Feast

by Jeremiah Knight

  Ella couldn’t hide her revulsion.

  “We’re survivors,” he said. “We do what we have to. And honestly, it wasn’t that bad. Mostly I just pictured you.”

  Ella wanted to vomit, slit his throat and laugh all at the same time. She’d traded a loveless pervert for a lovesick psychopath. But at least she understood this psychopath. The problem was that he also knew her, and now he knew that Boston was her ultimate destination. Boston wasn’t a small city, though, and George’s Island was just one of many dotting the coast. He’ll never find it, she told herself, but the thought lacked conviction. Kenyon was a smart man. And determined. That he’d survived the wild on his own, and befriended a tribe of ExoGens revealed as much.

  But as long as Peter and the kids were free, there was a chance they could reach the island first. Once they plugged Anne in, Ella’s presence shouldn’t be needed. She wasn’t certain about that. Anne’s...design had never been tested. Any number of things could go wrong. But there was still a chance.

  Ella closed her eyes and pushed her will toward the children. Run. Wherever you are. Run.

  It was the closest she’d come to praying in a long time, and apparently just as useless.

  “Put up your hands and step back!” The voice was angry and full of faux authority. It was also young and very familiar. Ella opened her eyes to see Jakob, standing in the farmhouse’s doorway, an AK-47 raised at Kenyon’s head. “Get away from her. Now.”

  26

  Jakob had looked death in the eyes more times in the last few weeks than he thought anyone should throughout their lifetime. Nearly every living thing in the world wanted to kill and eat him, and not necessarily in that order. But in all of those instances, he hadn’t tried to hide his fear. Wouldn’t have been able to, even if he had tried.

  But now, Ella’s life was on the line.

  The woman his father loved.

  His sister’s mother.

  So when he aimed the AK-47 at Eddie Kenyon, half his mind was focused on the target. The other half was trying to hide his shaking, keep the contents of his stomach locked down and keep the wetness in his eyes from spilling over. If Kenyon saw any of these signs of weakness, he might act. And if he did that, Jakob was dead.

  Kenyon would outshoot him. And not because Jakob was a bad shot, or even afraid of taking a human life. What he was afraid of, aside from his own painful demise, was that his bullet would take the wrong human life. In the time it took him to pull the trigger, Kenyon could slip behind Ella.

  Jakob was there to save Ella, not kill her.

  What made it all worse was that Kenyon showed no fear at all.

  “I don’t recall the prodigal son returning with an AK-47,” Kenyon said.

  Jakob said nothing. He’d put everything he had into his first words. Speaking now would reveal the quiver in his voice. Instead he adjusted his aim slightly, putting the crosshairs between Kenyon’s eyes.

  “I can wait,” Kenyon said. “Kid like you can’t hold that weapon up forever. Better off just taking the shot now.”

  Jakob blinked.

  He was right.

  But the moment he pulled the trigger, several things would happen at once. Ella might be shot, either by Jakob or Kenyon, though he doubted Kenyon would kill her. After what he’d seen and heard, he was pretty sure that Ella’s ex still clung to the idea that they had some kind of future. Then there were the Riders. As dangerous as Kenyon was, they were worse. And Jakob’s rag-tag militia, who were taking up positions throughout the house, wouldn’t be much safer behind walls and bars that the ExoGenetic women could tear through like paper.

  It would be a blood bath. For both sides. But Kenyon had the advantage. He had Ella, and he was right; he could wait. The assault rifle already felt heavy in Jakob’s arms. He’d gained a good amount of strength and stamina on the road, not to mention survival skills. But five weeks of toughening couldn’t really compensate for years of sitting behind a computer screen, shooting up digital bad guys and taunting human opponents with variations of ‘noob,’ ‘newbie,’ and his personal favorite, ‘umad bro?’

