Will leaned back in his chair. “Did he?”
Dodger nodded. There was a strange smile on his face. Kell was reminded of cats and canaries.
“Yes, sir. He even had some thoughts on how we could deliver the gas to the enemy without risking even one of our soldiers. It's like he's some kind of scientific genius or something. It's a little suspicious, you ask me. I think he's hiding something.”
Kell's heart began to pound, but before his brain could begin to process a reaction other than base fear, Dodger lost control and broke down into laughter. Will, seated across from the two of them, smiled as his defense coordinator wiped tears from the corners of his eyes.
“Sorry,” Dodger said after he regained control of himself. “Sorry, man, but it was just too good. I couldn't resist messing with you a little.”
Confused, it took Kell a few seconds to understand. When it finally dawned on him, he turned to scowl at Will. “You told him who I am?”
“Of course I did,” Will said, an edge in his tone. “Did you think I would let you go on a trip this dangerous without the man in charge knowing what he'd be risking by putting you in the middle of a fight?” Will shook his head in frustration. “To be honest, I told him about an hour after I found out who you were. Dodger is in charge of the defenses. He needs to know everything I know if he's going to do his job well.”
Kell fumed. “What right did you have—”
“I had every right,” Will cut in. “You asked me to protect your identity, Kell. I've done that. But you're also a member of this community, which means I also have a responsibility to ensure your safety. Since you're also a tremendous resource, I have to make judgment calls. Things like telling Dodger who you are so he understands that the knowledge you hold is irreplaceable. You volunteered for this duty and I let you go, and it's because Dodger knew your identity that he didn't stick a gun in your hands and send you into the middle of the fight.”
A heavy silence followed. Anger still boiled in Kell's chest, but was joined by guilt. He had volunteered, after all. There were only so many people good with a bow who could also get in close enough to use it without making noise. It was part of his duty to the community to do the job if he was suited for it.
“I didn't think about it that way,” Kell finally said. “That you'd have to take extra precautions to protect me.”
“I know,” Will said, the fire gone from his voice. In no time flat he had regained his composure, speaking with the calm control he nearly always displayed. “The fact is, you've got a few blind spots. You don't consider yourself valuable, but you are. It means I have to make hard calls to protect you whether you like it or not.”
“For the record,” Dodger said, breaking into the conversation, “Will was clear that I was to tell no one about you. There were threats leveled against me, bless his little heart.”
“Dodger,” Will said, a warning tone in his voice.
The other man grinned. “Sorry,” he said, clearly not sorry at all. “My point is, the boss didn't give up the goods on a whim. He's been watching out for you, Kell. Even had me do some quiet reinforcement of the walls around the little spot you share with your people here in New Haven.”
“Which brings up an important point,” Will said. “Why did you draw attention to yourself by mentioning this idea of yours to Dodger?”
“It kind of hit me all at once, and I didn't want to wait. I figured giving him time to think about it on the way home would...” Kell trailed off, realizing how lame the explanation sounded now.
“Like I said, you have blind spots,” Will sighed. “You're the smartest guy in the room, regardless of what room or how big it is. You don't show it off, but the problem is, you know you're that much smarter than the rest of us. Without realizing it, you've made yourself think that your ideas are always original, the best, and should be listened to first and most.”
The criticism stung, mostly because it was true. Kell's parents and his wife had said much the same many times over the years.
“It makes you say things without thinking. You put your identity at risk because you thought you knew better than everyone else, and it made you thoughtless. You didn't consider for a second that you could have come to me once you were home, and that I'd listen. That Dodger would have to talk to me before we organize another one of these trips.”
For all his size, Kell felt like the incredible shrinking man. Will was right. It would have been more tolerable were he being yelled at, but the even calm in Will's voice never wavered.
Leaning forward in his chair, Will locked his fingers together as he rested elbows to desk. “As it is, no harm done. Remember this the next time you decide to say something outside the wheelhouse of the man you pretend to be. No more moments of brilliance that might turn heads. Also keep in mind, Doctor McDonald, that when it comes to war, we know much more about it. We already have people working on something very like what you suggest.”
Will smiled, a wintry expression that didn't touch his eyes. “The difference is, you were thinking too small.”
As Kell would come to learn, Will was right.
Four
Two weeks went by in what Kell theorized was some sort of time-dilation field. Every day felt like a month as New Haven waited for news from the men and women tasked with fighting the Hunters.
It wasn't enough to simply kill groups of them. Though communications between the cells was nonexistent, it had been decided that the sudden death of hundreds of their number might cause the rest of the Hunters to scatter, making it all but impossible to end the threat they posed once and for all. Will consulted Kell privately on the specifics of the weapons they would use, and as a result he stayed informed.
Most of those fourteen days were spent doing very little except heal and lurk around Will's office—as he was doing now—waiting for news. The collarbone, only broken partially through its diameter, was healing fast. Every day brought less tenderness and more function.
