by DeWitt, Dan
I wanted to use the roar of the helicopter to our advantage, so I kept as low as possible and looked through the nearest skylight to get our bearings. The others each chose a different skylight and did the same.
I couldn't be sure what I was looking at, but I could tell right away that it wasn't the airport manager's office. The three sets of eyes reflected in the beam of my flashlight gave me a momentary sense of hope that I'd found some survivors, but that was dashed when I saw their insane, but futile, attempts to jump up and eat whatever parts of me they could grab.
I looked to my teammates. Fish raised his hand and pointed. I hustled to him and we all shined our flashlights down. A beautiful wooden desk was right below us; it sure looked like a boss's desk. I smashed out the panes of glass and swept my flashlight around the room. I saw bookshelves, maps, and the only thing I really wanted to see: a keybox. Mutt had said that he was “pretty sure” he could hotwire the truck if need be, but I'd much rather have the actual keys. The room was empty, but the door to the hallway was open. My gut told me to wait a minute, and I was glad I listened to it, because a zombie wandered into the office and right into my beam.
I just reacted.
I drew and fired two into its face. My boots were on the desk before the zombie was completely still; I had to get that door shut. I grabbed its legs and pulled it into the office, but not before I got a glimpse of human-sized shadows in the hallway. Before I could shut the door, Sam shut it for me. The guy must've had me by nearly twenty years, and I was the one who almost had a heart attack.
“Jesus,” he whispered. “You could have told us your plan.”
“No time. And thanks for following.” He nodded, and that was that. I had his complete trust, and he had mine.
I motioned for the other two to join us. They finished tying off the “just in case” rope ladder to the roof and were on the floor within a minute.
Fish put a toe into the dead zombie's neck. “Starting the party without us, Orpheus?”
“There's plenty to go around out there.”
Mutt had already gotten down to business and was looking through the keys. “I caught the tags on the truck, so if the keys are here, I'll know.” He flipped through some more sets then held one up and jingled it. “Hello, beautiful.”
“You're sure?”
“I'm sure.”
“All right. We have two plays here. We kill whatever's between us and the truck, climb in, go, and let Anders work, or ...” I let that hang.
“Or what?” Fish asked.
Mutt finished my thought for me. “Or we look for survivors first. That's my vote.”
We both looked at the youngest member of the team. “Oh, we're actually voting? Survivors. I haven't put myself in mortal danger for like a couple days straight.”
I chuckled. “Sam?”
Sam was in the corner, looking intently at something.
“Sam?”
“Hmmm? Like you have to ask. I was just losing myself in this guy's humidor.”
I said, “I like where your head's at. Help yourself and let's do this.”
“I'll let the white kid do it. It's not looting if he does it.”
We all laughed, and Fish walked over and started stuffing handfuls of wrapped and tubed cigars into his cargo pockets. “Don't say I never did anything for you. That reminds me, you need a nickname. Maybe 'Papa Smoke' or something like that.”
“You even try and I'll pummel you.”
“Okay, Sam it is.”
Mutt cracked the door and scanned the hallway. He closed the door quietly.
“What's it look like?”
“With the firepower we're carrying and the shitty mood we're all in but trying hard to not show? It looks a lot like therapy.”
Mutt hit the nail right on the head. We all had some shit to deal with. I know I did. Still do.
Probably always will.
So we went to work killing everything in that building, starting with everything in the hallway.
We fired from the doorway, two guys per direction, and wiped them out in under thirty seconds. Only a few even had the chance to turn around. The zombies on the outside noticed the shots, and converged on the airport, but it was solidly built. We slipped back into the room and modified the plan.
“Who wants to play sniper from the roof?”
Sam jumped at the chance. “I thought you'd never ask.” Fish handed him his radio. “I'll be on channel, uh, six.”
I said, “Only transmit if you have to.”
“Got it.”
“And have fun.”
Sam touched off a two-finger salute to his forehead and climbed back to the roof.
Mutt had a set of the night vision goggles, so he scouted every area we went in, and we killed nearly everything before they even knew we were there.
My guys are good. Smart, disciplined, able to overcome their fear, and crack shots. I'm not a religious man by any means, but if something up there is responsible for throwing us together, he has my thanks.
It didn't take us long to put everything that wasn't us down. We didn't check everywhere. There just wasn't enough time, and I wasn't going to put us at greater risk by searching unfamiliar areas and confined spaces. It was almost a certainty that we'd missed some zombies. During the outbreak, people would have been attacked, survived, and tried to hide, but it was the Scythe team's job to make sure the stragglers were put down. We'd made enough of a ruckus to make ourselves known to any survivors. The occasional bang from the roof told me some things were still wandering within Sam's range.
Unfortunately, we didn't find any survivors. I tried to take solace in the fact that we'd, at the very least, put a lot of people to rest, but that didn't help much.
