Orpheus (35 page)

"Couple more seconds now..."

Holt was crying now. All that she had done for him, all the risks that she'd took to find his son, and he couldn't even comfort her with a touch.
Everyone. I've failed everyone.
He just wanted it all to end now. He wouldn't even fight it.

"Hey, Anders," said a voice from the radio. "I never knew that you have a brother. Check that...
had
a brother named Trent. Cute fireman outfits, though."

Anders' jaw went slack, as did his grip on the bag. He yelled something incoherent and ran out of the room; the air in his wake ruffled the bag further, allowing a slight trickle of air through. Adrenaline surged in Holt's body, and he used everything he had to move his chair close enough to hers that he could lean over and snap the bag off of her head with his teeth. He spit it out and whispered, "Come on, Lena, breathe, breathe..."

He was rewarded with a barely perceptible but unmistakable sound of a raspy breath. "Good girl, good girl, keep it up..."

He watched her for several minutes. Her breathing became more regular, and her eyes finally fluttered open. She had a brief coughing fit. "Ow...that really sucked..."

"It was no fun to watch, either."

"We..." More coughing. "We have to help Martin."

"Just take it easy. The oxygen will get to your brain soon enough."

She laughed, and it turned into another, more prolonged coughing fit. "I'm serious."

"We'll discuss it in a minute. I'm pretty sure that help's on the way."

* * *

Sister Ann sat behind the wheel of the van, and the three of them went over the plan for what seemed like the hundredth time. "If we're lucky, we'll only have to deal with a few zombies. That'll make it easier, but the plan doesn't change. Ethan said that his jump-starter thingie is in his back seat. Let's assume that the impact threw it onto the floor, though. I back up, you two get ready to open a door, I park, Jason gets ready to go, and Harold and I cover you. We're all in agreement that they don't climb very well, so you should have the bed to yourself. We'll only have one chance at this."

"What if it's dead? It's been weeks."

"He said that there's a built-in car charger. Worse comes to worst, we drive around for a while to get it charged."

"Got it." Harold practiced his aim in the back of the van. "You hear that, Jay? You have nothing to worry about."

Jason, on the other hand, sat cross-legged in the center of the floor and resumed his meditation. "I trust you. Both of you. But I don't plan on taking long enough for you to have to fire a shot."

Sister Ann took the turn onto Main Street. Two things stood out: Ethan's truck was exactly where he said it was, and it was mostly obscured by the dozens of zombies who'd found no excuse to wander too far away. "That may not be a particularly realistic goal, Jason." The two men joined her at the front and saw what she saw.

"Damn."

Jason steeled himself for his mission. "This doesn't change anything. In and out. What did Mickey say? 'I got this, kid'."

"So macho," Harold teased, but the deep note of worry in his voice was impossible to miss. "By the time you get back, you'll have a beard."

The van was close enough to start drawing attention. The crowd of zombies thickened as Ann stopped the van and put it in reverse. A beeping noise immediately sounded, and the zombies went from interested to a frenzy. "These things sure don't like beeping," Harold said, thinking of the Count back at the school. He walked to the back and put his hand on the latch.

Jason joined him in the back, and hopped side to side and shook his arms out like he was getting ready for a prize fight.

"Get ready. A little closer, Sister. Closer...slower...closer..." When he judged the distance to be right, he flung open the door and held it perpendicular to the bed of Ethan's disabled truck. "Another foot!"

Ann gave it a little gas, and the door crumpled a bit as it was wedged between the two vehicles. Ann parked and ran to the back as Harold slammed the other door into the truck, creating a safe corridor for Jason to get into the truck bed.

The diminutive man yelled, "Hero time!" by way of battle cry, and leapt lithely into the bed. To no one's surprise, the zombies immediately converged on the bed from all sides. Countless arms grabbed at him, but Ethan had a big truck.  Jason stayed in the center and none of them could get a good grip. The fingertips that occasionally brushed against his legs were creepy, but not quite life-threatening. There was a two-inch gap in the sliding windows, so he stuck his fingers between and opened them wide enough for him to slip through. This was the reason why he was chosen for this part; he was the only one of the three who could fit through the rear window and still manage to get out again. He wiggled through the window and saw the jumpstarter.

Of course it was on the floor. He unconsciously kicked his legs to give himself a few more inches, and knew that he'd messed up as soon as a hand locked around his ankle and began to pull him out. He yelled, but that threat was over even before the last syllable left his lips. Bullets cut the threat down. They had his back, as he'd known they would.

"Jason!"

"I'm okay! A couple seconds!" He stretched and got one fingertip on the handle. He flicked the handle close enough to grab it. He wriggled backwards, jumpstarter in hand. He was nearly free when an enterprising zombie found the door that Ethan had left open in his flight. It jumped into the front seat and came at him through the gap. Jason didn't have time to think. He swung the jumpstarter up and connected with the thing's jaw, a solid uppercut that knocked a few teeth out, but, more importantly, bought him a few seconds. He freed himself from the window as his backup sent a volley of shots into either phalanx of zombies. He took two big steps and launched himself feet-first into the van, his arms locked tight around his prize. His feet skidded and went out from under him, causing him to land on his back with a thud, but he barely felt it.

Harold covered their escape as Ann peeled out and indiscriminately knocked undead aside. Harold closed the undamaged door and then the damaged one. The latter wouldn't latch properly, but he secured it with a bungee cord. When that was done, his sole concern was for his boyfriend. "Ohmygod, are you okay?"

Jason allowed himself to get manhandled to his feet and be swallowed in a bear hug before his laughter took over.  "Man, I'm all shaky! That was awesome!"

