The Orpheus Trilogy (Book 2): Orpheus: Homecoming

by Dan DeWitt

  He jumped off of the guard and was on her in three paces. She still had the tablet in her hand and swung it for all she was worth. It connected squarely with Falcone's face, which changed the direction of his lunge. His momentum carried him over her, but he was fast. He scrambled back to his feet and lunged again. She still had the shattered tablet in her hand and drove it into the monster's mouth as hard as she could and didn't relent. What used to be Falcone never attempted to retreat. He just pushed on through, causing gruesome damage to his own face.

  He's winning. He's too strong.

  She heard another scream, different from the panicked one in 226. This was one all rage, and Falcone flew backwards off of her at the hands of another wearing the same uniform. Then someone grabbed her from behind and a soothing voice said, "You're okay!"

  O

  Orpheus pushed himself harder than he thought possible. His legs were screaming as he took the stairs three at a time. Under different circumstances, he would've been impressed with himself that he'd managed to outpace the kids running behind him. When he reached the top of the stairs he turned in the direction of the teacher's lounge, which Lena had made her office. He almost froze when he saw the scene in front of him. A memory shot through his mind with incredible speed.

  A few weeks after their return, Ethan had woken up screaming. His father had raced to his room to find his son sitting upright and crying. He comforted him as he did every so often when Ethan was a boy. Kids have nightmares. But Ethan hadn't had one in ten years.

  Once he was calmed down, Ethan told him about how he'd almost lost Rachel. "I was too slow. That thing was on top of her and Sam, and I couldn't get there in time." He paused a moment. "She should've died, Dad. Then a guy I'd just met saved her life at the cost of his own. Not me. Him."

  Holt wanted to tell him to not feel guilty, but that was exactly how guilt worked. The kindest people, people who had done everything they could but still came up short, were always the ones who felt the crush of guilt the most. He wasn't to blame, but he was right. Rachel should've died. She'd gotten a second chance. A miracle.

  He refused to need a miracle this time. He bellowed Falcone's name, and the thing responded. Not to the name, no. Orpheus knew that Falcone was already gone. But the noise had served its purpose. It had bought him a second.

  He reached Falcone and, without breaking stride, ran past him as he hooked both his hands underneath the collar of the zombie's jersey. Orpheus' momentum allowed him to rip Falcone off of Lena and throw him farther down the hall. The effort pulled a muscle in his shoulder, but he wouldn't notice that for a while. Falcone tried to scramble to his feet but was met with a size 13 boot to the face. The blow would have incapacitated most men, possibly even killed some. It broke Falcone's jaw and knocked it horribly askew, but it tried to get up again. Orpheus followed through with another boot. This one knocked Falcone's head to the floor with enough force to split the back of his head open.

  He still moved for Orpheus, which only enraged the man even further. A third kick almost put Falcone down for good.

  Almost.

  Orpheus stood over Falcone, breathing hard, too enraged to be capable of speech. He placed a boot on the thing's neck and pressed down. He withdrew his tomahawk, raised it above his head, and brought it down in a savage arc. The blade, brand new and as sharp as it would ever be, cleaved Falcone's head nearly in two, ending him.

  Torres

  After the thing that used to be Falcone was undeniably dead and not ever coming back, Orpheus stood in the gory remains, nearly hyperventilating. He clenched and unclenched his fists, blinking rapidly the entire time. No one in the hall would have mistaken his actions for anything but what they were: a man who had drifted over the edge and was now fighting his way back. They were all afraid to get too close.

  He thought he heard someone screaming his rank several times, but it came through as weakly as a radio station signal at the very limits of its range. Then he heard his last name, just as faint.

  "DAD!" was the one that finally got through.

  "Y-yeah, kid." He turned around to face them. Ethan was the closest. He'd apparently had to nearly scream in Orpheus' ear to be heard. Tim was helping a clearly shaken Lena to her feet. Rachel was multitasking. Her left hand was checking for a pulse in the fallen guard's wrist, while her right had a gun pressed firmly to his temple. She shook her head and only confirmed what was painfully obvious. Orpheus nodded and Rachel put a bullet in his head without hesitation, but with a great deal of remorse.

