by Dan DeWitt
"Copy."
While he waited for a confirmation, he pressed his face to the rear glass. Water had nearly filled the cabin, and he couldn't see anything. He'd have to poke his head in to make sure.
"Of course." He pulled out an extendable baton and flicked it open. He brought it down on the rear window. The tempered glass didn't give on the first strike, but the subsequent hit did the trick. Once he had created a hole, it was easy, if time consuming, to knock away the rest and create an opening large enough for him to safely enter.
"Hey, I got good news and bad news. It's a person. There's no uniform, so it's not Orpheus."
German instinctively looked at the helicopter. "So what's the bad news?"
"I can't tell who the fuck it used to be, but it's fresh."
German shuddered, and not for the first time wondered why he'd volunteered to be one of Ralston's points of contact on the island.
He turned on his flashlight and pointed it into the cabin. It cut through the murk enough for him to verify that no one was in the back seat. He then slowly submerged the flashlight a few inches at a time, ready to yank his hand back at any moment. The water was incredibly cold. No one would survive in it long, if they didn't drown first. When he reached a depth up to his elbow, it was clear that no one, dead or otherwise, was in the car.
Something brushed against the back of his hand, and he pulled back with a yelp. He immediately scolded himself. "Idiot." He submerged the flashlight again and saw what had caused him to freak.
A video camera drifted lazily back and forth, tethered to the gear shift by its strap.
"What the hell, I'm already wet. I'm going in." He said this to himself as much as to the pilot hovering nearby. He dropped into the Jeep feet first and sank until he was able to brace himself against the dashboard. He reached down and was able to free the camera within a few seconds. He slipped the strap around his shoulder and worked himself out of the Jeep. "Come and get me," he said. "I might have something."
Prodigal Son
A few hours prior to German's grisly discovery, Thompson and Hedley walked into Orpheus' office.
Orpheus considered chiding the men for not knocking, but the look on Thompson's face made him forget all about it. "You need to see this."
Without any further preamble, Hedley put a laptop on the desk and positioned it so the three of them could see the screen. "I was going through my film to see what I could use later on. I thought I could at least get a nice establishing shot, or possibly something to roll the credits ..."
"Get to the point," Orpheus said.
"Right, right." Hedley clicked on an icon and a video began to play. It was clearly taken on one of Lena's scouting and mapping missions. It showed the tops of trees, with the occasional burst of color from a house or two showing through the canopy. Hedley clicked and dragged until the video began to show a bird's eye view of downtown. It was the first time that Orpheus had seen video of the destruction, and the stills that he'd been shown hadn't done the scope justice. The outbreak had caused a whole lot of damage, but that was mostly to vehicles and people; the buildings had remained mostly unchanged. It was the government's half-assed response (at the urging of that prick Cross from Charon, no doubt) that had literally changed the landscape. "Looks like Berlin after the bombings." Orpheus thought he had just said that in his head, but then Thompson agreed with him.
"The government didn't fuck around. They just fucked it up."
Orpheus looked at the reporter. He'd made a surprisingly astute observation. "Hmm. They threw missiles at this place just to show that they were doing something, but all they did was make this job harder and more expensive."
"Wait, here we go," Hedley said. He paused the video and made sure that he had Orpheus' attention. He tapped the screen in a corner and said, "Watch here." He pressed play.
Orpheus did as he was told and watched the spot. A zombie shambled into view, followed by a pack of five loosely-gathered others. It was the last in this group that caught his attention, and his feet felt glued to the floor. The damage that the thing had suffered was obvious and catastrophic. Most of the left side of its torso was crushed and its left arm was missing. That side of its knee length jacket was completely discolored by blood and gore.
But the other side, that was the concerning part.
The other side had remained an almost pristine white.
"That," Thompson interjected, "is a lab coat, yes?"
Orpheus didn't want to jump to conclusions, but it was hard not to. He pulled out a map of downtown and matched the location of the zombie to a spot on the map.
Only a hundred yards away.
Well within aimless shambling distance, even for a year.
"Could be that doctor you've talked about." Hedley said it as if he'd already accepted it as fact.
"All we have is an aerial video of a mangled guy," Orpheus argued. But then he argued against himself. "Although it really does look like him. But the coat, there were dozens of scientists in that building." Orpheus paused, coming to an epiphany.
Thompson said, "If I were writing your quote down, I would've already written a 'but' for you."
"But the only scientist who wasn't already dead ... dead dead ... was on the chopper with me."
Thompson began bouncing side to side gently shaking his fists in front of him. Orpheus was about to ask him if he was okay when he saw the shit-eating grin and realized that Thompson was dancing. "So, do we each get a Nobel, or do we have to share custody?" he asked Hedley.
Orpheus didn't say anything yet. He just ran his thumbnail back and forth between two front teeth.
"Come on, you know that this is enough to go on." Thompson almost pleaded.
Orpheus came to a decision. "It's enough."
The reporter punched the air. "Yessss!"
"I want to leave ASAP. No one talks, is that understood?"
