Orpheus (21 page)

"And it's still in there?"

"With about three tons of furniture blocking the door, yep. Haven't heard a peep in a while," Harold said.

"Maybe it's dead," Jason said.

"I doubt it. More than likely it's just forgotten about you."

"Why do you say that, Rachel?" Denise asked.

Rachel told about how they'd seen with their own eyes how the things would eventually lose interest if they lost contact.

"That's good to know," Sister Ann said.

"So, if we stay here and stay quiet, we should be okay, right?" Jason struck Ethan as the more nervous of the two. He also suspected that the two men were lover, not that he cared, especially under the current circumstances.

"From them, maybe. But we don't have much food here. We can't stay forever."

Jason shrunk in his chair, deflated. Harold looked like he wanted to comfort him, but restrained himself. Ethan noticed, and thought that everyone else might have, too.

Sister Ann confirmed it. "Harold, we're all in this together. No need to pretend anymore."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Harold. You two aren't really fooling anyone."

Harold looked at each person at the table individually. Ethan said, "Dude, seriously...no one cares."

Harold put his arm around his lover and pulled him closer. Jason started sobbing.

Rachel said, "I propose a break."

The four of them got up and gave the men the room.

As they walked through the pews, Denise said, "They really haven't had any time to recharge themselves. I mean, this situation is screwed up enough without feeling you can't be who you are."

Sister Ann nodded.

Rachel noticed. "You knew, too?"

"I did."

"And you never said anything? You don't have a problem with it?"

"Problem? No. But I am...conflicted. My religion says one thing, my faith says another. What matters to me is that they're good for each other. And we need everyone we can get to deal with this whatever it is."

"Speaking of which, you two have spent more time among these things than probably anyone else on the island. Any theories on what it is?"

"We spent most of the time running away."

"You must have an idea or two," Denise prodded.

"Ummmm," Ethan looked to Rachel, then continued. "Here's what I know from the theater. Everything was fine, then this woman attacked a guy, then he turned into one of them, so did the security guards. But some of the people who were torn apart really quickly didn't come back. I think that's because they died before the virus took over."

"Virus?"

"It's all I can think of. There's nothing to make me think it's some supernatural plague or demons, if that's what you're asking. If it is, it's your show. I think that, if the virus gets its hooks in you before your body dies, you come back. I haven't seen anyone actually rise from the dead, but, like I said, we haven't had time to check out the local graveyards. What I have no clue about is how it was triggered. Before we lost the phones, my Dad told me that he was driving through those things, and he was miles away."

"That's disconcerting," Denise said.

"The why doesn't matter right now; we need to move."

"Any ideas?"

"Well, we were heading to the hospital, before we got hit by an armored car." Ethan slapped a palm to his head. "Oh, my poor truck."

Sister Ann said, "Didn't Trent come from the hospital? Hold on. Trent?" A head shot up from one of the pews. "There you are. Come here for a moment, please."

A short, stocky man hustled to where they stood. He was what Ethan's father would have called a "fireplug." He whispered conspiratorially. "What's up?"

Ethan asked, "You came from the hospital?"

"No, I was almost there, but it was completely overrun. The zombies were already inside. I jacked a car and headed the other way. The hospital's the last place you want to be."

"Thanks." Trent went back to his pew and resumed his nap. "Shit. Shoot. I guess the high school's an option. Industrial kitchen, generators, bomb shelter. And it's a Saturday in August, so it should be empty."

Denise said, "That's a good idea. Ann?"

"I agree."

"Awesome. We can take your car. If we cram in there, we should be able to do it in two runs."

"That's not an option. That car was on empty when I picked you up. I was coming back here."

"So we need to make it a couple miles, and we have no cars."

"That's about it."

Rachel said, "We don't need a car. We only need to make it to the middle of the street."

Chapter 17: On the Move

The sewer system on the island was laid out in a very simple manner, all right angles, like big city streets. In theory, all the survivors had to do was follow it in a straight until they hit the high school. Their perspective on distance would be skewed because of the sporadic lighting and the confined space, but they could always reference the junction boxes at each building. Ethan thought this would be the case, anyway.

The hard part was getting there.

The two religious leaders briefed the entire group, fifteen other people in all, on the plan. Most of them met the news with small nods of agreement. They were the ones who had already accepted the inevitability of the move and decided that a chance at living balanced by the possibility of immediate death was preferable to temporary safety but an inevitable death by starvation or infection.

However, there were two holdouts, a brother and sister. They had multiple reasons for not wanting to go. It was suicide, they'd never make it, the group should wait for help to arrive, God would protect the group if we stayed (Sister Ann, to her credit, squashed this right away, reminding them that He helped those who helped themselves), they wanted to be here in case any more survivors showed up, they weren't fighters...

They didn't listen to reason, so Ethan tried another tactic, one he thought his father would deploy expertly. "Tell you what, if you want to die, I'm going to make sure you do some good, at least. Here's what I'm going to do: when we're ready to go, I'm going to throw you out that window right there and let you draw a bunch of them off. Make it easier on the rest of us."

"You wouldn't..."

"Do you know how many of those things I've had to kill? How many times my girlfriend and I almost died? If you think I won't take every advantage I can at this point, you don't know me at all. Try me."

"Ethan, I..." Denise objected.

He swung his head around and glared at her. "I didn't ask for your opinion or your help, Reverend." She held his gaze for an uncomfortable moment, but he knew he'd made his point. He spoke to the two holdouts again. "We're leaving in five minutes. That gives you four-and-a-half to get warmed up. I don't want you pulling any muscles out there. The farther you get, the better it is for the rest of us. So get ready." The two people stared at him in shock.

