by DeWitt, Dan
"The zombies, right?"
Anders stopped him with a look that chilled him. "Yeah, the zombies. It's a rescue mission, isn't it? Now shut your cakehole and get over there!"
Jameson banked hard and the other three men prepared to fight from the air. Sure. If you say so, nutjob.
* * *
At the Drive-In, five stunned people sat in a circle around an unconscious sixth. Ethan related what had gone down during his solo mission. He found it difficult to talk about the men he'd killed, but he thought that they deserved to know everything. Rachel took his hand in support, and, by way of mutual apology, Harold took hers for the same reason.
"So all of the radio stations are back." Sister Ann was making a statement, not a question.
"Across the dial."
"Dear God. Can we transmit somehow?"
"Seeing as I burned the only station on the island to the ground, I doubt it."
"What about cell phones?"
"If we can find a car charger, we can try, but I suspect that the towers are disabled. And burning those down won't help at all."
"What does this mean?" Jason said.
"It means we were lied to. Us. Everyone on the island. Probably everyone on the mainland, too."
"By who?"
The man in the center began to stir. "I know where to start." His eyes fluttered open, and he stared in confusion for a few seconds before gaining his bearings.
"Good morning," Ethan said, his voice flat and emotionless. "What's your name?"
The captive coughed a few times, then answered, "Tim Driscoll. You're Ethan Holt."
"You said that before. Rach, would you grab him a water? He's got some talking to do." Rachel grabbed two bottles from behind the counter. She put one in front of Ethan, then unscrewed the top off of the second and held it to Tim's lips. He took three large gulps and thanked her. Ethan thought the whole thing odd; it was identical to a lot of interrogation scenes that he'd seen on cop shows.
"Better? Ready to answer some questions?"
"Look-"
"How's the leg?"
"What?"
"Your leg...how is it? Last time I saw you, you were speeding away in the back of an armored car." He looked at Ann. "That was maybe a minute before you showed up, by the way."
Tim looked shocked. "That was...holy shit, that was you! You two," he nodded at Rachel, "saved my life. Now let me return the favor. I-"
"How many of you are there? What was the plan at the school?"
"What? Listen, Ethan..."
Ethan was getting visibly angrier. "How did you know my name?"
"That's what I'm trying to tell you..."
"Why did you block the radio signals?"
"Dude, listen to me for a sec...""
"Who's in charge?"
"OH MY GOD, CAN YOU SHUT UP FOR TWO SECONDS?"
The outburst took Ethan by surprise, and he didn't know how to respond.
"Look, we can talk over each other all night, or I can tell you that I know who you are because I was looking for you."
"Why? Who sent you?"
"Your father."
Rachel gasped, but Ethan just stared. "You're lying. He'd never be on the same side as people who'd do what yours did."
"What's that again?" Ethan related the story as if Tim already knew it. The captive was silent for a long time. "That's horrible, but I'm not with them."
"You're wearing the same uniform."
"So are you."
Ethan looked down at his clothes. It was true, of course; he'd forgotten that he'd taken it off of the dead man.
"It's what the hospital maintenance workers wear. There were a lot of them." Tim gave a brief history of Scalpel and Scythe, and ended with the search for Ethan.
"H-he's alive?"
"As of a few hours ago, yes."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Check my left breast pocket." Rachel slid her hand into his pocket, and Tim mock-flirted, "Hi, there. Hey, just breaking the ice." She smirked as she pulled the picture out and handed it to Ethan.
Ethan held it lightly. His eyes glistened a bit. "That was a good day." He put the picture on the table in front of him. "Do you know anything about my mother?"
"I'm sorry, no."
"Where is he now?"
"I can tell you where he was." Tim told of the night's mission, beginning with the time in the sewers, to the events at the school ("Yup, that was us."), and he ended with the run for his life. "Everything after the fight with the zombies is kind of hazy, because I got punched in the face."
"Does he have a radio?"
"One of them probably does, but I dropped mine."
"What channel?
