With a few deft cuts, Kell laid open one of my scars. He didn’t use anesthetic, both because we didn’t have any and I didn’t need any. The nerves running through my left arm were much less sensitive to pain. It felt a bit like a cat scratch. I watched him peel away the little square and take the sample. The weird yellowish fibers reminded me of the delicate strands mushrooms will sometimes create as a root system, but much more dense. Kell actually had to work the blade to get his sample.
He basically super-glued the cuts shut, and then repeated the process along the ribs on my left side. I’d taken deadly wounds there, the skin so infected and shredded that it alone should have killed me. May have killed me. But Chimera kept it from being permanent.
When Kell finished, he carefully labeled the samples and put them in a refrigerator nestled beneath one of the lab tables. Usually he hopped right to analysis. “Something up?”
Kell turned to me and flashed a smile. “Not at all. They’ll keep for a few hours. How about I treat you to lunch? Or I guess dinner at this point. Can’t have you thinking I just want you for your body.”
I laughed. “The bits you can cut off, anyway. Sure, I could eat. Where are you thinking?”
Kell’s grin told me everything I needed to know.
There are levels to any civilization. Hunter-gatherer. Agricultural. Empire.
Burger joints.
Haven was pretty damn big. Walls around most of the main sections, with remote locations for manufacturing and raising livestock. The ground around the community proper was all farmland, as was nearly all of the bare dirt inside the walls. With access to not only petroleum reserves but now the oil fields of Texas, the larger network of communities across the south and southwest Haven belonged to—the Union—had regular trade and the ability to move into making stuff like luxuries.
The burger place didn’t have a name. It was made from a food truck someone had abandoned, though you’d have to lift up the wooden cladding around its exterior to know it wasn’t a permanent building. The lady behind the counter was just starting to close up when she saw us walking toward the place.
“Lizzy,” I said. “We too late?”
Lizzy leaned back and peered at something inside the little space where she stored and cooked the food. “Nah. You’re good. I got the special reserve right here.”
“Sweet,” Kell said, something dark flickering in his eyes. I knew that look all too well.
We sat at a picnic table. “Dude, you need to seek counseling. You have a problem.”
Chicken and venison were the staple meats found in Haven, and then usually in the giant vats of communal stew served in the mess halls. When beef or pork did come in, Lizzy always traded for a small portion. Why? Because she was smart enough to do the work and build a restaurant at the end of the world. People bartered dear items for a chance to eat a genuine hamburger or piece of fried chicken.
We, however, ate free of charge. Like a video game character using a cheat code, Kell’s cure for the plague won him free food for life. Lizzy kept two or three patties in cold storage for him when she had beef, and always made sure to keep his favorite food in the known universe in stock as well.
My burger was a nice balance. Meat, obviously. Two slices of the thick homemade cheddar that was the only cheese in town in a very literal sense. Mustard, made from plants grown not two hundred yards from my seat, and ketchup with a similar origin. Normally I’d take pickles, but...
Kell’s burger was fucking piled with them. It would have been funny, even cartoonish, had he not been chomping through it like Pac-Man.
I took a bite and savored it like a fine wine. Don’t get me wrong; I can survive on just about anything. I’ve had to live in the wild many times. I’ve eaten things raw that you wouldn’t put in your body were they roasted to carbon and ground into your favorite food. But there’s a lot to be said for little reminders of home, that ephemeral place in the memory of those who lived in the world before. One we can never travel back to.
It was good. Complex, even. So much of our food centered around feeding the masses, and it got a bit dull from time to time. More, it did exactly what I wanted it to. The warm, fuzzy spot in my brain reserved for things as they had been lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. Taste is a powerful sense memory, and something as simple as a burger was enough to trigger every memorable burger I’d ever eaten.
Yeah, I know. I’m romanticizing this to an absurd degree. But no matter how silly it seems, it worked. Recollection is a hell of a defense against harsh realities. It’s the same kind of escapism you find in a good book or movie.
