Orpheus Born (4 page)

I headed into the storage room.  There was an overhead light, and the power in the building was still on, but I stayed in the dark. I thought that if I even glanced at my hand I'd lose my nerve, and those people would suffer for it.

The guy's name was Ed, and he was trapped with five other people. I didn't want to know if they were men, women, or, God forbid, kids. I didn't want names, either. I needed Ed's name to get through to him, that's all.

I kept my voice low and asked him if anyone else could hear me; he said that he could barely hear me. I explained to him the situation as calmly and rationally as I could, when I just wanted to go back downstairs, guns blazing, and get them out.

"Ed, listen to me. Those things are going to get in. They're going to get in soon. And they will tear you and your people apart."

"There's got to be another way!"

"If there were another way, I'd be using it. Believe me." I swallowed hard before I said the next thing. "You're going to die, Ed. There is no hope for you. I'm sorry."

"You don't mean..."

"I do mean it!" I started to raise my voice. I wasn't angry (not at him, at least) but I was trying to get his adrenaline flowing so he could be the bad guy. "If you're lucky, you'll die quick and not come back. If you're not lucky, you'll become one of those fucking things! Is that what you want?"

Ed keyed his radio but didn't say anything for a moment. In the background I heard someone yell, "What are we gonna do?!? They're gonna get in!!!"

"What do I do?"

"You get close to your friends. You reassure them. And then you shoot them in the head as fast as you can. The bodies will hold the door long enough for you to-"

Jesus Christ, I really said this stuff.

"I can't!"

"Yes, you fucking can! You're the only one who can save those people! So quit being a coward, do your job, and save them! Do it! DO IT!!!"

I heard the shots through the floor. They were mixed in with some shouts; I might have been standing right on top of them.

There were a total of eight shots.

That meant that a couple of people needed more than one. There was a long pause between shots, and I thought it was over, then I heard a man's voice screaming the Lord's Prayer. One last shot punctuated "AMEN!"

It was finally over. That part at least.

That whole exchange couldn't have taken longer than two minutes. I spent the next several composing myself, because leadership had been transferred to me, and I had to act the part. My hand kept returning to fiddle with my sidearm. Feeling the way I was at that moment, that was dangerous. I willed my hands to feel around on the shelves for a distraction. I grabbed a box of toothpicks, pulled one out, and snapped it between my thumb and forefinger. I broke another one in the same manner.

I went through the entire box before I opened the door a
gain.

I really had nothing to say at the moment, and I went up the stairs. Didn't even check to see if there were zombies above me.

I try to avoid thinking about this, because it reminds me how much I hate myself.



We'd guessed right. The upper
floors were not only clean, but going about business as usual, so to speak. The doctor who let us in gave us the dime tour. It was actually really impressive. The doc explained that, even when the island lost power, which was an inevitability, the hospital was entirely self-sufficient via wind, solar, and geothermal. My group hadn't been on the run for more than a few hours, and we'd already seen how fast society can degrade. Once the power goes out, it's a whole new ballgame. So we had one giant checkmark in our favor.

I remember reading about how big a deal it was that the hospital won the bid for the new biotech research center. I still had no idea exactly what they did there, and I hadn't been in the hospital since I sprained my ankle about three years ago.

There were a few handfuls of hospital employees. I really couldn't tell the difference between the researchers and the medical staff. What I knew for sure was that I didn't see any other outside survivors. The six of us were it. As far as I knew, we were all that was left of the island population.

The doctor showed us to some unused rooms. We had beds, bathrooms, and security.

It was a start. But only a start.

After we got settled in, the doc took us to meet the head of the hospital and overall dick Martin Trager.

I put out my hand and he gave it one of those megafirm macho handshake squeezes designed to assert some power.

At least, I think he tried to. I couldn't really tell.

Remember how I feel about first impressions. And I'm never wrong.

Still, I had to make nice, at least for a little while. I figured we could help each other.

He may have had the same thoughts, because he asked me to stay behind and chat one-on-one. Anders was reluctant to leave. “Need help finding the door?” I asked.

He glared at me, then left without saying a word.

I sat in the chair at the front of his desk and had time to think,
Man, his office is nice,
while he adjusted his tie.

"So, Mr. Holt ... what do you prefer to be called?"

"Holt's fine."

"Martin."

"Okay, Martin, any news from the mainland?"

"We've lost contact with everything. Phones, internet, TV, radio are all out. Worst-case scenario is that we're looking at the most coordinated and large-scale terrorist attack in history."

"Goddamn."

"You strike me as the no-bullshit type, Holt. I'll cut right to the chase. Our home, however you want to classify it, is dying. We have to stop it." I'll give credit where credit is due here; I believe he was sincere when he said that, but he got right back into power-broker mode. "We're sitting in the best biotech lab on the East Coast. If anyplace can stop this ... whatever it is ... this is it."

"I don't know how close you've been to it, but I don't see any stopping it."

"Well, you're not me."

That got my attention. "Really. Meaning?"

"Meaning that I'm a visionary. A strategist. A general. I see the big picture. You? I can tell you're a soldier. A field leader. You get the things done that people like me need done."

No one would ever accuse Martin Trager of lacking confidence. I stifled a chuckle and let him continue.

