With Ella back, he was done with metaphorical fruitcakes.
Hutchins looked slimmer than Kenyon remembered. Had kind of a haunted look in his pale eyes, too. Viper Squad had seen some tough times without his leadership. But they were still alive. Still fighting. And very present.
When he and Ella got within fifty feet of the chopper, Hutchins came forward to meet them. The rotor was still slowing, but talking over the engine’s whine would be tough. He moved with caution at first, but broke into a faster walk when Kenyon stepped out from behind Ella and smiled. When the two met, Kenyon shook the other man’s hand and winced from the pain. Hutchins drew back. “Shit. Sorry, sir. Didn’t see that you were wounded.”
Kenyon looked at the bloodied arm. “The least of our concerns.”
Hutchins looked past him at the gathered forces of people and Chunta. “We didn’t think you were alive. Some guy radioed from this location. Said he had Ella and the girl.”
Kenyon nodded, but said nothing. He had a lot of questions, and a good number of requests, but there was one pressing issue that needed to be resolved. “Where’s Mackenzie?”
“We went back for you,” Hutchins said. “But by the time we got there, your body... You, were gone.”
“Where is he?”
“Dead,” Hutchins flexed his hands. “Should be, by now. We were going to shoot him. For what he did. But he got away. Pretty sure he had a bullet in him, though. Even if he didn’t, there’s no way he’d make it alone.”
“I did,” Kenyon said, looking back at the Chunta. “Though I wasn’t exactly alone.”
“Mackenzie isn’t you, sir.”
That was true. Mackenzie was a soldier. A good soldier. But he played by the rules, and Peter being a Marine—and a CSO to boot—had shifted the man’s allegiance. Despite there being no U.S. government, and no more Marine Corps, the man couldn’t betray a fellow jarhead. And that kind of straight forward thinking didn’t work in the new world. If you weren’t willing to break any and every rule or notion of right and wrong, and didn’t have men and helicopters to back you up, you were as good as dead.
“Good enough,” Kenyon said, though he regretted not being able to crush Mackenzie’s head beneath his boot. He’d thought of nothing but revenge for the past month, and so far, the objects of his wrath were all still alive. Someone had to die today, but first he would reclaim his future.
“How many are left?”
It was a vague question, but Hutchins understood it. “Manke, Kissock and Drummond...obviously.”
They were the pilots. Kenyon had already deduced as much. But he didn’t need pilots now, he needed boots on the ground.
“Then there’s Mendez and Crawford.”
Kenyon had already seen Mendez take Hutchins’s position behind the machine gun, where he should stay. But Crawford was a good fighter. Loyal, too. “Who else?”
“Uhh, that’s it, sir.”
“What the hell happened?”
“We were on the ground. Refueling. Thought we were safe, but this... I think it might have been a spider. It-it...”
“I get it,” Kenyon said. He was disappointed in Viper Squad, but a team is only as good as its leadership, and while Hutchins was a solid warrior, he wasn’t exactly Alexander the Great when it came to strategy. “I want Crawford with us. Tell the choppers to kill anything that moves...” He pointed to the Chunta. “Except for them. For now.”
“What about her?” Hutchins motioned to Ella.
“She’s going to call Anne for us.”
“I’ll do no such—ahh!”
Ella’s voice was cut short by a shout of pain, as Eddie snatched her pinky finger and snapped it quickly back. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he knew how to draw pain without permanently disfiguring. And when Anne heard her mother crying out, the girl would come running.
29
Hiding was for cowards. Anne believed it with all her heart, but she also knew better. Hiding meant surviving, and survival was the name of the game. Sometimes an enemy could be defeated simply by staying alive long enough for something else to kill it for you. In this case, hiding meant the human race as it had evolved over millions of years, still had a chance to reclaim the planet from what ExoGen had done to it.
