Orpheus

by DeWitt, Dan

  Tim said, "Actually, we have more than enough to go around now..."

  "...and you don't know how to use them..."

  Tim countered this, as well. "...and we can train them how to use the handguns in ten minutes."

  "Well, thank you, Tim! You're very helpful!"

  Tim switched tactics. "Can I talk to you alone for a second? Maybe get some fresh air?"

  Ethan pushed away from the table. "Fine. Whatever." They disappeared outside.

  "Fight! Fight!" Fish said, laughing, then realized that he was the only one.

  Ann fixed him with a look that was both amused and glaring. "Fish, what is your birth name?"

  "It's Marvin."

  "Marvin, be quiet."

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  * * *

  The two young men sat on the hood of the van.

  "This reminds me of something," Tim began. "Let me tell you about the first time I met Cameron Holt." Tim told Ethan about his first real training exercise, how he'd screwed it up, and his rooftop talk with Ethan's father. "It was kind of like this, only a lot higher and with cigars."

  "Yeah, he likes those. I'm getting into it."

  "I think I might, too. Anyway, Cameron's not my dad, but he did look out for me and teach me pretty much everything worth knowing about survival on this island. I've learned a lot from all of the guys. Even Fish, though I thought he was a complete prick. Not because he's smarter than me, Lord knows it's not that, but because he'd already learned what I needed to know. They're the kinds of things that you can't really learn until you've experienced them, but you can, at least, go in with some foreknowledge that can help get you through it."

  "Tim just say what you need to say. My father trusted you, so I trust you."

  "I can't imagine what you're going through. I thought I did, then you learned what you did at the radio station. Now I know that my family's okay. The only thing I have to worry about is getting out of here, and maybe the potential heart attacks when I come back from the 'dead.' You? Your mom's missing, your dad's captured, and your girlfriend is gung ho to stay with you no matter what, when all you want to do is lock her in a bank vault to keep her safe."

  "You got that right."

  "What you've done to stay alive, the risks you've had to take, the constant running, the people who've looked to you for leadership, those you've lost...the fact that you're all still in one piece is a testament to your instincts and leadership. But...and I need you to listen here...you've gotten this far by flying by the seat of your fucking pants. That's not going to cut it if we're going to pull this off, Ethan. We've got to plan, we've got to execute. To do that you've got to listen to people who know more than you. And those people are telling you that the radio thing is a scavenger mission, but the hospital? We need a fighter like Rachel, and we need you to be fully focused. If you can't do that, we'll leave you behind altogether. That's not a threat; it would just give us a better chance of success."

  "I get it, I get it. It's the right plan. I'm just freaked out."

  "Let's get back in there, hammer out the details, and get to work. The sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned." He stuck out his hand.

  Ethan took it. "Deal."

  He hopped off the roof.

  Tim hit the ground a second later and said, "Look, I owe you and Rachel my life, so I'm going to do whatever's necessary to earn that. And when this is all over, you and I'll go out drinking, tell our stories, and pick up women. On second thought, you can help me pick up women, because you'd have to be crazy to let that girl inside get away."

  "I'm a great wingman. If we survive this, we'll probably be so famous that we won't get three feet into a bar before we're surrounded by women. But it sounds to me like you're sweet on this Lena chick, anyway."

  "Heh. You might be right. But you know something? I think she's a little hot for your dad."

  "Ew."

  * * *

  Dr. Vincent looked through the glass at his subject on the table. The Mutters specimen was everything he could have hoped for, but he was still irked. "Ricardo, you really screwed this one up. How could you just let two of them get away?"

  "What was I supposed to do? They split up!"

  "You had two helicopters. Mutters was already secure, so you could have gone high and kept an eye on Holt and the other two. Then you could have picked everyone up...or killed them. I don't really care, except you let you Holt goad you into pursuing him right away, exactly as he wanted you to. Now there are two people out there who know way too much, and God knows who they're telling right now."

  "So what? They're still stuck here. Yeah, they know the truth, and they can listen to the Friday Night House Party, but they can't transmit shit."