"No way," Thompson said.
"I have to grab a few things," Hedley said. "Backup cameras, mics, batteries. If this turns out to be something, I don't want to miss a thing."
"Good thinking," Orpheus said. "Is twenty minutes enough time?"
"To get my gear? More than."
"Then grab something to eat and meet us outside."
Hedley left the room with a little spring in his step.
Orpheus walked to his door and watched Hedley disappear around the corner. He looked back into his office at Thompson. "What about you?"
"I travel light." He pulled a small zippered portfolio out of his inside pocket. "I'm always ready to go."
"Good. Let's do that now."
Thompson looked confused. "Now? What about him?"
"I travel light, too, especially when I think there's a possibility that I'll uncover something that I'd rather no one else knew about."
"Why do I get to go, then?"
"Because we have a deal. You've held up your end."
"I'm touched, but, dude, he's my cameraman."
"In or out, because I'm going."
Thompson pursed his lips and bobbed his head for a few seconds, deciding. "In."
Orpheus said nothing else, only holstered his sidearm, checked the tomahawk at his side, and stood. He stopped short of the door and went back to his desk. He pulled out a lockbox and opened up. Inside was another, smaller handgun. He loaded it, put one in the chamber, and ensured that the safety was on. He held it out for Thompson. "Only if it's necessary."
"How will I know?" he asked as he clipped the holster to his belt.
"I'll be firing."
O
"Where are you headed, sir, so I can update control?"
The guard at the gate was just doing his duty, but due to the fact that Orpheus wanted to be noticed as little as possible, it felt too much like a challenge. The fact that he hadn't even considered a cover story made it considerably worse.
Then Thompson came to the rescue. "I want to get a little more inside this guy's head, and learn more about the island," he said. "Go t
o some of his special places: first kiss, where he proposed to his wife, shit like that. Believe me, I had to twist his arm, metaphorically speaking, because look at the pipes on the guy."
Orpheus watched Thompson work. He was a gifted liar. It was a little freaky. He'd already sold the guard on the story, but he stayed a little while longer to build a rapport.
The guard had just finished laughing at a joke when he said, "Sorry for the holdup, Captain. Be safe." He announced, "Z check!" and waited for the guards along the fence line to confirm that no zombies were in sight. He hit a button and the gate slid open. Orpheus goosed the Jeep through the opening and headed in the general direction of the safe zone before taking his first back road to town.
Orpheus was keenly aware that he was breaking pretty much every one of his own rules, just one of which would've gotten anyone else run off the island.
He didn't see any other way. If what Hedley had seen was Dr. Vincent, he may have a lot of information that should never get into certain hands. The less people who knew about it, the better. Hedley would yap, he had no doubts about that. Once he realized that he'd been left behind, he'd scream bloody murder to anyone who would listen. By the time anyone could do anything about it, Orpheus could hide or, more likely, destroy, whatever the doctor had on him.
As for Thompson?
Orpheus felt like he could trust him, but he still wouldn't give him any details if he could help it. He was serious about honoring their handshake agreement, but that didn't include potentially world-ending information.
"This is weird," Thompson said. He looked out his window at the passing countryside. "I know that this island is crawling with things that want to eat us, but it's easy to forget right now. Your team has made this area safe enough for a picnic."
It was true. Orpheus had noticed the same thing. He didn't see a living (that description still made no sense, but almost everyone defaulted to that word) zombie anywhere on the roads. He saw corpses, of course, and remnants of pyres. He was certain that they'd already passed dozens of zombies that were still trapped inside of their homes, but it was starting to feel like they may, eventually, make the island safe again. That day was still a long way off.
The immediate goal was evident: find the doctor and get what he could from him. Even if this quest proved to be ultimately pointless from an information gathering standpoint, Orpheus could at least finally have the pleasure of killing him for good.
That, Orpheus thought, might actually make the trip worthwhile by itself.
He wasn't proud that he regretted not killing a human being, but he wouldn't lie to himself. For all of the devastation that Vincent had caused, he deserved to die. Orpheus could still see the doctor's surprised face as he fell a few stories out of the helicopter, courtesy of Martin Trager, possibly the one man in Orpheus's life who had a temper that could rival his own.
No wonder they'd become friends.
"Did you hear me, boss?"
Orpheus snapped back to the present and suppressed a smile at Thompson's use of the term. He wondered if the younger man even knew that he'd said it. "What?"
"I said we're getting close." He pointed to some markings on a map. He'd been busy while Orpheus was daydreaming. "I did some calculations based on his location in the video and a rough guesstimate of zombie foot speed, and unless there was something that made him drastically change direction, he should be somewhere within this corridor here. It's a big chunk of space, but not as big as it could be, all things considered."
Orpheus stopped the car before taking the map. Nothing would be dumber than running into a random zombie in the middle of the road because he wasn't paying attention. "What's this, a couple square miles?"
"About that." Thompson sounded disappointed in himself. "I tried to figure out a way to narrow it down more."