"Six, but-"
Ethan unclipped the radio that he'd taken from the man in the woods and turned it to channel six. Tim realized what he intended to do and yelled, "Stop him!" as Ethan put the radio to his mouth and keyed the mic. "Stop him!"
Rachel reacted to Tim's words and knocked the radio away from Ethan's face. He didn't drop it, but he fumbled it long enough for her to get a good grip on his wrist. "What the hell, Rachel?"
"I don't know! Tim, why did I do that?"
"Because he'll probably get him and his dad killed. The people from the school; they don't know about you. No one even knows you're alive. If you give that advantage up and call your father, they'll leverage each of you against the other, and they'll probably wipe out everyone they can't use."
"I just want to talk to my dad."
"I know, but we have to find a different way. He'll be fine for a little while longer. Trust me. And for God's sake, untie me."
Ethan considered the request for a moment, then looked around the room for any objections. "All right, but if you do anything stupid, I'll shoot you." Rachel cut the duct tape off, and Tim massaged his wrists, then his jaw.
"I just want something to eat." Tim walked to the snack bar and grabbed several boxes of chocolate. He started jamming handfuls into his mouth.
"If we're going to trust you, we might as well tell you everything."
Tim stopped in mid-chew. "What?"
Ethan told him how he came to be in the woods outside the radio station in the first place.
"What? Show me."
Ethan walked him outside (after checking to make sure they were still alone, naturally) and turned on the car radio. Green Day.
Tim took a moment to compose himself, then they went back in inside. "The radio station's toast?"
"Uh-huh."
"I doubt cells would work, even if we had a charged one."
"Yeah, that's what we think. Any ideas? Anybody?"
"What about shortwave?" Jason asked.
"Say that again?"
"Shortwave. Ham radios. If you knocked out whatever was jamming the radio signals, then shortwave might be up and running, right? And you don't need a tower or anything. There's got to be a couple of operators on this island somewhere."
"Jason, you continue to amaze me. Any clue how we find one?"
Tim said, "I think I can help with that one. I need your radio." Ethan handed it over. "No one say a word." He transmitted. "Lena, it's Tim."
Less than two seconds passed before a stressed voice responded, "You're alive! Oh my God, are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Lena. It's good to hear you. You sound busy." That was code for, Are you alone?
"Yeah, but a change is as good as a rest, anyway." Go to the encrypted channel.
"So's a nice, quiet room." This wasn't code of any sort, but Tim hoped Lena would understand it.
After a long pause, Lena said, "Good idea. I think I'll lock the door, because I don't want to be interrupted, do I?"
"Definitely not."
"We're good."
"Lena, I'm worried about your health. I don't want to, you know, cause you any grief."
"We can drop the act, Tim. I just barricaded myself in here. In for a penny, in for a pound. Now what do you need from me?"
"I need you to get a
message out. A new rendezvous point."
"Where?"
Tim realized that he hadn't thought this far ahead. If he gave too much information, this safe house would become useless to Orpheus as Scythe swarmed all over it. "Uh, let me think for a second."
"Well, hurry up, because I hear knocking. No, wait, it's pounding."
Ethan said, "Tell her to tell him, 'Eleven o'clock special'."
Tim relayed the message.
"This is on good authority?"
"Doesn't get any better."
"Oh. Oh!"
"Yup. One last thing, Lena." He told her, and waited for a response. He waited long enough that he thought they might have been disconnected. "Lena, did you hear me?"
"Yeah, and I just confirmed it. Goddamn. It's just...hold on. I tried to transmit on the shortwave, but by the time I got it up and running, I think Trager and his goons had smashed the antenna." She trailed off, then came back on with a new strength in her voice. "Do you remember where I told you I live?"
"The building, anyway."
"6C. Bedroom closet." She began to speak again, but was interrupted by shouts and ramming noises, then what sounded like gunshots. "Holy shit, they just shot the lock." She spoke the next sentence in a slow, controlled tone, in an attempt, Tim thought, to mask her sadness and fear. "I don't expect I'll get to talk to you again anytime soon. Be safe, hon. And pass that on, would you?"
