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  9

  Mason was a soft man—not at all what Ella had been expecting. The palpable fear emanating from Hellhole Bay made her think the man in charge would be tyrannical in action and appearance. But the man sitting behind the mahogany desk, peering over the top of a pair of thin reading glasses, looked more like a turtle without a shell. He was dressed in white slacks and a short-sleeve, white, button-down shirt, both of which matched the wispy hair poking out from the sides of a gray Ascot cap. He flinched at their entrance, pale blue eyes squinting at Peter. But when he looked at Ella, those eyes widened. He reached out to a CD player, turning down the music, stood from his seat and tipped his hat like a true Southern gentleman.

  “Ma’am,” Mason said, looking her up and down. “It’s an unusual pleasure to welcome someone such as yourself into my humble abode.”

  “It’s equally unusual to have my children locked up in a glorified chicken coop,” Ella said, flashing a smile as phony as Mason’s, though she thought he did a much better job.

  Or maybe he really is happy to see us?

  So far, the man had no real reason to dislike them, other than the fact that they were traveling with a ‘rag head,’ but maybe that prejudice was Boone’s alone? No, she thought, remembering the maid at the door. Her ridiculous outfit and forced accent harkened back to darker times for anyone not wealthy and white, a role Mason seemed to be enjoying.

  The office was lined with book shelves. Most of the tomes were popular novels. The dog-eared book resting on his desk was titled The Dirge of Briarsnare Marsh. They weren’t exactly the books of a thinking man...but they were literature nevertheless. Memories of Bob and Lyn Askew flitted to the forefront of Ella’s mind. Bob with his action and horror novels. Lyn teasing him about it. These were Bob’s books. Bob’s office.

  Bob the corpse.

  Mason cleared his throat and widened his smile. “I am sorry about that, truly. But I assure you, there is method to the madness. With the future of mankind at stake, and our food source at constant risk, we’ve been forced to take drastic...sometimes cruel, measures to ensure our survival.” He motioned to the two antique chairs opposite the desk. “Please, sit.”

  Ella didn’t feel like sitting, but when Boone gave Peter a nudge in the back, she realized it wasn’t a request. When Peter motioned to her chair and said, “Go on,” she realized he was still playing along. Still thinking with his head instead of his heart, and right now, that’s what would keep them alive. So she smiled and took a seat, knowing the other two men, gentlemen both, wouldn’t sit until she had. Peter sat down next, followed by Mason, who looked pleased by the way the ritual had progressed.

  “Now then,” Mason said, leaning back in Bob’s office chair. “You all have been living out there for how long now?”

  “A few weeks,” Peter said before Ella could even think to answer. And it was just as well. Peter was the better liar. If Mason really was good at detecting untruths, it was better if Ella kept her mouth shut.

  “And I hear tell that you arrived in what, some kind of tank?”

  “A technical,” Peter said.

  “Technical,” Mason repeated. “Can’t say as I’m familiar with the term.”

  “Military jargon,” Peter said. “Just means it’s a truck with a big gun mounted to it. In this case, a Dodge Ram with an M249 light machine gun.”

  “Uh-huh...” Mason twiddled his fingers together. “Sounds like you know your way around guns.”

  “Served in the U.S Marine Corps,” Peter said.

  He’s being honest, Ella realized, but leaving out details. Telling the man he was a Marine would explain Peter’s knowledge of weaponry, and help validate the story of their survival. But leaving out the fact that he’d been a Critical Skills Operator would make him seem less dangerous. Peter wanted the man to see him as a potential ally—another gun-toting grunt—but not a threat.

  “You look a might too long in the tooth for active duty,” Mason observed. “What was your rank when you left the corps?”

  “Sergeant Major,” Peter replied. It was a demotion from Captain, but high enough and said with conviction. “Served two tours. Afghanistan.”

  “And you left because...”

  “PTSD,” Peter said, still being honest. “That’s Post Traumatic—”

  “I know what it is,” Mason said. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, hands clasped. “So how does a man with PTSD survive the wilds of the new world?”

