by DeWitt, Dan
“Oh, I put it to good use.”
“Sounds kinky.” He reached past her and hit a key to resume her slideshow. He left without saying anything else.
Lena paused the slideshow once more. She knew how Mutt felt about her. It was pretty much the same way that she felt about Cameron. And so on. It was almost comforting to know that, even at the edge of the literal end of humanity, people could still find a way to have utterly screwed up emotions.
The slideshow ran for another fifty minutes. She saw a wide variety of pictures, but nothing even remotely close to what she was looking for. She loaded the media from the cell phones next. She came up empty on those photos as well, but then she remembered the videos.
She hit paydirt on the sixth video. The action started immediately. The scene was shot through the plate glass windows of the theater, the narrator was making fun of his friends as they approached the theater. It must have been just before the outbreak, as the street was teeming with the living.
What initially caught her attention was the young man who walked towards the camera. When he noticed that he and the girl holding his hand were in the shot, he ducked sideways with a "Sorry about that, brutha." There was a louder, clearer, "No problem, man," as a response, then he was gone. The maturing voice, though not quite yet his father's, was unmistakable. She rewound the video and watched it from the beginning. She refused to let herself believe it until she confirmed his identity multiple times. She got to the point where she held up his photo side-by-side with the monitor and just looked back and forth.
It was Ethan Holt. She didn't have to blow anything up, sharpen the image, or stretch her imagination in the slightest.
She let the video play, but Ethan didn't make another appearance. The next video from the same phone showed the outbreak in its initial stages. The camera work was nauseatingly shaky as its owner ran to get clearer view through the picture window. The crowd reaction was mostly disbelief. Lena knew from firsthand experience that it would soon give way to full-blown panic.
So he'd been there in the beginning. He wasn't there now, in any form. There's no way that the team would have missed him. So, at the very least, he'd survived long enough to escape the theater.
Wow. That's something.
Lena tapped her fingers on the desk, thinking. She knew where Ethan had been in the beginning. Big deal. She wasn't going to go to Cameron yet. She opened up the file that contained all of the information she had on the Holt family. The last thing that Cameron knew about his wife was that she had a hair appointment...Lena traced her finger along Main...right here. At the same time, Ethan was at the movie theater which was less than a mile down the road, according to her map.
She knew about Cameron's last phone call to Ethan. He hadn't had time to ask where he was, but he knew where he was going. Was it unreasonable to assume that Ethan went to get his mother at the same time that his father was? So how did they miss each other? Also, that was the first place that Cameron had returned to when he got a chance, and he'd searched every square inch of the area surrounding the salon. It had cost him a man, and he came up with nothing, including his wife.
Somewhere in the space of a dozen or so blocks, Ethan Holt had disappeared.
She checked the map again. It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for.
She put everything away and rushed to Mutt's room as quietly as she could. She explained what she'd found. He resisted her at first, their previous conversation fresh in his mind, but he promised her he'd get what she needed.
“When?”
“I'd do it right now, if I could. It's relatively close by, but I have no idea how we'd get there without drawing a whole lot of attention. And I can't do it alone. I have to get the team together.”
Lena sat down on the edge of his bed and winked. “I'll wait right here.”
Less than ten minutes later, four-fifths of the Scalpel team were assembled in Mutt's room, listening to Lena's plan. The fifth, and the reason for all the subterfuge, remained asleep in his room. She filled them in on what she'd learned, and then told them what she needed.
“He left the movie theater here and headed here.” She pointed out each building in turn on the map. “So he had to pass by here and here, at the very least.”
“Banks?” Sam asked.
“Banks with ATM cameras,” Tim corrected.
“Exactly. That footage might show us what happened to him. Or it might show us nothing. But it's worth a shot, I think. I've got to get my hands on those tapes.”
“Why? We cleared the shit out of that place. He wasn't there. We don't need the tapes. They run on like a twenty-four hour loop anyway, so even if the kid did pass that way, any evidence is probably long gone by now. ”
“Fish, I think...”
“You're the smartest chick I know, Lena, but that's your problem sometimes: you think too much.” Everyone looked at Fish. “My guess is that you were going to send us to get those tapes through the sewer tunnels, right?”
“Um, yes.” She was a bit disappointed that Fish had stolen her thunder.
“So is there any reason why Ethan Holt, son of our fearless leader, wouldn't think to do that, too?”
Mutt spoke for everyone when he said, “Sonofabitch.”
They spent the next half-hour going over details such as what Lena would use as a cover story if Holt woke up and started asking questions. Then they got to it.
* * *
That same night, not too far away, Anders and the rest of his Scythe team touched down and headed to the zone that had been searched the night before. They went to work setting up. They'd done this many times before and worked efficiently, with minimal conversation, building by building, in much the same manner as Orpheus' team had.
The setup was fairly simple. They connected gasoline-powered air compressors to a device that contained the chemical agent, and that, in turn, was connected to each building's ventilation system. The whole process took only a few minutes per building, then they moved on to the next. Anything inside, alive or otherwise, would be disintegrated within a few days, and he was fine with it.
