by DeWitt, Dan
The connection was made, and a flat voice from the other end said, "Luthier."
Dr. Vincent responded, "Stradivarius."
"Status?"
He swelled with pride as he said, "Green. The base is compromised."
"Clear path?"
"Yes."
"Prepare for extraction."
"Already arranged. One other thing. Thanatos."
There was a pause on the line. "Repeat last."
He spoke more clearly. "Thanatos."
"I copy Thanatos. Confirm."
Now Dr. Vincent was getting annoyed. "THANATOS."
"Hold."
There was a pause, then a deeper voice came on the line. There was nothing in the way of greetings. Instead, the voice recited an alphanumeric code. The doctor confirmed it, then typed it into his terminal.
He had sixty minutes.
He tucked the phone into his pocket and left the room. He would actually miss the hospital. It held a lot of good memories for him.
* * *
The lab tech, Jen, looked all over for Dr. Vincent. He wasn't in his office, his quarters, and he wouldn't answer her calls. In fact, she couldn't find anyone. Then the gunshots started, and she just wanted to get someplace safe. She had no idea where to go, so she went to the one person she knew would be there, the one person who still needed her.
"Hello, Mutt. How-" ...are you? were going to be the next words, but she didn't need to ask them. He wasn't doing well. "He" was as close to "it" as she cared to see. Muscles popped out as he strained against the heavy straps that kept him tethered. His teeth gnashed and spittle flew from his mouth. "Oh, God. Just...hold on, Mutt." She hustled over to the cold storage unit and filled a syringe with the treatment. She didn't even know if this would work; it was becoming less effective each time. Still, she had a duty to him. More than that, she really liked him, and didn't want him to suffer. She stood off to the side, well clear of his jaws, and injected the treatment.
The results took longer than they had so far, but he was back with her, if barely. His memory lagged behind. He stared as he tried to remember her name. "Jen. Thanks. This shit's barely working anymore."
"I know. I'm sorry." She put her fingers on his restraints. "If I let you go, can you control yourself?"
"Why would you let me go? The Doc might disapprove."
"He's gone, Mutt." She released one strap, and Mutt rubbed the back of his neck while she did the other. "And some kind of war has broken out on one of the other floors."
"War?"
"Gunshots. Some people broke in, I saw those hooded guys running by with guns, it's scary."
Mutt could only think of a handful of people on the island who would have any motivation to break back in to the hospital. He started ransacking drawers.
“What are you looking for?”
"I need a radio! Where's a goddamn radio?!?"
She reached into her lab coat. "Here you go."
"Oh. I expected that to be harder. Thanks." He started at channel one and transmitted. He got no response, so he tried channel two. And so on. He wasn't even sure what channel he was on when he heard, "Mutt! It's Sam!"
"What the hell's going on? I hear the shots!"
"It's a rescue!"
"How's it going? Where's Orpheus?"
"We're pinned down outside the conference rooms! Orpheus went to go help his kid!"
"You found him?"
"Mutt, I'd love to chat, but we're in trouble here!"
"Just hold on, I got an idea!" He faced Jen. "Vincent said there's a cure. Do you know where it might be?"
"It would have to be handy in case of an accident, but I, uh, there can't be a cure. We...we're just trying to perfect the treatment."
"That's what he told you. Can you identify the cure, if there is one?"
She was clearly distressed by the conversation. "Yeah, I guess so. It should respond to a simple test. Mutt, what's going on?"
"We'll talk about it when this is over, I promise. Identify the cure, and give me that." He took the syringe and vial containing the treatment and headed to the lecture center.
He stood outside the double doors muttered, "Wow, this is stupid." He forced himself to calm down and breathe evenly, then opened the doors and was immediately noticed by just shy of a hundred zombies. They came at him, but he held his ground and remained calm as he let the doors shut behind him. Fuck it. If this is the end, this is the end.
