by Joshua Guess
The door stood open. Framed in it was Jess, six feet tall and wild-eyed at the sight of Mason. Just behind her was Josh, whose face contained nothing of the bright fury his wife expressed. His expression was one of unadulterated shock, which Kell granted made sense. The last time he had seen Mason, the man was facing off against a pack of zombies as a means of choosing his own manner of death. Injuries Mason had taken before that point were so severe everyone involved assumed they would be fatal.
A reasonable assumption given that at the time only a handful of people on earth knew what Chimera was and how much it accelerated the healing process. A deep part of Kell's brain couldn't help being amused at the idea that in a world where the dead rising was a daily concern, someone should still be caught off guard that a friend somehow survived when it seemed impossible.
“Well, shit,” Mason muttered just loud enough for Kell to hear. “I knew I forgot to do something.”
Jess strode across the courtyard, every hard-earned muscle flowing beneath dark skin tense. Though she didn't run or so much as glance at the other people staring at her, they parted like a biblical sea around her.
Of the things Kell knew about Mason, the first and most obvious was the utter competence at the core of who he was. A more shallow examination would assume that SEAL training had created it, but Kell thought it was the other way around. Mason had excelled in his career because the foundation was already there, a deep part of him. He had faced unbelievable odds and beaten them, had more practical experience with self-defense and killing than any five people Kell knew.
So when Jess landed her first punch squarely on the point of Mason's cheekbone, Kell knew it was because he'd let her. Jess could fight like a pissed-off wolverine, but she hadn't exactly caught Mason by surprise.
Kell stepped back from the fracas, worried he'd take an accidental shot to his injured bits. Being a few yards away gave him a beautiful view of the fight.
For all the obvious fury, Jess had perfect control. The blows she landed had real force, enough to make Mason bring up his forearms to block the face shots. She was wearing her usual working gear; a tank top tight over her chest and loose at the waist so that it flared with every fluid twist of her hips. She punched with the methodical efficiency of a martial artist, every shot backed by the rotation of her body.
The sudden rush of heat in Kell's body was unexpected. Logical Kell wondered why his long-dormant libido, essentially in a coma since the loss of his wife, had decided that watching a beautiful and muscular woman beat the shit out of someone was just what it needed. It wasn't the shine of sweat over her skin; he had worked with her enough that the sight was old hat.
Thirty seconds was all it took for her to make the point. After landing half a dozen meaty body blows, Jess pulled back. The fury in her eyes was undiminished.
“What the fuck, man?” she asked, shaking a finger at Mason. “Do you have any idea how hard Josh mourned you? And you just let him think you were dead all this time?”
The tumblers inside Kell's head clicked. Some part of him understood it from the first, but his conscious mind was the dumber of the two.
It was love he'd felt. Just a little, the sort of harmless crush you get for a friend who happens to be awesome. Attraction was a part of the deal. Kell had felt neither for so long that it was akin to touching your leg after it had fallen asleep; alien and strange, yet oddly familiar.
It was the righteous anger for what Josh had been through after losing his friend. The dedication. As the two of them argued, Kell wondered at the ways life could and would manage to surprise you. He'd thought those parts of his mind and heart dead. Beyond resurrection.
Yet here he was, with proof to the contrary.
Interesting.
Seven
Like most survivors, Kell had suffered his fair share of injuries over the years. The range was impressive, from the minor bumps and bruises of everyday life to life-threatening. He realized, as he finished packing for the trip, that he had never been so wholly in need of other people's protection.
Sure, the day of the outbreak had nearly killed him. That didn't really count. Those early days predated the months of practice and training he had set himself to with the same rigor he had applied to his doctorates.
Along with the many sundries needed to outfit even a short trip for half a dozen people, Kell packed a lot of extra bandages and straps. Get lost in the wilderness without supplies once, shame on you. Get lost in the wilderness twice...
“You about ready?” Emily said as she strode into his room. She wore camouflage, as did most of the scouts, though it wasn't military issue. From head to toe, Emily was shrouded in faded hunter's togs. Even the straps for her gear and weapons matched. With the balaclava draped around her neck pulled up, she would become a ghost in even mildly dense woods.
It was, Kell decided, a good look on her.
“Yes,” he replied as he slipped the bag closed and buckled it tight. “Not sure I'm comfortable needing you guys to guard me, but I'm ready.”
A few seconds passed without a reply. He looked up to find Emily's gaze raking the walls of his room.
“Man, you really are a genius, aren't you?” she said in a distant voice, lazily waving a hand at his unique style of wallpaper.
There were few bare inches of space. Every surface was covered in wide sheets of butcher paper, tacked up and overlapping. From a distance the paper appeared dirty, the light brown dusted with black motes. When you got within arm's reach—as Emily now was for the first time—the black resolved into lines of text, tables of information, and a fair amount of math.
“I mean, technically,” Kell said awkwardly. “Most of that is just my research over the last year; along with the relevant data from before everything went to shit to provide reference points.”
