by DeWitt, Dan
“Yep. He says it's important.”
“Of course it is. Thanks, Lena.”
“Welcome. Out.”
He pointed at Mutt. “Remind me to finish my point when we're not hip deep in dead people." He didn't wait for Mutt to say anything before he walked out.
Mutt laughed and said to the door, “Yeah, I'll do that, boss.”
Fish said, “Wow, he might have been a little perturbed.”
“He's right, though.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Tim, who had remained silent since Orpheus had finished his quick lesson asked, “What did he mean? When he said 'another one on your conscience'?”
Fish said, “Let me field this one.” He out an arm around Bait's shoulders and said in a surprisingly warm and conversational tone. “Ever see the movie Spinal Tap?”
Bait thought for a second. “That fake documentary? Bits and pieces, why?”
“Well, a running theme throughout the movie was their drummer. See, the band couldn't keep one; they kept dying in weird ways. I remember that one guy choked to death on someone else's vomit. Another died while he was gardening. One actually exploded on stage! It was freakin' hilarious.”
Bait just looked at him for a second when he got the point. “I'm the newest drummer, right?”
“Yup.”
“How many before me?”
Fish made a show of counting on his fingers. Tim started worrying when it went to a second hand. “You'll be the fourth.”
“What happened to the other ones?”
“All sorts of weird shit. The second one that we had freaked out when he saw a few Sprinters and ran off the first floor of a building that was under construction. Normally, not that bad a decision, except he landed on exposed rebar. That was not pretty. Another guy got eaten by his own uncle when he strayed too far from the rest of us. His uncle was a Jekyll, and the idiot got too close. Tore his throat out by the time I got there and put them both down.”
“What's a Jekyll?”
Mutt stood up. “During your training, we showed you the two common kinds of zombie: Sprinters and Shufflers. There's no difference between them but time or exertion, really. If a zombie is relatively fresh...”
“That's exactly why we should call them Freshmen and not Sprinters! 'Fresh men!' Get it?"
“Shut it, Fish. If a zombie is new, recently turned, those bastards can move as fast as they ever could. However, their muscles can't regenerate, so as they exert themselves and deteriorate because they're, uh, dead, they get torn down pretty quickly. They become Shufflers." Fish opened his mouth but Mutt cut him off. “Shut it, Fish.”
Tim nodded. “The slow ones.”
“Yes.”
“And the Jekyll?”
“That's the third type, and it's the one we can't prepare you for. You can either handle it or you can't.”
“You're not even going to tell me?”
“Bait, you probably won't have to wait long to see it with your own eyes.”
Tim switched gears. "I don't suppose you'll stop calling me that."
"What? Bait? Not happening right now, because until you prove otherwise, that's probably be what you're best at." Fish adopted the same conversational tone he'd exhibited earlier. "Tell you what, though. Live long enough, prove yourself, and I will personally give you a real nickname."
* * *
Orpheus sat in the chair on the subordinate side of the large mahogany desk and couldn't believe what he was just told. “Say that again?”
Martin Trager, CEO of Lost Whaler General, repeated himself. “You need to capture, not kill, a Jekyll and return it here. More than one, if possible.”
“You're joking. I've lost more men to Jekylls than the other two combined!”
“I know, I know, but hear me out.” He said nothing for a few seconds while he fiddled with some papers. “We think there might be a cure.”
Orpheus snickered. “Yeah, a cure for dead. Sure.”
“Don't be an ass,” Trager snapped. “Those people are gone, naturally. They need to be exterminated before we can start over here. And we will start over. This is my island, and I intend to hang onto it.”
“Can we get on with it, Marty? My team's waiting on me.”
“As I was saying, Dr. Vincent insists that there might be a cure. Maybe 'cure' is the wrong word. Let's go with 'inoculation' instead. History has shown us that plagues of all kinds eventually come back. We thought we wiped out polio, but isolated cases are starting to pop up again. And in the case of this infection, an isolated case is all that might be needed to start a full-blown outbreak again.”