The zombies surrounded him and stopped within inches. They were close enough that he couldn't spin in place without touching several of them. He could feel their hot breath on his neck even though, consciously, he knew they didn't breathe.
All in all, it wasn't a very comfortable experience.
But he wasn't dead yet.
"Goddamn," he said. If Vincent had succeeded in synthesizing this trait, and Mutt had no reason to believe he hadn't, the only difference would be that the synthetic infection wouldn't kill the carrier. Mutt was still dying, but now he was certain that Vincent told the truth about the cure, too. As long as Jen did her job, he might actually be okay.
He opened the doors slowly and walked out. The zombies fell in behind him. It was creepy as Hell having them all at his back, but they were, for the moment, under control. He checked the directory on the wall and jammed his finger where it said "Conference Rooms."
* * *
Jen wanted to cry. Tears of joy that there was, in fact, a cure. Tears of despair because she'd been lied to, and she suspected that she had no idea the true extent of the deception. She focused on the former, because that meant that Mutt would, hopefully, be okay. The latter would come. Hopefully with booze in hand.
She loaded a syringe with the cure, capped it, and put it in her pocket. She reconsidered and wrapped thick gauze dressing around the syringe. By her estimation, there was only one dose, and she had to be careful with it until it was in Mutt.
She heard a rapping on the glass and gasped.
Mutt.
With a zillion zombies crowded around him in the hallway.
Her jaw dropped when he smiled at her. He opened the door slowly and just wide enough for him to sneak through. She was physically unable to speak.
"It's okay. you know what you were working on, right?"
Her mouth moved for a few seconds before words were able to find their way out. "Yeah. Seeing it, though...wow."
"Okay, come on."
She cocked her head as if she hadn't heard him correctly. When it sank in, she shook her head vehemently. "No way."
"Jen, you'll be okay with me. But I'm about to set these things loose. Once that happens, you won't be safe anywhere." He touched her lightly on her forearm. "Please trust me."
She sighed. "I meet the craziest men. You might be interested in what's in my pocket."
"You found it?"
"Pretty sure."
"Hold on to it. I can't take the cure yet, for obvious reasons."
"It's just as well. With the amount of stimulants in both the treatment and the cure, taking them concurrently would probably make your heart explode." She took his hand. "Please don't let go of me."
"No way, kid."
She stayed close as he opened the door and pulled her into a mass of zombies. She knew from research that they weren't capable of emotions or other brain functions, but their body language suggested curiosity. She had to consciously remember to breathe.
"Sam," he said into the radio. "You still there?"
"Standoff so far. We have the territory, they have the numbers."
"I'm about to even them up. Get behind some heavy doors."
"Why?"
"Because I'm bringing some friends. And they're hungry."
"Who? Oh, dear."
"Out." He squeezed Jen's hand. "Let's walk. I'll get you someplace safe, then it's on. Just try and keep me calm."
She pulled his arm around her shoulder and nestled into his side as they walked. Mutt thought that she'd misunderstood his point, not that it wasn't flattering, but
she said, "I feel safe with you. You remind me of my dad."
"I said calm, not depressed."
* * *
Ethan pounded blindly up the stairs and literally ran into a zombie. It, as well as its extended family, turned to look at him and he froze. He was completely immobile, as if he were already dead. He made a nonsensical sound and just waited for it to pounce.
The pounce never came. A tall, slightly-balding man in eyeglasses and a black jumpsuit with an exceedingly pretty woman in a lab coat under his arm, however, did. The zombies parted as they passed and then closed the path behind them. They were like the zombie prom king and queen.
"Relax, Ethan. Just don't freak."
"Relax? Are you shitting me?" He whispered, and subconsciously backed down a few stairs. He switched gears to avoid succumbing to panic. "Why does everyone know my name?"
The woman raised her hand and volunteered cheerily, "I didn't know your name, cutie."
"Because we've been looking for you for weeks."
It made sense. "Scalpel. You must be Mutt."