  “I worked through it, sir. A long time ago.” He reached out and took Ella’s hand, his affection catching her off guard. “I had help.”

  “You’re a whole man again, then?”

  Peter nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Mason looked them both over for a moment. “Since neither of you are wearing wedding bands, am I to assume you’re living in sin? Had the boy and girl out of wedlock?”

  Ella glanced at the window behind Mason. She could see the Questionable cells in the background. He was watching.

  “No, sir,” Peter said, pulling Ella’s attention back to the polite interrogation. “Wearing rings in the field is a bad idea. Might end up with a ring avulsion—what happens when your ring gets caught on something and yanks the finger out of joint, or clean off.” He reached into his shirt and pulled out a silver chain with two rings dangling from it.

  Ella tried to show no reaction that Peter kept his and Kristen’s wedding bands around his neck. She wasn’t surprised. Peter was an honorable guy like that, and he had loved his wife. Why not remember the time they had by keeping a memento of their marriage? What she was, was jealous. But that was ridiculous. Kristen was dead, killed by Peter’s own hand.

  “And I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Peter Crane, and this is my wife—”

  “I think it’s time I heard from the lovely lady herself.” Mason turned to Ella, his gaze friendly, but discerning. Peter had apparently passed the man’s truth test, but Mason wasn’t fully convinced. So it was Ella’s turn to endure his scrutiny. “Your name, ma’am?”

  “Kristen,” Ella said. “Kristen Crane.”

  “Doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue, does it?” Mason chuckled at himself.

  “My father always said it sounded like a Marvel Comics super hero name,” Ella said. In truth, it’s what she had thought about Kristen, when she heard about Peter’s wedding plans. “You know, Peter Parker. Jessica Jones. Kristen Crane.”

  “Mmm,” Mason said, his smile wavering. She was failing his test. Forcing her words. “An unfortunate amalgamation of names, then.”

  “Yes...sir,” she said, and nearly said more, layering on phony quips about something as insignificant as their names. She stopped herself, clearing her throat and then waiting for Mason to continue.

  The man sat in silence for a good ten seconds and then asked, “How did you survive the Change?”

  Peter opened his mouth to reply, but Mason held his palm up, “Let the lady answer.”

  “Well, we had the truck,” Ella said. “And a lot of—”

  “I don’t mean the past few weeks in the wild,” Mason said. “I have boys that can do the same. What I’m wondering is how, when the rest of the world started eating itself into oblivion, you all remained...” He swept his hands out toward Ella and Peter. “...as you are. Human. I know how my people survived, but you are the first outsiders we have encountered that are not...”

  “Evolved,” Ella said.

  Mason grinned. “That’s a word for it, I suppose, if you believe in such things.”

  Ella smiled and followed Peter’s lead of near complete honesty. “We had a biodome. Like yours. But just one of them.”

  “I see,” Mason said. “And how did you acquire said biodome?”

  Ella let her discomfort over the subject show. “From Ella Masse.”

  “The very same woman who provided the former residents of this home with their biodome. How fortuitous for you. The very same woman, if I recall, who created the crops that led to t
he unhinged evolution of all life on Earth.”

  “She tried to warn—”

  Peter was silenced once again, this time with a harshly raised index finger.

  “Tell me, Kristen,” Mason said. “What made you worth saving, while the rest of the world went to hell?”

  For a moment, she was worried that he recognized her. Before the Change really took effect, she had been on TV several times, warning people about the dangers of ExoGen crops. That was before the company caught up with her, kidnapped her and threw her in a cell until she agreed to stay quiet and continue her work for them. At first, she had wondered why they hadn’t simply killed her, but later she had realized it was her mind they wanted. The genetic tinkering they had done, for reasons that still evaded her, was just the beginning. Despite having been a somewhat public figure for a few weeks, she was now far skinnier, had a clean-shaven head and was covered in grime. Her own parents might not recognize her.

