The Fall: Victim Zero (31 page)

Fury had slowly built on the old man's face. “Which would include you,” Lucas said.

“
True,” Kell replied. “But I'm a gambling man. Thing is, the explosives are just a release mechanism for the gas I've got stored up in there. Six old propane tanks full of nasty shit. One is hydrogen fluoride. When it comes into contact with water, it becomes hydrofluoric acid. Hey, here's a fun fact: human beings are mostly water. I'm pretty sure you can do the math there, you being so good at it.”

“
What do you want?” Lucas asked through gritted teeth.

Kell smiled at him again. “What, you don't want me to finish? Come on, I had this whole speech worked out. I practiced it in a mirror and everything.”

Several men edged back from the truck, but a few brave—or suicidal—souls moved in, ready to shoot at the slightest provocation.

“
Stop, you fucking idiots,” Lucas growled at them.

Kell shot the men a wink. “Better listen to him. Even if you manage to trap my hand and keep me from letting go of this switch, a single bullet in one of those tanks and some of you are going to die horribly. I should mention that at least one of the tanks is full of another hydrogen compound gas, a personal favorite of mine: hydrogen sulfide.”

A few sharp gasps from the crowd followed his statement. “I see some of you know it. It's heavier than air, and at the right dosage it'll stop your breathing on the first inhalation. Not really sure how concentrated it would be out here in the open, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested in finding out.”

Eyelids fluttering as he struggled to control his anger, Lucas took a deep breath. “So what do you want? Supplies? Weapons?”

“I want the prisoners,” Kell said quietly. “Release your captives and send them out with me, and I'll be on my way. This doesn't have to get ugly.”

A low murmur rose from the crowd, but Lucas raised a hand to quiet them. “Do what he says,” the old man ordered. “Bring them out.”

In a remarkably short time, six women were brought before him. They were terrified, but there was something else in those eyes. A desperate hope twined inextricably with molten fury. The men herding the prisoners forward led them toward Kell, who gestured for them to join him.

“
Now, have your men move so these ladies can walk out of here,” Kell told Lucas, who gritted his teeth and gave the order.

At first the prisoners didn't move. Kell never took his eyes from the marauders, but his voice changed as he spoke to the women.

“Listen to me,” he said, gentle. “I know you're scared. You don't know what to think. You've got two choices. You can either stand here, thinking this is a trick, or you can walk and take a chance. If you head straight ahead you'll find a man sitting in a passenger van. His name is Dan Rickwalder, and he's a good guy. He's going to take you to safety.”

One of the prisoners, a gaunt Latino woman with sunken hazel eyes and the dark rings of the sleepless, stepped closer to him. “You're coming with us?”

“No,” Kell told her. “I'm going to stay right here and make sure no one follows you. Now, go.”

The prisoners, seeing an open gate and a chance for freedom, didn't need to be told twice. Much like a mother who will lift a car from her trapped child, they found a strength and energy at odds with the sad state of their bodies.

Bedraggled and clad in rags, the prisoners ran. As he watched them leave, a great weight lifted from Kell's heart. Now, at least, he would only be responsible for his own death if he screwed up.

Long minutes passed in silence before Kell heard the signal, a single bleat of car horn. Inwardly, Kell smiled, though he kept his face carefully neutral.

“Nice doing business with you, gentlemen,” he said. “I'll be walking out myself. This thing has a good long range on it, so once I'm a few hundred feet away you won't have to worry about me setting off the explosives.”

Lucas glowered with rage. “You motherfucker.”

Kell jiggled the detonator. “Insurance. I'd say I'm sorry, but...well, I'm not. One of you shoots me while I'm walking away and it's going to end badly for all of you.”

The first step away from the truck was the hardest of his life. The crowd around him was a powder keg of anger and hate, and he was alone, essentially naked to the whims of the marauders. The second step was easier, and by the third he was trotting along.

Once he was past the edge of the camp, Kell broke into a run. A glance over his shoulder at the handful of men still aiming weapons at him sent a pulse of terror through him, but he was resolved. The next part was going to suck.

Throwing himself forward, Kell tossed the detonator away. The delay was just long enough for him to land on his belly, feet toward the truck. Laura had explained it to him. His best chance was to present the explosion with the smallest possible section of his body. In this case it was a pair of steel-tongued boots and a good hundred feet of space between.

Even then the blast was enough to nearly make him piss his pants.

Gunfire erupted instantly.

Chapter Twenty

Worming his way across the ground, Kell took shelter behind a tree. A small, strange part of him felt slightly bad for lying; the tanks in the back of the truck held no deadly gases. Just propane. Which, as he thought about it, really was a deadly gas given the circumstances. Twitching his head around the trunk of the tree, he guessed all six tanks went up when the explosives triggered based on the destruction. A pang of guilt struck him. It had been a good truck.

Perfectly timed, the teams fired from the edge of the ridges making up the valley. Kell saw the muzzles of their rifles flash in a steady rhythm as the burning chaos below spread. From his vantage there was only a small section of the camp visible, and that was all in flames. As he watched, a man on fire ran from the conflagration, shrieking in terrified pain as the fat beneath his charred skin combusted in a self-sustaining chemical dance.

With a deep breath, Kell raced from his hiding spot. Long strides ate up the yards as he dashed forward. Twin knives slid from the sheaths hidden beneath the back of his coat. As he edged around the side of the hill toward the main gate of the camp, he wondered if anyone was left inside for him to deal with.

Another burst of gunfire answered his question. The blast and ensuing blaze were never meant to be the only solution to the marauder problem. Too small, and it wouldn't have injured or killed enough of them. Too large, and the people hiding on the edges of the hills might have been injured before their first shot was fired.

