The Fall (Book 4): Genesis Game (9 page)

As promised, they made it back to the safe house unseen. They piled into the van with the terrified efficiency of long-time survivors, and were on the road within a handful of minutes after arriving.

In those few minutes, Kell introduced himself to the couple Esther had convinced to leave Trenton. There was no time for life stories, but he did learn their names—Charlie and Katsumi, who went by Kat—and that they had both been shunned by Trenton with the same small cruelties Esther had endured.

The van was cramped with three extra people in it, though mostly due to the loads of supplies they brought in case of an emergency. Kell sat with Esther strapped in next to him, while Charlie and Kat took the seats opposite. Mason, Lee, Emily, and Kincaid stood watch. Each wore full armor and looked ready for anything.

The four of them didn't waver as they kept their eyes open for any sign of trouble. Mason watched through the small patch of window left clear at the back. Lee and Emily watched through narrow portals on each side, and Kincaid stood at the front as a second set of eyes for Marco.

Progress was maddeningly slow. Tension was high and no one spoke, afraid that distraction would somehow get them killed. Marco drove well, but his extreme caution combined with the quiet inside the van was even more frustrating than it had been back at the doctor's office.

“Not seeing anything,” Marco reported. “No debris that could be hiding bombs, no lines strung across the road. I'm thinking it wasn't us they were after, whoever they are.”

“What do you think, Mason?” Kincaid asked from the stairwell next to Marco. “This is your area of expertise. Should we pick up the pace?”

Mason grunted. “Not yet. I haven't seen either of my scouts yet, which means they didn't see us leave the garage.”

“Should they have?” Kell asked. “I thought they were hiding.”

“They were,” Mason said. “But they were positioned to see us leave. They were supposed to do the same and drive ahead of us to scout the way back.”

“What does that mean?” Kat asked, her voice low and coarse.

“Either both of them were caught and they're dead,” Mason said flatly, “or they saw something and went to check it out. Either way—wait. I think I see something.”

Kell strained his ears as he tried to catch a distant hum of motorcycle engine. The van itself wasn't a quiet beast, and between the hasty modifications and several hundred pounds of gear, it clanked and rattled endlessly. It took him a few seconds to filter out all the background, and then he heard it. Faint at first, but definitely there; two distinct mechanical voices half an octave apart and gaining ground.

“Interesting,” Mason muttered as he stared through the back window, presumably watching the scouts approach.

“What is it?” Kincaid half-shouted from the front. “Trouble?”

“Don't think so,” Mason replied. “One of them has a passenger. I think it might be one of the guards from Trenton.”

“That can't be a good thing,” Kell mused.

“Not bloody likely, no,” Esther said.

Whatever fresh hell the extra passenger on the bike might be a harbinger of would have to wait. Kell knew there was no way he could convince Kincaid to stop the van now that they were moving freely. Slowly, for sure, because strangers in the wilderness usually meant traps and other danger, but moving freely all the same.

To his surprise, the scout made the decision for all of them. The bike carrying two passengers zipped ahead and slowed suddenly, the scout signaling them to follow. Kell watch this by straining against his straps and craning his head at the windshield.

“Think it's a trap?” Kincaid asked the van, though the question was probably aimed at Mason. “Passenger could be holding a weapon on your man.”

“Doubtful,” Mason replied. “My guys can handle themselves. I don't see how one person would be able to coerce both of them. If he wants us to follow, he's probably got a good reason.” Mason paused. “He'd
better
have a good reason.”

“Do it,” Kincaid said to Marco. “Everyone else gear up. Even if this is on the level, I don't want us caught with our pants down. Someone you don't know pops up, don't hesitate. Shoot first.”

The scout led them to a narrow side street more overgrown than the average. Whatever the towns around Trenton had been before, they certainly hadn't lacked fauna. Kell filed this away with detached interest; the older, smaller towns were being devoured by Mother Nature much faster than their larger cousins. More nature to do the job, he supposed.

The street reminded him of something out of a movie, with wildly spreading tree branches lacing together to form a canopy. Though it wasn't close to dusk, the road was dark enough to give them decent cover by itself. The scout didn't risk it. He pulled into a debris-strewn parking lot behind old apartment buildings. It was as good a place as they were likely to find.

By the time the group exited the van, the pair of scouts already had the unexpected passenger on his knees with their weapons pointed at his head. The refugee—prisoner?—had fingers laced together behind his head, on which a modified and armored motorcycle helmet rested.

“Take off your headgear,” Kincaid said, not bothering to raise the Glock hanging in his own hand.

The prisoner complied slowly, in the manner of someone practiced at avoiding getting shot through careful displays of nonthreatening behavior. The helmet slid off to reveal Victor. Because of
course
it was Victor. If someone had to get away from Trenton unharmed, it would be him.

