An Apache attack helicopter, flying dangerously low, flew past overhead. The Woolies skidded to a stop, looking at the flying beast, no doubt trained to spot airborne predators. They roared up at the chopper, their primal voices muted by the rotor chop. And then by a chain gun.
A beam of tracer rounds showed the path of the stream of bullets from the Apache to each of the Woolies, turning the monsters into bloody pulp, one at a time. When the sudden and ferocious attack finished and the chopper began making a tight turn around them, Peter shouted, “Inside! Now!”
The group gathered below turned toward him, but clearly hadn’t heard him over the Apache. He shouted, “Inside!” again, this time pointing back to the house. “Get inside!”
At once, the group ran along the side of the house.
Peter bolted back to the stairs, descending three at a time. He slammed into the wall at the bottom, but didn’t slow as he entered the kitchen in time to see the others climb in through the hole. Just as Ella entered, a voice boomed from the helicopter above, impossibly loud. “We’re here for Doctor Ella Masse. Send her out, or we’re coming in.” The Apache’s thunderous chop was suddenly joined by the sound of two more helicopters, circling above, watching the home from every angle.
A moment later, a second voice cut through the racket, stating only, “Come on out, Ella. It’s time to come home.”
41
“That’s Eddie,” Anne said. “He’s alive.”
Peter’s stomach soured, and not just because there was an attack helicopter outside capable of reducing the house to splinters. He looked at Ella for confirmation. She looked surprised and nervous, but wiped both expressions from her face, masking her emotions. She gave him a nod, answering his unspoken question. The man outside was Eddie Kenyon.
Her boyfriend and lover.
But not anymore. First of all, he was supposed to be dead, not hunting her from the comfort of a helicopter. Second of all, she’d moved on. He hoped. From what he knew of Kenyon, he was a good man, if not very bright, and he’d been kind to Ella. He’d helped her launch her expedition, but had supposedly died in the wild. In that version of the story, Peter was thankful for the man who helped keep Ella alive. But now... The apparent truth was that he had survived, returned to San Francisco and picked up crew to track Ella down.
And he wasn’t here to rejoin Ella. He was taking her home.
Ella’s hand on his arm brought him out of his growing anger. “This is a fight you can’t win.”
His body relaxed, and he realized he’d raised the M16 to his shoulder. “I’m not letting you go.”
“I’m not worth getting all of you killed,” she said.
Peter almost argued, but she was right. He looked behind him at Jakob, Alia...and Anne. Kenyon wasn’t asking for Anne. He leaned in close to Ella and whispered. “You’re leaving her?”
Ella leaned away and said, “She can hear this, too.”
“It’s okay,” Anne said, striking out her chin, a brave little soldier trying to show no emotion, just like her mother. “You can go. I know Peter is my father.”
“Sort of,” Ella said.
Peter, Jakob and Anne all repeated the words in unison. “
Sort of?
”
A voice boomed from outside. “I’m coming in, Ella. If anyone opens fire... Well, don’t.” The shifting pitch of a single helicopter lowering toward the ground pulsed through the house. They had just minutes before company arrived.
Kenyon was stopping himself short of making blatant threats.
If he still cares about Ella,
Peter thought,
he’s not going to rush toward violence.
It was their only advantage, but to what end? There was no scenario he could imagine where he didn’t lose Ella again.
And her main concern was clear. She stepped to Anne and brushed her hand against the girl’s dirty cheek. “Are you strong enough?”
The girl stiffened. “You know I am.”
Ella turned to Peter. Whatever bomb she was about to drop, not even Ella Masse had the strength to say it to her daughter’s face. “You weren’t born. You were grown.”
Every shock and surprise Peter had come across since Ella and Anne arrived at his doorstep felt small in comparison to this revelation.
“Holy shit,” Jakob whispered.
Alia, who looked confused more than anything, whispered, “I don’t get it. Who is she—”
Jakob shushed the girl, and Ella continued, looking at Anne, who hadn’t moved, but whose eyes were getting wet. “Honey, Peter...is your father.” She turned to him. “I used your DNA, to make her strong.” She turned back to Anne. “And I used mine to make you smart.”
“Where did you get my DNA?” Peter asked, having trouble believing what was turning out to be yet another tale of genetic tinkering gone awry. But had it gone awry? Anne was a wonderful kid. His growing affection for her was real. She even looked a little like him.
“The brush,” she said.
“My hair brush?” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed a brush or a comb for his close-cut hair.
“Eighth grade,” Ella said. “The paint brush.”