  In the multiplayer gaming realm, his style had been bold, reckless and effective. He’d charge into a room, praying and spraying, draining his rapid fire weapon of choice, and more often than not, it worked. But only because there was no fear associated with what was essentially a suicidal tactic. His life was expendable because if he died, he would respawn a few seconds later and be right back at it. He understood that. But most players still reacted with fear, as if their digital life still meant something, and that’s why it worked.

  In games.

  This was real life. If he died here, there would be no second chance. And praying and spraying...that would get Ella killed for sure.

  He lacked his father’s skill, strength and patience. He couldn’t take a masterful shot and know, without a doubt, that he could hit Kenyon and not Ella. He couldn’t come up with a plan that would then deal with the primitive Rider rage that would follow and still likely lead to his and Ella’s demise.

  Umad bro? he thought at himself. As much as he liked using the obnoxious taunt, he hated being on the receiving end of it even more. He squinted, adjusting his aim once more, as a new kind of rage tamped down his fear and he considered, really considered, trying something crazy.

  But he couldn’t do it alone.

  Luckily, he didn’t have to.

  Glass shattered behind him. Windows belched glass from the first and second floors of the house. It clattered against the porch floor and slid down the porch roof like rain water. A dozen weapons slid through the gaping holes, aiming at Kenyon and the Riders, who were growing agitated.

  Kenyon smiled. “Well, now. Looks like a genuine stand-off.”

  “A stand-off is when both sides are evenly matched,” Jakob said, surprising even himself. His rising anger had soothed his churning stomach, bolstered the strength in his arms and removed the fear from his voice. “This isn’t a case of mutually assured destruction.”

  Kenyon scanned the area, looking at the weapons pointed in his direction. “But I have her.” Faster than Jakob could react, Kenyon slipped fully behind Ella. To put a bullet in Kenyon would mean putting it through Ella first.

  Jakob’s aim wavered for a moment, but then zeroed in on Ella. If Kenyon attacked, he’d have no choice. Please God, Jakob thought, don’t make me have to kill her.

  Ella’s eyes met Jakob’s. Once she had his attention, she gave a subtle nod. Permission to shoot. Then she glanced at her shoulder, and followed it with a wide eyed glare. She wasn’t just giving him permission to shoot her, she was telling him to. If he put the bullet through her arm, it would hit Kenyon’s as well. If they were lucky, it would make him drop his weapon, or at least give Ella the chance to break free or attack. If they were unlucky, and his aim was off by a few inches, Ella could die.

  Do something suicidal, Jakob thought. He’ll never see it coming. But this wasn’t his life he was putting at risk.

  “I can see it in your eyes, kid,” Kenyon said. “You have the look of a man about to do something stupid.”

  Jakob felt a measure of despair return. Kenyon saw it coming, saw it broadcast on Jakob’s face.

  “Aww, don’t look so sad.” Kenyon chuckled. “You’re not your dad. Probably never will be. Some people are born strong. Some people go through the forge and come out strong on the other side. Like Ella. But most people...most people just melt. You’re melting, kid.”

  “Umad bro?” Jakob said.

  “What?”

  “You mad?”

  Kenyon’s voice took on the familiar tone Jakob had heard in many a team deathmatch game. “What?”

  “You think you’ve got the win. You think you’re walking out of here alive? That any of you are? Ella would rather die than go with you. I know that, because she told us all about you. About your whiny voice. About how you fawn over her like a little school boy. About how she played you. A bat of the eyelashes, and you did
exactly what she wanted. Even now, even after knowing the truth about what you mean to her, you’re still willing to risk everything just to get her back? One of us never left high school, and it isn’t me.”

  Kenyon said nothing, but looked furious.

  Jakob finished with the coup de grâce that lowered the IQ of most guys. “She also told about your little dick.”

  Kenyon’s eyes twitched, but he didn’t move. Didn’t talk, either, which meant he was getting angry. Really angry.

  The real icing on his rage cake was when the dick comment elicited chuckling from the Rider females.

  “So, bro,” Jakob said. “Umad?”

  “Little shit!” Kenyon shouted, stepping back from Ella and raising his weapon.