"I have resources and a plan. I need men to use the resources and execute that plan. And then you show up. I feel like I hit the jackpot."

"Why me?"

He let his business speak drop for a minute. "Come on, Holt. Seriously? Let's talk about you for a second. Here's what I already know about you. You confirm or deny. Ex-military. Saw combat. Honorably discharged."

Two of those three were easy, and the combat part was an educated guess.

"Hell of a leader, too, seeing as a twenty-year veteran of the LWPD and
one of my own fucking paid security employees
are following you within an hour of meeting you."

"Okay, I'll admit that was pretty good. So what?"

"So, I have a state-of-the-art facility with its own power sources. I have scientists who specialize in bio treatments. I have a Medivac chopper and a pilot to fly it. But I also have patients that need care. I'm going to lose a lot of them; there's just no avoiding that. That's the immediate problem."

"Not the zombies?"

"That's the long-term problem, and I'll get to that. I have a duty to those patients. I also hold out hope that we'll find more survivors in the coming days, and a lot of them might need treatment. If that happens, we'll run out of supplies even faster. That's why I need the truck."

"The truck?"

"The medical supply truck. We were due a delivery today. That truck will keep us in business for a while longer."

I had a thought. "The supplies were flown in?"

"I know what you're thinking. I sent Jameson the pilot up an hour ago to take a look. The airport is overrun. Even if we could get to a plane, we don't have anyone to fly it. And even if we did, where would we go?"

I sensed there was more, then I figured it out. "That's also where the truck is, isn't it?"

"Naturally. You see my dilemma. Or, should I say, our dilemma."

"Who says I want the job?"

"It has nothing to do with 'want,' Holt. You'll do it because you have to. I got where I am in business because I know people, and I know that you'll do it because you know you're the best man for the job, and people will die without you."

"Not interested." I was being selfish, but I wanted to concentrate 100% of my efforts on finding my family.

I got halfway across the office when Trager said, "Then send Mutters in. I'm sure he'll try to honor his responsibility, even if it gets him killed."

He pushed the right button on the first try. I walked back into the room and eyeballed his liquor cabinet. I started moving bottles aside. Everything he owned was beyond top-shelf. I tried to hide the fact that I was impressed. "We'll need weapons. Tell your pilot that we'll need a lift to the gun store tomorrow."

"That's the spirit. I surely will. Go pick your team. I hope you have an easier time convincing them than I had convincing you. And Holt?"

"What?"

"Don't do anything stupid. I need you for a lot more after this."

"I'm done after this."

"The ring on your finger says you're not. She's missing?"

I turned around and glared at him. "For now. So's my son.” I didn't think it could hurt to add the part about Ethan. Trager and I both knew that he had me already.

"That was was just a guess. But, if you pull this off, I'll make sure that you have plenty of opportunities to get out there and find her."

He's a perceptive prick, damn him.

I said, "That's a promise you're going to want to keep." My eyes settled on a bottle of Macallan 1926 scotch, and I just couldn't help myself. I made a big production of taking it off the shelf and inspecting it. I waited for the challenge that I knew he must have bee
n dying to make. When it didn't come, we both understood that he needed me as much as I needed him. I said, "Thanks for the drink," grabbed four rocks glasses, and walked out.



I wandered around the hospital thinking about building my team. I
knew who I wanted. Just as important as that, I knew who I didn't. I wouldn't go into battle with Anders at my side unless I was using him as bait.

I rounded up Mutt, Fish, Sam, and Lena and herded them into one of the break rooms. We sat around a circular table, and I put the four rocks glasses in the center.

"What's going on, Cam?" Lena asked. Her use of my name jarred me. I couldn't remember that last time I heard a woman other than my wife call me that. I didn't say anything, but started to pour a finger into each one while they looked curiously on. I poured slow, making sure not to waste a drop.

"Pretty much every culture in history has had some sort of ceremony that symbolically bonds warriors to one another. It's a show of loyalty, of putting others ahead of self. A lot of these ceremonies use what some would call the most valuable liquid of all."

"Blood brotherhood."

"Exactly, Fish. But what I have here is something far more valuable than blood: a $40,000 bottle of Scotch." I pushed a glass in each person's general direction, not right in front of them, but close enough to easily reach if they chose to. "We have a situation, and I need your help." I explained what Trager had told me, what I needed, and who I wanted with me.

"You want us to go right back into that shitstorm to get the supplies?" Mutt asked.

I nodded. "There's more." I told them about Jackie and Ethan, and about my unofficial deal with Trager.

"I'm in. I hate hospitals." He slid a rocks glass to him. Sam did the same.

Fish looked confused for a second, then said, "Oh, right."

Lena looked at the fourth glass, then at me.

"Well?" I teased.

"What? Me? No, I can't ... I mean, Mutt's a cop, Fish is security, Sam's a, wait, what do you do, Sam?"

"Retired electrician. And NRA member, which I think might be more relevant here."

"Right. I can see why you want them. But what do you want me for?"

"I need someone I can trust running point on this. Someone to organize the jobs, relay info, and maybe run interference, if necessary. Someone good with computers who can keep her mouth shut, and can flirt a man stupid if the need arises. You know anyone like that?"