“Why are we here?” Kincaid asked Rob, the scout. “And what convinced you to bring this asshole with you?”

Rob gestured at Victor's head with his gun. “I didn't get all of it because he was yelling through his helmet and mine while we were riding, but what I heard was enough. Tell them,” he said, the last aimed at Victor.

“I assume you saw the men heading for my people,” Victor said, his voice no longer placid. Kell took a moment of furious joy in seeing the man rattled. He might not actually be evil, but a total lack of compassion for other people was close enough in Kell's book.

When no one answered, Victor continued, words spilling out in a widening flood. “They contacted me months ago, looking for people like them,” he said, tilting his head at Esther, Chuck, and Kat. “At the time I had no intention of giving up my people. Then Emily showed up with the same questions, though I only learned the reason for her visit after the fact. I didn't sell out my people.”

He said it with a petulant earnestness that struck Kell as sincere. Whatever else he was, Victor would not be seen as a traitor to his own. Kell could almost respect that.

“When Emily told me she might be bringing someone who wants to work on a cure, I made contact with them and—”

“You keep saying 'them' and 'they',” Mason interrupted. “Does this group have a name?”

Victor shook his head. “Not that I know of. Look, I was worried that if I didn't give them something, they'd take a harder look at Trenton. Maybe decide to check things out on their own. I figured one guy for the safety of my people wasn't a bad deal.”

“How'd that work out for you?” Kincaid asked flatly.

Victor blew a breath through his nose, tried to regain his composure. “They aren't crazies, I know that for sure. They're organized. Professional. They didn't steal anything or kill anyone who didn't resist. They overpowered us fast and started asking questions. All they wanted was him,” he said, looking at Kell, “and the other half-lifers who didn't go with you.”

Kell thought 'half-lifer' was a bit on the nose as names went, but said nothing. At the least it was accurate for people stuck midway between life and being a zombie, even if the callousness of the name made him want to kick Victor in the throat.

“You escaped...why, exactly?” Kincaid asked. “You would have had to do it fast for our scouts to have seen you.”

“He wanted us to see him,” Rob said. The other scout nodded in agreement. “Waved us down when we caught sight of him down a stretch of road.”

“They took my people,” Victor said, nearly growling. “I can't let that stand.”

“You think we're your personal hit squad?” Kincaid asked. “That you're in some fucking samurai movie and we're your convenient team to go get bloody revenge?”

Victor blinked. “You're trained and outfitted. I'd go with you. I wouldn't ask you to do this if I weren't willing to myself. I fucked up, I know it. But they shouldn't have to suffer for my mistakes.”

Kincaid put up a hand. “No, sorry. You don't get to plead any more of your case. We came to you peacefully and you sold us out. No, no,” Kincaid said over Victor's protests. “I get it. I really do. It was the logical choice. You literally can't see it from any other point of view. In your mind there wasn't another option for the safety of your people. Sure, you make noises of apology but in your own head you don't mean them. You
still
think you were in the right. Even after it blew up in your face.”

Victor flinched under the onslaught, which was more heated than anything Kell had heard from Kincaid. It was still less angry than Kell himself got when accidentally cutting himself shaving, but context matters.

“I just want to bring my people home,” Victor said, voice a little stronger. “Help me do that, and you can do whatever you want to me.”

Kincaid stared at the kneeling man with something like scientific curiosity. Victor might as well have been a bug transfixed by steel in an entomologist's display for all the emotional concern Kell saw in the look.

“Maybe,” Kincaid finally said. “I think you might actually want to bring them home, though not for the reasons you're telling yourself. You just don't want to be wrong. I can identify. Being wrong isn't something I can cope with easily, either.” He paused. “What I really think, though? I think you saw an opportunity to fix your mistake and decided to risk asking us for help. You did this because you recognized by the way my people behave that our group isn't bloodthirsty. That mercy and human decency are things we try to hold on to.”

Kincaid ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in small, sweat-slick points. “I think you want to take advantage of the kindness you see in these people and use their compassion for your benefit. I'd bet a steak dinner you spent the ride here working out how likely it was that we'd see your willingness to do anything for your people and give you a pass. That we'd work with you for days or weeks to get them back and let you slide on selling us out.” Kincaid shook his head. “The really fucked up thing? Odds are you're right. These are good people and they believe in second chances.”

Kincaid grinned, which was when Kell knew shit was about to get real.

“Second chances have to be earned, though,” Kincaid said, raising his pistol. “Not schemed for. And not for men who try to sell my friends like animals.”

Victor's face held a truly surprised look right up until the bullet ruined the expression.

