by Dan DeWitt
“I don't want to bring the party down, and I don't want to scare you, but the world has changed. A nightmare has been made real, and it could happen again. This time, we may not be … lucky isn't the appropriate word, but I think you'll understand if I use it … lucky enough for it to happen on an island where it contained itself due to geography. On the lower 48, it could mean the end of everything we know.
“So I think the best way to honor the memories of the people on The Whale isn't to forget, to pretend it didn't happen. We need to learn from it. A handful of people outlasted thousands upon thousands of undead whose sole purpose was to kill everything.” He motioned to his table. “Just a few people, with no warning, no help on its way, and no belief that there was anything left but the people at their side.”
He paused as the applause rose. He had no intention of stopping it, because they deserved every second of it.
“Not everyone made it. Randolph Mutters, Sam Barnes, Sister Ann McCourt, Mickey Potts, Denise Munn, and so many others fell. But each one of them died nobly, and allowed others the chance to live, to be returned to their loved ones. And if we learn only one thing from them, it has to be this: There is no such thing as insurmountable odds. Together, we can survive. Don't ever forget that. Don't ever forget them. Thank you.”
He stepped away from the podium, waved to the crowd, and lost himself in the applause.
O
Holt excused himself from a group of people to use the restroom. He washed his hands and walked back into the hallway, which was empty. Instead of taking a right to rejoin the party, he took a left and snuck out the back door. He pulled out his pocket square and used it to make sure that the door didn't shut behind him. He looked around him, and was pleased to find out he was exactly where he wanted to be: alone for a moment. He texted his wife so she wouldn't worry, then pulled a cigar case out of his jacket and lit up.
His solitude didn't last long. He heard the door open behind him, and said without looking, “Make sure you keep that square there.”
“Roger that.”
Holt turned to observe the man as he fumbled with the pocket square. Even in the dim glow of the solitary light, he could make out a man in his late-50's, buzz cut, solid build.
Military. And I bet I already know his rank.
The man finished with the door and stood a few paces away. “Great speech.”
Holt exhaled and watched the smoke dissipate. It calmed him. “Thanks, Colonel.”
Colonel Ralston froze for a beat. “You know, I went up one side of my guys and down the other, but I might owe them an apology. You are pretty good.”
“I also thought I was pretty clear. I don't normally have to repeat myself.”
“Neither do I, Mr. Holt. Neither do I.”
“Great. We both win.”
The Colonel ignored the implication. “I'm Harris Ralston. And I just want to talk to you.”
“You already did, and I answered as clearly as possible. I'm not interested.”
Ralston was undeterred. “Was your speech just complete bullshit, then?”
For the first time, Holt turned his entire body toward Ralston. “I meant every word.”
“Then help me. Lead the team. Take the island back. Put all of those people to rest.”
“Not interested. Get somebody else. Hell, you should do it yourself. It wouldn't hurt the political career that you're obviously positioning yourself for.”
“Just hear me out.”
“I don't know who you're trying to convince with this faux altruistic crap, but it isn't me. I've only listened this long out of a lingering respect for your rank. That meter is rapidly approaching zero. So good night.” Holt threw his unfinished cigar down and snuffed it out with his shoe. Wasting it only made him angrier. He pulled open the door, grabbed his pocket square, and would have been quite content to let it lock Ralston out, but the Colonel got a hand on the door before it could.
Holt made it to the end of the hallway before he felt a hand on his arm. “Hey, I'm still talking to you, soldier.”
Holt stopped dead in his tracks and said, “You're going to lose that hand, Ralston.”
“I'm giving you a chance to serve your country.”
Holt shrugged his hand off and threw a forearm into Ralston's chest, pinning him against the wall. People started to notice, but no one seemed to know what to do.
“I already served my country, jerkoff,” Holt growled. “With honor. And my country fucking abandoned me when I needed it. You think I don't know about …?” He stopped short of saying, “… about the communications on the island being jammed?
Holt grinded his teeth for a moment, then released Ralston. He pointed a finger in his face and chuckled dryly. “Stay away from me.”
Holt should have known by the look in Ralston's eye what was going to come next. Trager, who had crossed the room to see what the commotion was about, did. He quickened his pace, hoping to avoid a catastrophe, but had difficulty navigating through the crowd of onlookers. He began shoving people out of the way. "Move!"
Ralston said, “Okay. You're obviously out. But you're not the only expert. I've already spoken to Ethan. He seems to have a greater sense of du-”
Holt's right fist crashed into Ralston's jaw, and the man crumpled. Holt caught him before he fell all the way, yanked him upright, and cut off the man's oxygen with a forearm to the throat. He hit him again, out of control, then reared back for another one when Martin Trager crashed into him, breaking the hold.
Holt stumbled and righted himself, still hot. Trager, fueled by his own anger, pushed him again. “What the fuck are you doing?!?”
Holt was already pushing forward to get back at Ralston. "I'll fucking kill you!" when he was tackled and taken to the floor by OSI Agents Constantino and German.
“Easy, big guy!” German said. “Don't fight us!”
