The Fall (Book 3): War of the Living by Joshua Guess Page A

answers had been complex and technical. He'd stick with nice, simple genetics, thank you very much.
    A familiar scrape of boots on beaten grass grabbed Kell's attention. Will was jogging toward him, a triumphant smile on his face. “Come in,” Will huffed as he trotted by. “Good news.”
    The interior of the office had changed over the previous few weeks. Set inside an old shipping container, the place was normally a warren of papers and books arranged by a system known only to Will. Now those distractions were swept aside—literally—into a haphazard stack taking up fully one quarter of the space.
    Laid out across Will's mammoth desk were layers of laminated maps. The topmost was marked with the positions of the recent (and hopefully last) group of Hunters their team was to have dealt with.
    “What's the word?” Kell asked.
    Will bent over the map, hastily wiping away dry-erase marker before adding new notations. “It worked,” he said. “We hit every group with chlorine gas, but just enough to scare the shit out of them. Instead of leaving a bunch of bodies behind and making them run, we put every group on edge. Just got the report that last night's attack was a success. They retreated back to their base as soon as they got a whiff of the stuff.”
    A surge of relief swept through Kell. “And we have confirmation? We know where it is?”
    Will grinned. “Yes. Our prisoner was telling the truth. Two scouts followed the group home. We have ourselves a target.”
    “Oh, thank the lord,” Kell said.
    Will glanced at him, surprise on his face. “That's a little more relief than I expected.”
    “Things change,” Kell said. He swept a hand over the map, taking in a multitude of small red dots. “All these communities are gone. Families wiped out for nothing but their supplies. We've lost, what, six hundred people in the last week alone?”
    “Seven hundred and twelve,” Will rattled off, not bothering to check the tally. “Once they realized we found them, they stepped up their raids. Though they weren't New Haven residents, so I don't know if saying we lost them is entirely accurate.”
    “They were trying to get along without hurting anyone else, just like us,” Kell said. “They traded with us. Losing them hurts us. If we don't stand together, we're all screwed.”
    Will smiled. “You're not wrong, there. The hard truth is that we can't let these people keep killing, no matter how much we dislike having to do the same. Unprovoked aggression isn't something we can tolerate. There just aren't enough people left.”
     
     
    Over the next three days, New Haven transformed into a war camp. When the call to arms went out to allied communities, so many volunteers showed up that temporary fences had to be erected outside the walls just to hold them. Most were from smaller groups who couldn't afford to lose those men and women permanently, so Will asked that many of them stay behind to guard New Haven while the main body of the assault force moved to attack. It was a brilliant piece of politics, Kell thought, allowing the smaller groups to feel like they had done something real in the fight—and they had, come to that—without risking disaster by getting their volunteers killed.
    Other, larger groups brought not only soldiers but weapons and other materials for the strike against the Hunters. It was only when faced with the crowds of strangers that the sheer scope of the operation became real to Kell.
    Everyone did their part. Even the wounded worked as much as they were able. Kell, still healing, refrained from the heavy lifting his size would have normally demanded. Instead he worked at packing food supplies for the trip. Hour after hour standing in one spot on what was essentially a food assembly line, wrapping hard bread in plastic and tucking it in a pack before handing it on to the next station. Sometimes, after taking a break, he would come back to find his place taken and would be placed at a