"It'll be sooner than you think." He swallowed several times. "I promise."
"Out."
Tim sighed and handed the radio back. "What does 'Eleven o'clock special' mean?"
"He'll know."
"Okay, I think she was telling me where we can get a radio. Anyone know how we can power it?"
"When my Dad gets here, we need to get to my truck."
* * *
The fight with the zombies was over, but they all knew what the sudden light above them meant: they were busted. They huddled under a thick copse of trees and wondered what to do next. No one had even a terrible idea for escape, let alone one that had a chance of succeeding. A second helicopter had joined in the search near the end of the fight, and the four men, once they had a moment to breathe, wondered where the hell it came from. They continued to hover, as Anders was content that Orpheus and his men were contained.
"That second chopper. What the fuck, gentlemen?" Sam said.
"It doesn't matter. This is bad."
"It's...worse than that, Orpheus." Mutt, who was already on his knees, fell sideways, and was only saved from prone by Fish's leg. He turned his face into the leg and breathed deep, but became horrified as soon as he realized what was happening. He pushed away from Fish and yelled, "Oh, God!" This time, he did hit the ground. His friends moved to help him, but he screamed, "STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" They all recoiled.
"Mutt, what is it?" Orpheus asked, even though he already knew the answer. He felt ashamed by his hand that, of its own accord, moved the pistol a few inches in Mutt's direction. "Are you in pain?"
"Oh, Christ, you have no idea. I swear I could hear and smell the blood pumping through his leg. Hunger. That's all I feel now. It's over."
"It's not over, Mutt," Fish said, even though he was visibly creeped out. "We can figure something out."
"God love ya, kid, and I do, too, but you're stupid if you really think that. Orpheus, call 'em and tell 'em they can have me."
"No."
"Then give me the fucking radio. I'm done, and you know it. They only want me, so you guys can get away, at least." He paused and let it sink in.
"Orpheus," Sam said. "This is stupid."
"Shut it, Sam. All of you know this is the only good I can still do. I can feel myself losing control. I'm a threat now. Please let me do this."
The last sentence was a plea, and it broke Orpheus' heart to hear. He bent down and picked up Mutt's pistol. He popped the magazine, inspected it, the slammed it back home. He handed it gently to Mutt. "You have no idea how much I want to argue, but I just can't."
"Good. Because I still owe you. They want me. I'm going to start walking...okay, dragging ass...thataway, and you're going to radio them while you haul ass in any other direction."
"You don't owe me a goddamn thing." I'm losing another one. How many more? He wanted to just let loose, throw a tantrum, break whatever he could get his hands on, but that would only serve to demean Mutt's sacrifice. Instead, he called Anders and told him that Mutt was giving himself up. Anders sounded disappointed that he wouldn't have an opportunity to take him by force, but orders were orders. Orpheus read between the lines: Anders was doing his job by securing Mutt, but he still wanted to gut Orpheus.
"Cameron! Wait!"
The transmission took him by surprise, and he dropped the radio. He picked it up and said, "Lena, what?"
She was obviously in a hurry. The next fifteen seconds was a hodgepodge of rapidfire information that nearly knocked him off of his feet. He'd barely had time to register what she'd said about the radio stations before she hit him with Tim's code phrase.
Eleven o'clock Special. Popcorn and diced onion rings mixed together. Ethan's invention, and the only thing he would snack on during the second showing at the drive-in.
"Orpheus! Hey! You still with us?" Fish shook his shoulder. "What does that mean?"
Orpheus knew without question that Anders had not only heard that, but it had piqued his curiosity, as well. He was a sociopath, but he wasn't stupid; he might have even figured out what Lena's panicked transmission meant to Orpheus, that his son was alive and was telling him where to meet. Fortunately, Anders couldn't possibly know where that place was, and there was no way that Orpheus was going to lead him there now. He told Fish and Sam where to go, and also what to say so they'd be accepted as friendlies.
