The Orpheus Trilogy (Book 2): Orpheus: Homecoming

by Dan DeWitt

  Orpheus was in his office during Thompson's special report. He was aware of the conversation that Trager and Ralston had with him, and he thought that the way they framed Falcone's infection could work, but it was all up to Thompson. If he went off script, or worse, told the absolute truth, a lot of people would act irrationally, and that's how panic spread. Then there was the video of Orpheus putting the boot and his tomahawk to someone who looked just like them, and there was no telling what the reaction to that would be

  Orpheus recognized the irony that maybe they'd have a right to be panicked, because Jen still had no idea how Falcone had been infected in the first place. Orpheus had observed her performing the autopsy for a bit. She lacked the experience of a seasoned medical examiner, but her raw skill was impressive, and she was relentless. She might be the only person alive who wanted answers even more than he did. He was confident that if there was something to be found, she wouldn't stop until she had it clenched in her teeth.

  He poured a Scotch and settled in to embrace the horror.

  "This is Iver Thompson, reporting from Lost Whaler Island, or as the world now knows it, Island Z." The talking head at the studio thanked him and put on a solemn face before asking him about the casualties. Thompson related the story about how the working theory is that Falcone had been the victim of a freak accident, specifically getting zombie gore splashed into an open wound. For all Orpheus know, that actually was a possibility. It was pretty much the only theory they had. They'd traced Falcone's steps and no one could put him anywhere near a zombie. He was accounted for all of the previous night, at least to a degree that there was no realistic way that he could have snuck out (why?) and gotten infected.

  “... exhibited all of the symptoms of the flu and was sent to his quarters by Captain Cameron "Orpheus" Holt." That was true, and better than saying he was hungover.

  “... attacked his roommate, who fought him off, but not before being bitten himself." No mention of said roommate cowering under his bed. That was more to protect Torres' dignity than anything. His actions were understandable, but there was no reason to run the risk of making him appear to be a coward.

  " ... killed a guard who came to assist, then attacked Mission Coordinator Lena Callahan. Please be advised that the school's surveillance cameras caught the incident from this point forward. What we are about to show is extremely disturbing and viewers should exercise discretion." This was the first time that Orpheus had seen the video, and Thompson was right about the video being disturbing. The angle and the grainy quality of the footage reminded Orpheus of any number of low budget or found footage horror movies, but he'd been exposed to the real savagery that the zombies exhibited. The way that Falcone tore into the guard ... there was just no faking that. Orpheus actually gasped when Falcone turned on Lena. It was so sudden and so unbelievably fast.

  Orpheus closed his eyes. Here it comes.

  "She, in turn, was rescued by the heroics of none other than Orpheus himself, who connected the dots just in time." Orpheus watched himself swoop into the picture, grab Falcone's shirt and launch him off of Lena. He watched himself match Falcone's savagery with his own.

  " ... as Orpheus delivered a merciful coup de grâce via an unusual weapon." The video showed the first blow, which was the killing one, and then cut off without showing the repeated strikes that were the hallmark of a man who had lost control of himself. "I was fortunate enough to interview Orpheus shortly thereafter. He was clearly distraught by the whole affair and took complete responsibility, though his culpability is questionable, at worst. If I may interject a personal note, I was present for the briefing in question, and there was no reason to believe that Private Falcone suffered from anything other than the flu, so Orpheus is putting undue blame on his own shoulders, which is par for the course. In fact, his quick thinking kept a tragedy from becoming an absolute catastrophe.

  That talking head, "That is an incredible story, Iver. Any word on the wounded soldier?"

  "Sergeant Torres, unfortunately, succumbed to the virus and is currently being studied. He recognized the unique opportunity that his circumstances presented and gave his blessing prior to his passing. Captain Holt has assured me that as soon as they have nothing left to learn, Sergeant Torres will be laid to rest immediately and given a hero's funeral."

  "There are a lot of heroes in this story, it seems."

  "Indeed."

  "Iver, you mentioned an 'unusual' weapon. Everything happened so quickly that it may have been difficult for our viewers to recognize. Can you go into further detail?"