I was almost done with my burger when a figure appeared through the narrow walking gate between the section of Haven we sat in—East—and the original compound known as Central. I took it in with a glance and suddenly the food didn’t taste as good. This particular person would only be appearing at dusk, a time normally spent behind piles of reports, if he wanted something. I’d bet my last weapon it wasn’t a snack.
Kell must have reached the same conclusion a few seconds later, because when he noticed Will Price, Haven’s governor, he put both hands up in front of him. “Whatever it is, I’m calling ‘not it’ right now.”
Will chuckled, a rare sight on his tired face. Kid wasn’t deep into his thirties but looked at least a decade older. He snapped his fingers and put one hand on his hip. “Damn. Well, I guess it’ll have to be Mason, then.”
Internally, I counted down from three. I wasn’t angry; that took a lot more than an interrupted meal. But I for damn sure was irritated. I helped Kell broker the peace with New America and the new group running its central hub, a bunker known as Rebound.
Project Rebound started out as a moonshot program meant to stockpile all the necessities needed to restart civilization after something like exactly what had happened to the world. Its origins could no doubt be found in lining the pockets of one defense contractor or another, but the results couldn’t be argued. The bunker housing Rebound was set partially within a natural cave system right up against the North Carolina coast, powered by an experimental nuclear reactor and with enough space to hold thousands of people. There was a lot of drama between us and them—kidnappings, mad science, the usual stuff—but in the end we walked away allies if not exactly friends.
It was useful as hell for everyone involved. Rebound had the ability to make things we couldn’t. Sure, most communities had power, but few had a manufacturing base. Basically, our treaty means we supply them with raw materials and other sundries, and they help us claw our way back to civilization that much faster. It was a big deal, which was why I was given my pick of assignments. Basically I was allowed to do what I wanted because I was central in ending the conflict and securing a treaty.
“I’m listening,” I said.
Will’s casual posture melted away, leaving the haggard but competent man made of willpower and steel I worked with every day. He glanced over at Lizzy. “We’re going to need a bit of privacy, if you don’t mind.”
She shrugged. “Sure, no problem.” Though she was clearly curious, Lizzy reached up and released the latch keeping the window cut into the side of her little kitchen open. The slab of aluminum and wood clattered shut, and she threw the lock a second later.
Kell stuffed the rest of his burger in his mouth, little more than bread with a few shreds of pickle stuck to it, and began to rise.
“You can stay,” Will said. “You’re not going to be involved in this, but you might find it interesting anyway. I also might need your help with some of the prep work.”
Kell lowered himself back down, giving Will an appraising look as he chewed.
“Something has to have hit a fan,” I noted, lacing my hands together on the table. “You wouldn’t bother me while I’m declaring jihad on a burger without good cause.”
Will smirked. “Can’t get anything past you Navy boys. Yeah, something is up. It’s delicate, which means I need someone who isn’t going to fuck it all up. It
’s also kind of a secret, which means I need someone who won’t die trying to fix it. We need to nail this on the first try so no one else has to be brought in.”
I leaned back, spreading my arms wide. “Enough foreplay, or I’m gonna ruin my jeans. What’s the op?”
Will frowned the way he always did when something beyond his control threatened the things he held dear. Which given his dedication to the people of Haven as well as the Union meant pretty much everyone.
“Someone is attacking convoys between here and New America,” he explained. “Whoever they are, they’re organized and very good.”
I frowned. “Haven’t heard about any attacks. Convoys only come through every three weeks. So far they’ve been solid.”
The subtle shift in his expression spoke volumes. Not that he gave away much with his face; few people would have known him well enough and had the training to spot it. Suddenly, I knew.
Part of the deal with New America was that their people were only allowed to emigrate to Haven in set numbers, and then only with the convoys. I was still running the intelligence apparatus for Haven, though most of the daily stuff was handled by my replacement, who was almost done training. Harriet hadn’t said a thing about convoy attacks, nor had the reports I habitually checked when they rolled in.