"Us? What about you?" Sam asked.
Orpheus said nothing, and that spoke volumes.
"Aw, fuck that, boss! We're not leaving you!"
"Please. Please take care of my boy." The same note of pleading that he'd heard in Mutt's voice now dominated his own. He said no more to them, because he trusted that they'd do as he'd asked this one last time. He simply helped Mutt to his feet and shuffled them both in the direction opposite the drive-in.
"Orpheus," Mutt said, then switched gears, "Cameron, you have no idea how much I want to argue right now."
"Yeah, yeah...just don't eat me." It shouldn't have been funny, but they both burst out laughing. There was no need for stealth anymore, and the light moment seemed to pick them both up for a few moments. Mutt became just a little bit lighter on Orpheus' shoulder for a few dozen yards. One helicopter followed them; the other hovered, the pilot either unsure whom to follow, or just awaiting orders. Orpheus would make that change.
Mutt's boost of strength flagged, then vanished altogether. "I'm fried, boss. Just put me down easy." Orpheus dropped to one knee and held Mutt while he got in a comfortable sitting position against a tree. When he was set, Orpheus stood and looked down at him. There were no tearful goodbyes, words of encouragement, or even a handshake. These two men had been through Hell together, and that meant far more than any gestures could.
Orpheus turned on his heel and began to jog away from everyone. When he got some distance, he jogged backwards for a while and watched the helicopter descend to pick up Mutt. The second chopper still hovered, and Orpheus was sure that Anders was in that one, because there was no way he would voluntarily bring an infected person on board his helicopter. He couldn't allow that helicopter to follow Sam and Fish. He wouldn't.
He transmitted. "Anders? You still airborne?"
"Yeah. So?"
Orpheus fired two shots into the body of the helicopter. The pilot banked hard, and the chopper shimmied away from the direction of the shots before it righted itself. "Come get me, dick."
Mutt broke in laughing. "Ha! Classic."
Orpheus clipped the radio to his belt and ran back through the area that they'd just fought through, believing that it was the most likely
area to be clear of zombies. He wasn't going to make it easy.
* * *
Tim's news had rattled Lena. She found it hard to concentrate on getting the shortwave radio up and running. The pounding on the door wasn't helping matters. She finally got her fingers working, but all she got was shit over the air.
"Lena!"
Trager.
"Lena, open the goddamn door. Now. I need to talk to you."
What can I do? Is there a chance I can get away? Climbing out of a window was impossible, not only because she was on the fifth floor, but because the windows didn't open anyway. They were shatterproof, too. It was almost as if they didn't want people jumping.
She cursed and swept the mike off of the desk. She formulated a quick, possibly crazy, plan and passed it on to Tim just before she heard, "Shoot it off." She instinctively ducked, but forced herself back under control and said her farewells to Tim.
She expected Trager to come in right away, but it took a lot more bullets than she expected to shoot out a lock on a door. Gunshot, thud against the door, scream in failure, repeat. It was almost funny, and it bought her some time. Not as much as she would have liked, but enough to dunk her laptop in the toilet and flush a few times. All she cared about was eliminating any information that could be used to find Ethan Holt and, by extension, Cameron. She didn't think that Trager had anyone with enough expertise to crack her files, but with the data destroyed she couldn't possibly be coerced to do it herself. All she had to do was play dumb.
If they killed her because of it, that would really suck. A lot. But she could die with a clean conscience, and that was something, she guessed.
Sainthood, here I come.
She resigned herself to capture, and yelled, "Stop shooting! I'm opening the door!" She paused and waited for acknowledgment. "Did you hear me, Martin?"
"Yes! Now let me in!"
The deadbolt looked like the star of a commercial. She couldn't believe that it held as long as it did. She flicked it and opened the door, all smiles. "Sorry, I was in the bath." Trager stood stock still, flanked by two unmasked Scythe guys. None of them looked amused.