Peter’s memory snapped back through time. He’d had longer hair as a kid, hair that Ella had been jealous of. So he’d taken some of it, first pulling it out and then just cutting off a shock. He’d taped it tightly around the end of a pencil, making a crude paintbrush as she’d also liked watercolor painting at the time. “You
kept
that?”
“I kept everything you gave me,” Ella said. “If my house is still standing, it’s all still there, in a shoebox in my closet.”
“I don’t know if that’s romantic or creepy,” Alia said.
“Kinda both,” Jakob said.
The lowering pitch of the rotor blades, along with a breeze now flowing through the open end of the kitchen, told Peter the helicopter was nearly on the ground. They were running out of time.
“But why?” he asked. “Why would you do that?”
“Anne,” she said, waving the girl over.
After a moment’s hesitation, Anne approached her mother.
“Turn around,” Ella said, and the girl obeyed. “Stand still.”
Ella drew a knife from her vest, but Peter caught her wrist. She looked at him, a wounded expression on her face, but then she wiped that away, too. “You’re going to have to trust me. I’ve only done what I had to do so I could undo the mistakes I’ve already made.”
He let go of her, and she lowered the blade tip toward a large freckle on the back of Anne’s shorn head. “Stand still,” she said again. “This won’t hurt at all.”
Ever dutiful, Anne stayed still. The blade pushed through her skin, creating a small incision. The girl didn’t flinch, and before Peter could ask, Ella explained. “There are no pain sensors in the skin here.”
Anne had apparently been very carefully designed.
Ella sheathed the knife and put her thumbs on either side of the dime-sized freckle, now sliced down the middle. She pulled the skin apart, revealing something shiny.
Peter leaned in close. “Is that...”
“A mini-USB port,” Ella said.
“A
what
?” Anne stepped away, spinning on her mother and holding the back of her head. “What is in my head?”
“I gave you my mind,” Ella said. “Exactly. Like a twin. All you’re lacking is the knowledge I have, but all of that is in there, too, stored in flash memory, ready to be unlocked...”
“In case you die,” Anne guessed.
That’s why she’s so important to Ella,
Peter thought.
She’s her backup. Literally.
Ella spoke to Peter. “All you have to do is plug her in, and everything I know about all of this—” She waved her arms around her, indicating she was speaking about the whole world, “—will be available to her.” She turned to Anne. “You can undo all of the horrible things I did to this world. In your mind. In your blood.”
“What do you mean?” Anne asked.
“Everything outside. All the food. It’s safe for you.” Ella took Anne’s shoulders. “And you’ll be able to give that gift to everyone else. If you reach George’s Island.”
Peter motioned to the back of Anne’s head, where a small line of blood was busy sealing up the small wound. “
You
did this?” He was having trouble wrapping his mind about this further twisting of nature. His DNA had been used to create a girl, whose mind held computer parts that could unlock Ella’s stored knowledge about genetics and who knew what else.
“I had help,” Ella said, “but I’m all that’s left of the team.”
“
Am
I her father?” Peter asked.
“We didn’t conceive her. Nor did I have your permission, and for that, I’m sorry. But genetically? Yes. She is the best of both of us. And if I could have done this naturally... Given birth? Yes. There is no better father for her than you.”
Despite being moved by Ella’s words, Peter’s ears picked up the sound of a sliding door. The helicopter had landed, and they were about to have company. “We’re out of time.”
Ella took Anne’s cheeks in her hands. “Baby, I love you. More than anything. No matter how you were born—”
“Created,” Anne corrected.
“You are still my daughter. My flesh and blood and soul.”
Tears sprang free from Anne’s eyes, though she was still hiding her pain from her face.
“I need you to hide,” Ella said. “Now. If Ed sees you, he’ll take us both. It’s better if he thinks you’re dead.” When Anne didn’t budge, Ella added, “Please, baby. Peter and Jakob are your family. They’ll take care of you.”
Jakob stepped up next to Anne and took her hand. The girl’s emotions overwhelmed her self control. She turned to Jakob, hiccupping tears into his chest.
“You gotta hide,” Jakob said. Anne nodded against him. He turned to Alia. “Find her someplace?”
Alia reached her hand out to Anne.
The girl turned to Ella, said a quick “Love you, too,” and then disappeared with Alia, moving into the back hall.
Ella quickly wiped her eyes and turned toward the opening in the corner of the kitchen, where the crunch of boots on debris announced the arrival of company. Peter held his M16, but kept the barrel pointed toward the floor. Ella and Jakob did the same, armed, but non-threatening.
