The Fall (Book 2): Dead Will Rise

by Guess, Joshua

Tim laughed. “She hasn't so far. Not used to sitting still, are you? Bothers you to let someone else do the work?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, don't worry,” Tim said grimly. “If the enemy scouts get within ten miles of your friend's hideout, Nicole and the rest will lead them off. We sit here and watch to see what direction they go. Look at it this way; there's a fifty-fifty chance they'll go straight north. If they do, they're our problem. If not, the girls get to put on a show.”

  Kell and Tim sat in the cab of their Jeep, nestled carefully in a small wood. Branches placed just so afforded them decent visibility and a quick exit. The camp itself was just off the side of a northbound road, a smaller county road branching off not far away.

  The enemy scouts veered off, the small group of vehicles taking the county road to the east. Kell let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The surge of chemicals in his body pushed him to engage in a fight that wasn't happening. He took several deep breaths as Tim counted seconds on his watch.

  “That's a minute. Here we go.”

  The Jeep crept onto the main road. They went slow at first to keep the engine noise from echoing down to the unsuspecting camp. Soon enough the two of them were moving at a fast clip, then turned onto a road paralleling the route the enemy was currently following.

  Thanks to the careful efforts of Juel and Emilia, the road the enemy followed was a straight shot for most of ten miles. There weren't many homes or secondary roads to begin with, and with every possible avenue blocked, there were only three options for the scouts. Stop and clear a road, in which case Nicole would radio, as she would if they simply turned around. Silence meant the targets continued on, and the plan would go forward.

  The miles seemed endless and gone too fast all at once. They approached the area designated by Nicole as their waiting point, Kell's heart racing all the while. Eventually the Jeep came to a stop near an intersection that would, with luck, lead the enemy right at them. The road here was littered with vehicles. Not impassable by any means, but perfect cover to wait and watch from.

  Tim had moved at top speed, putting the two of them ahead of the enemy. The scouts wouldn't move as quickly; they had to search as they moved. Looking for John's bunker would slow them down. That was according to plan, at any rate. Nicole followed behind them, keeping her motorcycle far enough back that it wouldn't be heard over the engines of the enemy bikes riding escort on the SUV.

  Somewhere on the road, the scouts would run into a snarl. Kell didn't know if it was trees or cars, but Juel and Emilia were tasked with setting up a blockage with only a narrow way through. Large enough for the enemy motorcycles to navigate, but not the SUV. Under normal circumstances, every member of the party—both scouts on the bikes and the seven in the truck—would likely exit and move the obstruction.

  Except for Juel, who would be spotted riding away. Which was when, according to Tim, the 'fun' would begin.

  A few minutes passed before the buzzing of a small engine filled the air. Tim turned the ignition and put the Jeep in drive, waiting with his foot on the brake for the moment of truth. With luck, Juel had drawn off the immediate danger, the biker scouts.

  Seconds ticked by. Kell felt a hole open in his stomach. Had something gone wrong?

  Then a harmony of new engines roared up to join it. Moments later Juel sped past, zooming north on the crossroad, followed closely by the heavily-armed enemy scouts. Rather than worry for her, Kell reminded himself that Juel knew the lay of the land much better than her pursuers. In a worst-case scenario she could always lose them.

  A distant crash echoed from the road parallel, the harsh crumpling shriek of metal on metal.

  “Impatient, aren't they?” Tim asked laconically. “Must want to catch up something fierce.”

  Kell smiled mirthlessly. “They've been sent to look for something up here and probably have the vaguest possible clues to go on. I'd say a strange woman on a motorcycle is like striking gold.”

  The enemy SUV roared past a few seconds later. Focused as the team inside were on finding Juel, they passed Kell and Tim's Jeep, sitting not fifty feet from the V of the intersection, without noticing the two men inside.

  After another brief count on his watch, Tim eased off the brake and cut onto the crossroad to follow the enemy.