Anders was never great at math, but he knew that it was almost a certainty that they'd wiped out some truly alive people in the process. Maybe someone had been unconscious, or incapacitated, or just too scared to make themselves known. He was fine with that, too, because that was on Orpheus' conscience. It wasn't Anders' job to find people.
They were the angels of death.
If he's had his way in the beginning, the island would have been zombie-free a long time ago, because he would have greased everyone and everything as soon as possible. It was cliché, but in every war there had to be sacrifices, and he would have gladly sacrificed everyone else to get the job done. But Trager and Vincent needed their specimens. Anders thought the whole thing was asinine for multiple reasons, but as long as he got what he wanted in the end he didn't really care.
Within a few hours they were back at the theater and the helicopter was coming back for them. “Everything set?” he asked of one of his masked compatriots. He got a nod of confirmation. He was about to give the order to gas it when he reached into his pocket and pulled out Lena's report from the previous insertion.
“Blahblah...here we go...'LIVE EXERCISE. THEATER CLEARED 100%'.” He replaced the map. “We have a few minutes. Who's up for some refreshments before we burn this place?”
They made their way down to the first floor lobby and raided the snack bar. They filled their pockets to bursting. One of them made the mistake of trying the popcorn and found out exactly how stale stale could be. Anders got his Goobers and wandered into the theater because he wanted to see something for himself.
Anders couldn't help but be impressed with at least one aspect of Orpheus' management style: according to the report, the guy had thrown his rookie into a theater full of zombies and told him to go nuts. It was especially surprising because Orpheus had already lost three rookies and he still sent him in
alone. He was amazed that he'd found something to admire about that asshole, but there it was.
“Search the bodies and let's blow.”
The Scythe members had barely begun the search when they realized that someone had beaten them to it. “Uh, sir?” one of them said. “They've been rolled already.”
“What? Holt never struck me as the looting type.”
“Pockets are turned out, purses dumped...but it looks like all of the money and valuables are still here.”
“It's weird. I haven't found a cell phone yet. Anyone else?” No one else had, either.
“That makes no sense.”
“No, sir.”
Anders chewed on it for a moment. He was stumped. “Move out.” The men dropped what they were doing and headed back up. Anders was the last one out. He was almost through the door when a glint of reflected light caught his eye.
It was a digital camera. That wasn't too odd, Anders thought, but then he saw the open panel. He picked it up and saw that the memory card was missing. He looked for more cameras and found that all of their cards were missing, as well.
He put it all together then. The cell phones, the memory cards...
He's looking for his kid.
He wished Holt luck, because he was definitely barking up the wrong tree on that one.
That kid was dead, and Anders should know. He was the one who had killed him.
Chapter 7: Side Mission
The trickiest part was getting out of the building without being noticed by anyone in the building. The second trickiest part was getting into the nearby sewers without being noticed by zombies.
They managed both, but they had to go way out of their way to do it.
The trip to the first bank was more or less a straight shot, and uneventful. They couldn't avoid the noise of the sliding manhole cover, but they dealt with the few zombies it attracted quickly and quietly. They hoofed it into the bank which was, mercifully, unlocked. Mutt figured that they had the power outage to thank for that.
They found the security room and the digital recorders. Sam turned on up the portable car jumpstarter and they plugged the DVR and monitor into the AC outlets. Fish had been right on the money; the last thing the tapes showed was a few days after the outbreak, presumably just before the power went down permanently.
“Told ya,” was all he said, even though Mutt knew he really wanted to brag.
“Anyone think we should bother with the second bank?”
They all agreed that it would be a waste of time, so they stealthily reentered the sewers.
Three men moved back the way they came, toward headquarters. The fourth, Fish, hesitated.
“What are you waiting for?” Mutt asked.
“I'm just thinking that this is our chance to find out for sure what happened to this kid.”
“We stick to the plan.”
“C'mon, Mutt! This is our shot to end this! He's been in these tunnels; I knew it then, and I'm certain now. If we find the kid alive, we bring him back and Orpheus has quadruplets just so he can name them after us. If he's dead, we can put him down and his dad never, ever has to find him. That's what we all want, right?”
Tim objected. “I don't think that's such a good idea. We should tell him.”
“How did I know that you'd object?”
“Uh, because it's stupid?”
“Fuck you, bait. Feel free to take your pussy ass back anytime.”
Tim clenched his fists and stepped towards Fish, “I've had it up to here with your shit, Marvin.”
Fish's eyes got wide at the mention of his birth name. “Oh, you're gonna-”
“Both of you shut up!” Mutt ordered. “Sam?”
Sam adjusted his gear. “As much as I hate to say it, Fish's right. We've come this far. He's already going to be pissed if he finds out, and he's going to, eventually. But as long as there's even a slight chance of a happy ending, I say we take the bull by the horns. It's easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission."
“That makes three. Tim? We could really use you.”
This is the biggest test yet. If I turn my back now, I'm dead to them.