“So!” Kincaid said as the echoes of the gunshot died down. “Who wants to talk about our next move?”

In movies, sudden acts of violence always cause a group of people to raise their weapons and start shouting, even when they're allies. In real life, most people are too stunned and confused by such acts to do more than stare dumbly for a few seconds after.

“What the actual fuck, man?” Marco said.

“You just...shot him,” Esther said.

Mason stepped in and motioned for everyone to remain calm. Kell understood why, on a couple levels. Kincaid had lowered his weapon after putting Victor down, letting his arm hang loosely at his side. It was obvious the guy hadn't lost his mind and decided to go out in a hail of bullets. Also, it was just a good rule of thumb not to antagonize someone who killed in such an open and remorseless way.

“Care to explain?” Mason said.

Kincaid actually smiled. It was a look of long-suffering parents amused by the antics of their children. “I think I said it all. What were we going to do? Take him with us, this guy who sold us out without hesitating? Were you going to trust him at your back, Mason?”

“No,” Mason said without hesitation.

“We could have left him behind,” Kell added. “It's not like he was any real threat to us.”

“Maybe,” Kincaid agreed. “Or maybe not. Letting him go might not have blown back on us, but that wasn't a risk I was willing to take. The difference between me and all of you is that your mental math is different. Letting him live was worth not feeling the guilt of making sure he couldn't betray our trust a second time. I don't feel bad, so for me it was a simple equation.”

“And what if we decide the math doesn't work out in your favor?” Kell asked. “If we decide we don't want a psychopath along for the ride?”

Kincaid shrugged. “Then you'll kill me. God knows I have it coming.” He cocked his head slightly as if remembering a detail. “I'm not psychotic, though.”

Kell blinked. “What?”

“I'm not psychotic,” Kincaid repeated. “I'm a sociopath. That's what my doctors told me. My emotions are toned down. People don't matter as much to me as they do to others. All sorts of symptoms. What you need to know is that what I do feel is gratitude for being given a second chance. That's why I threw in with Josh back at New Haven. He asked me to watch out for everyone on this trip and to make sure I did everything I could to make sure you got home safe.”

“Okay,” Mason said. “That's great, but we need to take the conversation on the road. That gunshot might as well have been a big glowing sign announcing there are still other people out here. We need to move.”

Kell shook his head. “Not until Kincaid gives up his weapon.”

“Fine with me,” Kincaid said, handing Kell the pistol. “Can we go now?”

Everyone watched Kincaid like a rabid dog as they all loaded back into the van. Mason huddled with the scouts, too far away for Kell to hear. The conversation seemed detailed, though. Mason never used five words when three would do.

He climbed into the van thirty seconds after Kell.

“We're going to head to a location Emily and the other scouts have used before,” Mason said. “We should be safe there until whoever these guys are move on.”

“What aren't you saying?” Kell asked. “You look worried.”

Mason grimaced. “I am, just not for us. We knew the UAS was looking for doctors to help cure the plague, and were grabbing interesting cases to study when people like Esther showed up. Attacking entire settlements to get them, though? This is new. Or at least I hope it is. They're fucking stealing people. Rounding them up like animals to study them or worse.”

A slow understanding dawned on Kell. “You want to take them on, don't you? Find out where they're based and hit them? Mason, we just can't risk it. We have to get everyone back home.”

“No,” Mason said. “I want to get captured. With my scars it won't be hard to pretend I'm half-dead. I have the skills to gather information and get out again. I can lead others to wherever they're keeping the captives.”

“That's kinda, y'know, suicidal,” Lee said conversationally. “If I ran across a big, healthy guy like you I'd be suspicious as hell, scars or not.”

“He's right,” Emily said. “If these fuckers are making it a habit to hit settlements, they're going to be super cautious.”

“It's a good thing he won't be going alone, then,” Kell said.

Every set of eyes turned to him. Even Marco stared back using the rear view mirror.

“No way,” Emily said.

“Hell no,” Lee said.

“There is literally not enough nope in the world to show how emphatically that isn't going to happen,” Kincaid droned flatly.

“Shut it,” Kell said to Kincaid. “You don't get a vote right now.”

“You're still recovering,” Mason said. “You wouldn't be able to fight if it came to it.”

Kell raised his good hand and wiggled it. “Eh. Probably more accurate to say I can't fight
well
. I can certainly try. But that's not really the point. With me there, it's more believable. You're trying to help your fellow half-lifer get away, right? And if they're doing experiments wherever the captives are being taken, there's a chance I might learn something. Maybe steal some samples on the way out.”

Kincaid leaned forward. “You can't be serious, either of you. Mason going I sort of understand. He's scary good at this stuff. You going is batshit crazy. There's not enough reward for the risk you'd be taking. There would be no guarantee we could get you out.”