"They were trying to eat you!"

"I know! That's what made it so awesome! That's living!"

Ann giggled a bit and said, "Don't lose that enthusiasm yet. We still have a job to do."

"Bring it on! WHOO!"

"I don't even know who you are right now." He took the jumpstarter from Jason and hit the switch. A single red light came on, indicating that it still held a charge, if only a weak one. He uncoiled the 12V cord and plugged it into the van's lighter. Lights all the way to green came to life. "We're in business."

From the floor, Jason said, "Thank goodness, I had to bash one of those things with it, and I was scared that I broke it."

"You did great." He sat down next to Jason. "Are you okay?"

Jason put his head on Harold's shoulder. "Surprisingly, yeah. Don't get me wrong, I was scared shitless. I am scared shitless. But I was
doing
something. Something important. And that helped me forget my fear for a little bit." He spoke a little louder. "You guys really protected me. Thank you."

Sister Ann said, "I'm determined to protect you two, no matter what." She didn't add,
I've done a bang-up job so far. Some shepherd.
"No matter what."

* * *

Had a brother.

The words pumped through his brain and drove him into a searing rage.

Cute fireman outfits.

The picture by his bed. Him and his little brother, Trent, at Halloween when they were still in single digits. It was their mother's favorite picture, and it had become his favorite picture, if only by default.

They were in his room.

He ran with his pistol in hand, finger around the trigger, ready to kill whoever was stupid enough to violate his privacy. And if they were telling the truth about his brother, they could only hope that he'd kill them that fast.

He'd sent Trent to spy on the group of survivors in the church. He was to relay information and, eventually, make it so they were eliminated. Dr. Vincent only allowed one wild card, and that was Cameron fucking Holt, the man who'd taken glory that wasn't supposed to be his. When Trent reported that Holt's kid had joined up with that group of survivors, Anders felt like he'd won the lottery. He could do his job and eliminate the survivors, and also get rid of Holt's only reason to go on. When the time was right, Anders planned on revealing that everything Holt had done in his son's name had been completely and utterly useless. Then he'd kill him...after he'd given it some time to sink in, of course.

Now one of his trained Scalpel monkeys was in his room, talking about his brother like he was dead.

That was ballsy.

He got to his room. His door was ajar, and he peeked in. He didn't see anybody through the crack, and he confirmed the emptiness of the room with a cursory check. The only thing out of the ordinary was that the framed photo of him and his brother was now on the bed. He suddenly wished that he hadn't finished off the chick. He felt a new wave of inspiration wash over him. There were always other options, provided he could control himself and keep from killing Holt long enough.

"Find it yet?" came from the radio.

He was sure now that the voice belonged to that coon Sam. "Listen up, you motherfucker, if you hurt my brother I'll hang you from the highest tree I can find."

"Charming." Sam sounded bored. "I have someone who wants to talk to you."

"Ricky."

No.

"I'm coming for you, Ricky." The voice was scratchy from all the screaming and threats, but it was unmistakable. "Say your prayers."

"Holt, you're about to join your little girlfriend."

There was a long pause. "Doubt it. I'll be gone by the time you get here. But I'll see you real soon."

He was right. He was four floors and several corridors away. He wouldn't make it, unless... "All Scythe members! Get to the conference rooms, and go hot!" He was screaming now, spittle flying from his lips. "Now, you lazy fucks! And somebody tell Vincent!"

He took the stairs three at a time, completely unaware that five people a floor above were going to beat all of them there.

* * *

After they'd broken into Anders' room and Sam had made his first transmission, they'd retreated into an unused room and waited for him to show up. They heard him thundering down the stairs long before he made an appearance. After he'd passed them and disappeared into his room, the new-look Scalpel team stole into the stairwell and headed up two floors, a distance that they all agreed would give them a good head start if Anders did what they wanted him to do.

The rest was up to Ethan.

"This isn't going to work."

"Yes, it is," Tim said. "You couldn't hear it, but you sounded exactly like your father back at the drive-in. Just keep your voice low and stay angry."

"That won't be a problem."

Sam made his second transmission, then handed the radio to Ethan. He cleared his throat and began the exchange. He was surprised that Anders bit so quickly and completely. The statement about Lena threw him, but with a little prodding from a visibly shaken Tim, he composed himself and went on. "Doubt it. I'll be gone by the time you get here. But I'll see you real soon"

The group held its collective breath. Either Anders would just head back to where he was keeping his father, and they'd have to wait for him to pass and follow him, or...

"All Scythe members! Get to the conference rooms, and go hot!"

Tim yelled, "Yes! C'mon, follow me!" They wasted no time and hit the stairs. They'd have to try to not beat Anders there, but there were no guarantees about anyone else.

One of the Scythe members responded that he was almost to the conference room, and Anders started barking out orders. He was surprisingly efficient and organized, even on short notice. Ethan supposed that his rage (and, yes, fear) focused him. Ethan was familiar with that.

The five of them had the conference room in sight. Anders was beginning to organize his men via radio.

Ethan's heart sank; it sounded like there were a lot more than five.

And Anders knew the layout, knew exactly where his father was, knew how many men he had at his disposal...it could end up being a slaughter, if Scythe was organized. If not, they had a chance. Also, they needed time to get his father free, or all of this was for nothing.

Sam barked out orders and pointed out defensive positions. "Rachel, go get Holt! Give him your pistol! Ethan, just inside the doorway, provide covering fire as soon as you see a fucking unfriendly face! Ethan, sound off!" Sam looked around, confused. "Where the fuck is the kid?!?"