  Thompson adopted a slightly lighter tone. "It was a tomahawk, Chet. He told me that the weapon was a gift from his wife, a symbol of affection which ended up serving a very practical purpose. I can also tell you that it has been at Orpheus' side ever since."

  "A good luck totem, perhaps?"

  Thompson smiled. "Absolutely."

  The talking head thanked Thompson and he and his female co-anchor bantered a bit before saying, "We would love to hear your reaction. Feel free to comment on our Facebook page or reach us on Twitter at the address below, hashtag 'Orpheus.'"

  No, thank you.

  He poured himself another Scotch and fiddled with his tape dispenser. He had to admit, it could've been much, much worse.

  His phone rang, and he checked the caller ID. Lena. "Hey."

  "Thompson asked if he could talk to you."

  Orpheus thought about it, and said yes. He'd earned it.

  Less than two minutes later Thompson was at his desk.

  "Lena said you wanted to talk to me?"

  "I just wanted to know what you thought about the report. I like to deliver on my promises."

  Orpheus considered a smartass remark, but Thomspon had done him a solid. He said nothing and poured another Scotch. This one he placed in front of Thompson. "Not bad."

  Orpheus toasted the reporter and they drank. Well, Orpheus drank. Thompson sipped at it like it was kerosene.

  Lena called again, far more excited this time, and Orpheus had a hard time understanding her. "Put me on speaker."

  "You're on, Lena."

  "You're trending on Twitter. People are loving you big time."

  Whatever she said next was swallowed up by Thompson laughing madly and saying, "Ha! I frickin' told you!"

  O

  Orpheus and Trager escorted the Colonel to the waiting chopper.

  An hour or so prior, Ralston had dressed Orpheus down for losing control of the op. Orpheus had offered little resistance, partially because he knew he'd lose his temper again (the Colonel got under his skin as much, if not more, than any person he had ever met), but mostly because it wouldn't do any good, anyway. His sole motivation at the time was staying out of jail, and that made it easy to nod and "Yes,sir" or "No, sir" in all of the right places. It actually became pretty easy for him after a while, but one look at Trager was enough to let him know that he was getting hotter and hotter. It was as if there was a finite amount of serenity between them, and right now Orpheus was taking the lion's share.

  They got through it, Ralston took his victory lap, and everyone agreed that he'd had enough of the island.

  They were about a hundred feet from the helicopter when Trager signaled the pilot. The pilot threw a thumbs-up, then did a double-take.

  Orpheus thought, No way. Jameson.

  Ralston said, "I have to make some calls," and walked several paces away from the group.

  Jameson decided to make the effort to meet them halfway. "Well, look at this gruff sonuvabitch right here." He offered his hand.

  Orpheus took it and said, "Where the Hell did they dig you up?"

  "Under a pile of prostitutes, I was told. I dunno, I can't really remember."

  Orpheus laughed for the first time in days. "Good to see you again. If I'd known, I would've given you the tour."

  "You'll have plenty of time for that." He motioned to his boss, Trager. "He's pimping me out to you, just like old times. I have to shuttl
e him and His Highness over there back to his kingdom, and I'm yours."

  Orpheus asked, "Jesus, does anyone like that guy?"

  "If they do, they're wisely keeping it under their hats."

  Ralston had apparently finished his call, because he yelled over, "Hey, I don't have all day!"

  Jameson said, "Copy that, sir! I'm good to go!" Then, in a lower vice, "Sorry, gents. Duty ... as in shit ... calls."

  Back to business

  Several weeks passed, the previous crisis not forgotten, but in the rearview mirror. The teams knew their jobs and did them efficiently. Every other day, Jameson took Orpheus and Lena up for a bird's eye view of the island. As Lena had suspected, their activity on the island was changing the zombie landscape. The flights allowed her to update her maps and make any necessary changes to the mission plan.

  Ethan, Rachel, Tim, and Fish were entirely maintenance-free at this point. Their squad members had bought in to their leadership, so outside of the briefings, Orpheus almost never had to talk business with them. At night, unless he went out of his way to socialize with them, he was free to do his own thing.

