Feast Page 16

  “We won’t be much use to anyone if we’re shot before reaching the house.”

  “Mom is in there. She’s...she’s...” Anne bared her teeth and slapped Jakob’s cheek. “You just pretend to care about her. To care about both of us. But you’ve never really seen us as family, have you?”

  “Anne,” Jakob reached for her.

  She swatted his hand away. “Go have your little scrum.” Her forehead scrunched up, confused for a moment, like she’d said something strange. Then she refocused her glare on Jakob. “I’m going to save my mother.”

  Anne ran.

  Despite being younger and smaller than Jakob, Anne could match his fastest sprint. He had no hope of catching her, but he wasn’t about to let her charge into a fight alone. She was wrong, and stupid, and impulsive, but she was his sister, and he loved her, even if she didn’t believe it.

  “We’re doing this,” he said to the others as he ran backward after Anne. “Now!”

  There was just a moment of hesitation, but then Alia followed. Then the maids. And then the rest of them. They had no real plan, but at least surprise would be on their side.

  Anne followed the biodome walls toward the house, staying close and low, so anyone looking out from the third floor wouldn’t see her. Stupid, Jakob thought, but not dumb. Jakob followed her lead and motioned for the rest to do the same. They moved in a single file line, snaking toward an uncertain fate.

  Anne slowed when she reached the back of the house. She peeked into one of the quarter-sized basement windows and then scooted past. Jakob caught up with her when she stopped at the second. He put his hand on her shoulder, turning her around. “We’re with you,” he whispered, motioning to the line of people paused behind him. “I’m with you. Always will be. But you can’t go out there first.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why,” he said. Of all of them, Anne was the least expendable. She had the secrets to ending the Change locked away in her head. She needed to survive. More than him. More than Ella. More than any of the rest of them, and she knew it.

  “Fine.” She leaned against the wall and let him step past, but snagged his belt as he moved toward the front of the house. “Check the window, dumbass.”

  Jakob sighed and peeked through the basement window. Nobody home. She let go of his belt and he crept toward the front corner of the house, stopping a foot short. He turned around, eyes wide, and tapped his ear. “Listen,” he mouthed to the others.

  There were voices. More than one. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he recognized Ella’s voice. And then a second voice. His body tensed. The AK-47 in his hands grew slick from his sweating hands.

  Eddie Kenyon...

  How is he here? How is he alive?

  Jakob held an open palm to the group leaning against the side of the house. Then he pointed at Willie and waved him forward. The old man hobble-jogged to the front of the line. Jakob leaned in close to the man’s ear and whispered. “Keep Anne hidden and quiet.”

  He knew his sister might hate him for it, but if Kenyon was here, she was in more danger than ever.

  “Ain’t going to be easy,” Willie replied. “I’ve seen what kind of fuss she can kick up.”

  “Do what you have to do,” Jakob said, glancing at Anne who looked irate at being left out of the hushed conversation.

  “Aight,” Willie said, leaning back. Then he thrust the butt of his rifle into Anne’s head. She dropped, but Willie caught her in one arm.

  Jakob was enraged. If Kenyon wasn’t around the corner, he would have attacked the man. Then Willie hoisted Anne up over his shoulder and mouthed, “Safe and quiet.”

  Despite his anger at Willie’s method, Jakob couldn’t deny its effectiveness. Anne would survive, and she wouldn’t be around to get herself in trouble. He gave Willie a nod and watched him head back toward the biodomes. Then he heard Ella’s voice loud and clear.

  “He raped me.”

  Had Anne been conscious a few seconds longer, and heard that, she would have charged out firing. Jakob was tempted to do the same, but restrained himself. Instead, he slid up to the corner, peeked one eye around the edge and snapped back. He’d seen just a snapshot of what awaited them, but it was enough.

  We are so screwed, he thought, and he turned to face the group of insurgents. Killing Mason and a few men might be possible, even for this untrained group of half-starved people. But taking down Riders? His mind flashed back to his previous encounters with the savage creatures. They were stronger, faster, and far more brutal than a human being could be without consuming ExoGenetic food. But they weren’t impervious to bullets. His father proved that when he put a round in his mother.