  Orpheus was relieved to see no trace of horror on any of their faces. "Lieutenant." Then to Lena: "Are you okay?"

  She nodded rapidly. "Yeah, he didn't get me."

  "When we're done here, take her to the infirmary for a full examination. Once she's cleared, I want two guards with her at all times for the next twenty-four hours. Sorry, Lena."

  Tim asked, "Is that really necessary, boss?"

  Lena saved Orpheus from giving the obvious answer. "It's no big deal."

  "We have another problem," Ethan said.

  "What is it?"

  "Torres. At least Lena thinks it's him. He's messed up."

  "Where is he?"

  Ethan motioned for his father to follow him into the room. Fish was already there, on his knee and looking under a cot. Orpheus saw the telltale signs of a struggle. An overturned table, broken glass, spatters of blood. But no Torres.

  Ethan dropped to his knees and peered under the same cot. Orpheus followed him down and cautiously turned his head sideways, pressing it to the cold floor.

  Fish said, "Good luck reaching him. He's somewhere in his happy place."

  Torres was lying flat on his back and had a death grip on the underside of the metal frame. He was looking straight up at the mattress. If Orpheus had to guess, Torres had managed to get under the cot and used his own body weight to prevent Falcone from lifting it off and getting to his prey. It was a pretty smart move, because Falcone was a bit on the heavier side and couldn't have possibly squirmed under the cot as Torres had.

  "Sergeant Torres." He got no response and tried again. No acknowledgment, and Orpheus struggled to remember his first name. "Kenneth, it's over. You can come out." Torres didn't give any acknowledgment at all. Just kept staring at that damned interesting mattress. Whatever happened in here had completely screwed with him.

  Orpheus saw something that he really didn't want to. He unclipped his mini flashlight from his belt and shined it at Torres. There was blood. Not a fatal amount, but a steady drip coming from a bite wound on Torres' forearm. "You've been bitten. You have to come out from under there. I have the antidote right here, but I can't reach you." Still no response. Orpheus tried to keep his voice calm and soothing, because yelling would only make the man retreat further, he thought. "Son, listen to me. We can fix it, but you have to let us help you."

  Shit, no one's home. No more time to play nice.

  He jumped up and saw that he had an audience at the threshold, with that damned Iver Thompson and his cameraman right at the front. "Everybody stay in the goddamn hall," he ordered.

  Then to the people in the room, "We're going to have to flip it. Rachel, have you ever administered a shot before?"

  "Yeah, my mom used to need one for her diabetes."

  He handed her the pouch. "These are ready to fire. Jam it in here, right in the meat of the thigh, plunge it, and get the fuck out of there. He's probably going to thrash, so I don't care if you break the needle off in him, just keep it clear of everyone."

  "Got it."

  "We'll hold him down." The four men each moved to a corner of the bed. Orpheus tried to remove the mattress, but it was strapped to the frame. "This is going to be awkward, but we need to flip it with him attached to it. I doubt he can let go by now. If he does, just drop the frame and hold him in place."

  "Can I help?" Lena asked.

  "Are you up to it?"

  "I'm okay."

  Orpheus didn't hesitate. "As soon a
s you can, straddle his chest. Don't be gentle. Pin him." She nodded. "Everybody ready? Now!"

  The flipping was even more violent than Orpheus expected. Not only did Torres have a vicelike grip with his hands, but he'd hooked his boots in the heavy duty straps that secured the mattress to the frame, as well. Tim and Fish were on the side facing the room and their job was to act as a pivot and assist with the lift.

  Orpheus and Ethan had to clean and jerk.

  They all grunted with the exertion and the bed was moving. Once it had hit the point of no return, Tim and Fish bailed out and let it drop. It hit the floor with a tremendous crash. Torres still hadn't let go. Terror had absolutely frozen him in place. Orpheus wasn't even sure that he knew what was happening, and that theory was supported by the fact that Torres never moved to protect his face, which ended up slamming into the underside of the bed.