German was going to say something else when Ethan grabbed him by the collar with two hands and launched him backward. They squared off, ready to go.
Fish, always ready for a fight, was similarly engaged with Tino.
Holt got to his feet, and had every intention of going after Ralston again, when Tim put two hands in his chest and moved him backward roughly. "Not here, boss!"
That snapped Holt back, and when he saw what was happening around him, he bellowed, “That's enough!” The fighting stopped, and a heavy silence hung.
Holt just glared at Colonel Ralston as the man got to his feet. As woozy as the Colonel was, the smile on his face couldn't be missed. Security arrived, the police were called, and Holt knew he had stepped in it.
Trager spun around in a circle, trying to figure out what to say next. His lips moved, in search of the perfect words, but he couldn't seem to come up with anything more appropriate than, “Motherfuck!”
Slammer
Cameron Holt wasn't a young man anymore, so he figured he was running out of firsts to experience.
He could cross the first night in jail from the list.
After the police had showed up to the gala, Holt figured he had caused enough trouble for the night and offered himself up for arrest. The officer who put the cuffs on him seemed almost ashamed to do so. Holt had only been in handcuffs one other time, during his Air Force training, and he'd hated the feeling of helplessness. It was much worse when they were on for real.
He was the only occupant of the holding cells. After he finally calmed himself down, he managed to get a few hours of actual sleep.
His eyes fluttered and opened in response to the approaching footsteps. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and watched Trager step to the cell door.
“For someone who supposedly hates the limelight, you sure can put yourself right back in it.”
Holt twisted from one side to the other, cracking his back. “Not the time, Marty.”
Trager scoffed at him. “That's where you're wrong. You're in there, I'm out here, and I asked your wife to wait in the car. It's definitely the goddamn time.”
/>
“Just get to it, then.”
“You are a moron.”
Holt attempted to form a retort, but nothing came. “I can't really argue that one.”
“Don't insult either one of us. What did Ralston say to you to get you to tweak? Was it Jackie or Ethan?”
“How did you know?”
“I knew he said something to that effect the instant I saw you drop him.”
“Do tell.”
“Look, I don't know what you were like before the thing on the island, but it's pretty clear that you have a weak spot now, and it's your family.”
“So what? I should apologize for that?”
“So what? How about this for a so what? Ralston fucking knew it, too! And you gave him exactly what he wanted. More, actually.”
Holt didn't like the sound of that.
“I spent all night negotiating with that douche. He'll drop the charges, but you have to agree to lead his little island excursion.”
“Or?”
“You kicked the shit out a respected member of the military, who just happens to be a probable Senatorial favorite. You threatened to kill him in front of a hundred witnesses. If he pushes it and pulls strings, Orpheus or not, you'll do time. It's your choice whether or not you do it in prison or on the island. At lone of them is familiar territory.”
Holt nodded, unable to see a way out.
“I got a few concessions, because I figured you'd dig in otherwise. You call the shots on the island. You determine manpower, equipment, strategy. Budget is so high that it might as well not exist. But you do report to him.”
“He'll be there?”
“Off and on, I assume. He's got business to take care of back home, and I'm not sure he wants to actually be that close to the zombies, either.”
Holt sighed and approached the bars. “Is this the best deal I'm going to get?”
Trager smiled his shark's smile. “Hey, I got you a hell of a deal. You knocked out one of his teeth. He's pretty sure that he swallowed it, so he'll be thinking of you while he shits for a while.”
“I'm starting to think it was worth it.” Holt remembered something that Trager had said. “What do you mean I gave him more than he wanted?”
“You gave him Ethan.”
“What? He didn't do anything.”
“No, but do you really thing he's going to let you go back alone? And wherever he goes, I presume Rachel does, too.”
Holt knocked his forehead against the bars. “Shiiiiiiit.”
“Yeah. All right, let's get you out of here. I'll be back in a few.” He walked several paces and stopped. “From now on, I'll handle the bloodthirsty monsters. You just worry about the zombies.”
Back in Uniform
Holt tried everything he could think of to talk his son out of coming to the island with him, and he met with exactly the same degree of success Ethan would have if the situation had been reversed.
Ethan was going through his closet, occasionally pulling out an article of clothing and tossing it on his bed. “Give it up, Dad. I'm coming. End of story.”
“Ethan, think of Rachel. If you go, she'll go with you. You really want to put her back in that shit?”
Ethan paused his packing long enough to laugh. “Funny you should mention that. The second she heard about your situation, she said, and I quote, 'When do we leave?' She'd abandon my ass on the mainland if she had to, just to make sure she was watching your back. So you can forget that argument.”
Holt knew it was pointless. “I'm sorry I lost my cool, Ethan.”
Ethan shut his closet and looked his father in the eye. “I'm not mad, Dad. Not at all. I figured this would happen at some point. I was hoping it wouldn't, but I didn't really believe it. At least we'll have everything we need this time. We can actually fight the war the right way.”
“You're set on this.”
Ethan gave him a look that said, Come on.
“I have a strategy session in a few days. If you're up for it, I'd love to have you and Rachel there.”