Will wasn't in the office, as he often wasn't. New Haven had three portable cellular transmitters, military devices that still bounced a direct signal across satellites. One was with the assault forces, leaving the other two for New Haven's use. Kell waited for Will to return from his hourly trip to the nearest transmitter.
Kell had asked several people how the communications network functioned, but their answers had been complex and technical. He'd stick with nice, simple genetics, thank you very much.
A familiar scrape of boots on beaten grass grabbed Kell's attention. Will was jogging toward him, a triumphant smile on his face. “Come in,” Will huffed as he trotted by. “Good news.”
The interior of the office had changed over the previous few weeks. Set inside an old shipping container, the place was normally a warren of papers and books arranged by a system known only to Will. Now those distractions were swept aside—literally—into a haphazard stack taking up fully one quarter of the space.
Laid out across Will's mammoth desk were layers of laminated maps. The topmost was marked with the positions of the recent (and hopefully last) group of Hunters their team was to have dealt with.
“What's the word?” Kell asked.
Will bent over the map, hastily wiping away dry-erase marker before adding new notations. “It worked,” he said. “We hit every group with chlorine gas, but just enough to scare the shit out of them. Instead of leaving a bunch of bodies behind and making them run, we put every group on edge. Just got the report that last night's attack was a success. They retreated back to their base as soon as they got a whiff of the stuff.”
A surge of relief swept through Kell. “And we have confirmation? We know where it is?”
Will grinned. “Yes. Our prisoner was telling the truth. Two scouts followed the group home. We have ourselves a target.”
“Oh, thank the lord,” Kell said.
Will glanced at him, surprise on his face. “That's a little more relief than I expected.”
“Things change,�
� Kell said. He swept a hand over the map, taking in a multitude of small red dots. “All these communities are gone. Families wiped out for nothing but their supplies. We've lost, what, six hundred people in the last week alone?”
“Seven hundred and twelve,” Will rattled off, not bothering to check the tally. “Once they realized we found them, they stepped up their raids. Though they weren't New Haven residents, so I don't know if saying we lost them is entirely accurate.”
“They were trying to get along without hurting anyone else, just like us,” Kell said. “They traded with us. Losing them hurts us. If we don't stand together, we're all screwed.”
Will smiled. “You're not wrong, there. The hard truth is that we can't let these people keep killing, no matter how much we dislike having to do the same. Unprovoked aggression isn't something we can tolerate. There just aren't enough people left.”
Over the next three days, New Haven transformed into a war camp. When the call to arms went out to allied communities, so many volunteers showed up that temporary fences had to be erected outside the walls just to hold them. Most were from smaller groups who couldn't afford to lose those men and women permanently, so Will asked that many of them stay behind to guard New Haven while the main body of the assault force moved to attack. It was a brilliant piece of politics, Kell thought, allowing the smaller groups to feel like they had done something real in the fight—and they had, come to that—without risking disaster by getting their volunteers killed.
Other, larger groups brought not only soldiers but weapons and other materials for the strike against the Hunters. It was only when faced with the crowds of strangers that the sheer scope of the operation became real to Kell.
Everyone did their part. Even the wounded worked as much as they were able. Kell, still healing, refrained from the heavy lifting his size would have normally demanded. Instead he worked at packing food supplies for the trip. Hour after hour standing in one spot on what was essentially a food assembly line, wrapping hard bread in plastic and tucking it in a pack before handing it on to the next station. Sometimes, after taking a break, he would come back to find his place taken and would be placed at a different part of the line.
After stuffing a thousand tiny loaves of bread into a thousand bags, any break from the monotony was a blessing.
As it turned out, the food was the easy part. Kell spent many more hours loading bullets into magazines, which was its own special sort of hell. The work seemed easy at first since he could do it while sitting, but after the first few dozen rounds went in, his fingers began to ache. Then his hands hurt. Then his arms. Somewhere around the twentieth full magazine, his left pinky started to spasm.
Still, he kept going. No one else was quitting because they hurt, and it needed to be done.
The larger part of the preparations had long been finished, of course. There had been vehicles in need of overhauls, fuel to parse out, assignments to manage, and a thousand other details and items. The food and bullets were the last two major projects tackled for the simple reasons that the food had a limited life span and the bullets were brought by a group of volunteers. You can't fill magazines with bullets you don't have.
The work was grueling, but they got there in the end.
Most of the homes in New Haven had a ladder of some kind leading to the roof. Before the place had walls, the easiest way to escape an incursion of zombies was to go up one floor. Though the need for those escape routes was rare now, it wasn't odd to see people sitting on the roof of a house as you walked through.
Kell sat atop the clinic, watching the final loading of the assault force's vehicles. The line stretched up and over the hill, continuing out of sight and running the full length of the road. It was a staggering display, easily the largest group of people Kell had seen since before The Fall began.
The men and women passing packs of food and ammo down the line, aided by a smattering of older children, were not somber. Though he couldn't make out words, he could see the laughter, the smiles. Though they prepared for a dangerous job, still those people found moments of joy with one another, even though most were strangers.