  "That may be the case, but I won't take that chance. As soon as I get what I need from Mutters, this place becomes expendable."

  "The hospital?"

  "Do you know how much I wanted a smart, disciplined guy like Holt in your spot?" Anders looked alternately hurt and angry; Dr. Vincent knew that he'd struck home. "The island, you idiot."

  "I've gotten the job done."

  "You've been mostly adequate. You've also been sloppy, unprofessional, and outmaneuvered by Holt at every turn."

  Anders glared at the doctor, but bit his tongue, mostly to avoid proving him right. "What are we going to do with Holt?"

  "We need to make sure we know everything he knows. Same with Trager. When we've squeezed everything we can, you're going to walk into the room, avoid any conversation whatsoever, and just shoot them in their respective foreheads. But not until I say the time is right. Is that clear? I don't care how much you hate Holt because he's so much better than you."

  "We found Trager's SD card."

  "We did. But he's resourceful. I'll do the thinking, Ricardo."

  Anders flicked his thumb rapidly back and forth over the seam in his pant leg, trying to stay under control. "And the girl?"

  "I'd like to think we can turn her to our way of thinking, but I seriously doubt it. Same for her. In, shoot, out. No toying with her or fulfilling whatever sick fantasies you may have, either. Quick, professional. So get to work. Do what's necessary, not what's fun. Oh, and Ricardo?"

  "What?"

  "Initiate the purge of all employees. I'm taking no chances."

  Anders nodded and left the room, and Dr. Vincent heard his commands trail away to nothing. Dr. Vincent signed and muttered, "Incompetent." He liked Anders' mean streak. The man was a sociopath, perfect for this kind of work, but Dr. Vincent's mistake was putting him in charge. That mistake was further magnified after he'd met Holt. Strong, skilled, respected, disciplined, and, thanks to some fancy doings by Dr. Vincent himself, highly-motivated. He would have given anything to have Holt as his second-in-command; with him in the fold, the whole thing would have gone off without a hitch. After speaking with Holt for only a few minutes, however, and seeing the disdain that the man had for both him and his work, Dr. Vincent knew it was a lost cause.

  He signed again and swiped his ID card to gain entry into the lab. His sole remaining assistant was a young woman whose name he was actually sure of: Jen. If he cared about such things, he'd admire that she was a pretty, sweet young lady who only wanted to help end the horrors on the island. That kind of naive idealism would have been utterly disarming to him, and probably would have made him feel like the ghoul that Lena believed him to be, again, if he cared. As it stood, she was good at her job, had interesting ideas, and her bedside manner kept the specimen relatively docile.

  Mutters himself was a pragmatist, and that Dr. Vincent did admire. He'd given himself up for his friends, something the doctor found exceedingly syrupy and useless, but, once in custody, he was a model specimen. He answered Jen's questions honestly, and didn't fight her whether she was drawing something out of or putting something in him. Jen had relayed the details of her conversations with him. Mutters knew that he was done, and only wanted to accomplish whatever good he could before she (yes, he wanted it to
be her) mercifully put him down forever.

  Dr. Vincent addressed Mutt directly. "How are you feeling today, Mr. Mutters?"

  "Not bad, considering, now fuck off," was the answer. "Where are my friends?"

  "Yes, the serum is working as well as we could have dreamed in staving off your infection, but it's still causing delusions. That's a shame. Ms. Cooper, please excuse us for a moment and run the bloodwork." She hesitated just long enough for him to notice, and his blood boiled when she appeared to be looking to Mutters for permission. "NOW." She shrank a little before she removed herself quickly, two vials of Mutt's blood clutched in her gloved hand.

  "Sgt. Mutters, you've been straightforward with us, and I appreciate it. You're doing a real service. In return, I'll be just as straightforward with you. Two of your friends got away, presumably to rendezvous with Mr. Driscoll. Mr. Holt, Ms. Moore, and Mr. Trager are all in our custody."

  "Trager's not my friend. Screw him."

  "You'd be surprised who you friends are, Sgt. Mutters."

  Mutt was surprised, but tried to not show it.

