Orpheus (8 page)

Orpheus nodded in agreement and could have beaten him up further over it, but he didn't. “The Jekylls are somewhere between us and them. They slip back and forth from mindless zombie to nearly-human lucidity. That's why they're so damn dangerous.”

“But we got him!” Fish whooped and high-fived Sam. “Let's go get another one!”

“Pass,” Mutt said. “I just want to relax.”

“I bet you do,” Fish said. “Maybe O will put in a good word for you.”

“Aw, shut up.”

“Knock it off. Grab our gear and prepare for extraction.” Orpheus grabbed a walkie and transmitted, “Attention, any survivors. Please respond immediately.” He waited for a few moments and got nothing. “Ethan Holt, are you there?” Still no answer. He was disappointed, as he had been for weeks, but not surprised. He repeated the transmission several more times, then replaced the radio on his belt.

Mutt patted him on the shoulder. “Next time, buddy.”

By the time the helicopter arrived they all had their bags slung on their backs. The pilot hovered and the co-pilot threw down a rope ladder and a body harness. Orpheus and Tim stayed on the roof and strapped the Jekyll into the harness while the others ascended. Orpheus gave a thumbs-up and they reeled the Jekyll in. When it was completely in the helicopter and secured, Mutt signaled for the other two to join them.

Tim went first, and as he slung his leg over the top rung and onto the floor of the helicopter, Orpheus began to climb. A few rungs from the top he stopped and looked down at the dead island in the predawn light. It was another miss, and he was running out of opportunities
.

* * *

They wasted no time getting the Jekyll to the labs. It flipped personalities several times during the short trip. At one point, it sounded like it was begging, but Orpheus did not let himself feel any empathy for whatever shred of humanity may have remained. Whoever the man used to be was long gone, and the only thing he had left was the opportunity to sacrifice himself for something nobler. Orpheus liked to think that, on some level, he...it...understood that, and was okay with it.

Trager was waiting for them at the lab as they handed the Jekyll off. “Well done, gentlemen! Well done!” He shook each hand in turn. When he got to Orpheus, he held his grip and said, “You've done this island a service every night since the beginning, but tonight, you may have saved the world. I don't want to get ahead of ourselves, but if we can do what we think we can do, it won't be hyperbole in the slightest.”

“I hope so. Tell Vincent not to enjoy his job too much.”

“Now, that's not fair. Vincent cares...” But he was talking to Orpheus' back.

Orpheus took the stairs to Lena's apartment-slash-office. He knocked on the door. She opened it and smiled. “You don't have to knock, Cameron. I've been waiting for you.”

Chapter 6:
R & R

Dr. Vincent clapped with glee as his assistants strapped the Jekyll onto the table in the sterile room. It was docile for the moment. That would make it easier for Vincent to do his work, but it wouldn't be anywhere near as exciting. Or fun.

He'd risen to the top of the laboratory food chain partly due to aptitude, but mostly due to his willingness, even eagerness, to do whatever was necessary to get results. He had no empathy for animals. Once his work began on formerly human subjects he really felt like he'd found his calling.

And now that he had
carte blanche
to poke and prod a thing that was sporadically semi-lucid? To extract the secrets to humanity's survival that were trapped within a monster? It was better than he could have ever dreamed. He imagined that he felt the same way James Bond did when he got his license to kill.

He readied his instruments slowly, thoroughly. This was a truly a sacred moment for him, the moment when he transcended from scientist to artist.

“Doctor?” One of his assistants, a young man named Cory or Cody or something like that, called over the intercom. “We believe we have a suitable control specimen here in the Pen that fits your specifications.”

Dr. Vincent depressed the talk button. “Excellent. I'll be right there to confirm.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dr. Vincent placed his instruments gently onto the tray and headed to the Pen, a definite spring in his step. The two-minute trip was excruciating; he wanted to get to business. But it was necessary to have a control sample in this kind of research.

“The Pen” was nothing more than a repurposed lecture center on the 8th floor with the tables removed. It was meant to hold a large number of zombies until they could be useful, and it had succeeded admirably. The thick, soundproofed walls kept the zombies in and any prying ears out. The zombies were actually pretty easy to control in this environment. They didn't need to be fed, go to the bathroom, and they were quiet. However, their numbers were dwindling rapidly. Orpheus might have to retrieve some more. They'd just corralled a Jekyll; how hard could a few normal zombies be after that?

Cody/Cory was waiting for him with several Scythe agents. The latter were just muscle, but they were loyal muscle. As they long as they were given power and something to kill from time to time, they'd do whatever they were asked.

Dr. Vincent stood at the door and looked through the narrow window. “Where is the specimen?”

Cody/Cory stood next to him but was careful to not touch him. He pointed to the far corner. “There. American flag necktie. Approximately the same height, weight, and ethnicity. His personnel file says that he has a clean bill of health as of his last company-mandated physical.”

“I approve. Please bring him to me.”

“Right away, Dr.”

As luck would have it, the specimen happened to be wandering towards the door. He got close enough for Dr. Vincent to read his hospital access badge: “Dr. George Marquez.”

* * *

Orpheus handed the bag of scavenged electronics to Lena and sat down on the couch. “I'll look through these ASAP.” She put the bag on her work desk. “I have a good feeling about this batch.”

“You say that every time, but thank you. Just...thank you.”

“Of course. You look like you could use a glass of wine, though.”

Lena took his grunt as a yes. “It was a bad one.”

"You got your man, though, and everyone's okay."

"I'm trying to focus on that, but it's not happening."

