by Joshua Guess
Rawlins simply had to claim a breakthrough. The guards, then confronted with the choice to evacuate the doctor or risk his life during the revolt to follow, would have no real choice at all.
It was elegantly simple.
Kell really hoped it would work.
They left the lab without immediately being killed. Kell spared a glance over his shoulder as they were escorted down the hall. Rawlins gave him a slight nod before vanishing back into the room.
There was no outcry. Kell only half-expected the other shoe to drop, but even that much put his teeth on edge. However things were going to go, they were on a timer. Rawlins would lose his nerve one way or another given enough time and breathing room.
A small crowd waited for them when the door opened and they were finally in sight of their beds. Kell did not miss the fact that while the gathering nearest their group's chosen spot was only Steph, Turner, and Liam, another knot of people centered on Miles stood not far away.
Miles caught Kell's eye and gave him a slight nod. There were more than the previously mentioned half a dozen standing around Miles.
Kell smiled.
“That looks like good news,” Mason said low enough that only Kell could hear.
“Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing,” Kell replied. “You think they'll come through in the clinch?”
“Can't say for sure,” Mason said. “But I'd give them better than even odds. People don't like being prisoners, no matter how nice the prison. Being taken from their homes and families has a way of giving folks courage.”
“Are you okay?” Steph asked when they approached their respective beds and flopped onto them. “How bad were you hurt?”
Kell waved away her concern. “It's really not that serious.”
Steph eyed his arm skeptically. “Took a long ass time for a couple scratches, then. You don't have to be a tough guy with us.”
“He isn't,” Mason said. “Sit down and I'll tell you about the chat we had with the good doctor.”
Kell let Mason tell it, content to lie where he was. He tuned out the words, turning the hushed conversation into a background hum. Though the adrenaline had worn off, leaving him physically exhausted, Kell's mind was working. The worry about whether Rawlins would give them up was a new ball of fear clustered with the many other concerns Kell carried around with him, and he ignored it along with all the rest.
Instead he wondered exactly how Mason had survived, what the trigger had been for Chimera to activate in his system. From what he knew, it could have been the massive infection, the blood loss, or a combination of the two. There could have been other factors as well. It would require a lot of questioning. Probably boring questions, as far as Mason was concerned, but fascinating data points for Kell.
He was still cataloging them in his head when sleep overtook him.
Kell and Mason were given the next day off. Apparently the combination of their winning heroics and their injuries won over the hearts of people in charge. Really, Kell thought it was a more calculated play. Rawlins and the guards would face serious unrest if they forced injured men to work. Even that seemed to Kell more a reaction based on self-interest. The few people who stopped by to speak to Kell in the morning were assertive about how glad they were to see him getting a well-deserved rest, but the undertone was that they would have expected the same consideration in his place.
It was a fair way of looking at things. The world had changed dramatically enough that the more petty concerns about social standing and appearance no longer applied. People generally held to a more practical standard of fairness, one centered on themselves. It could appear to be true selfishness, but the optimist in Kell chose to see it as an application of the golden rule.
Not long after breakfast—waffles, a rare treat—Mason was called in to see Rawlins. It wasn't unexpected, as both of them were on weapons-grade antibiotics and needed their dressings changed regularly.
Kell was sitting in front of the Go board he and Mason had been using a few minutes before, Mason winning handily, when Turner ambled in from the garden and took Mason's empty seat.
“How are you feeling?” Turner asked, running a hand over his gray stubble.
Kell waved his bandaged arm a little. “Fine. Nothing I can't ignore.”
Turner smiled. “You know, it says something about you that you assumed I meant your arm.”
“I don't understand,” Kell said. “Why wouldn't I be okay, other than that?”
Turner grew thoughtful. “Did you know I'm old enough to have fought in Vietnam?”
“I didn't,” Kell said, unsure where the abrupt change in conversation was heading.
“Yes, sir,” Turner said, a southern twang creeping into the edges of his voice. “I was old enough to to, even got drafted, but never served.”
“Why not?” Kell asked.
“Bad heart,” the older man answered. “Structural defect. Of course, back then all they knew was my pulse was erratic and I had palpitations, but it was enough. On the one hand I wanted to be there with my friends, serve my country. On the other...well, I saw what war did to them. Knew the cost. Took me a long time after not to feel like a coward. Told myself that it was better for me not to go if my ticker wasn't up to it. That way I wouldn't be the weak link that got someone killed, you know?”
“You shouldn't feel guilty,” Kell said. “Not everyone is built for fighting.”
Turner nodded, a ghost of a sad smile flickering across his face. “Ain't that the truth, son. You're right, of course. Plenty of good kids went over there who weren't built for fighting. Some of them came back. I took a volunteer job helping those vets out. Saw how hard it was for them to get back into civilian life. Saw the toll it took on their minds. I won't claim I understand, because I never went through it myself, but I get the shape of it.”
“Are you trying to tell me you're worried you won't be able to help us?” Kell asked, careful to keep his voice gentle. In truth, none of their discussions had mentioned Turner in any sort of combat role, but he didn't want to hurt the old man's feelings by pointing it out.