Will saw the calculations behind my eyes. “Yeah, I see you’ve figured it out.”
“I haven’t,” Kell said.
“Wildcat colonists,” I said.
Kell tilted his head as if thumbing through a mental Rolodex. “Like from the Heinlein books?”
I nodded. “Yep, you nerd. Unauthorized travelers coming here from there. Perfect prey, because they’ll be moving as quietly as possible to avoid getting in trouble.”
Kell rolled his eyes. “You’re just as much a nerd for making the reference. I—”
“Guys,” Will said gently, the word silk with steel beneath. “Focus. Unauthorized or not, my contacts in New America are getting worried. If the populace finds out their people are regularly being taken by these bandits or whatever they are, the situation will become...unpredictable. Chaotic.”
“Fucked,” I said helpfully. “That’s the word you’re looking for.”
Will grimaced. “You’re not wrong. Which is why I need you to find these assholes and stop them cold.”
Which was a nice way of asking me to go out and kill the lot of them.
“Yeah, okay,” I said.
3
I was given what information we had on the convoy attacks in about twenty minutes. There wasn’t much, but the basic situation didn’t need a great deal in the way of explanation. I knew a huge chunk of what I’d be doing in the field would involve gathering specifics before moving.
Knowing I was going up against a group, I knew I couldn’t succeed on my own. Maybe I could take care of the combat myself, but only an idiot would assume he could manage every aspect of any kind of operation alone. I had two people in mind, and the first I needed to convince happened to live with me. The other lived across the hall.
The Hangar—yes, it gets capitalized, because it’s a tiny fortress and that’s awesome—sat with a couple acres of grass around it inside a hastily-constructed but impressive outer wall. Just across the street was the Haven’s main wall, only a few hundred feet distant. The Hangar was mostly self-sufficient. We farmed the land enclosed by our wall, gathered and filtered rainwater, and our collection of solar panels and battery storage worked with our single wind turbine to keep the lights on most of the time and the lab always powered.
The actual hanger itself had been remodeled and added to extensively. The little apartment I shared with my partner Bobby was cozy but not quite too small. There were a bunch of rooms in the place, taking about half the used interior space. Kell’s lab took up most of the rest.
“Hey,” Bobby said as I closed the door behind me. He was hunched over our small table, carefully running a filet knife through one of several fish stacked in front of him. He didn’t look up, which was probably a good thing. I had an idea how this conversation was going to go.
“Looks like a good haul,” I said, carefully sitting opposite him and avoiding the fish. “These from the river?”
Bobby shook his head. “One of the ponds. Not exactly a hard job, but it’s food.”
He’d invited me to go fishing with him more than once, but it wasn’t my thing. The river at least would be mildly interesting, but sitting next to one of the huge ponds seeded with fish struck me as a form of torture. “Will came to see me a little while ago.”
Bobby’s steady hand halted, the knife coming to rest still halfway inside a fish. “I know that tone. How much am I going to hate this?”
I sighed. “A lot, probably. There’s a band of assholes hitting convoys moving from your old stomping grounds to here. They’re coming this way without approval, which means they don’t have guards. Will wants me to take care of it.”
Bobby’s face twitched, and I was surprised to see real anger in the eyes above his dark beard. “Well, that’s different. Fuck those guys. When do we roll out?”
I blinked. “What, it’s that easy? You’re okay with me going out there risking my life?”
Bobby stared at me in disbelief. “Of course I am, and I’m going with you. You think I’d sit back and let marauders hurt my people if I can do something about it? Don’t forget, I was living out in the world just like you before New America existed. I’ve killed my share of Mad Max wannabes.”
I sat back in my chair. “Huh. I really thought this would be a harder sell.”