Emily nodded. “The end of the world does that, you know? Makes you forget who people used to be. You see a guy working in the field with you, the first thought on your mind isn't that he was a mechanical engineer and drove an expensive car. You know him as someone who has your back. Shares the work.”
Kell shrugged against his bandages, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. “It's not something I'm proud of,” he said.
She glanced at him, surprised. “Really? All that work and you're not proud?”
“No,” Kell said. “I mean being smart. Funny thing about being a geneticist is how it changes your outlook on things like that. My brains are a result of my biology. I was going to be smart no matter what. The work I did getting my degrees, the effort I put in researching, those are things I'm proud of. I don't have an opinion on being intelligent any more than I do on being tall.” He paused, cocking his head. “Then again, the end of the world happened partially because of my being at the head of the class, so...”
Emily gave him an exaggerated eye roll. “Laura warned me you tend toward being maudlin about that. Pretty arrogant to think no one else on the team who discovered Chimera could have made the same breakthroughs.”
Kell smiled. It was Laura's old argument, just from a different set of lips.
“You're right,” Kell said. “I came to terms with that a long time ago. Now I just want to fix it so things can start to get better.”
Emily grinned. “That's what this trip is all about, yeah?”
“Let's hope so,” Kell said.
There wasn't much in the way of fanfare as the small group made ready to leave. Laura and Andrea waited by the van, Michelle buzzing around and between them impatiently. The girl saw him first, eyes flashing with the sort of excited recognition only small children and serial killers are capable of.
Her weight slammed into his legs a few seconds later, tiny arms wrapping around them—as far as possible, that is—in a fierce hug. Kell chuckled and wedged his good arm between Michelle and his thigh, making room so he could scoop her up.
She clung to him, tiny fingers digging into the belts and straps of the gear festooned across his jacket. Michelle laid he
r head against his chest as a gust of summer wind blew through, sending her wavy hair floating in wispy spirals.
“Be careful,” she said in a small voice.
The words nearly stopped him in his tracks. For a moment, a sense of almost infinite dread filled him. The urge to call it off and stay so she didn't have to worry about him rose up and hit his brain with the speed of a striking viper.
It passed almost instantly, but left behind a thin sadness. A little pride for Michelle, too. Any other child might have told him not to go. That she would hate him if he went and died. Any of a thousand justifiable sentiments that a hurt kid might express because they didn't have the life experience to understand why he had to go.
But not her.
“I will,” Kell said, fighting to keep his voice level. “I've got good people watching my back. Not as good as you, of course,” he added with a smile.
Michelle nodded against him.
The discussion between Andrea and Laura died as Kell approached. The two had become almost inseparable over the last year. The three of them were close, so much so that with a glance Kell could read the situation without needing to hear the argument.
“Evan didn't want to see me off?” Kell asked lightly, trying to avoid the tension between the two women.
“No,” Andrea said. “All the work they did on the van unsettled him. He's in his room.”
“Poor kid,” Kell said. “I didn't even think about that.” Evan's autism meant that interruptions to the routine of compound life—especially when it involved the sort of ear-splitting racket involved in hastily rebuilding a vehicle—could necessitate him isolating himself. Evan couldn't fight, but he wasn't the only person in their community who didn't carry a weapon, and he made himself useful in a lot of other ways.
Kell hoped the noise didn't put the kid off his game for long.
“So,” Laura said in a tone that was dangerous for how deliberately conversational it was. “Andrea wants to come with you.”
Michelle tightened against Kell's chest, her only sign of distress.
“Yeah, I thought that might be it,” Kell said.
Andrea frowned. “You gonna tell me no, too?”
Kell shrugged, a minor feat of strength and coordination in his current condition. “Nope. I'm not the boss of you. But if you insist on going, I won't be.”
Andrea blinked. “What?”
“If you go,” Kell said, “I'm staying here.” He hitched Michelle a little higher up on his hip for emphasis.
Andrea's mouth curled in preparation for a retort, and then relaxed. Kell felt a little bad about the relief flooding through him as she deflated.
“I know you've been getting antsy,” Laura said, not unkindly. “But you know staying is the right thing to do.”
Rather than nod or speak a word of agreement, Andrea stepped forward and held out her hands for Michelle. Kell gave the girl a peck on the cheek and a fast hug before handing her over to her mother.
“I'll see you soon,” Kell said.
“You better,” Michelle replied.
He and Laura waited until the pair were out of earshot before turning back to each other. Kell didn't hold back the rueful smirk. “That's gonna cost you,” he said.
Laura sighed. “No fucking kidding. All that talk about wanting a safe place to settle down, but once she had it all she wants to do is go out and get herself killed.”
“That's not fair,” Kell said. “She thought she'd be doing more scout runs, fighting off swarms, all that. It's hard to live out in the wild, having to survive on pure adrenaline and fear, then drop back from race car speeds to a slow crawl. She's worried she'll get soft. Which would mean not being able to protect her kids.”