  That crunch had to be his nose, and maybe some teeth.

  The plan had been to put him on his back, but not only didn't he think they could get him off in a reasonable amount of time, but then they'd run the risk of him choking on his own blood. And Orpheus wasn't going through all of this effort to have a guy die in a manner that stupid. He'd already lost two in a heartbeat.

  The four of them grabbed an arm or a leg. Orpheus put a knee across Torres' back for good measure just as Lena climbed on top and lent her weight to the effort. As Orpheus feared, the physical contact triggered the primal fighting instinct and Torres began to buck and heave. Nearly a thousand pounds of human holding him down, and he was making them work.

  Rachel swooped in and put her knee in the back of his thigh, a maneuver that would normally hurt like a son of a bitch and encourage compliance. She did exactly as Orpheus had instructed. Stab, plunge, remove. She held the now-contaminated needle well away from her body and made sure that no one else was in danger. She stabbed it into a pillow on the other cot.

  Fish shook his head like a dog to clear some sweat from his brow, as he didn't dare let go. "So now what do we do?"

  "I hate doing it, but we tie him down like this and keep an eye on him. He should be okay. We got to him quicker than I ever got to Mutt."

  Torres stopped trying to throw them off, and his whole body relaxed at once. He groaned and, in a voice muffled by the pillow, asked, "Do you think you can sit me up first?"

  O

  They moved Torres to the infirmary so they could be closer to decent medical equipment. He allowed himself to be tied to the bed, but he had enough slack to do normal things like eat and, if he was ever up to it, read a book. Orpheus thought he'd be fine. He'd seen the antidote work before, but he didn't have the medical knowledge to confirm it at the internal level. He posted a medic and three guards and told them to notify him as soon as there was anything to report.

  Then he made the call to Martin Trager.

  "Holy shit, how did the first guy get infected?"

  "Not a clue. That's one of a million reasons I need Jen. And bring a coroner, too. I need to autopsy the fuck out of Falcone."

  "Jen can do that, too. I've had her studying with a retired M.E. Leave no stone unturned and all that."

  "When does she sleep?"

  "Why would she want to do that when she can learn so much cool stuff at my behest? It's not like her boyfriend is on the island with you, or anything. By the way, she says you should check everyone for bites or any type of infection. Like naked check." He paused for a moment, then switched gears. "I'm no shrink, Holt, but how are you?"

  "I don't know. I lost two fucking guys in the blink of an eye, and I have no idea how. This bothers me on every level. We're going to do a postmortem as soon as you and I are done."

  "I can handle the calls to the families and all of that shit."

  "Thanks, but no. They have to hear from me. They were my responsibility."

  "Understood."

  "How's Jackie? I talk to her every day, but ...”

  "She misses you. She worries like you wouldn't believe. And, let me tell you, this isn't going to help things. Do you know that I talk to her at least five times more than I have to any woman I've been trying to sleep with? Being platonic is more work than I thought."

  "Yeah, that sounds rough."

  "Anyway, the three of us will be there in the morning."

  The three of us. That means Ralston.

  "Copy that."

  Orpheus hung up and walked to the teacher's lounge where his team was waiting for him, all seated at a round table. Each one of them had a beer in front of them, and he didn't think it was their first of the night, either. It didn't much matter, as Orpheus had ordered that the next two days be non-duty days. People, himself included, needed time to process this. And grieve. And get drunk, maybe. If Ralston had a problem with that, Orpheus would point him to the appropriate clause in the contract.

  "How much booze is on this island, anyway?"

  Fish reached under the table and said, "Oh, my God, I found another one!" He popped the top and slid it across the table into Orpheus' waiting hand.

  Orpheus put it to his lips and drained half of it before he sat down. He let out a long breath and took another swig. He burped and said, "That was fucked up." Then to Lena. "How are you?"

  "I, uh, I was pretty shaken up for a few minutes, but I'll be fine. This really wasn't much different from the time a guy tried to mug me in college," she said matter-of-factly. "Hand me another beer, sweetheart?"

  Tim just stared at her. "Wait, what?"

