by Joshua Guess
So Kell understood the serious concern Andrea, Michelle's mother, must have if she would suggest her daughter do something she herself hated so deeply.
“I'm okay, kiddo,” Kell said. “I'm okay.”
“You sure?” Michelle asked and the earnestness in her cherub face brought the long-buried fatherhood out in him. He pulled her into a one-armed hug and rained light kisses down on top of her head.
“I'm sure.”
And he was. Not only for the obvious reason, which was the fact that first and foremost Chimera had been designed to repair nerve damage. It was because even if his arm, whose fragile state precluded anything beyond basic sensation and motion testing, suddenly and permanently went dead, he would still get along fine. The value which turned him into a non-replaceable asset didn't require him to have use of both hands. Or any hands, if it came down to it. There was nothing he could do in the lab that John couldn't. Even a layman with a moderate amount of training could serve as his hands.
Kell's value as a fighter wasn't trivial, but only handful of the people around him could be categorized as non-combatants. Even the little girl next to him could fight like seven kinds of hell. His skill set was useful in combat, but its loss wouldn't noticeably affect the ability of the group to defend itself.
“I'm sure,” he said again.
In times past, Kell would have been one of the central players determining what to do with the prisoner. That meeting was held without his participation, which he was okay with. The level of pain he had been in combined with the need to quickly assess the damage kept him out of the loop. Of course, it was more than a year since he handed off his part in the major decision making off to others in favor of his work. Settling into a permanent home meant a change in priorities.
Which was why, several days after the near-disastrous run at the local marauders, Kell was little more than a fly on the wall during the discussion that would decide when and how they would go about meeting the people Emily had identified using Kell's criteria.
The positions of the people in the room were mostly predictable. Laura said little, choosing to instead see what the various points of logic were before nudging the conversation with a sentence here and a few words there. Lee advocated caution and preparedness by means of necessary force—which by the definition of anyone who wasn't a Marine was actually overwhelming force. It wasn't that the young man was bloodthirsty; in fact the opposite. Lee was prepared to kill and strongly supported having the tools needed to make it happen, but preferred to avoid situations that put his people in danger. One of the first lessons he taught people on the training ground was that the best fight was one you could avoid having in the first place.
There were several others participating in the discussion, but the most interesting to Kell was a man who went by the name Kincaid. He was close with Josh and Jessica, Josh's temporary death being the flash of inspiration which led Kell to ask all the scouts to find people who had clinically died and come back.
Kell had met the man before, and while the quarters inside their compound were snug bordering on uncomfortable, had only seen him in passing outside of the odd feast night.
He was certain why Kincaid was at the meeting, though Kell had no idea whether or not anyone else did. It was only because of the brief but tense days Kell spent with Josh after the man had died that he had been able to suss out what was off about Kincaid, who was rarely more than ten feet from the husband and wife.
Kell was fairly certain the man was a sociopath. Kincaid was certainly capable of some of the behaviors Kell remembered from his college years, yet didn't fit an easy definition or stereotype. Many of his colleagues in the hard sciences scoffed at the idea of psychology and psychiatry being called science, but not Kell. They fascinated him enough to keep him dabbling in the literature for years after leaving school.
The problem many scientists had with those fields could be found in the constantly shifting definitions and terminologies. Kincaid wasn't psychotic. He didn't break with reality. And he didn't fall into most of the highly granular criteria for defining a sociopath. If he was cold to most of the other members of the community, he was fiercely loyal and protective of Josh and Jessica.
They had stood up for Kincaid when the former marauder had taken an amnesty offer from New Haven. Others weren't happy that he'd come to live there, so they had made it a point to show the man trust. Add to that the fearlessness with which Kincaid fought to defend their new home, and you might miss the fact that there was a void in him not present in most people.
His moral compass was missing a direction.
When the meeting was over, Laura motioned for Kell to stay, along with Kincaid. When she asked Kincaid to voice his thoughts on the meeting, Kell knew he was right about why Laura had asked him there in the first place.
“They all had decent points,” Kincaid said, his voice just flat enough to make Kell's neck itch. “Lee wants to send an armada. Emily wants to take Kell by herself and sneak in. Perkins questioned whether bringing back samples would be worth the risks associated with the trip. Griner advocates waiting to see if other scouts fine more accessible subjects to study.”
Laura waved for him to continue. “What do you think, though?”
Kincaid chuckled. “I think you asked me here because I have no skin in the game. You know I make judgments based on logic. You want me to tell you what my take on their arguments is.” Kincaid shook his head. “Look, you know what I'm capable of. You know when it comes to keeping people I care about alive; I'll break rules and bones without batting an eye.”
Laura stared at him for a hard few seconds. Having known her for years, the look on her face made Kell want to get up and move around out of sheer nervous tension. Men had died under that gaze.
“People think you're crazy,” Laura said. “I think you're just amoral enough to not give a shit about anything else when your priorities are in danger. So what I want is for you to pretend for a minute that this trip is your priority, and tell me what you think we should do.”