Orpheus stood up and rested his hands on the desk. He leaned forward, all controlled aggression. “Where does a Jekyll figure in?”
Trager mimicked the stance, giving the standoff a physical manifestation. “You've seen them. They're somewhere between life and unlife. My researchers think that those poor saps contain something inside of them that fights off the infection, if only in short bursts. They'll eventually die and change, but their makeup makes the process last a whole lot longer. If we can isolate it and synthesize it, we can maybe avoid this same kind of horror in the future.”
Orpheus rubbed his palms together while he thought about it.
"You can say, 'Sure, Mr. Trager' anytime now."
"Hold on, I'm still figuring out your angle."
Trager didn't like the delay, or the implication. “If I've given you the impression that this is a request, I apologize. Get me some Jekylls, or your little field trips are over. That's a promise.”
“And all the survivors?”
“You mean if there still are any? Collateral damage, I'm afraid.”
Orpheus fought the urge to slap the other man in his head, and said, “Fine. We go in, grab one, and extract like normal, but I get to go back in before the reap if I think I've missed anything.”
“Done.” He sat down, satisfied.
Orpheus turned around when he got to the door. “Threaten to take your resources away from me again, after all I've been through, and I'll fuck you up.”
“Feel free to slam the door behind you on your way out.” Orpheus left it wide open, and Trager was glad to see him go.
* * *
“You've gotta be kiddin' me,” Mutt said.
“Yeah, that's what I said. But they think they might be able to pull some good out of it, so we have to try. We've come up dry on the last two runs, anyway.”
“Don't remind me. Do you think there are any more survivors on the island?”
Orpheus wrestled with whether or not to lie to his new best friend. He decided against it. “Honestly, no, but I have to know for sure. I'm not in this for much more, but I'm in for that, at least. After that, well...yeah.”
“Yeah.”
“Where's the team?”
“On the pad, waiting for us.”
Chapter 3: The First Run
Tim wondered if the sweating would ever go away. Then he wondered if he ever wanted it to. He was on edge and as alert as he'd ever been. The roar of the helicopter rotors barely registered as he checked, double-checked, and triple-checked his gear. He watched the others, and it was obvious that they'd worked together for a long time and had their routines down. Up near the pilot, Orpheus and Mutt handed their gear back and forth to be checked by the other man. Fish and Sam did the same in their seats opposite of Tim's.
So where's my buddy? he thought as he checked his gear for a fourth time. Sam seemed to read his thoughts, or his expression, and started checking Tim's gear. Tim was thankful, and tried to say as much over the cacophony.
He patted Sam on the shoulder and yelled, “Thanks!” Sam responded with a thumbs-up and continued. He tightened up a few straps on the jumpsuit and was finished. He settled back into his seat and closed his eyes. Meditation, prayer, or both. Tim wished that he was relaxed enough to be able to do that.
Instead, he looked over his shoulder at Orpheus. He cradled something in his hands,
and Tim could make out that it was another pistol, only smaller than their primary. He figured it for a backup, probably strapped into an ankle holster. He wasn't sure if anyone else had one, only that he sure didn't. Maybe he'd ask Orpheus about it when they got back to the tower.
Not for the first time, Tim wondered why in God's name they had to do this at night.
* * *
Tim asked Mutt why they didn't insert during daylight hours.
“We go in at night. That may seem counter-intuitive, but it gives us the best chance of moving around unnoticed. These things possess the same tools that living humans have, and for a lot longer than you'd think. If they have eyes, they can see. If they have ears, they can hear. At night, we take their vision out of the equation while we still have it, thanks to technology.” He motioned towards the night vision rig.
“The night vision is nice but, like all technology, there is a chance it will fail you when you most need it. It's supplemental, that's all. And don't think that a zombie with no eyes, ears, or nose can't find you, because they can. We have no idea how it works, but they can find a living person like a damn homing pigeon finds its roost. Your most valuable tools are located on either side of your head. Your second most valuable is right in the middle of your face. Pay attention to them. You'll live a lot longer."