  What would Dad do? he asked himself. Would he wait? Would he fight? Jakob’s thoughts turned to Ella, the only person around the corner who was not his enemy. She was important, and had become a mother-figure in his life. He wasn’t sure if he loved her like he did Anne, but he cared about her. And she cared about Anne. Would die for her. Would want to be left to this fate to protect the girl. But this wasn’t her call. It was his. And he knew what his father would do. Aside from Jakob, and maybe Anne, Ella was the most important person in the world to his father. And had been for far longer. He loved her. Had loved her even while he loved Jakob’s mother. He might have chosen to stay with Kristen over Ella, but Jakob thought that was more for him, than his mother.

  Dad would fight for her, he thought. He would risk everything for her. Everything except for me.

  But Peter wasn’t there. Jakob knew his father might sacrifice Ella to save him—he had done as much when Kenyon caught up to them at Alia’s house—but that wasn’t a decision Jakob could make for him. Dad loved her, and would risk his life to save her. Jakob wanted to do the same. But unlike Anne, or even his father, he wasn’t going to rush into a fight he didn’t think he could win. Hoping he was making the right call, he turned to face the group and motioned for them to retreat.

  25

  “What?” Mason said. “I-I did no such thing!”

  Kenyon stood his ground, eyes moving from Ella to Mason and then back again.

  “We are civilized here,” Mason said. “Good people. Surviving. She and her upstart family have been trying to undo all that since they arrived.”

  “This morning,” Ella added. “We’ve been here just a few hours. How could we disrupt civilization that quickly?”

  “The same way you ended it for the rest of the world.” It wasn’t a logical argument. Mason was trying to appeal to Kenyon’s sense of justice. She was the woman who ended the world, after all. Or, at least, that’s what the few people surviving outside of ExoGen’s San Francisco facility believed. The truth was much more complex. It involved a cabal of people working with her, and then when she had tried to warn people, working against her. Since then, she’d been forced into their employ once more, against her will. Much of it was inexcusable, and in simpler times, worthy of a death sentence. But Eddie Kenyon didn’t give a shit. He drank ExoGen’s Kool-Aid long ago. He might not know the finer details of their long term plan—even Ella didn’t know that—but whatever it was, he was on board.

  Or was he?

  He wasn’t here with helicopters and guns a-blazin’. Instead, he kept the company of monsters. Of Riders. He looked comfortable with them, and they had apparently fully accepted him as one of the pack. This wasn’t the ExoGen pickup summoned by Mason, which meant more trouble was on the way.

  “Look at me.” Ella pointed at her forehead. She didn’t know what it looked like, but you didn’t take a punch to the forehead without something to show for it. She placed her fingers against her head. It was hot and swollen and conjured a very honest hiss of pain. “I didn’t do this to myself, Eddie.”

  From his position behind the living wall of Riders, Kenyon said, “You’ll say anything to survive, Ella.”

  “That’s right,” Mason said. “She’s a liar. She’s—”

  “Shut. Your. Mouth.” Kenyon p
ushed his way through the two females, showing no revulsion at the coils of dirty hair rubbing up against him. Even across the twenty foot distance, Ella could smell their stench. Kenyon seemed not to notice.

  He’s gone native, Ella thought, looking him over from head to toe. Kenyon was still human as far as she could see, which meant that he’d avoided eating ExoGenetic food for the past five weeks. It also meant she had a slim chance of reasoning with him. Or at the very least, manipulating his still very human emotions and desires. Betrayal or not, Kenyon was obsessed with her. He might make her life a living hell, but he’d also keep her alive, and if she was alive, there was hope. Of escape. Of survival. Of fixing the world.

  Kenyon stopped ten feet away and crouched. “Tell me the truth.”

  There was no threat tacked on. Didn’t need to be. Ella understood the situation. If Kenyon even suspected she wasn’t being forthright, this would end the way he had probably been imagining it for the past five weeks. Part of it anyway. She had no idea what had befallen Peter or the children.