  Dr. Vincent continued. "As I said, they're here. They will be interrogated, and when I'm of the opinion that I've gotten everything they have to offer or are willing to give, I'll have them killed. Quickly and mercifully, I assure you. No one stands to gain anything by their unnecessary suffering. I'm sure you appreciate that, as your own circumstances are similar. Now, what questions do you have for me?"

  "You're actually going to answer?"

  "I have no reason not to. You already possess enough damaging information that, if it got out, anything else I can tell you now would be easily discovered. I really can't make it worse, so I might as well give you some closure in return for your sacrifice. As a matter of honor, I'll do the same for your friends. You have my word. I may even arrange it so that you may die in each other's company, if that's your collective wish."

  "What happened here? The outbreak?"

  "Jumping in with both feet, I see. I work for an...organization...that deals in many things, most entirely aboveboard, and a few, less so. We became aware of an incident much similar to this one, only on a smaller scale. Several years ago, an inconsequential Australian village was wiped out, and we investigated the aftermath. Our belief is that the infection could be duplicated, and not necessarily only by us."

  "Us?"

  "Generally speaking, non-terrorist nations. Countries who have enough perspective and long-term vision to negate the possibility of releasing something like this capriciously, and without the proper safeguards."

  "But who may still release it."

  "The genie's out of the bottle, Mr. Mutters, and he has found no master yet. We met with the appropriate government agencies and convinced them that this was a very real threat, and they agreed to fund our research. We'd gotten what we could; we needed a field test. The consensus was that it was only a matter of time before we'd get the opportunity, only we would have no idea when or where, and by the time we responded it may be too late to control it."

  "So you created your own opportunity?"

  "Yes. And, for once, the governments have a clean conscience. This was a decision made by us, because it was best for all parties involved, but the government agencies believe, as we ensured they would, that this was the terrorist attack that we told them was inevitable. Nice and neat."

  "Why? What did you learn?"

  "We studied the zombies' behaviors, for one, so we could predict how they react to certain stimuli, their methods of attack, how they can discern between live flesh, which they eat, and dead flesh, which they avoid, etc. It was illuminating, to say the least. Once we learned what we'd set out to learn, we were ready to terminate all of the subjects, using a specially-designed chemical compound. We knew that the compound itself worked, but what we needed to test was..."

  "...the delivery system. Its effectiveness in a populated urban area. Scythe."

  "Very good. As you know, it worked. The word came down from my superiors to terminate every living thing on the island. But then two things happened, the first of which was Cameron Holt. Now, a lot of things had to break right for him: his survival, his son's survival, the mystery of his wife's location, his mental constitution. But they all did, and he convinced Martin Trager, the man with the island resources but no idea what was truly going on, to form your little precision team. Amazing work, by the way. You all will be considered the forefathers of zombie-fighting tactics. You should be proud."

  "Yeah, it's an honor. What's the second thing?"

  "Oh, yes. The first known Jekyll. We had no clue it was possible, and we never would have if it wasn't for Scalpel."

  "What did he bring? The cure?"

  Dr. Vincent paused and considered his next words carefully. "Sgt. Mutters, we've had a very civil discussion up to this point, and I have, to be honest, enjoyed speaking with you. I hope what I say next doesn't change that. We..."

  "You already had the cure," he said, as matter-of-factly as if he was telling someone the time. "You had it by the time you left that village, I bet."

  "That's amazingly perceptive. And you're right on both counts, of course. Finding the Jekyll was a happy accident, I'd say. You've seen how zombies behave around a Jekyll. They mimic their disposition: if the Jekyll is in a calm stage, they're docile. If he attacks, they attack. When we...you...discovered this, the island experiment changed a bit."

  "Weaponization. An..." Mutt's answer was interrupted by a fit of coughing. Dr. Vincent acted quickly and gave him another dose. Mutt composed himself and continued. "An army of zombies, mindless soldiers who can take massive amounts of punishment, led by Jekylls who still maintain some semblance of intelligence."

  Dr. Vincent clapped with sincere appreciation. "Right again! You're an extraordinary man, Sgt. Mutters. Being a man of law as you are, I don't suppose you'd be interested in continuing your service..."