He turned his back on them and found Rachel staring holes through him. "What are you doing?"

"Keeping people alive."

"You can't just sacrifice them."

"It's up to them whether or not I do, Rach. But I'm through playing around." He checked his watch, then addressed the entire group. "Four minutes. Is everyone...everyone who needs to be, anyway...armed?"

There were mumbles of assent. He looked at the hodgepodge of weapons between them. He still had the Fubar, of course, and Rachel had stayed with the pipe. He supposed they both had grown familiar with their first weapons and knew what they were capable of with them. He also saw a shovel, a hammer, a traditional crowbar, and some spare timber that had been stored in the basement, among other things.

"We have the food?" Two women and one man each held up a fabric shopping bag filled with stuff they'd raided from the kitchen. They started to sling them over their shoulders, and Rachel said, "Wait. These things like to grab, so hold it in your hands. We can lose the food, if we have to, because we'll have a lot more if...when...we make it to the school."

Ethan whispered to her, "Good catch."

She responded with a cold, "Uh-huh."

Ethan thought,
Wow, she's pissed at me right now.

He addressed the man with the crowbar. "You're the key. We'll keep them off of you, but we'll all die if you're not fast. Can you handle that, Diesel?"

The man held up his right arm and flexed. An apple-sized bump appeared under his skin. "I got this, kid. I got this."

"My man. Sister, you have your escort?"

She nodded, as did the two volunteers on either side of her.

"Okay. Take up your position and listen for me. As soon as I yell, you go."

"Understood. Do we have time for a quick prayer?"

"Sure. Make it a good one."

Sister Ann knelt in the aisle, and everyone, Methodists and Catholics and whatever else alike, encircled her, as did Rachel. Sister Ann recited a prayer and Ethan watched as several mouths moved along with her words. He moved to the window and peered out, hoping they could pull it off. He wasn't intentionally avoiding the prayer circle; he just didn't want anyone to see a sliver of doubt in his mind that they would all get through it. Somehow, in the short time that they'd been here, he and Rachel had become the
de facto
leaders in all affairs zombie, and he needed them to see that he believed, even if he wasn't completely sure himself.

He heard a chorus of amens and the circle broke.

Sister Ann and her escorts headed to the back, ready to utilize her sedan for the last time in the foreseeable future, if ever.

Ethan looked for the two holdouts. The man had his arm around the sobbing woman, and Ethan felt a huge pang of guilt when he said, "Are you two coming, or should I open the window for you?"

The man looked at Ethan like he would kill him if he got the chance. The woman said three simple words between sobs: "I hate you."

"Fine by me. Feel free to take a shot at me in the sewers once we get there. In the meantime, take it out on them. Somebody get them some weapons."

Rachel sidled up next to him and touched his hand. Mad as she was, she was still supporting him. Ethan hoped that she knew he was only doing what he had to do.

Harold came down the hallway, putting the cap back on a black Sharpie. "Done. Can't miss it." He found Jason and gave him a short kiss on the lips. If anyone had a problem with it, they had the good sense to say nothing. Now that the cat was out of the bag, Ethan had no doubt that Harold would start swinging if they had.

"Okay. I'm first out the door. Don't turn your backs on them at all. And, for God's sake, everyone stay
together.
Slow and steady is better than fast and dead. Everyone ready?"

There were murmurs of assent. A few were enthusiastic; the rest were terrified.

"Harold, you remember what to do once we get down there?"

"Copy that."

"That's the spirit. And you," he said to Rachel, "you stay in my pocket."

Incredibly, she smiled and winked, at the same time taking a two-handed grip on the pipe.

"Sister Ann! Go!"

The sound of the back doors being thrown open echoed in the suddenly silent church. He heard the car start up, doors slam, and screeching tires as it pulled out. A few seconds later, the sedan barreled out into the street and laid waste to a score of zombies. Ethan had been bouncing on the balls of his feet, getting himself ready.

It was time.

He threw the doors open and started fighting, the rest of the group on his heels.

Behind them, on the bathroom door, six-inch block letters proclaimed: "ZOMBIE IN HERE DO NOT OPEN UNTIL X-MAS."

* * *

In hindsight, Ethan was kind of surprised by how easy it was. Not "easy" in the sense of lack of exertion; when they all stood, covered in blood but whole, in the sewers, the monumental effort they had to undergo to get there was evident. But the plan itself? It worked perfectly.

Sister Ann initially cleared the way enough for the survivors. She knew that this was her car's swan song, and she was intent on getting her money's worth and making some memories. When the survivors broke through the doors with Ethan in the lead, she continued to milk every fume out of her gas tank.

As expected, the zombies came at them from every direction. It was the kind of sight that could root a person to the spot in fear.

The group stayed together admirably, whether out of a sense of self-preservation, solidarity, or plain terror, no one would ever bother to say. They kept their backs to each other in a tight circle, moving with halting, choppy steps, but never leaving more than a foot or two of unguarded space between them.

As they approached the manhole, Sister Ann parked on one side of it, partially cutting off one angle of attack. Her escorts jumped out of the driver's side doors and joined the fight, as did Sister Ann. Their assistance was welcome, as zombies were appearing on either side of the street, from parking lots, and seemingly from nowhere. The survivors formed a ring around the manhole cover, to better protect themselves and their "key."