Three men ducked into the kitchen, the first two leading with raised MP5s. Peter evaluated both men, seeing the telltale signs of military training in the first, and the less disciplined, but no less deadly, air of private security in the second. When the military man offered a sharp, “Clear!” while training the barrel of his weapon on Peter, the third man entered. He had a gun on his hip, but held no weapon in his hands. The cocksure attitude of his walk, and the way he surveyed the kitchen, like a king looking over his domain, identified him as private security as well, but it was the wide eyes and smile directed at Ella that revealed his identity as Ed Kenyon.
While the two armed men kept their weapons trained on Peter and Jakob, Kenyon strode through the kitchen, opened his arms, enveloped Ella and planted a passionate kiss on her lips...which she returned in kind.
42
It took all of Peter’s rigid military training and discipline to remain still and free of external jealousy while he watched what turned out to be a ten second kiss. The desperation with which Kenyon clung to Ella revealed the man’s affection for her was genuine. The real problem was that Peter couldn’t tell if Ella’s reciprocation was real. He decided it was somewhere in the middle. She once had feelings for the man, finding comfort in his embrace, but she could never kiss a man like this, in front of him, without feeling uncomfortable...and there wasn’t a trace of discomfort in her body language.
She’s protecting us,
he decided. If Kenyon suspected she’d been with Peter, things might end badly. Even good men could turn bad from jealousy. The fire currently burning in Peter’s chest, telling him to wipe Kenyon’s existence from the face of the planet, was proof enough of that. Their only hope of leaving the house alive was Kenyon bearing Peter and his son no ill will.
To sell the act, Peter looked at the second private soldier and smiled, hitching a thumb toward Kenyon and Ella, raising his eyebrows. The man cracked a smile and gave a shrug, clearly embarrassed by his superior’s behavior.
“Get a room,” Jakob said, trying to joke through his discomfort.
The comment ended the kiss, and while Peter wanted to thank Jakob for that, the boy should have stayed quiet.
Kenyon slowly separated from Ella, leaning up to look over her head, staring at Jakob. For a moment, Peter tensed. If the man went for a weapon, Peter wouldn’t hesitate to kill all three men. But Kenyon grinned. And then laughed. “We will, kid.”
It was then that Kenyon seemed to remember there were other people in the room. He stood up straight, adjusting his combat vest. He turned to Peter, gave a nod and cleared his throat. “Who are you?” He didn’t offer his hand.
“Name’s Brant,” Peter said. He didn’t want to risk the possibility that Ella had told the man about him. He hoped the soldiers wouldn’t decide to search the house and find the real Brant lying in the hallway upstairs beside a dead Rider. He could lie about the body’s identity, but a thorough search would no doubt turn up a wallet. “This is...was...my farm.” He motioned to Jakob. “That’s my boy, John.”
Jakob gave a nod. “Sir.”
Kenyon looked back and forth between the two, then turned his eyes toward the back of the house, at the entrance to the biodome. “Nice setup.”
“We were lucky to have the greenhouse before the Change happened,” Peter said, adding a thicker accent to his voice and once again hoping the man would be content to remain in the kitchen. If he inspected the biodome he would discover it was far more than the average greenhouse. He wasn’t sure how familiar the man was with Ella’s design. “Managed to avoid those GMO crops.”
“You
never
ate them?” Kenyon said, squinting at Peter.
Peter frowned. “Truth be told, I wanted to. But the missus was paranoid about GMOs. Everything we grew, back when things were normal, were organic crops. A lot of it in the greenhouse.”
“And where is the missus now?” Kenyon asked.
“In the greenhouse,” Peter said. “Buried beneath the broccoli.”
“When did that happen?” Kenyon asked.
“Ed,” Ella said, hanging on his arm. “Give the man a break. He’s been through hell. And they saved my life.”
“That so?” Kenyon turned to her slowly. “Am I to understand you
want
to come back?”
A pained expression twisted Ella’s face. “I’ve been out here on my own for too long.”
Kenyon looked like he’d been slapped. He stepped back from Ella searching the kitchen. “Where...” He turned to Ella. “Is she?”
Ella shook her head. “Two months ago. The Stalkers caught up to us again.”
“I’m sorry, El,” Kenyon said. “Really. That kid was something special. Had a fierce heart. But...how did you...”
“Sometimes we have to let go of something we love so we can live,” Ella said, her voice frigid. She spoke directly at Kenyon, but Peter knew the words were for him. “I survived. It’s what I do. We all make sacrifices.”