  Juel was in perfect form, leading the enemy on a chase for the entire planned route, ending fifteen miles further east from where she had been spotted. Kell and Tim came upon the scene with Nicole at their side, having caught up after the chase began.

  The Jeep crested a low hill. At the bottom lay two bodies and two bikes, blood splattered across the asphalt like morbid blots of ink. Though he couldn't see it, Kell knew the trick must have worked. Emilia had pulled the bundle of fishing line taught at just the right moment, clotheslining both scouts as they chased Juel.

  Judging by the carnage, neither woman had wasted a moment gunning down the fallen scouts. The SUV sat idle a dozen yards away. Whatever plans the men inside it had were put on hold, all seven pairs of hands sticking out of the windows in surrender. Kell thought the rocket-propelled grenade launchers aimed at the truck by Juel and Emilia had something to do with it.

  Kell stood on the sidelines as Tim and Nicole approached the SUV, zip-tying hands together before leading the men inside the vehicle out at gunpoint. All seven knelt on the side of the road fifty feet from their vehicle, most cringing as Tim questioned them. Kell couldn't hear what the big man was saying; he stayed well away from it. Now that the first—and easiest, according to Tim—part was done, Kell's job reverted from backup fighter to menial labor. He focused on draining the SUV of fuel, making up for what they'd burned setting up the trap, and then some.

  The unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked rang across the divide between them. Kell looked up to see Tim standing a few yards away, gun held ready in two hands.

  “Hey!” Kell shouted. “Need you a minute.”

  Tim glanced at Nicole, who held an assault rifle liberated from the SUV. It hung on her with familiar ease. She nodded, jerking her head toward Kell.

  “What's up?” Tim asked as he approached.

  Kell stared at him numbly. “What are you doing?”

  Confused, it took the other man several seconds to realize what Kell was asking. “What did you think was going to happen?” Tim asked. “You've killed before. You know we can't leave them behind.”

  “They're tied up, twenty-five miles from their camp. Their truck has no fuel. We don't have to kill them in cold blood, man.”

  Tim shook his head. “They could free themselves with sharp rocks. They might find a vehicle with fresh gas in it, or have stored some around here that we don't know about. Even if they didn't, they're still too much a risk to leave behind. They're the enemy.”

  “I've regretted it ever since, Tim,” Kell said, shaking. “I've killed in fights, but even then...”

  “I understand,” Tim said with genuine compassion. “I do. But here's the facts. These men are a threat. The people they represent are a threat, one so huge you can't even understand it. You think those two little towns were the only victims? They've swallowed up a dozen more your people have never even heard of. Ran through them and killed every living soul just to take their supplies. You can be damn sure they didn't leave anyone behind who'd want payback. Neither are we.”

  Kell shook his head violently. “Not we. I want no part of what you're about to do.”

  Tim's face fell into an impassive mask. “Fine. Don't do anything I'd have to shoot you for.”

  There was no malice in the words, no inflection at all, but Kell had no doubt the man was serious. For the first time he saw the divide between himself and people like Tim and Nicole, even Laura and Kate. At heart he was a scientist, a husband, a man without the steel to do the things those others knew had to be done. For this he felt no guilt. For the first time in years there was no sense of dancing on the bleeding edge of right and wrong.

  “I'm not g
oing to stop you—or try to—but I won't take part. I'll fight if I have to. I just won't execute anyone.”

  Tim nodded. “I respect that. You might want to take a walk.”

  Kell walked.

  “What's your status?” the voice from the radio chirped.

  Kell watched as Tim did an amazing job convincing the people back at camp that all was well. The lies rolled from his mouth easily. They were in pursuit. No, they didn't have an ETA for getting back home. They might be out of communications range soon. Definitely don't send anyone looking—the roads are terrible.

  The bodies were gone by the time Kell made it back to camp. No evidence was left beyond the blood already on the road. How that feat was accomplished, he didn't know and had no desire to ask. Though he tried not to think about the death handed out on the lonely stretch of back road, it stuck with him. They were enemies, Tim was right about that. All logic dictated their deaths were necessary. And to his surprise, he didn't feel that the others were in the wrong for doing it.