I radioed Sam that we were going to raid the diner before we grabbed the truck. I didn't know if the people had already been here when the infection kicked off, or if they'd made it here hoping for an escape that never happened, but the end result was the same. We searched through the luggage in the restaurant, looking for anything interesting or useful. I saw Fish scrolling through the pictures on someone's cell phone, and I thought that maybe someone on the island had gotten video, a photo, a text, something that could help me find my family. It was a longshot, but occasionally longshots come in. We grabbed every memory card we could find; it's not like they took up a lot of room.
We completely emptied several large suitcases and stuffed them with food. Mostly non-perishables, but we did splurge on some sandwiches and beer, too. We loaded them on the luggage cart and rolled them to the exit. I looked out the windows. It looked clear, but I could confirm that pretty easily. “Sam? We're at the exit closest to the truck. How does it look?”
“I've been clearing the holy fuck out of that area. You're straight.”
“Come on down and meet up with us.” I was going to just have him rendezvous with us at the door, because I was certain that we'd cleared the main areas. I told Fish to go halfway down the hall and keep an eye out.
Mutt grabbed his radio and said, “Hang on a sec, Sam.” He turned to me, and spoke, his voice low. “You're the guy here, but I don't think any of us should ever be alone.”
He was absolutely right. That kind of lazy thinking had no place in my head. All it would take was one missed zombie. “Sam, where are you?”
“Office.”
“Stay there. We'll go back for you.”
“Right.”
I nodded at Mutt, and he acknowledged it with his own.
Once we were all back together at the front, it was time to go. The truck was only thirty feet or so from the entrance. We opened the door and moved as a unit, with the three oldest members of the team surrounding the youngest, who was pushing the luggage cart. Sam had done a bang-up job of clearing the place. He didn't get all of them, but there were
none close, and we were in shadow. If we didn't make too much noise, we wouldn't attract any attention until we started up the truck.
I didn't see a lock on the truck's back doors. I kept my eyes on the parking lot as I opened it. There was a loud metallic clanking noise, and I saw a few heads turn. We all stood motionless. The zombies had heard it, but they had no idea where it had come from.
I slowly let out my breath and willed my heart to slow down. I swung the doors open and shined my light inside.
Supplies. Lots of them. The run was worth it, after all.
We lifted the bags into the truck. I motioned for Mutt to head for the cab and for Sam to ride shotgun. Fish and I climbed into the back. I swung the door in. Just before I closed it completely, something drew my attention to the top of the lighthouse.
I saw a flash of light, then another and another. I don't know Morse code (despite what Hollywood would have you believe, very few people do), but I could easily recognize “S-O-S.”
Fish said, “I see it, too.”
Survivors. I signaled them back with my own light.
Fish handed me his radio. “Mutt.”
“We ready to go, boss?”
“Not yet.” I told him what I'd seen.
“What's the play?”
“As soon as you start this thing up, back up as close to the lighthouse door as you can get. If it's open, Fish and I will investigate while you seal this truck around that door then hide yourselves.”
“And if it's locked?”
I could hear the helicopter in the distance, returning. “We're about to get swamped again. If it's locked, we take off and think it over.”
“Copy.”
The engine turned over and started rumbling. Within a few seconds, the remaining zombies were coming for us. Mutt did his job and backed us up to the door quickly. Fish and I picked off a few zombies that may have gotten to us before we got to the lighthouse. I threw the doors open wide and coached Mutt over the radio. We hit the lighthouse with a surprisingly gentle thud.
The door was unlocked, and Fish and I wasted no time in heading up. “We're in, Mutt! Get small!”
“Way ahead of you. Hurry the Hell up, would ya?” Even over the radio, it was clear that Mutt was whispering from the floor of the cab.
We hustled, but didn't run, up the circular staircase. Fish slung his rifle over his shoulder. It was only a small slip in discipline, and it was understandable, but the memory of Ruddy and the resulting clusterfuck was still fresh in my mind.
I smacked him on the back of the head. “We have no idea what's waiting for us up there, so keep your damn weapon ready.”
We rounded the final turn and the door was in front of us. We both stood still and listened for a moment. I didn't hear any movement, but I didn't hear any crazy mumbling, either
We retreated a few steps and got cover, just in case there were people with an itchy trigger finger behind the door.
I cleared my throat. “Who's in there? We saw your signal.”
The door banged against the wall and I brought my weapon up, but the only danger I was in was being choked to death by a fierce hug from a middle-aged redheaded woman.
“Omigod, thank you! Omigod, thank you!”
I pried her off. “You're welcome. What's your name?”
“Ruby.” She let out several deep breaths. “It's Ruby. I work … worked … the desk for Whaler Air.”
We finished the introductions, and I asked, “What are you doing up here?” even though I was pretty sure I already knew.