Bobby leaned back over his catch and resumed his work. “Look, I don’t like the idea of you constantly going out on lots of little runs. Every time you do it’s another chance some random fuckery will be the thing that kills you. A zombie gets lucky or someone takes a shot at you from a distance. Stopping predators is different. Seems more worth the risk.”
“We’re going to need at least one other person,” I said. “I’m planning to handle the dirty work. I want you to be my wheel man and backup. I know you’re handy in a fight. I’m thinking our third should be someone with a nice spread of skills. Preferably some mechanical abilities, medical training, and who isn’t going to blink if we step hip deep into some shit.”
Bobby grunted. “Whoever that guy is sounds like a bad motherfucker. I’m behind it.”
I smiled.
“I am so not behind this,” Bobby said when I introduced him to our third man. Or more accurately, woman. Young woman, which was his primary gripe. “She’s a kid. We’re not taking a kid with us, Mason.”
Jo frowned at him. She didn’t cross her arms or put her hands on her hips the way many other people might have. She was one of my companions for several years, and I had trained her to fight. Part of that training was to keep yourself ready to defend at all times, marshaling your willpower to maintain a relaxed but ready stance. Her arms remained at her sides, slightly away from her body, but from the twitch in her fingers I could tell she wanted to strangle him.
“I’m right here, man,” Jo said. She was a teenage girl, blonde and coltish, but she was made of steel. “You got a problem, you talk to me.”
Bobby scowled in her general direction. Not at her specifically, because it wasn’t Jo he was irritated with, just the idea of her going. “Okay, that’s fair. I’m not enthused with the idea that Mason wants to take a kid with us. This is gonna be dangerous as hell. We’re adults, you’re not. It’s that simple.”
Jo raised an eyebrow. Her body language told me everything I needed to know. I almost looked around for a bag of popcorn.
“Tell me, Bobby, what it is about my age that’s a problem for you,” she said. “If you can put together an argument more persuasive than just ‘she’s a kid,’ that is.”
Bobby, like most survivors, had seen plenty of horrors. He’d killed and been hurt, watched civilization crumble to dust around him. To say the man didn’t scare easily was like saying the Atlantic Ocea
n was a lot of water. It was technically true but didn’t approach the scope of the reality.
“You’ve got a lot of years ahead of you,” Bobby said. “This is too dangerous for someone your age. That’s what I mean.”
Jo made dismissive chuffing sound. “That’s a load of shit. I can handle myself. Mason trusts me. And the idea that being younger somehow makes my life more valuable is sentimental garbage. You need a third man, and that’s me. Mason won’t trust just anyone to have his back and not to buckle, big fella, and the others are all retired. If I have to give you a demonstration of just how well I can take care of myself, I will.”
She wanted to. That much was obvious. Jo was eager to prove herself. Not to others—everyone who knew her understood she was unshakably capable—but to herself. For all her ability, she needed constant reassurance that every new challenge was being met at the limit of what she could do. I think it was how she pushed herself to be better. Failure was a powerful motivator for some people.
The really fucked up thing was for a few seconds, I think Bobby actually considered it.
“Fine,” he said. “Mason’s going no matter what I say, and that means I’m going. I can’t stop you. Just know that I think you’re taking an unnecessarily stupid risk.”
Jo snorted. “I’ll put it in my diary right next to all the times I ran scouting missions on my own against an enemy army not shy about raping girls half my age.”
Bobby flinched so hard it looked like he’d been slapped. “Jesus, kid.”
“What?” Jo said, her blood up. “You think I don’t know what’s out there? News flash, chief: not everyone lucked into living behind walls early on. A lot of us saw hell up close for enough years for it to stop being a surprise.”
Jo turned to me, the dismissal in her body language clear and sharp enough that Bobby might as well have ceased existing. “How long do we have, and are you sure you just want the three of us? Seems like a stupidly low number of people and you’re not stupid.”
Beyond The Fall (Book 1): Relentless Sons Page 2