  "Not a fucking chance."

  "I didn't think so, but I had to ask. We learned a great deal from the Jekyll before he expired, but we weren't quite there. He was in a more...advanced state then you are, so we only found a way to retard the zombification process, not arrest it to the point that we needed. The same goes for the other one you brought us. We were so close, but we were dead in the water. Do you see where I'm going with this?"

  If Mutt did, he didn't say so.

  "I needed a miracle, then you fell into my lap. I'm not a religious man, Mr. Mutters, but you being infected, Mr. Holt's insane run to get the serum into you, the quick pickup, and the relative newness of your state...if anything were to make me believe in a god, that would have been it."

  "Dr. Vincent!" Jen charged in. "Dr. Vincent! I think we got it!"

  * * *

  The group was unanimous in the belief that there was no benefit in waiting to take action, and they had everything to lose by waiting too long. The groups had their specific missions: Sister Ann, Harold, and Jason would take the van back to Ethan's wrecked truck to take possession of the power source. (When Fish opined how convenient it was that Ethan had a battery jumpstarter in the back of his truck, Ethan countered with, "Last time I checked, it was surrounded by fucking zombies. It's coincidental, not convenient.") He'd written down instructions on how to start it, assuming they could get it from his truck into the van, and then into Lena's apartment, without becoming dinner.

  "There's another point where this plan can fail spectacularly," Tim said. His voice was solemn. "I'm worried about the radio."

  "Don't you worry, Tim. We can figure it out. Plug it in, turn it on, transmit until someone responds, even if they're on the other side of the world. Once we're in the apartment, we should be safe. Ish."

  "I don't doubt that at all, Harold. But we're going on the assumption that Lena was telling me she has a radio in her closet. She might have been directing me to her favorite pair of shoes, for all I know."

  Sister Ann tried to reassure him. "Have faith in her and yourself, Tim. Without it, ther
e's no point. The radio will be there."

  He shrugged.

  Ethan knew the feeling. All of the planning sounded good, but the reality was that they were going on different, but equally suicidal, missions. Pulling just one off would be a miracle.

  "Ethan? You with us?" Sam said.

  "Yeah, sorry. So you three have that covered. It'll be a piece of cake. All we have to do is break into a hospital that's surrounded by zombies and rescue a couple of people from mass murderers, then survive until we get the word out. I like it."

  "There's the man I dig," Rachel teased.

  "I think we can break in easily enough. Orpheus told us that he left by a side exit that he taped open just in case we had to come back in that way."

  "How sure are you of this, Fish?" Rachel asked.

  "I'm sure what he said, and if it's the door I'm thinking of, I don't think anyone in the building would think to secure it. His run should have cleared most of them out, too."

  Ethan said, "That's another big 'if' but it's better than nothing. We'll figure it out, but has anyone given any thought to how we'll find out where they're holding everyone?"

  Tim blew a long breath out, cheeks puffing. "Still working on that one."

  "Keep working. If everything goes well, Ann, we'll call you when we're clear. Is everyone absolutely comfortable with how to use their weapon?" More nodding heads. "Okay, then." Ethan believed that they'd covered all of the bases now. He closed his eyes tried to visualize their success in the same way that a golfer is taught to visualize the ball dropping into the cup. As hard as he tried to see their collective triumph and hero's welcome back on the mainland, each vision ended in total, and often horrifyingly vivid, failure. Well, that was a colossal mistake, he thought.

  When he opened his eyes, Rachel was leaning close. "It'll all work. I know it will."

  "I know."

  "Ethan, it will work."

  He smiled. "You're pestering." She laughed and kissed him quickly on the lips.

  "I think now's a good time for a prayer." Ethan decided to join in this time, not necessarily to pray, but to feel safety and gentle human contact for possibly the last time. They all linked hands and bowed their heads. Sister Ann prefaced the prayer with a heartfelt recounting of all the people they'd lost, most notably Denise and Mickey, then began with a Hail Mary. Ethan's thoughts drifted to his father, and his idea of a prayer solidified in his mind: If nothing else, please let me see my father one last time.