“I don't like it, but I'm in.”
“That's what I'm talkin' about, bait!” Fish yelled, all recent hostilities apparently forgotten. “I'll even forgive that crack about my name.”
* * *
Though they couldn't pass it on to their visitors, this is what the cameras at the second bank saw:
A car careened into frame and took out several zombies, in support of a large group of people moving toward the manhole. The group took no obvious casualties and made it to their destination. A large, muscled man jammed a crowbar into the notch and lifted the cover off while everyone else fought.
Three people jumped out of the sedan, then they all started dropping out of sight.
The last two people above ground were a young man and woman. When everyone else was clear, the man motioned for the woman to jump down, which she quickly did. He dropped into the hole, wrestled the cover back into place just as more zombies got to him, and disappeared from sight.
* * *
Dr. Vincent handed Trager a vial. “I believe this is it, though it is severely limited by the nature of what I have to deal with.”
Trager held it up and swished it around as if that would reveal its secrets. Or because that's what scientists did on TV. “You work fast, Dr.”
“I told you that all I needed was a better specimen. Once I got that the rest was fairly easy. This should slow the mutation considerably, though the eventual result will always be death followed by reanimation. And, before you ask, no, I don't think it's possible to reverse it. When a subject is, ahem, zombified, it's all over. Slowing is as good as it gets right now, I'm afraid, though I have high hopes I'll eventually learn how to stop it in its tracks.”
Trager liked what he heard. “How confident are you that it will work?”
“Very, but being a true scientist, I'll need to test it further before I'll brand it a success.”
“I'll arrange for more specimens to be brought in.”
Dr. Vincent shook his head. “That's one of the limitations I was speaking of. The drones from the lower floors have been infected for far too long for this to have any effect. To put it bluntly, they've already died.”
“So what do you need?”
“I already have it.”
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing. Just scientific gobbledygook."
Trager squinted and examined Dr. Vincent. He already knew that something was off about him, but now he seemed more off. He couldn't put his finger on it. "Okay. Keep me posted."
"Of course." Trager left, and Dr. Vincent was left alone in his lab. He produced a syringe from his pocket. It was filled with a red liquid that looked suspiciously like blood.
He looked at his two assistants working in the next room. He had a decision to make. Even if the girl, Jen, wasn't as capable as she was, the Dr. would have had a hard time picking her. Whatever else he may be, he was chivalrous.
He raised his voice and took a shot. “Cody, could you join me in the lab for a moment?”
The doctor was on a roll. He'd guessed right.
* * *
The two-way radio on the coffee table shouted, “Holt! Come to the lab. There's something I want to show you.” Holt rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and checked his watch.
3:00 am? I've been asleep for sixteen hours?
He grabbed the radio and responded, “Ten minutes.”
“Now.”
“Twenty minutes.”
He waited for an argument but got none. He stood up, stretched, and threw his pants and weapon on.
As a good faith gesture, he was there in five minutes.
“What is it?”
Trager raised his eyebrows. “You look like hell, Holt.”
“Thanks. Now what do you want?”
“I want you to see a miracle. Come with me.”
Hol
t followed, wary and alert. When he passed through the sliding glass doors he saw Dr. Vincent circling two bodies strapped to a table. He recognized the Jekyll, but he didn't think he knew the other...wait. “Is that your assistant?”
Dr. Vincent adopted a suitably sad tone. Holt didn't buy it for a moment. “Cody, yes. He got...careless...around this beast here. But his death won't be in vain, I assure you. He gave us the opportunity to achieve this.” He held up the vial with even more reverence than he had earlier with Trager.
“Okay, I'll bite.”
“Perfect choice of words, Mr. Holt. Young Cody here was infected three hours ago, and he has yet to suffer the transition. I'm sure that you've seen it enough to know that's extraordinary.”
Holt nodded in agreement. “It normally takes less than fifteen minutes. I've seen it happen in as little as twenty seconds, or as long as an hour, though. What are you saying you've accomplished?”
“Well, with the proper, and prompt, application of this serum, we can slow the transition process enough to reap some benefits.”
“Such as making an outbreak easier to contain. More manageable.”
“Yes. And another, which I can show you now.” He produced a syringe. “This will counteract the sedative I gave him.” He injected Cody, and within a few moments the man's eyelids fluttered, then opened. His lips parted and pursed, as if he was trying to say something.
“Now, now, young man, can you tell me your name?”
Holt tensed in expectation of a snarling, murderous response. He wasn't ready for the actual response,“C-Cody Pomeroy.”
Holt was floored. Vincent had done it. His methods were questionable, at best, but his breakthrough meant that the human race could thrive again, if it survived the current crisis.
Cody moved his head towards Dr. Vincent and tried to focus. “Y-you d-d-did th-” He was cut off by another injection of sedative.
Not that it mattered. Orpheus was too preoccupied to notice the deathbed accusation, or the doctor's behavior, or that there was no actual bite wound on Cody. All he could think of was that, if he'd had this serum before, he might have found his son already.