* * *
The helicopter hovered ten feet above the roof of the library in downtown. Fish yelled, “On my heels, Bait!” and jumped without another word. He flexed his knees and rolled into it, popping up gracefully into a crouch with his pistol raised. Tim hesitated only briefly before he followed suit. The impact from that height was unexpected, but he rolled with it and came up in the same position.
“Not bad!”
Tim nodded and tried to ignore the throbbing in his knee as he watched the remaining three men exit, Orpheus last. The copilot dropped several black bags and flashed a thumbs-up. Orpheus returned it and the copilot disappeared behind the tinted glass. Ten seconds later, the helicopter was gaining altitude and heading back to the tower.
After the helicopter was mostly out of earshot, Orpheus said, “Let's move.”
“Why?” Tim asked. To him, the library roof seemed like a good place to set up.
Mutt replied, “If you're thinking that this is a nice spot to camp and make s'mores, you're right. Unfortunately, we just made a highly-visible entrance and a helluva racket. We don't know what might be coming for us. So we move and wait.” He pointed over Tim's shoulder. “Right there.”
Tim looked and saw that he was pointing to the building next door. Tim had grown up on the island, and, though he'd never seen it from this angle, he knew that they were next to the old movie theater, The Classic. Tim grabbed a bag without being told and walked to the edge. It wasn't a terrible jump, only about eight feet, but being three stories up made it seem like twenty. It seemed like fifty when Tim saw some shadows moving in the alley beneath him. The shadows seemed to be moving in the same general direction, and that direction was right at them.
Something made a loud pounding noise behind them, and they all whirled with their pistols up. They heard it again and realized that something was repeatedly slamming against the door to the roof. Suddenly, Tim agreed wholeheartedly with the decision to move next door. Orpheus motioned for Mutt to take Fish and Tim with him to the next roof. They threw the bags over the gap. Fish backed up a few paces then rocketed forward, pushing off the ledge and clearing the gap by a mile. He got up and mimed a little air guitar before he began slowly searching the roof. Tim caught Mutt rolling his eyes a bit. The rookie brought up the rear and made the jump with surprising ease. His two companions seemed a little surprised that he didn't come up way short and end up dangling from the ledge.
The three of them did a quick sweep of the roof. It was empty, so they took up positions and got as low as they could while still being able to see Orpheus and Sam. The boss motioned for Sam to make the jump while he kept his pistol trained on the door. Tim expected Orpheus to be right behind, but he paused on the roof. He walked back towards the door and grabbed the handle. He started to push the latch down with his thumb, and Tim looked at Mutt with a panicked look.
Mutt's face showed nothing.
“What is he doing?” Tim whispered.
“Don't know. Stay ready.” To emphasize his point, he pulled a spare magazine and laid it next to him. Sam hustled to the pile of bags and opened one. He pulled out a shotgun and took up a position next to Mutt.
Fish had his back to the rest, guarding their backsides.
Tim resisted the urge to wrap his finger around the trigger. He was tense enough that accidentally firing it was a definite possibility.
Orpheus hadn't moved in a few seconds. He turned his head to look at something past the door and appeared frozen. Tim realized that Orpheus wasn't looking at something; he was listening for something.
After a few more seconds, Orpheus let the handle return to its original position slowly. He backed away from the door, holstered his sidearm, and made the jump.
“What in the hell was that?”
“Let's set up, Sam. Then we can talk.”
* * *
Orpheus finished telling the others about the new wrinkle while they set up their gear. The roof of the movie theater was meant to serve as their “command post.” In practice, it meant this was where they'd store the gear they couldn't carry, and where they'd come to rest until they were ready to extract.