  Jakob cringed at the realization that Kenyon was reversing the tactic Ella had requested. He was going to put a bullet through her—maybe a bunch of them. The resulting spray of shattered lead would burst out the front of her body and strike Jakob.

  But Kenyon never got the chance.

  A single round was fired from the second floor window, striking Kenyon’s shoulder. He spun, dropped his weapon and fell to the ground. Someone from the second floor had saved Ella’s life.

  Momentarily.

  The Riders twisted to watch Kenyon fall, and then coiled to spring. Ella would die first. Then Jakob. Then the people holed up in the house, and maybe even the rest of Hellhole’s residents hiding in the unfinished biodome, including Anne.

  But the next sound to cut through the air wasn’t a gunshot, a scream or an ExoGen battle cry. It was the thunderous whup, whup, whup, of a helicopter.

  27

  “You’re late. Get up.”

  Anne opened her eyes. The sprawl of her bedroom surrounded her. Clothes covered the floor, posters hung on the walls, and her dog, Jasper, stood bedside, wagging his tail.

  “C’mon,” her mother said, rapping the locked door with her knuckles.

  “I’m up,” Anne said, but something about her voice sounded off. When she sat up, Jasper couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He jumped onto the bed, stepped into her personal space and started licking. Anne fended him off, shaking his cheeks and ears. Then she squished up his loose fur, transforming his Labrador face into something closer to a pug. “Who’s a squishy boy? You are.”

  There was that voice again. I need a drink, she thought, but instead of heading for the bathroom, she climbed out of bed and moved to her desk. While the rest of the room looked like it had survived a nuclear war, the desk was a gleaming bastion of organization. It wasn’t empty. Not even close. But the text books, note pads, pens and pencils all had their place.

  She pulled a sketchbook out from beneath the stack of biology books and gently sifted through the pages, finding the most recent entry. There were notes scrawled in pencil, sketches of wildflowers and a folded up piece of paper towel. She opened the towel to find a pressed flower. “Hello, little daisy.”

  It looked perfect. Better than the last one, which had lost petals on one side, and looked like a balding man with a bushy beard.

  Three knocks filled the room, and she nearly shouted at her mother. But then she realized where the knocks had come from and clamped her mouth shut. Anne moved to the window, tugged the shade down and let it snap up. The boy on the other side nearly fell away in surprise, but he managed to cling to the overhang.

  Jasper leapt up, front paws on the sill, and barked.

  “He needs to go out,” her mother shouted from somewhere in the house.

  “I know!” Anne replied and opened the window.

  Jasper assaulted the boy with licks. The boy laughed, pushed the dog aside and slid into the room. It wasn’t a graceful entrance, but it was silent.

  He’d had practice.

  Had been visiting her for years.

  But...who is he? Anne wondered, and then she realized there was a third person in the room. A girl with brown hair, like hers, but straighter and longer. A lot longer.

  The girl petted Jasper and said, “I’ll let you out in a minute.” Then to the boy, “You’re early.”

  “You’re late.” He smiled and Anne saw something familiar about him. “Overslept again? You know, just because you get ‘A’s on all your tests doesn’t mean that Mrs. Heintz won’t dock you for missing classes.”

  “Won’t miss any if you leave and let me change.” The girl gave the boy a playful shove.

  “I’ll just turn around.” The boy faced the window. “Won’t peek, I swear.”

  “Pete!” The girl said, kicking the boy.

  Pete? Anne tried to speak, but she couldn’t. This was her room. She was late for school. Who were these kids, and what were they doing in her room?

  It’s a dream, she thought. But that wasn’t right. It was more than that. It’s a memory. Mom’s memory. And the boy. He’s...dad.

  “If my parents find you up here, you’re a dead man.”

  He nodded and smiled. “Even deader if you’re changing. But it’d be worth it.”

  The girl...Ella...smiled. “Thought you weren’t going to look?”

  God, Anne thought, they flirted like that when they were kids, too. How old are they anyway? She looked at the pair. Fourteen at least. Maybe fifteen. Teenagers in full bloom.