"Where's Orph-your dad?"
Ethan felt a pang of guilt for letting his father send him away. "He's discussing things with that Anders prick. He sent me to help you. You apparently don't need it. What is all this? I've never seen anything like it." A memory of their escape from the school flashed through his mind. The Count. "Wait, I have. You're...controlling...these things?"
"More like setting an example. Look, kid, it's nice to meet you, but our friends need help."
"I'm coming with you."
"Absolutely not."
"Hey, my girlfriend's up there!"
Mutt raised his voice. "Well I don't give a chicken-fried fuck!" The zombies reacted to this and became agitated.
Jen noticed this and put a hand on Mutt's cheek. She held his gaze. "Mutt, calm, you're like my father, calm down..."
That did the trick, and the zombies returned to their docile state as soon as Mutt came down. "Hit me again, Jen." She dosed him. "Sorry, but I'm not going to let you be anywhere near these things when I set them off. You just saw why."
Ethan couldn't really argue, so he didn't try. “Chicken-fried fuck?”
Mutt smiled. “If you really want to do something, we still need a ride, and I have an idea where you can get one." Ethan listened, and within minutes had a gun to the helicopter pilot's head, while Dr. Vincent seethed in the co-pilot's seat.
* * *
The only place that made any sense to hole up was the conference room that they'd just liberated Orpheus from. Lena was still in there. She looked like she'd been through the wringer, but she was alive.
Sam wanted to keep all of them the same way, and knowing what was about to descend on this hallway, he had to move fast. There had to be over a dozen Scythe agents situated down the hall, hiding in doorways and sending automatic fire down the hall at the intruders who were similarly entrenched. He'd spoken the truth about the standoff, but it couldn't last forever. They were running low on ammo, and it was only a matter of time before they ran out, or, more likely, someone on Scythe thought to send some people up the other stairwell behind Sam and just overwhelm them from two directions.
At least Anders had been silenced (by Ethan?), and that had bought them some time, time which was now running short.
With Orpheus and Mutt both out of the picture, everyone looked to him for leadership, and he didn't want to let them down. He ordered each of them, in turn, to get into the conference room: first Tim, then Fish, and now it was Rachel's turn. She'd been last because she'd been closest, and in the best position to provide covering fire for the other two.
"Rachel! Conference room! Now!"
She was a good soldier and followed his order immediately. She ducked in the room, out of the line of fire, and blindfired a few more rounds to cover Sam.
The conference room looked like it was a mile away. Forty feet. Ten across, thirty down. That's all.
Sam swapped out for his last fresh magazine, psyched himself up, and ran for the door. He began to empty his magazine to cover himself. Rachel and Fish added what they could, as well.
When Sam felt something explode in his midsection, he knew it wasn't enough. He felt another impact in his chest. His rifle flew from his hands and he crashed to the floor ten feet from his goal. He rolled onto his back and his hands flew to his wounds. He'd been a soldier for a long time in his youth, and he knew that just one of these wounds would probably be fatal on the battlefield, and that's exactly where he was. Both wounds? Certain death.
He turned his head and looked at the door. Fish, emotional as always, wrestled with Tim just inside the doorway. It was evident that Fish wanted to charge headlong into the hall and rescue his friend. That was Fish in a nutshell: a fiercely loyal kamikaze. Tim, on the other hand, looked devastated, but still kept his head about him enough to realize the folly of it. Sam hoped that he would take control until the others got back.
The girl? He couldn't read her. She seemed unsure of what to do, but still had the presence of mind to notice the Scythe agent who thought to take the opportunity to move up, and she put one in his shoulder. He collapsed in a doorway, hopefully dead. Sam didn't think anyone else would be that dumb, because all they had to do was wait.
"Sam! You clear?"
He fumbled for his radio. He pressed it to his mouth and said, "Yeah." His vision got blurry, but he blinked the fuzziness away and it ran down his temples. "We're clear. Thanks, Mutt."