The surviving marauders were firing wildly into the air. The smoke boiling above him occasionally darted forward in a line as a bullet erupted from it, leaving a thin contrail behind. That was a small blessing; the smoke had to make it nearly impossible for the marauders to aim properly or to even see their attackers well, while the brightness of the flames outlined them perfectly for Laura and Kate's teams.

The odds were still stacked heavily against Kell's people, however. In less than a minute he heard the signal to pull back toward the town, the loud screech of an athletic whistle cutting through the screams of dying and angry men.

The valley itself was fairly small, and it took little time for the closest team to reach Kell's position. He nodded to them as they passed, eyes twitching nervously toward the still-burning entrance to the camp.

“
Trap's sprung,” the last of them, a woman named Rebecca Graham, said. “Come on. We've only got a minute or two before all hell breaks loose here.”

Kell raised an eyebrow. “Looks pretty hellish to me.”

The startled screams of men cut the air. “That'll be the zombies we let loose at the top of the hill,” Rebecca said. “We really need to go.” She motioned down the hill where the rest of Laura's team hustled toward the town with their guns held ready.

Kell shook his head. “I'm waiting for Kate's team to show. You head out. I'll be right behind.”

Neither of them heard the man climbing the hill next to them. It was a complete surprise when his body dropped on Kell like a cartoon anvil, driving him to the earth.

Sheer luck kept the knives from piercing his own flesh, his arms thrown out to catch his weight as the attacker pummeled him. The smell of burned skin was overwhelming as Kell slithered around beneath the man, trying ineffectually to drag his blade across something vital.

The attacker's face was a smoking ruin, one eye boiled in its socket, that entire half of his head scorched to the bone. The remaining half was a stark contrast, healthy and wild with pain as he drove fists into Kell over and over.

Rebecca drove the butt of her rifle into the man's throat with a grunt of effort, then as he fell forward dipped her hand to the ground and snatched Kell's fallen blade before jamming it in the attacker's eye. It was done so easily and smoothly Kell scarcely had time to understand what was happening before it was over.

“We're leaving,” Rebecca said.

Kell nodded, springing to his feet and following after her.

If all had gone as planned, the zombies they'd penned up above should drive the surviving marauders down the hill. The plan was like any other—only good until the moment of first contact. Then fate and chance and human error took control, and all you could do was hope.

Kell glanced over his shoulder often, looking for Kate and her group as well as making sure no one was aiming a rifle at his back. Dim outlines of men cresting the hills on either side of the valley confirmed there were enough survivors to make problems, but that was expected.

From somewhere to Kell's left a woman shouted in rage, followed by a burst of gunfire. The sound came from closer to the escaping marauders than Kell's own position. It had to be Kate's group, who had the unenviable task of drawing the enemy toward the town.

Given the destruction and loss of life, it didn't seem too hard a job.

The sounds of struggle and death faded as they ran for the vehicles they'd hidden below the camp. Rebecca peeled away from him and headed for the closest, Laura behind the wheel. Kell waved for her to go as he moved toward his own bundle of gear lying mostly hidden beneath a pile of pine boughs.

“
Come on!” Laura said urgently. “You don't need to stay out here.”

“
It's part of the plan,” he replied. “I'll be fine.”

No time to argue, she slammed the truck in gear and drove as he quickly threw on his cloak, the tattered fabric altered to better blend in with the bare woods in winter. Another burst of gunfire and curses gave him an idea of how far off Kate and her team were, forcing Kell to speed up his preparations.

Quiver at his side, bow in hand, and spear strapped across his back, Kell lengthened his stride and ran at full speed. He crested one of the many small hills leading down into town and reoriented himself to the familiar landmarks. He'd come out roughly where the plan called for him to be; his chosen spot was only a dozen yards away.

Slipping the earpiece for his two-way radio in, he made for his perch. The tree was perfect, sheltered by other trees but leaving him a plain line of sight. He would be the eyes on the marauders as they made their way into the town.
If
they followed. Which, by the sounds of it, was happening even as he settled in.

The wait wasn't long in time elapsed, but it felt like years.

“Jailbirds are secure,” the crackling voice said over the two-way. “Rickwalder heading back to fallback location.”

“
Copy that, Dan. Back door is open for you,” the reply came.

Below him came the last of the vehicles, a Cherokee carrying Kate and two of her teammates. Bullets ricocheted from the heavy steel plate covering the back of the Jeep as Kate tore through the ice and muck in a mad bid to reach her own fallback location. Fifty yards behind, Kell saw a group of marauders chasing on foot, guns spitting in a constant racket.

“Last group incoming,” Kell murmured into the mic at his throat. “Marauders following. Two minutes or so.”

Limbs wrapped around the trunk of his tree and hidden in the deep shadows of the needle-rich limbs, Kell didn't worry about being seen. Most of him was on the far side of the tree, after all, and the dark around him was more than enough cover to keep him unnoticed.

Then again, if they did see him he was screwed, so why worry?

The marauders came in disconcertingly organized groups; there were three small bands of five each on foot, watching for signs of an ambush, and ten more piled into a pickup. A few were obviously injured, and one was coughing so badly Kell was certain his lungs had been burned by the superheated air, but for the most part they were mobile. Even at a distance he could see the driving anger in the way they moved.

His hand clicked a button on his radio twenty-five times. Laura, Kate, and everyone else with a radio would hear the groupings of the clicks and understand that they represented numbers. Twenty-five was more than they had planned on, but a damn sight better than sixty or more.

The marauders stopped thirty feet from his tree, and Kell barely allowed himself to breathe as he waited. The urge to drop from his perch and take a chance by running was best expressed by a grinding pressure in his bladder, but he resisted. Both the urge to run and the need to piss himself for a second time in twenty minutes. The idea that Laura and Kate would make fun of him for the rest of his days for it was somehow more powerful than the threat of death itself.