"Shut it. This is good work. There are a lot of roads crisscrossing the area, so we could get lucky. If not, maybe I can bring Jameson to get a look from up top."
Thompson's phone made a brief beeping sound as a text came in. "Uh, oh, the jig is up. Hedley's pissed."
"Ignore it. I'll talk to him when we get back."
"Oh, look, two more!" He laughed and dropped his phone onto the dashboard.
Orpheus drove for a few more minutes before stopping again. "We're in your target zone." The Jeep wasn't among any undead yet, but the closest ones were only a hundred yards away "Your guess was accurate as Hell."
"Yeah, math! What now?"
"Navigate. Try to take us on as few streets as possible. Consider what we can see from where and adjust accordingly. I don't care if we have some trailers, but getting surrounded by a mob can't happen. If we draw the attention of too many, we'll have to abort."
"No problem." He pointed out the first turn that he wanted Orpheus to take, and they began the search.
As expected, they picked up a parade of zombies behind them, but when the contingent got too large for comfort, they were easily lost by accelerating around a few corners. Thompson led them on an efficient route, and they had covered the area much more quickly than Orpheus would have thought.
Still, no sighting of the doctor. "I don't get it, he should be here." Thompson looked over his scribbled calculations. "I don't get it," he repeated.
"It was a long shot in the first place. No choice but to call in the cavalry. But tomorrow. Not enough sunlight left in the day."
"Shit." He picked up his phone. "Jesus, I have three voicemails, and he's blowing up my texts."
"You can tell him we're on our way back."
"Got it. No way am I calling him, though." Thompson was an accomplished texter, and his fingers flew across the touch screen. "Told him we're taking the scenic river route, too, just to twist the knife."
Orpheus guided the Jeep along the aptly-named River Rd. The road was as lazy as the small river it shadowed. Orpheus was on auto-pilot, as he'd take this route home hundreds of times in the past. He still remembered the few locations of historical significance and gave Thompson an impromptu tour.
They reached the bridge, and the tour was over. He began to cross the bridge when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He'd received a series of texts and had a voicemail indicator. His cell carrier had always been spotty in this location, so this came as no surprise. All of the messages were from Lena, and he wondered why she hadn't just gotten him on the radio. He verified that they were alone on the bridge before flipping through the texts.
What the fuck?
Then two things happened.
The first was Lena's voice coming over the radio. He caught his name and something about a malfunctioning radio, then the transmission stopped. He was about to grab his radio and try to call her when the second thing happened.
Orpheus looked in his rearview just in time to see another Jeep bearing down at them at an absurd rate of speed. Orpheus attempted to weave out of the way, but that had no effect against someone who was actively trying to hit them. The other car was just moving too fast, and Orpheus had nowhere to go.
"Hold on!" he screamed to Thompson, who still had no idea that anything was out of the ordinary.
They were both thrown in their seats when the other vehicle slammed into their left rear side.
He's pitting us. He thought back to his Air Force law enforcement training. He knew how to stop a fleeing vehicle by hitting it just right in one of its quarter panels and putting it into a spin. He'd done it enough times on the course to know that they were through, and their Jeep was at the mercy of physics now.
He felt a second impact as they crashed through the guardrail, then he and his passenger had only a second to scream before the third and final impact into the river.
O
This was not how the driver of the second Jeep had intended for Cameron Holt to die. It should've been personal. Intimate. More theatrical. Certainly much cleaner than it was now shaping up to be. So much work had gone into it, so much creativity, that it was a shame he had to throw it all away and resort
to brute force.
That radio transmission had changed everything. As soon as he'd heard it, he knew that he'd been made. It wasn't what she said, but how she said it. It would've been easy to believe that Holt's radio was malfunctioning ... because it was, he'd made sure of that ... and they just wanted to speak to him. Where she'd messed up was not getting her panic completely under control before transmitting. It was subtle, but it was unmistakable.
So he was out of options.
He'd intended to use a bullet to end Holt.
Now the bullet weighed close to three thousand pounds and was moving at seventy miles an hour.
When the vehicle hit, he knew that his target had no chance. The bridge had a wooden barrier on each side, but it was meant to keep drunk pedestrians from falling into the drink. It was never engineered to stop a giant, out of control hunk of metal from crashing through it. It gave up with little resistance, and Holt's Jeep went over.
The driver was bounced around violently as his Jeep careened off and went into its own spin. The airbag exploded into his face and chest, then the Jeep came to a rest in the middle of the bridge.
For a few seconds, everything was silent. The driver was woozy, but not seriously injured. He exited and walked over to the hole in the railing. The Jeep was already pointing straight down and sinking fast. With any luck, the impacts alone had killed Holt and his unfortunate passenger, but he wouldn't make the mistake of assuming. He'd wait around and clean up if anyone surfaced.
O
Orpheus had never completely lost consciousness, but the bitterly cold water snapped him completely awake when it reached his crotch. The first thing he was aware of was that his frame was being pulled downward and the seatbelt was cutting into his chest and thighs.
