Orpheus (39 page)

"We gotta get Sam!"

"Sam's dead!" Tim bellowed. "We're not! I need you here!"

Lena staggered to her feet, grabbed a rag that served as an eraser for the board, and pressed it to Rachel's neck. "You'll be...okay, sweetheart." She knew it for a lie as soon as she said it.

"Oh, God, I shouldn't have left." Ethan was crushed. "This is my fault." He put his hand on top of Lena's, two caring hands on a wound that they couldn't possibly heal. "My fault." Lena slid her hand out from underneath his, and he clamped tighter.

"Enough of that shit, Ethan. We'd all be dead if you hadn't bought us time."

"What good does that do her?" The volume of Ethan's voice was lower, but that made the anguish even more evident. "I'm so sorry, Rach. I should have protected you." Her eyes were glazed over in shock. He lowered his mouth to hers to kiss her, and this snapped her back. She knew that she was finished, that she'd soon be one of those things, but she'd kill herself before she let the same thing happen to the man she loved because of something as stupid as an unconsidered kiss.

She pushed his face away and ran to a corner of the room. "Everyone stay away from me!"

Ethan walked to her, his hand held out. "Rach..."

"Don't you touch me! I'm dead!" Saying the words seemed to free her a bit, and her voice softened. "You can still be with your dad, Ethan. Leave me. Go get him."

"No, it's not over."

She changed tactics. "Tim, shoot me."

"Uh, what? Why me?'

"Because you're rational enough to know that it has to be done. If you don't, everyone here dies. Or worse."

Tim's hand dropped to the butt of his sidearm of its own volition. Ethan drew like lightning and pointed it at Tim. "You even try and I'll kill everyone in this room." His voice was measured, even, and it revealed the insanity that had overtaken him. "I swear to God." Lena and Fish witnessed the whole thing, still in shock.

"Jesus, I'll fucking do it then!" Rachel said. She stormed over to Tim and took the gun out of his holster.

To his credit, he grabbed her wrist and didn't relent. "You're probably right, but I'm not going to let you do it. Not yet. There's still time."

"Time for what? Time for me to die horribly? I can..." She stammered. "I can already feel it taking over...please don't let me turn into one of those things..."

The door slammed against the interior wall, and a pale, shivering, and drooling Mutt stood in the doorway, a crowd of gnashing zombies on his hip.

* * *

Scythe had no chance.

The zombies outnumbered them five-to-one and, given the close quarters, descended upon Scythe with a force akin to a tornado. It began with screams, but those were quickly drowned out by the sounds of rending flesh.

Mutt himself fell on an agent as the zombies cleared a path for him. He put his palm on the struggling man's chin and pushed it back to maximize the neck exposure. Mutt pressed his teeth against his flesh and began to close his jaws, but his remaining humanity told him,
Stop. You're still a man. You can beat this.
Mutt pushed off of the man and walked away from him as the zombies who had just made room for him resumed their attack.

He walked past the pack and wrapped his fingers around the cure in his pocket. All they had to do now was get clear and he could get back to normal.

Then the girl ran from the room and moved to help the downed man. Mutt put the pieces together: the man was Sam. The girl had to be Ethan's lady.

If he had still been capable of speech, he would have expressed himself better. He would have screamed a warning as two zombies broke from the rest and made a beeline for the new target. As he was, he only managed a howl. Mutt made a fruitless attempt to stop them. They landed on the two prone figures and started trying to do just what they were supposed to do: feed. One of them got her on the neck. There was no mistaking it.

What have I done?

Ethan ran up from the opposite direction and dispatched the zombies, but it was too late. Certainly for Sam, and only a matter of time for the girl. Tim and Fish pulled them into the room and slammed the door. The sounds of battle died down behind him, and he could hear screaming coming from the conference room. Some zombies came to heel.

He only had a few more lucid thoughts left in him, and one of them was:
I need to finish this.

He put his handle on the door and shoved it open.

The scene in front of him froze him in place. The girl (blood ran in rivulets down her neck and under her jacket collar) had a shaky hand on Tim's gun; he had a grip on her wrist; Ethan was drawing on one or both of them; Fish and Lena (he was glad to see that she was alive, if looking a little worse for wear) held each other. He could imagine in detail exactly how this had played out up to this point.

No one made a move, either in disbelief or afraid to upset the delicate balance
.
He looked at them one by one, searing the image of each in his mind.

Satisfied, he pulled the antidote out of his pocket and placed it gently on the table, then pointed to Rachel. He held his hand out to Ethan and wiggled his fingers. Ethan looked confused, then seemed to understand. He lowered his pistol and handed it butt-first to Mutt. Ethan unwrapped the antidote and moved to help his girl.

The exchange complete, Mutt left the room and pulled his zombies with him. He dropped to his knees next to Sam and began to breathe rapidly. His head began to hurt, and his mouth dried up, but he was determined to stay calm. That was his last responsibility; Ethan would know what to do.

He put his hand on Sam's chest and lowered his head to pay his respects. The fallen man's eyes fluttered open. "H-hey..."

Mutt was surprised, but his speech was gone, so he patted Sam's chest vigorously in acknowledgment.

"You look like I feel, buddy..."

A single pat.

"Everyone okay?"

Rapid pats. Mutt put his hands underneath his friend and pulled him up to cradle him. Mutt still had his physical strength, and he was grateful for that, at least.

"Oh," he looked past Mutt. "There they are..."

Mutt turned his head and watched the survivors weave their way through the zombies. As Sam had hoped, Tim led them out. Ethan acted as a crutch for Lena. The other girl moved like she thought she was going to be okay, despite the ugly wound on her neck. Each of them directed a nod or woeful smile at the fallen men. Fish was last. His face was red and his eyes puffy. He made no attempt to hide his emotion as he raised his hand in a peace sign; it wasn't an elaborate goodbye, but it was the most genuine moment of the young man's life. Mutt returned it, and Sam managed to lift his hand off of his leg for a few seconds. It was the best he could do.

