed his cheeks as he scanned the starlit hills. He needn't have worried; the migrants posted twice the guards his own group used, operating in pairs and disciplined enough to meet even Laura's strict requirements.
Every guard wore their armor, and while Kell's own people were covered in the bits and pieces of gear acquired or constructed over time to create full body armor, the rest of the migrants used more streamlined material. Heavy cloth layers sewn together with dense stitching around the seams. A few of them wore Kevlar over their cloth armor, and he suspected the rest wore theirs below. Overall, the stuff would work well against the undead, if not so much when dealing with knives or bullets except for low-velocity rounds.
Still, it was more foresight and preparedness than most of his group expected. Which, when he thought about it, was stupid and dismissive. These people had survived The Fall, too. Seen and dealt with situations more severe than anyone could have dreamed a few years before. Kell thought them weak and lazy given their time in the relative safety of North Jackson's walls.
The weapons in their hands reflected glints of moonlight from wicked edges and points. Whatever else these people might be, they were not easy prey.
Kell shifted his weight, careful to avoid putting any pressure on his belt pouch. Kate called it paranoia to live in his armor the way he did, always ready to flee at a moment's notice. His pouch, loosened slightly to allow him to lay flat, carried not only the vials containing samples of the New Plague, but also homemade ammonia grenades, sealed blood bait, and an assortment of other things he'd rather not crush. The ladies chided him for carrying an arsenal at all times, and for wearing his backpack everywhere he went.
The rest of the unit had begun to do the same. Once they reached Kentucky, safe in their new home, they would all relax that discipline. During the trip, Kell didn't want to be caught weaponless for even a second.
The long hours crept by slowly, the world turning beneath them as the stars gave way to the first gray tones of dawn. Below, Kell watched the other guards move from their posts to wake the rest of the group. He kept watch for a while longer, ignoring the shuffle of tired feet and the yawns of people whose routines still demanded coffee after all this time.
Come to that, his own body wanted caffeine something fierce, but he ignored the desire.
Kell slid to the RV's ladder, climbed down quickly and looked for Scott and Dan to give them report. He spotted the pair with the other group, grinning as they took bowls of food—dried fruit and granola, by the look of it—from the same young woman who'd given Kell his sandwich the day before. Eager to give report and spend an hour or two relaxing in the passenger seat of the RV, Kell grabbed his spear from beside the ladder and strode forward.
Halfway to the group, the sun poked out over the hills to send bright rays of light at the gathering of survivors.
That was when the gunfire started.
The shots were grouped close, three single cracking reports and then silence. No one screamed; the only noises Kell heard from the convoy, as he threw himself back behind the RV, were the shouts telling people to get down, stay down, and wait for orders.
The standing procedure was for anyone inside a vehicle to stay there. As he stood on the RV's passenger side waiting for the next round of bullets to score a victim, a tapping sound caught his attention.
Kate's face peered at him through the window, worried. “Laura is on the other side,” she said, voice muffled through the thick Plexiglas they'd installed. “She can't spot the shooters. The woods on the other side are too dense to see much of anything.”
Kell nodded, but before he could reply a faint smell caught his attention.
“Fuck me,” he breathed, then raised his voice. “Ammonia! They're pushing a swarm toward us!”
His statement was confirmed a moment later when Laura's loud cursing penetrated the wall of the RV. “Swarm just came from the trees!”
Pulse pounding, he struggled to assess the situation. Whoever was firing at them didn't want to damage anything, that much was obvious. If the goal were to kill the group at any cost, they would've fired from hiding instead of risking the use of a zombie swarm as a weapon. For now, at least, the enemy used gunfire to keep his people from moving around and forming up, waiting for the zombies to do
their work.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Kell muttered.
“We're coming out,” Kate shouted through the window. “Laura and I can fire from under the truck--”
“No!” Kell said, frustrated. “You come out, they'll start shooting again.”
“So what do we do?” Kate asked angrily.
“I don't know, give me a second.”
The shuffling crunch of bodies moving through brush reached his ears, too loud for his comfort. The swarm had approached while he argued. Now that he paid attention to it, he could hear Scotty shouting a request for orders.
Kell's mind raced. Of all the people not in vehicles, he was the lone one of them not massed in the group thirty feet away. An idea formed, and the swarm gave him no time to second-guess it.
“Scotty! Dan! Anyone with guns over there start shooting carefully. Just slow them down for a few seconds.”
Kate stared at him through the window. “Kell, what--”
Their eyes locked. “You'll know when to start shooting,” he said. “You and Laura pull the windows out and lay down suppressing fire. You have about twenty seconds.”
He turned from her before she could argue, more loud cursing coming through the RV walls. Kell's fingers fumbled in his belt pouch for a moment until they found what he was looking for. The first shots rang out from Dan and Scotty's group, and Kell took three huge steps back from the western side of the RV.
With careful aim, he threw the ammonia ball, a thin glass globe encased in candle wax, at the trapped group of survivors. The smell would be enough to hold off the undead for at least a few seconds, though Kell doubted an easy meal would be ignored for long, no matter the discomfort.
The shots came from the west, which means I should be safe...
Kell rubbed his second weapon down his chest, then lobbed it at the closest zombie as he backed down the eastern side of the road. The small hill leading down from the highway, plus the height of the RV, should have offered him enough cover to avoid the shooters.
The Fall (Book 2): Dead Will Rise Page 4