  Peter shrugged, and headed back to the window.

  “Perv,” Ella said, but she didn’t look at all upset.

  “Meet me out front?” Peter said.

  “You should go ahead. My grades aren’t really a concern, but yours...”

  Peter shook his head. “Not going to leave you.”

  “My hero.”

  Peter hung outside the window, poised to climb back down the pipe he had used to scale the wall hundreds of times during their childhood. Anne remembered it all. Remembered what happened next, too. “Heroes get rewarded, you know.”

  Without thinking it through, Ella lifted her shirt and flashed Peter. She’d done it twice before, but never after having just woken up...braless.

  Peter was so stunned that he lost his grip and fell.

  Anne felt herself slip into her father’s perspective. She saw the blue sky above, and then coughed in pain as she struck the ground. Peter had sprained his ankle that day. Hopped to the front stairs, threw himself on them and pretended he’d tripped. Instead of school, he and Ella spent the morning at the hospital. No one found out about the pipe. Her father was a crafty man, in more ways than one, and he really did love her mother. And she loved him. She’d understood this on the surface level, but had never really felt that kind of romantic love, or even affection for a member of the opposite sex. And now, she’d lived her mother’s feelings for her father, which was eye-opening, and kind of gross.

  But it helped her understand them.

  The vision turned hazy and speckled as a tingling sensation rolled from her fingers and toes to her torso.

  Then darkness, followed by a face.

  When she saw Willie standing over her, looking concerned, she knew the dream-like memory had come to an end. “Sheeit, kid, you had me scared.”

  “Says the old asshole who knocked me unconscious.”

  “Did what had to be done.”

  Anne sat up and found herself back in the unfinished biodome. She was lying on the concrete foundation, surrounded by the feeble and hungry residents of Hellhole Bay. She winced and held the back of her head. “You throw me down like a sack of rocks? Geez.”

  “You had a seizure or something,” Willie said. “Bucked yourself free.”

  “Maybe that’s what happens when you clock a twelve year old girl with the butt of a rifle?”

  “Like I said—”

  “Did what you had to do. I heard. How long was I out?”

  “Just got back.” Willie shrugged. “Not much more than a minute.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Don’t know. Your brother got spooked by something. Said to bring you here. Seemed like he thought you were in a specific kind of danger.”

&nbs
p; ExoGen, Anne thought. Has to be.

  Anne looked back and forth, scanning the group of people hiding along the back wall. Not one of them had a weapon. But Willie did.

  The old man noted her attention and took a step back. “You got some sass to you, but ain’t no way you’re disarming me.”

  She considered the idea, but quickly dismissed it. Willie was old, but he had already proven himself tough. He’d probably knock her unconscious again.

  “You’re Ella’s girl?” a tired voice asked. It was the woman they’d come here to find, Lyn Askew. “You look a lot like her. Like your father, too.”

  “You knew my father?” Anne asked. She’d woken with a large chunk of her mother’s childhood memories dumped into her mind, like they were her own, but this woman wasn’t in any of them.

  “Knew of him. She kept a photo of him in her office. Spoke highly of him when I asked. I think losing him was one of the toughest experiences of her life.”

  “Probably harder for the wife he was cheating on.”

  Lyn smiled. Her dry lips cracked. Beads of blood formed and smeared like lipstick. The woman didn’t notice. “Imagine so. But it was good to see them together. Is she happy?”

  Happy? “Lady, the world has gone to hell, largely because of my mother’s work. She’s one of the most hated people on the planet, by the few people who are still alive and capable of feeling anything beyond abject fear.”

  “But not him,” Lyn pointed out.

  Anne sighed, her thoughts drifting back through the past few weeks. Her memory recalling window visits made by young Peter. She felt the joy he brought her. “Yeah,” she finally said. “She’s happy.”

  “And you?”

  “Me? What about me?”

  “I noticed you’re a little more...fleshed out than your family. You’ve been enjoying the fruits of our labor, haven’t you?”