  Ella looked at the floor, and then glanced at Peter. “He did.” She met Mason’s eyes. “She wasn’t interested in saving me. Just him.”

  Mason waited for more.

  “They had an affair. Had been childhood friends, and then more than that for a while. We ended up back in the same town with that bitch, and he...” She shook her head at the very real memories. “He couldn’t say no to her. Never could.”

  “And yet here you are,” Mason pointed out. “Together, and by all accounts, in love.”

  “He...made the right choice in the end. Chose his wife and children over something...shallow. She was nostalgia. A reminder of younger days. I have struggled to forgive the choices he made. I’ve hated him for it. God knows, I have. But in the end, he chose his family, and that...that is a man worth loving, despite his faults.”

  Mason gave a nod and leaned back in his chair. “Takes a strong woman to forgive such grave misgivings.”

  “Wasn’t easy,” Ella said.

  Mason gave another nod. “Now then, near as I can tell, the Askews were friends of Dr. Ella Masse. Like-minded science-types, whom you asked for by name, yes? Given your husband’s adulterous past, I’m surprised you accepted such a generous gift.”

  “There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to protect my children,” Ella said. “That woman...she was a lot of things I didn’t like, but she was also brilliant. When someone like that tells you your world is coming to an end, you listen, even if it means accepting help from someone who hurt you the most.”

  “And the Askews?”

  “There was a list of names and locations,” Ella said. “Of biodomes around the country. Eighty-seven of them. Bob and Lyn were on the list. It’s why we came here.”

  “And where is this list now?”

  Ella shrugged. She’d thrown the list away long ago, and really didn’t know where it was. “I memorized it.”

  “Uh-huh. And how did you come upon it? The list.”

  Ella took in a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. “She came to our house.”

  “When?”

  “Five weeks ago.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Dead,” Peter said. “I put a bullet in her.”

  Mason’s eyebrows crested high on his forehead. He appeared to be enjoying the story now.

  “She came to us seeking shelter,” Ella said. “It’s why she paid for the domes. So she’d have places to hide. But when she came to us, she brought trouble in her wake. Stalkers. Horrible creatures with tails that look like wheat stalks. Hard to see in the tall crops. They hunted in a pack. And we...Peter, had to destroy the house to escape.”

  “And Dr. Masse? She died at the house?”

  Ella nodded, and then spoke to Peter. “But it didn’t need to be done in front of the kids.”

  “Couldn’t have been avoided,” Peter replied, anger creeping into his voice.

  “Now, now,” Mason said. “I am not a fan of lover’s quarrels.”

  “Sorry,” Peter said. “It’s all still...raw.”

  “What about the girl with you?” Mason asked, shifting subjects.

  “Sir,” Boone said, speaking for the first time since entering. “I was wondering if I might—”

  “Let them answer, Boone,” Mason said. “Be polite.”

  “Her name is Alia,” Peter said, and when Mason didn’t shush him again, he continued. “Daughter of Brant and Misha Rossi, owners of the first biodome we reached. I promised I’d look out for her.”

  “What happened to the parents?”

  “We were attacked.”

  “More of those Stalkers?”

  “ExoGen,” Peter said. “They were looking for Ella. They had a Black Hawk and two Apache helicopters.”

  “And yet you survived,” Mason said.

  “Not all of us,” Peter replied.

  “And have you seen these helicopters since?”

  Peter shook his head. “I told them she was dead. I think they believed me, but they tried to kill us anyway. The leader, a man named Kenyon, I think he had feelings for her.”

  “Sounds like Dr. Ella Masse was a knockout.” He held a hand out to Ella. “No offense to you, Mrs. Crane. A woman with that much control over the opposite sex tends to bring trouble wherever she goes.”

  Ella grinned. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  A knock at the door turned everyone around. Boone opened it, revealing a nervous looking Stevie.

  “Better be important,” Boone said.