  His own thing consisted almost exclusively of reading, watching TV, and going to sleep.

  He called Jackie every night without fail.

  That wouldn't change just because tonight was Halloween, either.

  Halloween.

  The night that kids walked around dressed up as monsters. That was somehow more and less funny now.

  Thompson had told him that sales of zombie costumes were way down. Orpheus had no idea if the reporter was joking, but it would make sense for several reasons.

  His tablet computer started to ring. He looked at his watch; Jackie was two hours early on the call. He figured that she'd be handing out candy right now. He pressed the answer button and found that he wasn't that far off.

  Jackie started right in. "Hey, babe, I know I'm early, but there's something I just had to show you." The camera panned too fast for his eyes to follow, and then he was looking at a group of trick or treaters on his front porch. He saw a Spider-Man, a Transformer (he couldn't be sure which), a couple of soldiers, a cowboy ... the kids were waving, but that was the only thing that he noticed. His wife seemed to want to show him something big. "Jackie, what am I supposed to be looking at?"

  He heard her disembodied voice. "Look harder. You'll see it."

  He did, and then he did. It was the tomahawks that gave it away.

  The two soldiers? He was looking at two young boys dressed in a him costume. "No way," he said.

  "We're totally you!" one of them yelled, and the other one raised his tomahawk above his head and cheered (the way he was waving it around, Orpheus hoped it was fake). The rest of the kids just kind of went kid nuts. Their blood sugar had probably been spiking for the last hour, anyway.

  "I see it, guys! That's awesome!"

  They cheered louder.

  The tablet swung around again and Jackie's face filled the screen. "How great is that? I almost cried when I saw them. I'm going to give them so much candy."

  "I have a better idea. Look in the coffee table drawer. There should be a stack of these." He pointed to the lyre patch on his arm. "Maybe it'll be a collector's item someday."

  "Oh, perfect!"

  "I'll call you later?" Orpheus asked.

  "Nope. You have a party to go to. Ethan's orders. I'll talk to you tomorrow." She kissed the screen. "Love you!" She put the tablet down and he was looking at his ceiling fan. Just before the call disconnected he heard, "Dude, we totally just talked to Orpheus!"

  Orpheus sat there for several seconds after the call ended. His face hurt from smiling so much. He'd long since stopped worrying about his public perception. Trager had mentioned that Orpheus and his people had an absurdly high Q Score. Orpheus didn't bother asking what a Q Score was, but he did look it up later. It was better to be liked, he guessed.

  But the trick or treaters? That made him think about Ethan when he was a child. He knew he had Ethan's love and respect, but the unadulterated hero worship dried up as he matured and realized that his old man had a hundred faults.

  It was nice to get a taste of that one more time. For a moment, he felt younger.

  His creaking joints told a different story, but he was good for a party tonight.

  He made the trip to the cafeteria.

  The "party" was pretty much what occurred in the Zom Shelter on a nightly basis, only on a grander scale and with a whole lot more food. The cooks must have been working on the appetizers alone for days. There were no costumes, of course, but the Halloween music and decorations lent it a festive feel. The first thing he did was grab a plate and load it up with pigs in a blanket. A scoop of mustard completed his meal, and he ate them while he walked through the crowd. He nodded or waved to what felt like everyone before he took up residence at an open table.

  Fish leapt into the seat beside him. "Try the bacon-wrapped scallops. They are absolutely delicious."

  Orpheus looked at the HDTVs at either side of the cafeteria. They showed a familiar zombie movie, though Orpheus couldn't quite remember the name. "That your doing? Of course it is."

  "Hey, it's a training film. Always Be Learning, that's my motto."

  "I can see that. What's the booze situation?"

  "Absolutely under control. Relax, would ya?"

  Orpheus mimed punching a time clock, and had no idea if Fish even knew what the gesture meant. "Where is everybody?"