She believed that even more than she believed hiding equaled cowardice. But was that really how she felt, or were those her mother’s emotions leaching into her, along with her memories and knowledge? Or maybe she was having a similar emotional response to those memories? She was her mother’s daughter, after all, even more than the average daughter.
Shawna the maid, who wasn’t really a maid, but had been dressed up like one, led her to a large bedroom at the back of the house. It had a king size bed, perfectly made with the fluffiest, most inviting comforter set that Anne had ever seen. As she walked past the bed, part of her longed to climb into it, fall asleep and forget the world and her part in it. Then she smelled the room. It was distinctly masculine. Like something she’d smelled as a child. Her father’s scent.
That’s mom’s memory, Anne thought, identifying the scent as Old Spice, and recalling the cologne’s beige bottle with a sailboat. Her mother had liked the smell. But it was tinged with something else Anne couldn’t identify. Something that made her wince. Shawna too, though she suspected the woman knew what she was smelling, and it twisted her face up with discomfort. Bad things happened in this room.
Shawna rounded an old dresser that looked hand-carved, like some kind of ancient antique. Above it was a fancy gilded mirror, like something out of a fairy tale. Probably taken from a museum, Anne thought, and she paid the furniture and décor no more attention. Shawna opened a door, revealing a walk-in closet stocked with the clothes of a Southern gentleman.
“We’re going to hide in a closet?” she protested. “Isn’t that like a cliché or something? Won’t this be the first place someone will look?”
Shawn ignored her and began separating the shirts hanging on the left side of the closet. “I found this by accident. I didn’t go inside, but I think I know what it is.”
“I don’t see anything,” Anne said. “It’s just—”
Shawna pressed on the wall. The small amount of pressure revealed a thin rectangular seam. When she removed her hands, a door popped open. It was just three feet tall and two feet wide, but big enough to fit through. Big enough for an adult to fit through. “I don’t think this was part of the original house. But Mason was a contractor. I think he added this space, or at least converted a large closet into two separate spaces.”
“Why would he need a secret room inside a house he controlled?” Anne asked. “Is it like a safe room?”
Shawn frowned. “I don’t think so. Let me go in first.”’
“Whatever is in there, I can handle it.” Anne pushed the woman aside. “I have seen things that would make you puke. Hell, I’ve done things that would make you puke. Nothing in here could be worse. And we don’t really have a choice.”
“Suit yourself,” Shawna said. As kind as the woman was being by hiding her, Anne sensed that the woman had paper-thin patience. And who could blame her? She’d been a prisoner and slave for how long? And now a kid she didn’t know was bossing her around.
But Anne didn’t think there was time for being nice. Not now. Not until Kenyon was dead or gone. Because if he found her... She didn’t want to think about it, but images of ExoGen came unbidden to her thoughts. Her earliest memories were just a few years old. At first, they weren’t that bad. People were kind. In retrospect, they were too kind—the sort of nice that people put on like a mask to hide what they were really thinking. Then came the tests: mental, physical and emotional. Her mother took part in some, at first, but was later pulled from the project. The project of her. These memories had been vague up until now. Or perhaps repressed. But her mother’s leaching memories were bringing out details.
While her mother grew more fond of Anne, treating her like an actual daughter, rather than a creation, A
nne began to feel more and more like a lab rat. She didn’t know what they were looking for, or testing for, but they were relentless, until one day, they weren’t. She had, apparently, failed their tests. It was then that she had been allowed to live with her mother full time.
A memory slipped into her mind. Her mother’s. And unlike most, it was more recent.
She was in an office. Someplace fancy. The air was pure. Smelled like a thunderstorm. A bald man sat behind a desk, back to her. He was looking out a window, large enough to squeeze an elephant through. It looked out upon an empty city with a massive red bridge and a fog shrouded ocean beyond. The view was both disconcerting, and inspiring.
“Lawrence,” Ella said. “You don’t need to terminate this one.”
“I heard you grew attached,” the man said, his voice echoing off the sharp angles in the sparsely decorated space. “You know better.”