She poured a normal amount of wine in a plastic glass, took a look at her guest who had his head buried between his palms, and doubled it. She sat down next to him on the couch and handed him the wine. “Tell me about it, Cameron.” She waited for him to begin.

Orpheus took a big gulp and spoke softly. “The kid...he almost fucked up for the first and last time. And I did everything but give him my blessing. I knew better, I knew what he'd try, and I still let him. It's exactly the kind of thing that Ethan would have done...would do. Hell, the others probably suspected it, too, but they trusted my judgment. How screwed up is that? My head's wrecked, my judgment's totally clouded. I have to work five times as hard just to concentrate. When the shit hits the fan I'm as good as ever, but that's all instinct. Left inside my own head...I don't know. I don't know how much I have left, Lena.”

“I'm not playing Devil's advocate, but why do you still do it?”

He took another sip. “Because the job's not done yet. He's still down there somewhere. I'm going to find him. I should be out there right now.”

“So you could drop dead from exhaustion? Great idea.”

“I need to know, Lena. I need to finish it.”

“And then what?”

“Then...”

He let that single word hang, but she'd long ago figured out what he planned to do, and it had everything to do with the small pistol on his ankle, the one he thought she didn't know about.

She put her glass on the end table and took his out of his hand. She took his hand in hers and moved closer. She cupped the back of his head in her other hand and pulled it toward her.

He let himself be led.

She guided his chin to her shoulder and put her arms around him. “It's okay, Cameron. It's okay.”

“It's been Orpheus for what seems like forever.”

“You can have whatever silly code name you want when you play with the boys, but you're Cameron Holt. You're a father and a husband, and you always will be, no matter what happens. Orpheus is a lie.”

He buried his head in her embrace. She felt him sob gently. She didn't try to soothe him further, she just let him get it out. They stayed like that for a while. She was certain that he fell asleep for a few minutes, and she didn't wake him up. He eventually raised his head and wiped his eyes. “Thanks, Lena."

She quickly changed the topic of conversation. “Hey, I had an idea that might cheer you up a little.”

“Oh?”

“It might be a little out of your comfort zone, though. Take off your shirt and we'll find out.”

* * *

Not surprisingly, Tim's sleep was punctuated with nightmares, most of them involving getting eaten alive. Those he could handle. The most terrifying one, however, didn't have him killed by a zombie. In the most vivid nightmare, he became one, instead. He shambled, he burst into “life” when he saw fresh meat, he suffered gruesome injuries that barely slowed him down. Through it all, his mind remained unchanged. He was wholly aware of his actions but was unable to stop himself. His body completely betrayed him; he wanted nothing more than to take what was left of his life, but he was unable to make his flesh comply.

When he woke in the early afternoon, all he wanted to do was take a shower and burn those nightmares away with hot water and some nice, scented soap. The rest of his team was sleeping, so he took his time in the shower. He replayed the previous night's events in his head and analyzed what he'd done right and wrong, as he and Orpheus had done after his final training exercise.

On the plus side, he adapted well to what others were doing, learned the intricacies quickly, moved stealthily, his shooting accuracy was good, and he never succumbed to panic.

On the negative side, well...the Jekyll had gotten to him. He wanted to take solace in the fact that he definitely hadn't been the only one to go through that at one point, but the thing had almost killed him. Worse, he'd put everyone else in danger, however accidentally.

He'd wanted to find a survivor more than anything. Wanted to be a hero. When that thing spoke, all he could hear was a cry for help, because that's what he wanted to hear. His mind blanked out everything that Orpheus had told him just moments before. That was one instinct he knew he'd have to fight for a long time.

And to top it off, God, was he sore. That last fight had done a number on him. Everything from his shoulders to his fingertips throbbed from the effort of holding that thing off.

But he'd done it. He'd survived. He'd contributed.

And next time, he'd be better.

Like Orpheus.

Tim toweled off and threw on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He felt much better, and he was going to take another crack at sleep.

He shuffled down the hallway towards his room. As he turned the knob he heard another door near him open. He looked around and saw Orpheus leaving a room that Tim was pretty sure wasn't his own. When he heard the female voice, he was very sure. He hadn't been spotted, so he stepped over the threshold and closed the door most of the way. He peeked out, feeling like a voyeur.

“Come back when you feel like it and I'll help you take care of that,” a voice he recognized said. Her door shut. Tim followed suit. He heard footsteps past his door and into the bathroom that he'd just vacated.

He tried to rub the kinks out of his shoulders as he thought,
Hmmm
.

* * *

Orpheus splashed cold water on his face and stared at his reflection.

What did I just do? I'm not a spontaneous guy.

It was just a spur of the moment thing, but the consequences were permanent. He wanted to blame Lena for making the prospect so attractive, but she'd barely had to prompt him before he jumped at the chance. There was no denying that he'd wanted it, and had for quite some time.

She'd told him to trust her; she knew what she was doing. And she had been absolutely right; she knew what he wanted better than he did. He couldn't believe how long she'd worked on him without a break. Once she began, she'd been determined, maybe even obsessed, with finishing her task. The amount of sheer pleasure she'd derived from it was staggering. And when they were done, she'd practically collapsed from exhaustion. He would bet that she'd been asleep before he'd reached the bathroom.

He thought he'd been sore before. But this was a good kind of hurt, no doubt.

He smiled, feeling refreshed and refocused. He almost couldn't believe it.

It had been exactly what he'd needed.

He pulled off his shirt and stared at his brand-new tattoo in the mirror. It encompassed his entire upper arm. Somehow, she'd gotten her hands on the picture he kept under his pillow, the picture he foolishly kissed just before he slept. He suspected one of his teammates had helped her.