“No,” Turner said, barking a laugh. “We're talking about you, here.”
“Me?” Kell asked. “I'm not fighting a war.”
“Maybe not,” Turner said with a shake of his head, “but you're on the ragged edge. I see it in the way you sit. The way you look around. Lot of survivors get that way. It's a natural consequence of being under stress for a long time. But you, son? You look like you've been running at full speed for years.”
Kell smiled ruefully. “I don't want to burst your bubble, but I spent the last year on an isolated farm. Stress-free.”
“Oh?” Turner asked innocently. “Is that the same farm where you've been doing this research you've mentioned? The research you haven't been able to take any further?”
Kell responded with silence.
“Yeah, thought so,” the old man said. “Lots of different kinds of stress. Just because you weren't out there fighting to survive doesn't mean you weren't pushing yourself. It's clear as crystal. Even when you're eating or talking—like you are right now—you're watching. You've checked the exits in here every ten or fifteen seconds since I sat down. You keep yourself on the edge of your chair in case you need to move. If money was still around, I'd bet all of mine that your friends back home saw the same.”
“A few of them might have accused me of pushing the research too hard,” Kell admitted, deciding not to mention that time he'd stopped his own heart.
“I imagine so,” Turner said. “Now, I don't know you all that well, but you seem like a good enough man. Heaven knows I wouldn't have got myself caught the way you did. And from what Mason said, you gave up a chance to leave just to make sure the rest of us don't have to stay here.”
Kell waved away the last remark. “That's just being a decent human being,” he said. “Wouldn't have been able to sleep at night knowing I left people behind.”
“Sure,” Turner said
with a sage node. “Didn't occur to you that if you'd gotten free, you could have led others back here to save us?”
“Well,” Kell said, sure he'd had that very thought. “You see, uh...”
“No?” Turner asked.
“No,” Kell admitted.
“When I was helping those vets, one thing I kept on hearing was how they could have done more. How they should have saved some soldier who had died on their watch. I'm not an expert but a lot of those boys just couldn't think any other way. To them, it was all on their shoulders. It was their fault, their responsibility.”
He gently patted Kell's hand in a way that reminded Kell overwhelmingly of his own grandfather. “All I'm saying is that you might want to step back at some point and really ask yourself how much you can do on your own. That's all.”
Twenty-Seven
Kell was alone in front of the Go board when Mason returned twenty minutes later. He sat down and glanced around with a deceptive casualness before slipping a folded piece of paper from beneath his bandages.
“Check this out,” he said, handing the paper to Kell.
“Whatcha got there?” Kell asked in his best impression of a curious child.
What Mason had there was a comprehensive list of guard rotations and other vital information. The list named every guard, contained a crude map of the facility and the off-sire location where the 'freed' prisoners were taken, and the rough locations of the observation posts the guard watchers used to keep an eye on the local traffic.
“Wow,” Kell said. “Rawlins gave you this?”
Mason nodded with a restrained excitement that Kell had never seen. “Yeah. Couldn't have asked for better proof he's going to go along with us.”
“How sure are you that this information is good?” Kell asked.
“Almost certain,” Mason said. “Everything I've been able to put together on my own and what Miles has given me matches it exactly. He's being straight with us.”
“Now that you have the schedule, when's our best time to strike? And have you figured out if Emily is really out there?”
Mason grimaced. “I've done a few calls while outside, but no response. We'll have to move forward assuming we're on our own. As for when, well...”
The hesitation and uncertainty in Mason's voice was unusual, enough to make Kell suspect the worst. “Soon, I'm guessing?” Kell asked.
“Yeah,” Mason said. “Tonight, actually.”
“What?” Kell hissed. “You can't be fucking serious. There's no way.”
“It's our best chance,” Mason said. “Rawlins already told the head guard that I'm some miracle of modern science. Logical since he examined me last night. So the head honcho is sending another guard ahead to prep the plane. That leaves them a man short until tomorrow morning.”
Kell felt his blood pressure going up. “Okay, yeah, but one guy isn't going to make that much difference.”
“No,” Mason agreed. “Normally it wouldn't. But Rawlins is also going to call me in for my antibiotics this evening after dinner, and two more guards will be waiting there to escort me somewhere else.”
“Ah,” Kell said as he got it. “Which will mean two less guards here.”
“Two less guards period,” Mason said with emphasis. “The second we get out of sight, I'll take them out. I even know which way they'll take me, which gives me a good idea how long it'll take to get back here.”
Kell tried not to look queasy at the casual mention of such cold killing. “Pretty high opinion of yourself there, buddy,” he said, hoping it came out light.
Mason's shrugged with one shoulder. “I know my limits, and two guards aren't close to them. Also, the doc put a scalpel in my dressings, so that'll help.”
“How many will that leave for the rest of us to deal with?” Kell asked.