“Okay,” Kincaid said. “We should do it, and as soon as possible. We have no way of knowing what will happen to the people Emily identified. From what she said, where they live is dangerous. If we're going to try for samples, it should be sooner rather than later. I know Lee wants John to go instead of Kell,” he said, glancing at Kell with a respectful nod, “but that's fucking stupid. John's a good guy, but he's never had to survive out there. He isn't a fighter. Even hurt, Kell has the experience to take care of himself and the temperament not to lose his shit when something goes wrong.”
Laura pursed her lips. “When something goes wrong?”
“Sure,” Kincaid said. “Something always does. When things start to turn pear-shaped, Kell won't flap his hands and run in a circle. He'll take action.” Kincaid looked at Kell again, eyes resting briefly on the mass of straps and bandages covering his shoulder. “He might do something dumb, but he'll at least do something.”
“Thanks,” Kell said.
“You're welcome,” Kincaid replied, no sarcasm in his voice. “And because things go wrong, Lee is also right. We'll need to send a team with him that won't make a fuss or pick fights, but will end them if they happen. Ideally we'd send five or six people in one vehicle capable of being as stealthy as Emily would like while being as secure enough to make Lee happy.”
Laura smiled approvingly. “What about Griner and Perkins? They're elected council members. Do their opinions matter to you?”
Kincaid shrugged. “They would, if they weren't completely neutral and trying to make it look like they aren't. They're more concerned with what we're doing here. They care about crop yields and security upgrades. They want a cure just like everyone else, but they expect you to make the calls when it comes to that stuff. For what it's worth, I think Perkins has a point when wondering if the trip will be worth it just for samples. But then I don't know the science, so maybe Kell can do wonders with some blood and scrapings. That's
probably something you'll ask him about. Griner has no spine, though. He just wants to wash his hands of the whole thing. He has to know how lucky it was for Emily to find not just one but a group of people that fit Kell's criteria.”
Kell sat in stunned silence. He had been right. Whatever peculiarities Kincaid's brain might have, it made him a nearly perfectly blank slate when it came to analyzing situations like this. He had few prejudices to skew his judgment, almost no preconceived notions. It was as astute an analysis as Kell could have given and in far less time.
“I like this guy,” Kell muttered.
“That's good,” Laura said. “Because I'm thinking of putting him in charge of this trip.”
Six
“Why didn't you let her kill me?” the prisoner asked.
Kell sat across from the girl, whose name turned out to be Cari, as she leaned carefully on the narrow cot with her back against the wall.
She was young, confirming Kell's first impression. Underfed and with more stress than any child should endure, she looked even younger than the fourteen years she admitted to. She would have been, what, nine or ten when The Fall happened? Kell wondered if the dot on the letter I at the end of her name had once been a heart shape.
“You're a kid,” Kell said. “It didn't seem right to me. I figured you deserved a chance to be better. To do something better.”
Cari shook her head, a simple gesture but one with more weight of experience than anyone her age should have displayed. “I tried to kill you, man. And you don't know the things I've done just to survive.”
Kell couldn't help laughing even if it was a sound without an ounce of humor. “Trust me; I'm the last person to judge someone on what they've done.”
Cari tilted her head and immediately winced as the motion tugged on one of her injuries. “You do something bad? Why do they let you live here, then?”
“Weird as it sounds, it's because of what I did that they want me here. I know you've been interviewed. You know your options, right?”
Cari nodded. “Stay here and be a good girl or die.” The words were harsh, but her tone held no anger.
“Does that bother you?” Kell asked. “The restrictions?”
The girl shrugged. “My dad was one of the people your guys killed the other night. And I'm happy about it. He kept me alive right after things fell apart, but he had to do some bad shit. When he started in with the rest of those assholes, he put himself in charge. Made sure no one fucked with him.” A haunted, distant look took over her face. “Might be hard to understand, but when you're robbing and killing other people for what they have, it changes you. You go to sleep around a bunch of killers and rapists; you do what you have to so they don't see you as a target. Dad made sure I wasn't...weak.”
A pang of overwhelming sympathy flooded through Kell as she spoke. He tried to imagine growing up in a situation so hellish. What Kell had done in creating Chimera was a sin of hubris at best. Even if you ignored the scope it was far worse than what Cari had to suffer through. Because it was clear she did regret those choices and the necessity of them. There was a clear streak of self-loathing for the things she must have done to armor herself against the people of her group. It ran right along the vein of diamond toughness that must have kept her breathing.
“The thing is, if you choose to live here you're going to learn some pretty big secrets. Things we can't trust you to keep to yourself because we don't know you. If it helps, you should know that every other person living here has made the decision not to leave for the same reason. It's too much of a risk. Even our scouts and trading parties make sure they never sleep near people not from this compound, because they're afraid of what they might say out loud while they're dreaming.”