“None of them need to be terminated,” Ella countered.
“You know we don’t have the resources to feed them yet.” The man’s fingers tapped on the armrest. Bored. “Nor do we have the time or personnel to raise them. Teach them. If bleeding hearts ran this place, rather than logical minds, we would have hundreds of malnourished, under-educated, potentially rebellious people to look after, all of whom would keep us from continuing our work on schedule and without distraction. But you’ve known that all along. It’s why you haven’t raised this issue before, despite your resistance to our—”
“You murdered humanity,” Ella said. She was trying hard to stay cordial, to not ruffle the feathers of the man whose word was law.
“And you gave us the knife,” the man said, “which is why you are still alive. Your skills and knowledge will help what’s left of the world, something you have at least attempted to make peace with. Your work is progressing. But this...obsession with the girl? It needs to stop.”
“I won’t continue my work without her.”
The man’s fingers stopped tapping. “An ultimatum? You’ve made them before. We both know you prefer life over death. You have never done well with pain.”
“People change,” Ella said. “You of all people know that better than most.”
“The question is why?” Lawrence said. “We changed the world. Not quite overnight, but in evolutionary terms, RC-714 did what took billions of years for evolution to achieve, in the blink of an eye. But what could change a woman like you, who even while she is repulsed by her own work, and toils against it in vain—we know about your biodomes, by the way—always returns to it? Drawn by insatiable curiosity. Pushed by threats of violence. Of starvation. Of being set loose in the wilds of the new. You always return to work.”
Lawrence swiveled around in his chair, facing Ella for the first time. He had a kind face and a genuine smile. His head sparkled in the sunlight filtering in through the window. His eyes matched the water in the bay behind him. And his loose clothing looked like something out of a kung-fu movie. This was a man who should be stretching on a yoga mat, not overseeing the end of life on Earth. “So what about this girl, subject 229—”
“Anne.”
“—would spur you to make such a threat? And why do you think that after all your failed attempts at resistance, things will be different this time?” He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, his smile unwavering.
“Because this time I mean—”
“Why?”
Ella froze up, not wanting to answer.
“Let me help loosen your lips,” Lawrence said. “ExoGen specializes in genetics. It’s right there in the name. Half of the people working in this facility, and thus half the people alive on this planet, are, like you, geneticists. Now, you might be one of our more gifted minds, but even some of the people in the sanitation department know how to run basic DNA tests.”
When Ella said nothing, Lawrence laughed. “So strong willed, and yet so easy to disarm.” He leaned back in the chair. “I had the girl tested the moment you allowed her to share your quarters. I knew what the results would be when I learned that you had named the girl, but was still surprised when my suspicions were confirmed. But you have always been one to try the unconventional. It’s what makes your genius so potent. So valuable. And it’s why I would rather not have to threaten you, or even worse, follow through on those threats. But I still need to hear it from your lips. Tell me, who is the girl to you?”
“My daughter,” Ella said. “And if you let her live...if you let me have her...you never need threaten me again.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I will be all out of reasons to live.”
Lawrence squinted at her. “You didn’t make her for the experiment, did you?” His smile slowly returned. “You made her...for yourself. Like a pet.” The smile became a laugh. “Ella, you would never admit it, but your mind is as twisted as you claim mine to be. And when you see that for yourself, I will let you into the fold. But for now...I will let you keep the girl.”
Anne stumbled out of the memory and into the small room hidden inside the walk-in closet. When she looked up and saw the room’s contents, she wished she could retreat back into that horrible memory.
30
Ella looked Jakob in the eyes as she was led past him. She said nothing, but tried to communicate a simple message with her facial expression alone: I’m sorry.