  "Oh, it was nothing. He tried to grab my purse, so I punched him in the eye twice and kicked his nuts." Her smile brought a devilish glint to her eye. "I kept my purse."

  "My girlfriend, ladies and gentlemen."

  Everyone at the table laughed. A genuine laugh was exactly what they needed. They traded funny stories for fifteen minutes or so.

  "Okay, back to business. We know what happened after Falcone got infected, but how did it happen in the first place? Whose team was he on?"

  Rachel raised her hand. "Everything went smoothly. He was never within six feet of a zombie. Nobody was."

  "I don't doubt it. I personally checked the obvious bite sites. No wounds. I want Jen to do a more extensive exam when she gets here."

  That perked Fish up. "Wait, Jen's coming here?"

  Orpheus nodded.

  "Then there's finally a decent chance I'll be having sex on the island. With a partner this time!"

  "Can we focus? No contact, no wounds." Ethan tapped his bottle on the table. "What if it's airborne?"

  "Then we're already screwed," Tim answered.

  "No one else is showing any symptoms. We'll know more once the autopsy is done, I hope. And there is the other thing to think about."

  "Which is?"

  "I spoke to Thompson. It turns out that I beat Falcone to death on camera."

  Several of them groaned.

  "But he was a zombie," Lena said. "Everyone knows they're actually a thing now."

  "He was as freshly turned as they come, and he still looked human. I haven't seen the tape, but I can imagine that it looks pretty gruesome."

  "But you did it to save her," Tim said.

  "I pulled Falcone off to save her, yes. But I could've just put one in his head and been done. Instead, I lost it."

  Rachel asked, "What'd Thompson say?"

  "He actually talked me down. He said that it only looks as bad as the narrative that goes along with it, and he has no reason to tear me down."

  "And you believe him?" Ethan was skeptical.

  "In spite of myself, yes."

  "So what's next?" Fish asked.

  "Everyone stays confined to their rooms until the others get here. Anyone so much as sneezes they get isolated. So get to it, and then get some rest."

  O

  Orpheus took his own advice and hit the sack early. After he'd brushed his teeth, he saw that he had a text waiting for him. It was from Jackie. Marty told me what happened. Call if you want to talk. Love you.

  For the
first time since coming back, he found that he just didn't have it in himself to talk tonight. The day had been that bad. He texted her back and let her know that he'd call first thing in the morning.

  He grabbed his e-reader and collapsed in bed. He knew after spending six minutes on a paragraph that reading wasn't going to happen, either. He tossed the device to the other side of the bed and stared at the ceiling.

  "You fucked up, pal."

  He thought back to Falcone's symptoms. They screamed "hangover" to him, and he wasn't alone in that. Every leading authority on zombies was in that room, and none of them thought anything of it. They all saw what they were logically supposed to see: someone who'd thrown back too many and was now paying the price. And why shouldn't they? There was no reason to believe otherwise. Falcone hadn't even come close to a zombie, and it was impossible for him to have been bitten by one. They'd all committed the sin of complacency, his sin being the biggest.

  If he'd taken two minutes to look into things, Falcone may still be alive. The guard, Barr, certainly would be.

  Ethan's airborne hypothesis was terrifying, but no one else had any symptoms.

  The paranoid parts of Orpheus' mind (parts which were considerably larger than they had been several years ago) began to posit that the zombie virus was an intelligent, vindictive creature sent to Earth solely to fuck with Cameron Quincy Holt.

  Hey, you think you know everything about me? Let's see if you're ready for this!

  He backhanded his pillow in frustration. It didn't hurt his hand any, but his shoulder objected. On top of everything else, he'd injured himself. If he was lucky, it was only a pulled muscle. But at the rate things were going, he'd need surgery.

  He sat up again and crossed his legs as best he could. He closed his eyes and tried a few meditation techniques that his shrink had taught him. He liked the guy, Dr. Clausen. He was a good listener, and he was direct. Orpheus remembered the day that the doc had broached the subject of meditation. Naturally, he had resisted, and said he didn't see the point. Clausen countered that the point was to "keep you coming to me instead of a divorce attorney."