“Some more than others,” Kenyon said, his voice softening. He turned his attention back to Peter. “You on the other hand, are full of shit.”
“Ed!” Ella said, but he gripped her arm tightly, yanking her in front of him, when Peter let just a trace of menace filter into his gaze.
“There it is,” Kenyon said. “The look of a jealous man. And a resourceful man. Army Ranger?”
Peter knew that at least part of his cover story was blown. But that didn’t mean Kenyon really knew who he was. “Captain Brant Rossi. U.S. Marine Corps, Critical Skills Operator.”
The military man said, “Sir, we could use a—”
“Quiet, Mackenzie,” Kenyon said, reaching down and plucking his handgun from his waist with impressive speed, aiming the Sig Sauer pistol at Peter’s head. “I know you’ve been with her since the farmhouse in Kansas. Real piece of work, by the way. You really blew the shit out of that place. And you’ve been leaving a trail of destruction in your wake ever since.” He motioned at the house around them. “You’ve already left your calling card on this shithole. You know what? I don’t even care if you confirm or deny any of this. What I want to know is, in all this time, have you been
with
her. I know you want to. Can’t hide that from me. But
have
you?”
Peter wanted to punch the man’s throat inside out. Instead he said, “No.”
“Eddie,” Ella said, her voice tense. “Why would I be with a man I just met days ago.”
“Payment,” Kenyon guessed, glaring at Peter with accusation.
But it was Ella who replied. “Do you think that little of me, that I would sell my body? And for what? Protection? I can take care of myself. He was a means to an end, nothing more. But they’re good people, and they don’t deserve this treatment.”
“How do you know him?” Kenyon asked. “I saw the remains of the biodome at the ruined farmhouse. Same as the one out back here. That means he’s someone to you. One of your predetermined safe houses.”
“She was roommates with my wife,” Peter said. “At Berkley.”
Kenyon looked unconvinced. “Your wife that’s buried in the greenhouse?”
“No,” Peter said, letting the real emotion he felt about the subject infuse his expression. Tears welled in his eyes. “My wife that is lying dead in the driveway.”
“There’s nothing out there but an ExoGen—” A slight smirk slipped on to his face, revealing that deep down in his core, he was an asshole after all. “Are you saying the fugly thing lying in front of the house was your
wife?
”
“Her name was Kristen,” Peter said. “Respect her in front of my son.”
Kenyon pointed the handgun toward Jakob. “He telling the truth, son? That your mom lying out front?”
Jakob started to nod, but was interrupted by Peter. “You better point that thing back at my head, or you and the men in this room are going to regret it.”
The smirk on Kenyon’s face turned into a full-fledged smile. He turned the weapon back on Peter. “Got some balls on you.”
“Ed,” Ella said, her tone a warning. “Don’t.”
Peter stayed silent and still.
The silence seemed to sap the man’s spirit, but then Peter noticed he was actually listening to the earbud in his ear. He was receiving a report from the men outside. So were the other two men in the room, their less guarded expressions revealing trouble.
“Here’s what I’m going to do,” Kenyon said. “Ella’s going to leave with me, and you and your son are free to go, nothing to fear from us.”
Peter said nothing. He knew there was a catch. If a report hadn’t just come in, he would have assumed the helicopters would blast the home apart before leaving. But Kenyon clearly believed their fates were sealed, and he was happy to leave them to it.
Kenyon headed for the opening, pulling Ella behind him. She glanced back, locking eyes with Peter for just a moment, apologetic and sad. Then she was shoved outside and gone from view.
“Stay inside the house until we’re gone,” Hutchins said, backing away.
There was no threat in his words, just a warning, and Peter understood. If he left the house, armed for battle, he’d be a threat, and they would respond.
“Understood,” Peter said, as the man exited the kitchen.
The last of them, the man named Mackenzie, paused. “I was a Marine, sir. Looked up to the CSOs. We all did. You guys gave us something to aspire to.”
“Get to the point,” Peter said.
The man nodded. “You have incoming, sir. Rattletails.”
“Rattletails?”
“Kenyon’s lady...Ella... She calls them Stalkers. Not sure how many, but one is too many in my opinion. If you have a way to leave this place fast, you better go.”
Peter began strategizing their escape, even as he said, “Thanks for the heads up.”
The man snapped a quick but sloppy salute, the kind that would have gotten him fifty push-ups during Boot Camp, and exited, leaving Peter and Jakob alone in the kitchen.
“Find the girls,” Peter said. “I’ll gather what I can. We’re leaving the second they’re out of sight.”