  "Ethan and Tim are playing poker. For funsies, of course. The gals are, hold on a sec," he scanned the crowd, "they're dancing with each other, which actually means that they're dancing with the twenty closest guys, I think."

  "Where's Jen?"

  Fish's smile slipped a little. "I can barely get her out of the lab. She's there now. I just brought her a plate. She's fine, other than the obsession to find out what happened."

  "I'll talk to her tomorrow. No one understands unhealthy obsession better than me."

  "Thanks."

  "Go play, kid."

  Fish jumped up again. "En route!"

  Orpheus watched him go and envied his energy. Back in the beginning, Orpheus had thought Fish was nothing but a clown, and that he'd get himself or someone else killed. Orpheus had never been more wrong about anyone, with the possible exception of Martin Trager. Fish's concern for Jen made him concerned, too. There was no doubt that Orpheus' anger at the failed antidote was a big factor in her pushing herself like she was. He'd had broken it, so he'd fix it.

  He finished his food and went back for more. He took Fish's advice and grabbed the bacon wrapped scallops, and they were winners.

  "Where you sitting?"

  Jameson.

  "Right there."

  "Whatever you're getting, get me some, and I'll take care of the beer."

  "Good deal."

  They sat down at the table within ten seconds of each other.

  Jameson said, "Trade ya," and slid over a beer. Orpheus reciprocated with a plate of food. Jameson tore into the food and they sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes while they both ate and drank.

  Jameson was fitting right in. He and Orpheus seemed to find reasons to hang out with each other after quitting time. A good part of it was that they were close in age, shared a love of sports and cigars, and were fathers of grown kids. Another thing that Orpheus wouldn't even admit to himself was that there was a giant hole in his life where Mutt and Sam used to be. Mostly, Orpheus thought, it was because that when you scratched the hardass exterior, Jameson was a pretty cool guy. It was odd, because when they were on the island the first time, their few interactions bordered on unpleasant. But that was a pretty stressful time, and he'd come through when he was needed. Orpheus still couldn't believe that Jameson hadn't left them to die in the hospital, given his affiliation at the time.

  Jameson had earned his trust, and those few people were always welcome on the island.

  "That was some good shit right there, Holt."


  "My second plate's sitting like a brick in my stomach."

  "Come on. Let's go walk it off, old man."

  "You're two years older than I am."

  "And still I'm not the one complaining about their digestive issues. Let's grab a smoke. I'm buying."

  They exited through the large double doors and stepped into the parking lot. Jameson offered him a cigar and a lighter. Orpheus was about to light up, but he noticed that his companion wasn't doing the same.

  "Wasn't this your idea?"

  "What?"

  "The cigars. It was your idea."

  "Yeah. Right, right."

  Jameson lit his own and took a draw.

  Orpheus could feel that something was wrong, but didn't say anything. They smoked, this time the silence was covering up for something. Orpheus's suspicions were confirmed when he caught Jameson surreptitiously wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

  "We're friends, right?" Jameson finally offered.

  "Yeah."

  "No, I mean we're friends friends."

  "I'm not kissing you, Ron."

  Jameson barked out a laugh but said, "Would you quit screwing around? I'm serious, for once."

  "Yes, of course we're friends. Now what's going on with you?"

  Jameson exhaled, his cigar smoke mingling with the water vapor in the cold October air. "I don't know how much longer I can stay here on the island."

  "What's the matter? Something going on back home?"

  "No, not back home. With me."

  "And?"

  Jameson just came right out with it. "Lymphoma. My second bout."

  That response was completely unexpected, and he had no idea how to react, so he said as much. "I don't know what to say."

  "Nothing to say, really. I already got six bonus years. The prognosis this time around is nowhere near as rosy, even with the chemo. And I can't go through that shit again."

  "Is there anything I can do?"

  "I didn't tell you this because I needed anything from you. I told you so you and you alone would know why they're going to "catch" me drunk flying soon. They'll fire me, I'll pack my shit, and I'll just disappear. There are some places I want to see, people I want to talk to. But you above all people deserve to know the truth. I don't want anyone else's sympathy. I'd rather they focus on doing their jobs."