  “Fine,” Ella said, sitting up a bit straighter, letting an angry fire burn behind her eyes. Kenyon knew the look. He liked the look. Had said so on a number of occasions. “He tried to rape me. Was still trying when your hairy friend knocked on the door. It wasn’t going so well for him until he drew that gun.” She motioned to the revolver, which shifted toward her head. “He calls this place civilized, but—”

  “Enough!” Mason lunged forward, caught a handful of Ella’s shirt, hauled her up and placed the revolver’s barrel against her head.

  Ella let out a yelp of surprise, despite Mason’s actions being exactly what she’d been hoping for. While she was still in mortal danger, Mason had simultaneously made himself Kenyon’s enemy and rekindled her ex-boyfriend’s protective feelings for her. The pair had been potential allies, but now...now one would kill the other. And given the number of Riders now spreading out, poised to attack, it was pretty clear that the remainder of Mason’s time on Earth could be counted down in minutes, if not seconds.

  Ella tried not to smile as Mason’s arm wrapped around her throat. He dragged her back toward the front door. “One move from you or your ugly bitches, and I’ll put a bullet in her head.”

  “They can understand you.” Kenyon looked at the Rider beside him. “Can’t you, ugly bitches?”

  “Understand,” the nearest Rider said. “Kill old man now?”

  Mason doubled his pace, but Ella let her body become a dead weight. He could just shoot her, but she was the only thing keeping him alive at the moment. She didn’t think the house would help his situation much, but walls were walls. They provided a sense of security, even if it was unjustified.

  “Chad!” Mason barked. “The door!”

  But Chad had begun backing away, moving down the farmer’s porch. He held one hand up and the other out to his side, clutching the assault weapon by the handle in as non-threatening a posture as possible. “If it’s all the same to you...” He was speaking to Kenyon, not Mason. “I’ll just walk away.”

  “You traitorous son-of-a-bitch! I knew I shouldn’t have trusted a Yankee like you!”

  “I’m from Idaho,” Chad said, still backing off.

  Ella could feel Mason’s hand shaking, drilling the revolver’s barrel into the side of her head. He wanted to shoot Chad, to vent his anger into the man’s skull, but he’d leave himself wide open to attack, and not just from Kenyon or the Riders. The moment that barrel came away from her head, she would strike.

  Kenyon watched Chad take a few more steps. “Wait.”

  Chad stopped, petrified. “Sir?”

  Kenyon pointed his assault rifle at Ella. “Was she telling the truth?”

  Ella understood the situation instantly. If Chad denied her story of attempted rape, Kenyon would likely shoot her and Mason. But if he confirmed it...the stalemate would continue.

  Luckily for her, she had told the truth, and Chad had seen enough to at least confirm a part of it. Even better, confirming the story would keep his attention on Mason. The moment she and Mason died, all attention would shift to Chad.

  “Uh, yes, sir. He had her locked up in the dome. When I found them, he had her on the ground, pistol aimed at her head. Looked like she had put up a fight, though.”

  “She would,” Kenyon said.

  “And she wasn’t the first one. He dresses them up. Watches them bathe. Has a two way mirror in the bathroom. Sometimes he—”

  That was all Mason could take. He shifted the barrel of his gun away from her head and toward Chad. Ella tilted her head forward the moment the barrel cleared her skull, and then with all of her strength, threw her head back.

  The gun went off.

  Chad screamed and dropped to the porch.

  Ella’s head struck the weapon, and then Mason’s face, which she felt fold inward under the force of her strike. His grip loosened. She tore herself away and ducked, knowing what would happen next.

  But it didn’t play out exactly the way she pictured. Instead of a bullet shot by Kenyon, Mason’s end came at the tip of a spear. The weapon was thrown with such force that the blade punched through his face, exited his skull, shattered the storm door’s window and embedded in the solid wood door beyond. The storm door shook from the impact, its screws tearing loose from rotted wood. The door came loose, slipped over Mason’s twitching form, and toppled to the porch. Mason hung like a puppet in storage, waiting for someone to bring him to life. Then he went suddenly still. His bowels let loose, drizzling stench onto the porch.

  Ella moved away from the widening puddle and caught sight of Chad, lying on the porch. He was clutching his arm, still very much alive. She gave him a glare that said, ‘stay down,’ and turned to face Kenyon, who seemed amused by what had just taken place.