  Minute by minute, the certainty built that his own personal limits wouldn't have allowed him to do the same. The cognitive dissonance between not judging the rest of his group for cold-blooded murder and feeling relief that he hadn't had to do it hummed through his brain comfortably. It was oddly freeing.

  The next bit, not so much.

  “Are we ready?” Tim after finishing his radio conversation.

  Everyone said yes, even Kell. The first and most critical element of the plan was to remove the immediate threat; the scouts. Left to their own devices, they could have discovered the bunker or even run across Kate and the others by sheer dumb luck. That possibility could not be allowed to evolve into a reality. Part of Kell's acceptance of the killings sprang from the safety it provided his friends.

  They couldn't leave it at that, however. By killing the scouts, a series of necessary steps were now in play. Once the scouts failed to return, new teams would be called up from the south to search for them. In all likelihood several times the number of people. The very fact that they'd been lost while searching for the bunker would imply that the bunker was near. The only way to slow the process down long enough to assure Kate's group time to finish the move was to take more drastic steps.

  “I'm ready,” Kell said. And he was.

  Nicole, Juel, and Emilia left, circling wide around the enemy camp as they approached. The three women got the short end of the stick, as their loud bikes had to be left behind a mile from the camp. Each of them would carry weapons to their positions, hauling the heavy gear.

  Kell and Tim got off easy. The Jeep was relatively quiet, and the low growl of the engine was drowned out by the generator running inside the camp itself. Tim was meticulous with those sorts of details, combining months of general observations about the habits of the enemy camps with days of specific ones about the camp below. In a very short time Tim was able to work out a rough plan of attack and refine it to fit their needs based on the situation.

  For example, he hadn't originally expected to have direct radio contact with the enemy. After that conversation, combined with the questions put to the scouts, Tim explained the need to act quickly.

  “Their protocols are tight. If they don't hear from the scouts within a day, they send runners south to the next checkpoint,” Tim had explained. “That's the part I worry about. These people are scattered all over the Midwest, all the way down to Texas. There might only be one or two of them every fifty, hundred miles, but that's still a huge number when they're mobilized at once. Finding John's shelter is a priority for them.”

  Which meant that in less than a day, one of the people below would set out to inform the next guy in the chain that something was wrong. Which would invite more scrutiny.

  “Thing is,” Tim said, “otherwise no one is supposed to leave here for another ten days. Which means our best shot at getting your friend settled in somewhere safe is to stop anyone from leaving this camp.”

  Those words were said without anger or hate, only the blank calculation of a soldier. Before watching Tim walk back to the captives, hands strung to feet to prevent escape or resistance, Kell would have taken them as they were presented; an explanation of the necessary act they were about to perform. Even though he'd taken Tim's advice and walked away, he heard the shots. There wasn't any way to avoid it.

  The echoing crack of those shots stayed with him as they drove toward the main camp.

  “What's the plan?” Kell asked as the two of them ate lunch a while later, still watching the camp below. “We just gonna go in there and start shooting?”

  Tim paused in chewing a mouthful of jerky. “I'm not a monster,” he said, before swallowing. “But we can't allow them to alert the rest of their people.”

  “Killing them...”

  “Is not the most efficient option,” Tim said. “I'll do it if I have to, but I'd rather do it in a way that puts all of us at minimal risk.”

  Kell was doubtful, but Tim smiled and started explaining.

  Twenty-five

  There were no hunters in the woods. At least none from the mysterious group of southern survivors. That was a key element of the plan; no one unaccounted for. Until the scouts returned from their initial assessment, all other members of the group were to stay in camp. This had the unfortunate side effect of putting the hunters, armed with their rifles, on watch. The rest of the camp was, according to Tim's interrogation, without firearms.