His death was no longer in question, so he felt free to use all of his energy in one final burst. "Rachel...they're coming! Get everyone inside!"
"Save your strength, Sam! We'll get you!"
"Just stay inside!" It hurt like Hell to scream, but he wanted to get his point across.
She didn't shut the door. She swept her eyes back and forth along the corridor, looking for all the world like she was trying to form a plan to save a man who couldn't be saved.
He admired her tremendously just then. He didn't care if it was his place to be proud of her or not. He simply was. His dying mind began to wander, and he became jealous that Orpheus would eventually be able to call her daughter. He wished he'd gotten to know Ethan better. He wished he'd had the chance to say his goodbyes. He wished he'd be around to make the ones responsible pay. He wished he'd been a better protector of the people on the island. He wished more than anything that he'd made more time for Gwen when they were younger. He wished he'd fought harder for her. He wished that she thought of him the same way from time to time.
He wished, he wished, he wished...then he saw the mass of bodies appear at the end of the corridor, and knew that the time for wishing was over.
The time for reaping was here.
* * *
Mutt sweated profusely and shivered, and only some of it was due to the strain of keeping his sickness at bay. He was about to give carte blanche to the very things he'd been fighting, killing, and running from for an eternity, it seemed. It was almost over, in more ways than one. The zombies were crowding him so closely in the stairwell that he found it difficult to move. He'd never been claustrophobic, but he understood it a little better now. He felt like it was becoming harder to control them. The reality was that it was becoming harder to control himself.
Jen had used the last bit of treatment on him; all that was left was the antidote, and he'd need it soon. He had to unleash his followers first, and he needed his infection to do that. He'd need to get them back under control long enough to clear them out, too. Then, and only then, could he fix himself.
"You walk through the first door you see and lock yourself in, if you can."
"Okay."
He pushed to the front of the mob, Jen in tow. He turned the knob and opened the door.
When he stepped out in the hallway, the first thing he saw was several black-suited bodies lying in the hallway, all but one apparently dead. The other seemed to be yelling, but Mutt couldn't make it out. Then the surviving Scythe members turne
d and saw him just before he backed into the sea of undead again. He nodded to the door on his right. "Go there now. And give me that antidote; I'm going to have to take it fast."
She stood on the tips of her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "You got it. Be careful." She walked gingerly to the door, and had to nudge a few zombies aside to open the door. They seemed not to notice, and she disappeared into whatever room that was.
The gunshots started, but Mutt was safely behind the masses. He thought about all of the things he'd gone through since the outbreak, and the anger began to rise. The zombies began to first shift back and forth on their feet, then bounce off of each other. Their increased aggression was evident, and it would only take a little push to send them into a rage.
Mutt thought about the first day, the first hours, and those poor people who'd been trapped in the bathroom. They had begged for help, and he couldn't come through for them. Worse, he didn't have the guts to do what Holt did. With that thought, he released all of the frustration and rage that he'd held in. He bellowed, and the zombies shot forward like so many bullets. They swept over the screaming Scythe agents, their gunfire a mere annoyance to them.
Mutt let the cork off of his own rage and kept pace.
* * *
Ethan caught up to Dr. Vincent while the helicopter powered up. He put a gun to the pilot's head. The pilot, Jameson, was quickly convinced to take his hands off of the controls and put them on the instrument panel. Ethan started yelling instructions, but Jameson mimed that he couldn't hear and pointed to a headset. Ethan nodded, and the pilot slowly grabbed it and handed it to him. Ethan put the headset on, and began to speak. He backed up a few paces so he could keep an eye on both pilot and passenger.
"You're not going anywhere yet."
"Dude, chill out. I'm listening."
"I got people who'll need a ride."
"If they make it. It's gone all pear-shaped down there."
"Yeah, I know. I brought it here."
The pilot studied him. "Holy shit. You're the Holt kid."
Ethan didn't confirm it, but the pilot knew.