Cari's eyes widened at that. “What the hell are you guys up to?”
Kell gave her a tiny smile. “Can I assume that means you're agreeing to our terms?”
She nodded.
“My hope is that by the time you running off might become possible, you won't want to. But since you're going to be here, you need the facts. And I feel like it's my responsibility to tell you.”
He did.
The next week was a flurry of work as Kincaid put together everything the group would need for their trip. Kell wasn't involved in any of the physical labor, so he bent his efforts to helping plan everything from the load of supplies and weapons they would need to collating available information on routes and zombie migration patterns to design a better route.
Luckily the trip wasn't going to be a long one. Their destination was a fortified community just one state over, one of the rare communities larger than a dozen people near a large town. Kell worked within the parameters Kincaid had laid out in that first meeting and in two more since, and laid out a winding route that would keep them away from known zombie swarms and marauder hunting grounds.
“This should work,” Emily said when he showed her the map he worked out for the trip. “I'll run it by the other scouts just to be sure.”
It was the end of a long day, the late summer sunset marking one less spin of the globe before their departure. Kell felt apprehensive about the trip, and not only because his injuries made him dependent on other people for his safety. It would be the first time he had traveled away from the compound for more than a few hours. He had grown comfortable thinking of the place as home, especially after so many years of bouncing around.
Getting to his feet with a grimace, Kell pulled the straps holding his arm immobile tighter. He had to keep them loose when sitting or they constricted his movements, but when standing or jogging as he was planning to do, tight was good.
Jogging the perimeter had been a habit of his for most of the time he'd lived here, but since his initial injury Kell made it a point to do it as often as possible. If he couldn't fight effectively, he was going to be damn sure he could run.
That was the plan, at any rate. Kell only made it as far as the large open-sided metal building where vehicle repairs were before forgetting why he'd come outside. The sight in front of him caught him off guard, mainly because seeing a swarm of unfamiliar faces and one shockingly familiar one working together on a vehicle that hadn't been there a few hours earlier contrasted starkly with the idyllic farmland.
“Tim?” Kell asked mouth agape. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The tall man unfolded himself from the stool he was hunched over as he welded something to the cargo van in front of him. “Kell! Good to see you,” Tim said. “And you can call me Mason. That's my real name. We're not fighting a war any longer, so there's no need to keep that quiet.”
Tim—Mason, rather—walked over and extended a hand. Kell grasped it firmly and smiled at the other man. He was willing to bet Mason didn't get many smiles, looking the way he did. Heavy scars twisted along every inch of exposed skin. They weren't patterned in any real sense, not the way you'd think of someone with burn scars or injuries from a mechanical device would be. These scars were ragged and came in groups; the results of a fight with a bunch of zombies that Mason had somehow won.
The facial scars were bad, if not as thick as the ones on his arms and shoulders. The tank top Mason wore left little to the imagination. Heavy muscles and a frame not much smaller than Kell's own gave truth to the impression that the guy was just a beast. Though Kell had no idea what he'd looked like before, it was still obvious that the missing pieces of skin on Mason's face had resulted in hasty and inexpert sewing to pull the ragged edges together. His face had lost symmetry and gained a canted, stretched appearance.
“As for what I'm doing here,” Mason said with a wink, “I'm your driver. I even brought my own wheels.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the van, which was quickly being transformed into something fit for the dangerous world outside.
“How did anyone manage to find you in time?” Kell asked. “We haven't sent any scouts your way in a while.”
Mason shook his head. “Me and my people aren't staying down south anymore. Si
nce the UAS stopped being a bunch of dicks, there's been no need for me to spy on them. Other people can do that. We were already talking about joining up with you when Emily sent word telling us you might need a little help.”
“Sent word?” Kell repeated, brow furrowed.
Mason grinned. “Sure. We've been camped out about a hundred and fifty miles southwest of here for a few months. Haven't you wondered why no random groups of zombies or other bad guys have come from that direction?”
Kell had, actually, but...wow. “You're telling me you've been guarding us in an arc that big? Jesus, man, your patrols must have been brutal.”
“Not really,” Mason said. “The others kept watch while I went through and made sure there were blockages along every major roadway and avenue I could find. Not all of them, but enough to drive most of the traffic in the direction I wanted, which was away from here.”
Kell gaped at Mason openly. The casual way he said it made guarding an enormous tract of land seem trivial. What the hell did they teach these guys in SEAL training?
“Are you a wizard?” Kell asked in a mock-dumb voice.
Mason laughed. “Nah, I just have a lot of practice and smart people helping me out. So what do you think? You want me with you?”
Mason was in the middle of explaining the many alterations being made to the van when a sound like a cross between a great jungle cat and an angry bull filled the busy courtyard. Mason's voice dwindled to silence while pointing out the advantages of armor over efficiency, and both he and Kell found themselves staring at the small mobile home situated just to the left of the main house.