Fish was the first to speak after Orpheus finished. “Sooooo...we're supposed to grab a snarling, spitting, screaming Jekyll, bag or whatever the hell else we can do to subdue it...and get it back here for pickup while trying to not alert the zombies that we already have a hard enough time avoiding when it's just us."
Orpheus laughed. “That's about right.”
“Well, I must say, I'm psyched. When can we get started?”
“Let's eat. Then we have to head over to the burn zone for the walkies. Tim, that bag has the MREs in it.” Orpheus sat down on an exhaust fan housing and rubbed his neck. The rest of the men got as comfortable as they could while Tim rummaged through the bag. He pulled out an MRE, squinted to read it in the moonlight, and said, “Uh, who wants hot dogs?”
Sam said, “Just throw us whatever.”
“Oh, okay.” Tim tossed a package to each man, but kept the hot dogs for himself. They ate mostly in silence, and Tim was surprised at how peaceful everything seemed. If he didn't know any better, they were just five guys on a camping trip. On the roof of a movie theater. Surrounded by the walking dead.
“Trager had a point, as much as I'm loathe to admit it,” Orpheus said. “If we survive...by 'we' I mean 'mankind'...we have to believe that the outbreak could happen again. If we find a Jekyll, and a cure comes from that, then we did some good work.”
Mutt said, “We've already done good work, O. A shitload of it. You especially.”
“We're talking about the future, though. We owe it to the survivors, don't we?”
“Yeah, Sam, we do. I get what we're doing here; I just don't like having it sprung on us with no warning at all. That's a pretty big curveball to throw at us.”
“Maybe we'll end up in the history books,” Tim offered. “That would be something, wouldn't it?”
“You know what else would be something? Being around to read it.” Mutt consolidated his trash and placed it back into the bag. “Eh, no sense wasting daylight, so to speak. We ready?”
“Lead the way, brutha,” Fish said. He clapped his hands. “Let's go grab ourselves a psycho.”
“I don't think that we'll have to look hard,” Orpheus said, and Tim immediately figured out what he meant.
“That's what you were listening for over there. You think that you heard a Jekyll, whatever that is.”
“Mmm. Here's what we do. Clear the theater, head over to the dead zone next door, pick up the walkies and whatever else we can find, drop the walkies into this zone, come back up, and pull that thing right through
that door. If I'm right, and I think that I am, we can grab and extract within a few minutes.”
Several heads nodded at this. Tim saw the deep respect and blind trust that they all had in Orpheus. He could see how that would happen. His confidence was very soothing, considering their surroundings. Tim wondered how much of it was bravado intended to keep his teammates' morale up.
“Any questions?”
Tim raised his hand.
“This isn't geometry class. What do you need?”
Tim put his hand down and felt like an idiot when he asked, “Would someone please tell me what a Jekyll is?”
Chapter 4: Back on the Ranch
Selena Moore knew that Trager would not be happy with what she was doing right now. His only concern was getting what he wanted: money, top-shelf booze, women, and, of course, power. He hid it surprisingly well beneath a facade of manners and cultivated humility, even a maddening charm that worked on Lena more than she was comfortable admitting. Once you saw him for what he was, a selfish prick who would use anyone to get what he wanted and then discard them, you felt better.
What he wanted right now was a Jekyll, and he was using Orpheus to do it.
Lena didn't like that. Not one bit.
All Orpheus wanted to do was finish his business and be left alone. He'd already given far more to the island and whoever was left than anyone else could have imagined. Still, he had unfinished business, and Trager knew it. He leveraged Orpheus' personal mission into one that would, Lena had no doubt, benefit him and only him in the end.
She wanted to know what his angle was, but she had come up empty so far.
A crackling noise came from the bank of radios set up against the far wall. She quickly rolled her chair back with a thrust of her legs and figured out that it was coming from the shortwave. She opened her own mic and said, “Caller, if you can hear me, repeat last transmission.” She didn't expect to get a response; she was fairly certain that she'd heard nothing more significant than random static. But she had to try.