After they'd disappeared into the stairwell, Mutt looked down at Sam. His eyes were closed. His fingers spasmed at the base of Mutt's neck. His lips moved, and Mutt leaned closer to hear him.

"...good death...me and you...warrior's death..."

And he was gone.

Mutt gently lowered his friend to the floor, grabbed the pistol, and put it underneath his chin.

* * *

Jen's chosen hiding place turned out to be a storage closet.

Of course it was.

It was cramped, it was hot, but, in the light of her LED keychain, it was empty, so she could manage. The horror seemed to start immediately after she'd shut the door. The gunshots. The blood-curdling screams. The sounds of ripping meat. She had no idea whether or not it was a mercy that she could only hear it and not witness it.

She was sure she heard human screams, not of pain, but of anger.

Then the silence. Dear God, the silence, which seemed to last for hours.

She heard slow footsteps pass by the door, then the telltale slam of the stairwell entrance. That had to be Mutt, leading his zombies away from his friends. She waited another minute, then opened the door and stepped out among Mutt's companions, only they were the ones she never wanted to see again. She recoiled and tried to press her back through the wall.

The zombies milled around, seeming to not notice her again, so that meant that Mutt was still alive. And close. Should she head to the roof? Or did Mutt need her help? He had the antidote on him, after all, but it was evident that he hadn't yet taken it.

Why?

The zombies kept moving, and as they passed by each other, she had a brief but clear view of a figure, kneeling, with a gun to its head. She knew what was about to happen. Before she could think better of it, she yelled, "Mutt! No!" Her second syllable disappeared under the amplified sound of the gun taking Mutt's life. With his death, the zombies were freed of his influence and returned to their natural state.

Predators.

And there was prey before them.

Jen won the footrace to the stairwell, but still had several flights to go, and they were unbearably close to her. She screamed at will; she didn't think she could make it any worse for herself.

* * *

Jameson held true to his word, though he apparently had to wing a few things to do it. Ethan's guess was that Jameson was uneasy having Dr. Vincent in the helicopter while he had to concentrate on prepping it, so he must have forced him out. That's where Ethan now saw Jameson, in the pilot's seat with his pistol trained on the doctor, while Vincent looked at his feet. He was wise enough to know that, demoralizing as his captivity was, it was preferable to entering the building and getting shredded by what he'd helped to create, as poetic as even he would admit it would be.

Tim held the door while Ethan and Lena limped through, followed by Rachel and Fish. Tim took over the guard duty while Jameson motioned for people to jump on. Ethan and Fish defaulted to a ladies first mentality, and helped the distaff members of the team aboard. They forced Dr. Vincent up, and Tim climbed in right after him, gun in his ribs. The doctor maintained his gaze at his feet, unwilling to meet the withering stares of everyone on board who wanted him dead.

Ethan made an "after you" gesture to Fish, then grabbed the headset so he could speak with Jameson. "Thanks for waiting!"

"You made a strong case! Who else we waiting for?"

Ethan didn't answer right away. It was sinking in that two men whose only concern had been rescuing first him, then his father, weren't coming. He hadn't had time to get to know Sam well, or Mutt at all, really, but they'd given their lives for his loved ones, and it cut him. "Just Dad," he said, wondering if he was going to have to mourn him, too.

"We have plenty of fuel and room to squeeze a few more in. You survived, you learned everything you know from him, and he's a bad motherfucker. He'll be here. Keep the faith, kid."

The sentiment behind Jameson's use of "kid" meant Ethan let it slide. He had a strong grip on the side of the helicopter, and the downdraft buffeted him terribly, but he refuse to step inside. That would be too much like an admission that his father wasn't going to make it.

A hand started slapping him rapidly on the shoulder. He turned to it, and saw Rachel pointing frantically in the other direction. He nearly broke his neck swinging it that way, and he saw a bloody man limping towards them from the other roof entrance. Ethan had no idea who that was, but Lena obviously did. He couldn't hear when she yelled, "It's Martin!" but her intent was obvious; he was an ally. Ethan jogged to meet him, but the man waved him back.

Another figure sprinted through the doorway and echoed that sentiment, only with much more emphasis.

Cameron Holt.

With zombies on his tail.

In deference to Lena's plea, he'd gone out of his way to find Trager. He'd found him in rough shape but able to move. The two of them headed back up to the conference rooms, where they'd encountered the tail end of the zombies chasing Jen. Some of the zombies broke off and came after them. They managed to grab weapons from the fallen Scythe agents on the fly and headed up.

Holt ran backwards as fast as he could, trying to slow down his pursuers with sheer volume instead of pinpoint accuracy, but they were closing. Martin Trager added his own lead to the effort. Ethan followed suit, thankful that they'd taken a few extra seconds to grab the weapons that Scythe was no longer using. Even surrounded by zombies, his grandfather's advice ran through his mind: "Never pass up an opportunity to eat, sleep, go to the head, or reload." He emptied his pistol and, instead of changing magazines, switched out to the rifle.

Holt and Trager were almost to the helicopter when Fish and Rachel opened up in the opposite direction. The girl he'd briefly met in the stairwell ran towards them with an amount of zombies on her tail that dwarfed the number that trailed his dad. She waved her hands back and forth over her head, either unaware or uncaring that she'd already been noticed and was being helped.

Things began to happen fast.

Trager roared and turned to the newer and larger horde of zombies, trusting that the Holt men could handle the much smaller one on their own. He emptied his magazine into them, coming dangerously close to the running girl who, due to good judgment or fortune, stayed in a predictably straight line.