“Set up base at the school. Drive heavy vehicles. Carry big guns. Kill stuff from a distance. Meeting adjourned.”
Holt clapped his son on the shoulder. “See? That's why I need you.”
Ethan put a hand on his father's shoulder in return. "Time for me to give you some advice, Pops. You seriously might want to save the sucking up for Mom.”
O
The large kitchen knife cut expertly through the melon, the hand guiding it completely oblivious to the words floating around the room.
Its wielder, however, was not. She heard them clearly. She was just too angry to acknowledge them.
“I don't know what I was thinking, okay?” Holt took a sip of coffee. “I wasn't thinking.”
Jackie finished cutting the melon away from the rind. She calmly swept the rind aside with the back edge of the knife and began to cut the melon into segments. The knife made a solid knocking sound against the cutting board.
“Come on, you've been married to me forever. You know I'm an idiot.”
She began to cut a little faster, with a little more force. “I am so not in the mood for your cutesy 'Ain't I just such a lovable fool?' shit.”
He raised his eyebrows in surprise, then cleared his throat. He decided the best thing to say was nothing.
She finished cutting in a near frenzy, raised the cutting board, and dumped the cubed melon into a plastic container. She slammed the cutting board down and spun around. The knife was still in her hand, pointing in his general direction. “And you know what really pisses me off?”
“No, ma'am?”
“You were always going to go back. It was inevitable. I’m not some dewy-eyed newlywed anymore. I know you. At some point, you would've felt an overwhelming responsibility to clean that mess up. You would've felt guilty enough to go back and do what you felt needed to be done, because you're the only one who could. You would've been compelled to avenge your friends. And I would've supported you. I would've hated every goddamn minute of it, but I would've supported you!”
“I get you're upset. But if you think I was always going to return, what's the big deal?”
She slapped the knife down and growled in frustration. “You are infuriating.” She wiped her hands on a towel and took a deep breath. “Because you would've been going back on your own terms. But now, someone else holds all the cards, because you let him play you.”
“He didn't play me. He just happened to hit the right button.”
“Oh, please. He played you like a harmonica, Cam. It's not too hard for anyone who knows your story to figure out that Ethan and I are a sore spot. You're not exactly an enigma. Jesus H. Christ." She looked at him and said, "Are you serious? Why are you smiling?"
“Sorry, I just can't remember the last time I saw you this angry.”
“Well, ha-ha, I can't remember the last time you did anything this fucking stupid.”
“Whoa. Just broke your own record.”
“It's not funny.”
“You really think I'm happy about this? I'm not exactly proud of myself that I'm dragging my son and, by extension, my future daughter-in-law, back to a place that almost killed us on a dozen different occasions." That wasn't all he needed to say, if he was going to be completely honest with her. "But you're right."
"Excuse me?"
"You're right. About me going back. I don't want to, but I have to. There's too much unfinished business, too much shit keeping me up at night. I should've confided in you right away, and maybe I could've avoided this whole mess."
Jackie had apparently cooled off some, so she poured herself a coffee and sat down at the table. “Okay, we can't change anything, so level with me. Will you be safe?”
“That,” he grabbed her hand and gave it a quick, chivalrous peck, “I will flat-out guarantee.”
O
Holt pulled up to the gate and lowered his window. The approaching gate guard had one hand resting on the butt of his sidearm and s
aid, “ID's, please.”
Holt knew the drill and had his license ready, as did Ethan. He handed both to the guard who seemed to soften in an instant. He scribbled names into the visitor's ledger and handed over two temporary badges. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holt. Your briefing is in Building 2.” The guard pointed to the multi-storied building on the right. “Hit the main doors. Another guard will escort you the rest of the way.”
“Thanks.”
“And welcome back.”
“It's good to be back,” Holt lied.
It was a short drive to Building 2. Holt pulled down the first row of spaces, skipping over the ones that had placards stating that they were reserved for someone.
“I don't believe it.”
“What?”
“One of those has your name on it.”
He put the car in reverse. Ethan was right. The placard said “Reserved for Captain C. Holt.”
He pulled in. “You've got to be shitting me. Captain?”
“You're in the show, Dad. All I know is that I better not have been conscripted or whatever you call it.”
“Come on. This should be fun,” Holt lied again.
They were met at the main door by another guard. He led them to a large conference room that was occupied by faces both familiar and not: Martin Trager, Colonel Ralston, Agents Constantino and German, several uniformed men of various rank, and one gentleman in a very expensive suit at Trager's side, intently poring over several documents.
Ralston was the first to physically greet him. He walked with an extended hand and a smile that was missing a tooth. Holt took the offered hand. “I just wanted to start off by saying no hard feelings. I was going to lose that tooth anyway.”
“Great. How about I just apologize and we forget this whole ugly episode?”
Ralston smiled wider. “I said no hard feelings. I didn't say I was going to give up leverage.” Ralston shook Ethan's hand next. “Good to have you aboard, son. Can't have too many Holt men on this team.”
Ralston led them to the table and made brief introductions. The unknown men in uniform were from civil engineering, the motor pool, the armory, and communications. “As you requested. Let's get this started.”