“Nine,” Mason said. “But two of them will be on lookout in the hills. Two more will be off duty and asleep. That leaves five total to guard this place. Two of them will be on the door to the nave. One will be walking the perimeter. The other two will be harder to pin down, but I think once we've got weapons they'll try to get Rawlins to safety.”
Kell grunted. “You sound pretty confident this is going to work.”
“I am,” Mason said with what Kell would have called perfect honesty in anyone else. Knowing the man, it could have just as easily been a calculated effort to give Kell some extra confidence. “This will work as long as everyone is on the same page. So we've got to get Miles and his people up to speed quickly.”
“Sure,” Kell said. “Go ahead. I'll do what I can to help.”
Mason clapped him on the shoulder as he left to find the others. Kell expected to find himself twisted up about the sudden change in plans, but instead found himself looking forward to it. Afraid, sure, that was only natural when you went up against armed killers with nothing more than makeshift weapons and good—or bad, depending on how you saw it—intentions, but far outweighed by the knowledge that by this time tomorrow he'd be on his way home.
If he wasn't dead.
Not long after, Kell made his own trip to visit Rawlins. He took his medicine like a good boy, and passed along a few words from Mason that would hopefully smooth out the night's events.
Once he got back to the nave, Kell took a nap. It seemed like a good idea considering how busy the night would be.
Mason was taken from the nave shortly after dinner. The clock began as soon as the door shut behind him. Kell began humming to himself, using a song to mark the time. Before the sound of the heavy door closing had finished its echo around the room, Kell's conspirators began moving like a startled flock of birds.
All around people put themselves into a ready state as they palmed makeshift weapons and worked themselves up for the violence to follow. Kell watched it all as he marked the passing of seconds in his head. It would be at least a few minutes before they could act, and the tension in the room was palpable.
He wasn't worried about his people pulling their weight, if for no other reason than worrying would do no good at this point in the game, but the uneasiness in the rest of the prisoners did make him pause. Sheila was one of those, a member of the majority ignorant of what was about to happen. Some of Miles's people had complained about the uninitiated essentially getting a free ride out of this, being set free through the risk of others, but it didn't bother Kell.
Sane people rarely decided to attack armed and armored men with enough firepower to kill everyone in the room twice over. It was simple math. Fortunately, Kell and Mason were just insane enough to try and have a reasonable expectation of success.
Five minutes later, Kell stood. The room seemed to hold its collective breath.
Liam strode toward the door, face resolute. Kell moved to meet him. From the other side of the room, Miles did the same. Kell could feel the eyes on him as he walked, though no one else budged.
They kept clear of the narrow line of sight through the security glass set in the door. The paranoia of their captors was an advantage Kell meant to use, and it allowed them to set up close to the exit without being seen.
Liam lowered himself to all fours, then nodded. Miles crouched next to him.
“Ready,” Liam said.
Kell glanced over his shoulder to gauge the room. So far the furtive looks among the people ignorant of what was about to happen hadn't mutated into outright alarm. He saw Steph ready to do her part, right along with Turner. The single advantage was that these people were survivors. By their very nature, they had seen violence up close and personally. Kell hoped it would be enough to keep them from raising too much of a fuss.
“Go” Kell said in a harsh whisper.
Liam began to shriek. For good measure he dragged a razor pulled from a shaving kit across his forearm and wet his hands with blood. The kid was dedicated; Kell had to give him that. The blood added a note of realism.
Kell and Miles knelt tensely, only glancing up when the door opened.
“What the hell
is going on?” One of the two guards asked.
“He's hurt,” Kell shouted, fumbling at Liam in a failed attempt to grab onto the young man's blood-slicked wrists. “I don't know what happened!”
Protocol dictated that two guards be present at all times in the event they had to enter the nave. The door could be locked from both sides, and that too was protocol. Once the guards entered, they were to secure the door to keep people from rushing it.
Luckily, the second guard remembered this. Upon seeing a bleeding, screaming Liam on the floor, he turned to lock the door. Kell waited for the man to take a hand away from his submachine gun, then fish out the key, before he struck.
It happened without thought, just another piece of training drilled into Kell by people who knew far better than he how to fight. The first guard was a pace away, and probably not concerned about the man with the sling on one knee.
Kell lunged forward, keeping his body moving on the outside of the guard's gun hand. It was risky because a good shooter would instinctively track that direction, but it also made them predictable. Kell used the split second when the guard tensed his entire body in anticipation of the tackle he expected to come, and rose fully to his feet.
Then Kell slapped his left hand on the guard's extended trigger finger. From first motion to wrapping his fist around the exposed digit took less than two seconds. Kell wrenched the finger inside its glove, feeling the gristly snap as it separated at a few joints simultaneously.
The guard would have screamed—and even managed the beginnings of one—but Kell had repeated this moment in his head dozens of times. His injured arm erupted from his sling and slammed into the guard's throat.
Kell followed through, twisting his hips and knees as the punch turned into a grapple. Kate, Laura, and Lee would have been embarrassed at the poor form, but in the real world throws rarely looked pretty. Given the result, he thought they would have been equally impressed with its effectiveness.