He just glared back at her. Angry at Mason. At Kenyon. At the Riders. Probably at her, too. He’d risked his freedom, his life, in an attempt to rescue her, but had really just delivered himself as a second bargaining chip. Kenyon hadn’t even disarmed the boy, or the rest of the people in the house. Didn’t have to. No one wanted to commit suicide by Apache helicopter. Though as suicide went, it would be one of the faster ways to die. The attack helicopter’s rockets and chain gun didn’t just kill people, they erased them. Turned them to sludge. They were brutal weapons. Overkill, really. But they were also merciful in their swiftness. Death would come faster than the nervous system could register it.
Despite the graveness of their situation, she wasn’t without hope. First, she trusted that once Jakob knew Kenyon was involved, he would have hidden Anne away before revealing himself. If he’d done a good job, Anne was far from here, maybe not even in the compound anymore. Maybe even with Peter. And that was her second hope. Had been for most of her life. Peter was alive. Of that, she had no doubt. But was he fighting for his life somewhere else? Against Boone and his boys? Was he lost in the swamps? Or had he already returned, maybe even waiting inside the house? Whatever the case, if he showed up, she’d be ready. And if he didn’t...she’d do what she did best—survive.
But what she wouldn’t do is let these men have Anne. She’d die before letting that happen.
So as she took the steps onto the farmer’s porch, she steeled herself for the pain to come, and determined that she would not scream.
She paused in the doorway where Mason’s corpse still hung. Blood tapped out a rhythm on the hard wood floor. She heard movement in the house as people scurried about, hiding, retreating or simply trying to get a better view. She ignored them and turned her attention to Mason. His death had been too sudden. Too merciful. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t vent her rage on him. She punched his torso three times, twice with her freshly broken finger. Then she grasped his arms and drove her knee into his groin, again and again. On the fourth strike, the spear tip slipped free of the door. His body crumpled at her feet.
She kicked the body twice and then stopped. Sweat coated her forehead. Her muscles twitched. The man’s violent sexual advances had affected her more than she thought.
“He really did what you said,” Kenyon said. He actually looked concerned.
“Tried to,” she replied, and hoped he might learn a lesson from her brutalization of a dead man. She stepped over the corpse and into the house. There were two women and one man in the living room to the right of the foyer in which she stood. One of them was Alia. The girl looked at her with a newfound fear. Ella regretted it, but
Alia needed to grow a thicker skin. The days of Millennial coddling came to an end right along with the rest of civilization. She wanted to tell her as much, but didn’t even let her eyes linger on the girl. If they were lucky, Kenyon wouldn’t recognize her. When Kenyon stepped into the foyer behind her, the girl wisely looked away, letting her hair cover her face. Hutchins and Crawford stepped in after them, scanning the hallway and the surrounding rooms with their weapons.
“Ella,” Kenyon said, glancing at the armed residents of Hellhole Bay positioned in the living and dining rooms on either side of them. He didn’t even show a flicker of concern. “I’d rather not do this. You’ve been through enough.”
“Much of it at your hands,” she said. “And we both know how this is going to go, so why don’t we get to it?”
“You’ve changed,” he said.
“We’re all evolving.” Ella held out her left hand, offering him another finger. “Some of us slower than others.”
“I came here to kill you, you know.” He sniffed, feigning sincerity. “I dreamed of it. Your death. And Peter’s. Even the kids’. That’s what kept me alive. Tracking you. Hunting you. You made it hard. I couldn’t have done it without the Chunta. But even with their help, the only reason I’m here at all is because I hated you so much.
“And now that we’re here, and your life is in my hands... I know that what I thought was hate, was jealousy. Because I love you. And I want what’s best for you. That’s not a life on the run. Or in a shithole like this. You and Anne can live long, safe lives.”
“While ExoGen remakes the world?”
“That can’t be stopped. It’s far too late for that.”
Ella didn’t like the sound of that. “What have they done?”
“You’ll find out when you come back with me,” he said. “You can enjoy the fruits of your labor. You can live out your life...again and again. With Anne. With me. Regain ExoGen’s trust and they might even let you help shape the future. Your morality is questionable, but your abilities will always be valuable to them.
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