“Oh, no,” Kell said, shaking his head. “All of you will be getting Esther and the others back home. I'll write out a note to John with some of my initial thoughts, but he can do the work.”

“Kell, you can't be serious about this,” Lee said. “How is this worth the risk?”

“You mean aside from the people Mason and I might be able to help?” Kell asked sharply. “I think a large-scale research operation probably has way more data than we've been able to gather, for one. And in a worst case scenario I can out myself and get put on the staff. In that case I'd have access to everything, and you know how good my memory is. Imagine what I could bring back.”

“I'm convinced,” Mason said. “If he's willing to put his life on the line, I'll do my best to make sure he gets through it in one piece. That going to be a problem for the rest of you?”

It wasn't a problem for the rest of them. Whether the grumbles of agreement were out of sheer logic or fear of what a man with Mason's skills could do when pushed, Kell didn't know. Or particularly care. Once the decision was made, Mason worked things out with startling efficiency.

The van had barely stopped when Mason and Kell took their packs and explained to a confused Rob why they were stealing his motorcycle.

“Chances are some of them are still around,” Mason said as he explained his plan. “One advantage is that we'll be loud and slow since that bike will be carrying a lot of weight. It'll draw them to us. We'll need that since we have no way of knowing which direction they'll be going when they leave.”

“What if they don't come for you?” Lee asked.

“Then we'll come back here in a few hours,” Mason said. “You should probably stay hidden until morning, just to be safe. I can't imagine these people are stationed anywhere nearby, but I doubt they'd travel more than a few hundred miles to bring in test subjects.”

And so they found themselves in the strange position of needing to move slow enough to be seen as an easy target without making it obvious they wanted to be caught. Kell couldn't help feeling more than a little silly at how they must look: two very large men on a motorcycle straining beneath them, packs hanging on the sides like saddlebags. Kell had never been comfortable on bikes of any kind, and kept his free hand tightly laced into the empty weapon loops on Mason's jacket.

“This was a bad idea,” Kell said as he tried not to look at the cracked pavement so close to him. “Motorcycles are the worst.” Having to yell to be heard was a small but very real part of why they were terrible, if you asked him.

“Are you kidding?” Mason shouted back over his shoulder. “Feel that wind, man. Almost makes me want to do a Kate Winslet from
Titanic
and spread my arms out.”

“If you let go of those handlebars I will fucking end you,” Kell threatened. Mason laughed.

They reached the edge of town in a depressingly short period of time. Trenton was invisible in the distance, with too many walls and buildings in between to allow even a glimpse of the place. Kell thought they would have to turn back in order to give their hunters time to find them, but no sooner had the thought crossed his mind...

Horns blared in the distance. They were a far cry from the deep, chest-rattling bellow of ancient hunting horns. The feeble beep of car horns had a certain thematic appropriateness to it; like the world around them, they were just poor shadows of what had come before.

“Follow my lead,” Mason shouted over his shoulder, then brought the bike to a halt. “I'll do the talking; you just pretend to be scared and suspicious of them when they get close.”

“I
am
scared and suspicious of them,” Kell pointed out.

Mason laughed. “Good. You won't have any trouble convincing them, then.”

Kell was tense but ready in case their pursuers decided to fight first and ask questions later, but the change that came over Mason was nearly magical. One second he was himself, all confident bearing and with the fearless stance of the truly capable. The next he...melted. It was the way Kell saw it. The strength went out of Mason's posture, the readiness to fight draining from his limbs. A dozen pieces of body language changed as one. The man positively radiated weakness. Lethargy. A profound desire to just be done with the fight.

It was so effective that, had he not known Mason, he would have bought the act outright.

“Wow,” Kell said. Mason merely sighed in response, a defeated sound.

Three large and surprisingly shiny SUVs rolled to a stop about forty feet away. They could have been pulled from any police procedural where the FBI made an appearance. They were uniformly black, windows tinted opaque and unmodified by armor or external weaponry.

The lead vehicle's doors all opened together, disgorging four men who were as ragged and unkempt as their vehicles were neat and clean. They had the look of seasoned survivors from the soles of their oft-repaired boots to the armored gorgets around their necks to protect from zombie bites.

Mason raised his hands, putting them behind his head. “We surrender,” he said, voice cracking at the edges.

Kell did as he was asked and followed suit, lowering himself to the ground in the least threatening way he could manage.

The driver of the lead vehicle walked forward as his men covered him with assault rifles. Kell watched as the man sized them up, quick and efficient.

“You're two of Victor's half-dead?” he asked, eyes lingering on Mason's scars.

Kell nodded. The man smiled.

“Good. You should know he sold you out. You'll be safer with us, anyway.”