  “Gunshots,” Stevie said. “Three of them. Distant. Perimeter guards haven’t seen anything, but Roy and the others aren’t checking in. We’ve tried calling them a bunch of—”

  Boone unclipped a handheld radio from his waist, flicked it on and spoke into it. “Roy, this is Boone, come back?” He lifted his finger and waited, listening to static. Then he pushed the call button again. “Roy, quit fuckin’ around. If you’re hearing me, you best answer. Over.”

  When no reply came, Boone just looked to Mason.

  “Go ahead,” Mason said. “But take Mr. Crane with you.”

  Peter grew tense, but didn’t complain.

  “Sir, I don’t think taking this—”

  “Nonsense,” Mason said. “I believe Mr. and Mrs. Crane have been forthright in their answers to me, and while I still have questions that need answers, I don’t see any reason to refuse this man’s help…if he’s willing to provide it.”

  There was no mention of the children, but everyone in the room knew Mason had them as collateral.

  Peter stood. “I’ll do my best.”

  “Very good,” Mason said, standing and offering Peter his hand. When Peter shook it, the older man added, “And don’t worry about your wife none. I’ll entertain her in your absence.”

  Peter smiled and withdrew his hand. “Thank you.” He turned to Ella and said, “Be back soon.” Then to Boone, “Lead the way.”

  When the two men had left, Ella turned back to Mason, whose smile had widened enough to reveal teeth as white as his clothes. “Well then, Kristen, what am I going to do with you?”

  10

  “Don’t look at them,” Jakob whispered to Anne, who was staring at the people sitting on the far side of the cell. He didn’t fully understand what made someone a Questionable, but he guessed they’d done something wrong to end up here. Sure, the people who ran the place had an obviously skewed sense of right and wrong, but that didn’t mean they only locked up nice people. Murder and theft were probably still jailable offenses, even to the morally ambiguous.

  “They’re not going anywhere fast,” Anne said, not averting her eyes. “Look at them.”

  Against his own advice, Jakob followed Anne’s instructions. She was a lot younger than him, but when it came to the wild world, she was far more experienced. That included dealing with people. While Jakob had spent two years holed up in a farmhouse with his father, Anne had lived in a large community, and then fled across the country with a group of people, including Eddie Kenyon, a man who turned out to be a little psycho. S
o he trusted her judgment. Not of their cell-mates’ character, but of their ability to cause him harm.

  The three people sharing the concrete floor with them—two men and one woman—were in various states of living decay. The oldest of them, a skinny man with wispy gray hair, looked the worst off. He stared back at Anne with defiant eyes, as though he resented her assessment, but was still unable to prove her wrong. The second man and the woman, were huddled up together in the back corner, clutching each other, more afraid of Jakob than he was of them. They had the wide-eyed look of people who expected the worst to happen at any moment, probably because it often did.

  Jakob’s fear turned to pity. What had these people endured? None of them looked dangerous, not even the defiant old man. They looked...normal. Emaciated and hungry, but normal.

  “I’m Jakob,” he said to the group. When no one replied, he motioned to Anne and said, “This is my sister, Anne. And my...” he glanced at Alia. They had been romantically involved, to be sure, but they’d never had a discussion about official titles. What were they? Friends with kissing benefits? Girlfriend and boyfriend? Would they become more? Were they already? Maybe romance was accelerated at the end of the world, when there was no one else left? He decided to jump to the logical conclusion. “...my girlfriend, Alia.”

  Relief flowed through his muscles when she smiled and gave a slight wave. It was corny, he knew, to be concerned about his relationship with Alia while they were being held prisoner inside a hostile compound, separated from his father and Ella, but... Well, hormones paid the apocalypse no attention. And with the whole world out to eat him, a little bit of teenage affection—Anne called it ‘obsession’—kept him sane. And that was a good thing. One of the few left in the world from his point-of-view.

  No one replied. Blank eyes stared back. For a moment, he thought the three of them might actually be dead. Then the woman blinked.