Kell smiled.
A rattling caught his attention, the ladder tapping against the roof where the connection was a bit loose. Laura's head popped up over the edge, red hair burning bright in the fading autumn light.
She picked her way across the old shingles, careful not to slip. “Guess you're feeling better if you can climb up here,” Laura said.
“It's not done healing, but it works,” Kell replied as she sat next to him. “Come to watch the convoy leave with me?”
Laura shook her head. “I was walking past the offices, and Will flagged me down. Asked if I'd seen you, and wanted me to let you know that there's a spot waiting if you want to go with them. They aren't leaving for another hour or so...”
“I don't know what good I'd be,” Kell said, surprised. “Can't get around quietly like this, and I can't fight or draw a bow.”
Laura caught his eye. “Maybe you should go ask Will about it, then. I'm just the messenger.”
He began to haul himself to his feet, but stopped. “What about you? No interest in going with them?” It was the closest he had come to the topic of her remaining behind during the previous outing.
“Not really,” she said. There was a reluctance in those two words, as if uttering them was a fight.
“What is it?” he asked. “Are you okay?”
“I'm fine, Kell,” she said. “I just don't have any urge to put myself in the middle of that fight.”
“Or any fight, according to Kate.” The words were out of his mouth before his brain could register them, and he regretted saying it at once.
Laura, however, only smiled. “We'll talk more when you get back.”
Will, as it transpired, wanted to give Kell the chance to see the fight with the Hunters through to the very end. He had guessed as much, but a brief conversation later Kell found himself tucked into the cab of Dodger's truck, contemplating everything he knew about the job ahead as the miles sped away beneath him.
The trip wasn't long as such things had been measured in the world as it had been, only a few hundred miles. The massive convoy of vehicles moved along a route marked and patrolled by their scouts, kept free of zombies by the more adventurous members of that group, who led the undead away from the roads before circling back.
The armada would stop long before entering Hunter territory. That much Kell knew, though the details of the attack itself were a mystery to him. Even now there were long-range sentries keeping eyes on the Hunter compound. Groups of men and women would break off from the main body at some point after they stopped, people with the quiet grace to move through wilderness undetected. It was a job Kell could—and would—have done under other circumstances.
The Hunters were surrounded by sentries, ranging out nearly a mile from their home in three concentric circles. Rather than carving out a slice just big enough for the assault force to use, which would risk a patrol running into them and ruining the element of surprise, every enemy sentry and scout would be neutralized. There would be no warning to the Hunters that anything was coming. No time to prepare.
The buzzing, vicious anger he felt toward the Hunters wasn't well-suited to a long and thoughtful trip. It was impossible to keep up the intense levels of rage he needed to insulate his mind from the logical implications of what they were about to do. That was the great tragedy of it, indeed the tragedy of the human condition writ small; it was impossible for members of the species to avoid killing each other, no matter how few of them remained.
It was a snake pit of thoughts he tried to mentally retreat from, but couldn't. The warring factions of his emotional and logical selves argued the point endlessly. The Hunters needed to die; they would kill their way across the eastern third of the country otherwise. But they were people, too, each of them individuals and with a unique set of characteristics, from experience and knowledge to genetic p
rofile, all incredibly valuable to the human race.
Around and around it went, until Kell wanted to beat his head into the dashboard of the truck. All that saved him was the undeniable fact that the Hunters would accept no terms. They would not negotiate or back off. They were not interested in trade or the normal sorts of compromise used by reasonable people. What they wanted, they took, and they left few survivors to tell the tale. The evidence was clear. Irrefutable.
The only option was to fight.
Setting up camp took no time at all, as the plan was to wait only long enough for the enemy scouts and sentries to be neutralized before attacking. There were no extra bodies to set up camp, to cook, or to fill any of the other support roles. Though it had been minimal, even the previous excursion against the Hunter cells had a unit specifically for that purpose.
Not this time. Not even Dodger would remain behind. The sole exception was the medical staff, and they would be at the rear of the assault force, waiting for casualties to roll in.
Less than an hour after arriving, they set off. As Dodger's truck inched over the narrow road in the dim woods, Kell wondered whether they would encounter the bodies of the slain scouts. They were the first to fall today, probably with no idea what was in store for the compound they protected.
There were marks on the trees to direct their approach, quickly scrawled in spray paint bright enough to be seen from a hundred yards away. Kell's stomach twisted in knots with every sign they passed, until the final one brought them to a halt.
“You going in?” Dodger asked.
Kell hesitated. “Can I? I don't know what the plan is, exactly, but I can't really fight.”
“Stay in the treeline with the others and you should be fine,” Dodger said. He reached into the rear of the cab, pulling out an assault rifle. “You know how to use this?”
Frowning, Kell took the weapon. “Yes, but I'm a pretty bad shot.”
The Fall (Book 3): War of the Living Page 5