  He turned to the Rider beside him. “What was that?”

  The furry female shrugged. “He said ugly.”

  “And not very bright,” Kenyon said, eliciting a sneer from the creature, but nothing more. “He had information I could have used.”

  The female motioned to Mason’s lifeless body. “Ask him questions now.”

  Kenyon’s confusion shifted toward annoyance when the female barked a laugh and the others joined in, hooting and slapping themselves.

  Kenyon focused on Ella. “I keep on trying to tell them they have poor senses of humor—the punchline usually involves a corpse—but they seem to think they’re ready for prime time.”

  Ella forced herself to stand up straight, despite the fresh pain pulsing through her head. She felt dazed, near passing out again, but through strength of will alone, she managed to stay upright, and step toward Eddie. Each step down the farmer’s porch threatened to send her sprawling, but she didn’t use the railing. Didn’t want to appear weak. She needed Eddie’s affection, but also his respect. Without both, he wouldn’t be malleable.

  But her body had other plans.

  Upon reaching the bottom step, a wave of nausea swept through her. The world spun. She reached for the railing and missed. Knees buckled. She toppled forward, but instead of landing on the ash-covered, scorched earth, she was cradled in a pair of strong arms.

  When she opened her eyes again, she saw blue sky and the outline of the farmhouse cutting into it. Kenyon’s face slid into view. He looked concerned.

  “That’s good,” she said.

  “What’s good?” he asked.

  She blinked, trying to think clearly, but felt drugged. “The view.”

  Kenyon looked up at the farmhouse. The sky. The cumulus clouds, promising an afternoon rain.

  “This isn’t impossible, you know,” Kenyon said.

  “I don’t know.”

  He looked at her again, amusement mingling with concern. “Once this business with you and your biodomes is wrapped up, we’re going to start again. First in San Francisco. Then in other locations around the world. Anywhere you want, Ella. Where do you want to go?”

  Kenyon’s face blurred, and
his words drifted in and out of focus.

  Where do I want to go?

  “Boston,” she said, then cringed as she realized the word had been spoken aloud.

  “Boston?” Kenyon sounded surprised. “You know it snows there like six months out of the year, right?”

  Ella’s pulse quickened. Adrenaline spiked. She’d nearly ruined everything. Her thoughts began to focus. “Kidding,” she said. “San Diego. Better yet. Baja. There aren’t any borders anymore, right?”

  “Right,” he said. “And I can make that happen. I can.”

  As Ella’s mind cleared, she began to recall some of what he’d said. None of it made sense to her, but Kenyon clearly knew more than she did about what ExoGen was planning. “How? When?”

  “How about this?” he said. “I’ll tell you. And I mean everything. No secrets. But first you tell me what’s in Boston.” While she tried to come up with something believable, he shook his head. “Is that where you’ve been headed all this time? Kind of a roundabout route, don’t you think?”

  “You’re not with ExoGen,” Ella said, looking at one of the Riders. “They left you to die. You don’t need to—”

  “I’ve never not been with ExoGen.” The words came out like a growl. Kenyon rolled his neck, tempering his anger. “You can either be with them, or dead. Eventually, anyway. And I’m a survivor. Like you. I might have been left for dead by that asshole, Mackenzie, but that wasn’t a corporate move. You and your boy toy might have made things personal for me, and believe me, I have dreamed up scenarios for all your deaths that would make you sick, but my loyalty is unflappable.”

  Ella knew that was true. It was why she was still breathing and not slain in one of the horrible manners he had dreamed up.

  “So, you, me and the girls here can pay a visit to Boston, see the sights and head back to San Fran before the first leaves of Fall start to change color. I hear it’s beautiful, but I’d rather be on the West Coast when the snow starts falling, wouldn’t you? And with the Chunta—” He leaned in close to whisper. “That’s what these nasty ladies call themselves.” He reverted back to his natural speaking voice. “—we won’t have to worry about surviving the journey. Not as much anyway. Though I think our relationship needs to stay platonic. Feesa, their leader since Peter offed his wife, has kind of a thing for me.”