  Kell sat in the Jeep, watching through binoculars and waiting for the radio—liberated from the scout SUV—to squawk at him. If it did, if the members of the camp began to panic at the lack of communication from the absent scouts, Tim and the ladies would have to move in daylight. Which would be a death warrant for most, if not all, of the people Kell watched.

  A single blare of the Jeep's horn would signal the deaths of dozens. The idea made his skin crawl.

  Worse was the certain knowledge that he would do it. There really wasn't much choice; John's work could not be risked. The danger it posed at this stage was outweighed by the benefits in roughly the way a feather was outweighed by a neutron star. The only thin defense allowing him to act if it became necessary was knowing he wouldn't be pulling the trigger.

  The late-afternoon sun slid across the sky lazily, maddeningly slow for Kell. Every second of full light was another chance for it all to go wrong. Eventually the first fading tones of dusk began to set in, the world edging toward a duller gray.

  Though he knew what would be happening in the building murk below, he couldn't see a bit of it.

  Had Kell possessed the vision of a superhuman, this is what he would have seen.

  Four men were spaced evenly around the camp, rifles in hand. They were not the only guns, only half of the available firepower. The circle of grass stood at the edge of the road, otherwise surrounded by tall, dead grass fading into trees and overgrowth. Three of the four men watching the night stood, though they often glanced back at the fire burning at the center of the camp, looking at the people chatting with them or just saying hello.

  Night vision comes on slowly, and a bright light ruins it in an instant. Even had these four men realized the fact and kept their eyes peeled toward the steadily darkening woods, it wouldn't have helped. Whether they knew it or not, the guards were like many survivors—they had begun to rely on other senses much more than sight. In the night, the sound of a zombie swishing through dead grass and twigs might as well have been a warning siren. Still, the three standing guards were alert enough, if functionally blind.

  The fourth was deep into a bottle of scotch roughly equal to a car payment. The apocalypse did have its perks, after all. The man was clever about it; the pickup truck between him and the rest of the camp kept prying eyes from spying his clandestine sips. And if he wanted to relax a little by sitting in a lawn chair, well, who could blame him? It's not like he was sleeping on the job.

  The guard took a long look at the field and trees in front of him, then a glance
to make sure no one was looking. He took a long, satisfying pull on his flask, tipping his head.

  Rule number one of survival is to never show your neck to a predator.

  An iron bar settle around his throat—or no, not iron, but the muscled forearm of a man built like a goddamn tank. The pressure was instant and ruthless; the wind in his upper throat and lower was separated like forlorn lovers, the minimal volume above sending some of Johnnie Walker's very best up and out in an expensive spray.

  Cutting off wind served two purposes. The first and most obvious was to prevent the guard from raising any sort of alarm. The second and more devious, to activate the most primal fear response possible. A frightened man with a gun is a dangerous thing until he loses the capacity for rational action. Then he's just an ape with a metal club he doesn't understand.

  Tim's arm tightened down, cutting off the flow of blood. Any second now...

  There. Out like a light.

  On the far side of the camp, next to the trailer containing the radio and spare guns—carefully controlled and accounted for when not in use—a second guard stood watch. This man was younger, more aware of his surroundings. Even fifty feet away he knew something was wrong immediately.

  “Help!” the burbling cry came. “Someone just took my gun!”

  The young guard turned from his post and ran toward the pickup, leaving the trailer undefended. To be fair, everyone else in the camp at least turned in that direction as the other three guards rushed to the scene. It was protocol, after all; stay where you are, let the men with weapons handle the threat. Be prepared.

  Thus distracted, no one saw Emilia slip into the trailer. They certainly didn't see what she did with the wire cutters.

  Out in the woods, through the scope of a rifle, the scene continued to unfold. From here Nicole could aim nearly anywhere in the camp. Positioned as she was facing the tailgate of the pickup, the only spot out of sight was the front end and the space behind it. The hunters were smart enough to split around the truck, two going around one end while the third took the other. Too bad they weren't quite able to recognize the distraction for what it was.