“All the communications are down. All of them. I thought that if I could get up here, I could maybe get the light working and flag someone down.”
“Show us.” I had to raise my voice, because the helicopter had returned.
She led us in. The 360 degree view of the island was breathtaking, and everything could almost have been back to normal, save for the sight of Anders and his team dropping to the roof with their gear.
“I don't know when this thing was last used. The Ferry doesn't need it. There's a generator, but ...”
The problem was obvious.
“Bulb's busted,” Fish said. “Any spares?”
“Not that I can find.”
“Naturally.”
I said, “It was a good thought. It's just you?”
“Up here? Yeah. But there are two other people back at the terminal.”
“What? Where? There's no way they didn't hear us mopping up in there.”
“They wouldn't. They're in the basement. They're elderly, so it seemed like the best place to stash them while I made the run up here. There was no way they were going to make it, so I told them to wait until I got back.”
The radio crackled in my hand. “Anytime now!”
“What's the problem?”
“Remember all of those zombies that the chopper drew away? Well, it drew them right back. We're not as ninja in this truck as I'd hoped. We wait much longer it'll be a bitch getting out of here.”
“We have another problem. We missed a couple of survivors.”
“Shit.”
“What channel is Anders on?”
“Eight, I think.”
“Standby.” I switched to the other channel. “Anders! Anders!”
He answered me in a testy voice. “We're busy, Holt.”
“You have to stop. Right now.”
“And why the fuck would I do that?”
I punched the desk in frustration. “Because there are survivors, you idiot! And because I fucking said so!”
There was a long pause, then Anders came back with, “Sorry, that last transmission was broken up. I didn't quite catch that.”
“You damn well better catch it this time. Abort the operation. We have to go back in.”
I got no response.
“That guy's a piece of shit,” Fish said through clenched teeth.
Ruby still had no idea what it all meant. “What's going on?”
I called Anders again. No response. I knew those people were going to die unless I did something, and I could see only one solution. I moved to the catwalk and raised my rifle. I braced myself against the railing and sighted in on the roof.
Fish was right beside me. I told him to call Anders and say something, anything to make him react. I needed to know which one was him.
He hesitated, and I yelled, “Call him!”
He shook his head. “You know I have your back. But look down there. If you fire, they fire back, the pilot skins out, and you, me, our friends, the chick back in there … we all die one way or the other.”
“But ...” I really didn't know what to say to that. I looked down at the truck. Mutt wasn't joking. They were getting assaulted by dozens of zombies now. The truck was actually rocking on its springs. I didn't think there was any real danger yet, but it could only get worse.
“We've lost this one, Orpheus. Let's take our supplies and our survivor and go home.”
He was right. About everything.
Smart little pain in the ass.
I grabbed Ruby and led her downstairs while Fish let Mutt and Sam know we were coming down. Ruby kept asking me questions about the other couple. I had no answers, so I just said nothing, which apparently spoke volumes to her.
We hustled her into the truck. She just kind of crumpled to the floor, obviously in shock. The din inside the cargo area was nearly deafening.
Fish told Mutt that we were ready. The big engine revved, and we began to push through the crowd. I had a flashback to the zombies stuck in my wheel wells, but we pulled away smoothly. Fish and I each closed a door, and we were headed back to the hospital.
The only words that passed between any of us on the ride back came from Ruby. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and asked, “Who are you pe
ople?”
We got back to the hospital, and parked the truck by the one entrance that wasn't completely flooded with undead. We'd established a plan to get the goods inside, but we knew we were going to lose the truck for good. It was just going to be a big closet from that point on.
Trager seemed genuinely pleased with our return, and the fact that we were one heavier. He greeted Ruby warmly and showed her around. Presumably, he would find out what she was good at and task her with something.
I didn't like him, but that man was an adept organizer of people. He'd already assigned all able-bodied people a job to help keep the hospital thriving. I didn't see those people all that much. My job had pretty much made me nocturnal.
I don't remember much else between our arrival and the first time my fist crashed into Anders' face.
Apparently he walked in, things were said, and my team had to eventually peel me off of him.
Immediately after that, a screaming Martin Trager made the proclamation that he would keep us separate at all times. He told Lena that she was officially the dispatcher, and her primary job was to keep us from ever crossing paths in the field.
Smart man.
No one's going to keep Anders safe from me forever, though.
I went to my room intending to get some rest, but it wasn't happening. I stewed in my bed for a while, but that's about the least constructive thing a person can do, so I decided to check out the gym. I consulted the directory on the wall and headed down a floor.
I walked in and flipped on the overhead lights. They flickered into life and showed me a small, but complete, workout room. There was a row of high-end treadmills, another of elliptical trainers, universal machines and free weights. In the corner was what I guessed was a 32-inch HD set and a DVD player. I stripped down to my t-shirt and looked through the movies. I settled on “The Wedding Singer.”