Laura's forehead crinkled as her brows arched. “You're sound pretty sure about that. You think you know my girlfriend better than I do?”
Kell shrugged, then tossed his pack into the waiting van. “I spent a long time taking a hard look at myself,” he said. “Maybe I learned something while I was doing it. What I do know? I'm not as close to it as you are. Might help me see the big picture more clearly. If I were you, I'd find something for her to do while we're gone. Maybe give her Emily's scout runs or Lee's training schedule.”
Laura rubbed her forehead. “Lord, help me. One of you has to go out but doesn't want to. The other wants to go out but shouldn't. How about I give you this job when you get back? You might be better at it.”
Kell backed up a step, raising his hands. “Oh, hell no. My only responsibility is fixing the world. Yours is way harder, and you know it. I've met our people, after all.”
Laura smiled and gave him a hug. She didn't tell him goodbye, which was their longstanding habit. She didn't tell him to be careful, because after the horrors each had been through, there was no need. Instead she let go of Kell and punched him lightly in his good arm before winking at him and walking away.
They left without fanfare, the gates opening and closing like a mouth around them. During the buildup for the mission, one or another of the people planning it remarked how deserted the route would be. How safe and without incident all the evidence indicated the mission would be. Kell watched the compound, his home, dwindle through the armored windows at the rear of the huge van. He knew the only way he wouldn't see it again was if he died out here, and the crew protecting him were some of the most dangerous people he had ever met.
Regardless, it still felt like a goodbye. Years of blood and pain had stripped away any notion of romance or fate about the world. Optimism was a rare and beautiful thing, but Kell was long past the point in his life where feeling positive made him more certain of an outcome. If anything, it did the opposite. Banking on luck or fate or God was a sure way to end up with your throat cut or your flesh devoured. Or both.
Better to rely on yourself and the people around you.
Eight
Kell's hand hurt.
It was an expected pain, one he had come to view as a sort of punishment for his injury. Being unable to use his right—and having to favor that side to keep it safe—meant putting an enormous strain on his left. The bench he sat on had originally faced the front of the van before Mason and his team of grease monkeys ripped apart and rearranged everything. Now it sat facing inward, with one of the aluminum hand rails perfectly placed for Kell to brace himself with.
The harness locked around him might have come from a race car, though he really had no idea if the five-point restraint had such lofty origins. Wherever it had come from, Kell was pretty sure the designers hadn't meant for the thing to be anchored to the bare metal wall with fat, sloppy welds.
Pretty much the entire van was that way. It was (thankfully) one of those odd passenger vehicles with an abnormally high ceiling. The sort group homes and moderately sized medical centers might use as shuttles. Which meant Kell could actually stand up, though not without hunching slightly.
The upside of having most of the seats removed was a nice bit of space between the six people in the van. Emily lay curled up on another bench to Kell's right, jacket rolled into a makeshift pillow. Lee stood in the stairwell next to the driver, relaxed posture belying the constant scan of the surroundings Kell knew he was performing. Mason sat across from Kell, as did Kincaid, both men checking weapons and making sure the containers of supplies filling the middle of the van were secure. Kell wasn't sure what the driver's name was. He thought Mason had called him Marco. Maybe Marcus? He was one of the men Mason brought with him to the compound.
The van itself was a testament to what a team of obsessive workers could do with a deadline and a lax concern for workplace safety. Painted on the outside to blend in with whatever thicket of woods they camped in, the thing was armored more heavily than Kell would have thought possible.
“Won't be that hard on the engine,” Mason had explained. “This thing was meant to transport twelve adults for hundreds of miles. We gutted it as much as possible, so the added weight won't make that much of a difference.”
Snapping fingers brought Kell out of his reverie. Mason leaned forward, slowly drawing his hand back.
“You okay?” Mason asked. “Had a look on your face like someone drowned your puppy.”
“I'm fine,” Kell replied. “Just thinking about how this can go sideways.”
Mason chuckled. “Yeah, I get that. But I wouldn't stress over it too much. Couple of my people are riding ahead of us. Making sure everything's Kosher. I'm with you, because I've been caught by surprise enough to know to expect it.” He waved a hand at the scars crisscrossing his face. “Things might go pear-shaped, but we'll know about it ahead of time.”
The matter-of-fact tone managed to calm Kell a little, something his brooding hadn't been able to accomplish.
Indeed, when keening of a stressed motorcycle engine grew from faint background noise to unavoidable loudness; it didn't bring with it the expected sense of dread.
The van rolled to a stop within a minute, everyone but Kell absently checking weapons and preparing for whatever bad news was about to hit.
Mason opened the door to a knock, pistol carefully angled for a clear shot through should it turn out to be an enemy. Not likely, in Kell's opinion, given the difficulty any attacker would have had prying the location of the van from Mason's people in such a short time.
The scout stood with the visor of his motorcycle helmet raised, exposing dark eyes and deeply tanned skin. Kell saw Mason visibly relax, clearly recognizing the man.
