Orpheus: Homecoming (The Orpheus Trilogy Book 2)

by Dan DeWitt

  The four of them were safely on the move within a few minutes. Ethan drove and Rachel rode shotgun.

  Fish and Tim sat at a round table, doing weapons checks.

  "Hey, do you remember your first chopper ride with us, Bait?"

  "I forgot how much I hated that nickname, but yes. Why?"

  "Die Hard."

  "Come again?"

  "I quoted Die Hard. Which is weird, because now we're living in Die Hard 2. 'How can the same shit happen to the same guy twice?'"

  O

  The Rhino slowed to a crawl as it turned onto Main Street. Even though the amount of zombies on the street was encouragingly low, Ethan still proceeded with caution. "We all know how quickly they can converge. This is good, but we'll have to move fast."

  "Where's your truck?" Fish asked.

  "See that twisted hunk of metal that's tied up on that lamp post?"

  Fish whistled. "You messed that thing up."

  "Hey, I got hit by an armored car. And this is where we met Tim for the first time, although 'met' might be overstating it. So the tradeoff was almost worth it."

  "Hilarious," Tim said. "I can't even come back at you, what with you two saving my ass and all."

  Ethan and Rachel fist bumped. She said, "Bragging rights forever."

  Fish interrupted. "When I'm the one that has to refocus the group, we're in trouble."

  Ethan became serious again. "You're right. Quick and easy. We slide up, I hop into the truck to grab it, and we roll. If we can get out of here without firing at all, I'll consider that a win."

  Jameson's voice came over the radio. "I need something to go on, Lieutenant. Wasting gas up here. How are we doing?"

  The pilot sounded agitated. He was openly worried about Orpheus, and Ethan supposed that he should be, too. He was, in fact, terrified. But he was also supremely confident in his father. He learned his lesson a long time ago: freaking out never helps (although he still couldn't help freaking out about his mom). "Understood. We're at my truck. We should have something for you in a few minutes."

  "We're hovering at the bridge. Out."

  "Let's give it another minute before we move in," Ethan said. They still hadn't been noticed by the decreasing number of zombies. The few that they did see shuffled across the street, through the park, and out of sight, in as straight a line as they could muster.

  "That's weird," Rachel said. "It's almost like we aren't here."

  Fish cracked a window, and he soon was the only one who realized why. He'd seen it a dozen times before. "It's the helicopter. That rhythmic whumpwhumpwhump is the best zombie bait there is, even at this distance." He addressed Ethan. "Now's as good a time as any."

  The Rhino stopped twenty feet from the truck. Rachel hopped behind the wheel, while the other two took up positions on the roof. He kissed his fiancée on the cheek and opened the door. The distance between the two vehicles was only a few strides, but time seemed to slow down as he took them. It wasn't the fear.

  It was the memories.

  Losing his mother and realizing that he couldn't go back. Getting hit by the armored car. Tim limping. Rachel almost dying.

  Sister Joan.

  His fingers closed on the handle. "Snap out of it, dummy."

  He checked. He was still alone, and he got a thumbs up from Tim. He opened the door and slid across the seat. He leaned over so he could get a good look behind the rearview mirror.

  The GoPro was still there, just as Rachel had remembered.

  It had been an awesome birthday gift, and he couldn't wait to try it out. He really wanted to take it on the slopes when they went away to Lake Placid, but he wanted to get a better feel for how it worked before that. He had mounted it to his truck and had recorded a few interesting trips.

  One of those trips had been to the cabin.

  His fingers slipped off of the squeeze latch twice, but after repositioning them he was able to pop the camera free, then he grabbed the accessory bag from the glove box. He didn't wait another second before returning to the truck. He moved to the center lounge area, where his friends were waiting. Rachel was already taking them out of town the same way they'd come in.

  He sat down and pressed the power button. "Nothing. No surprise there." They were prepared for this. He found the charging cord and plugged it in, then tried the power again. This time the display booted up with no problem. He accessed the menu and mentally crossed his fingers.

  "Anything?" Rachel asked over her shoulder.

  "One sec. I know it's here. It has to be."

  He found a thumbnail that he recognized. The thumbnail was a still photo of Ethan carrying two duffel bags to the truck. "I was trying out the remote. This is the one." He grabbed a radio. "Jameson? Standby for directions. We're in business."

  "Copy."

  Ethan used the video as a turn-by-turn guide to the bridge. When they were nearly under the helicopter, they headed up to the cabin and the helicopter flew ahead of them, scouting.

  "Anyone else think that was just way too easy?"

  Fish had just verbalized what everyone else had been thinking.

  When they reached the area of the cabin, that suspicion made all the sense in the world.

  Walking Wounded

  Orpheus and Thompson were losing ground to the undead, and even more of them were closing in on the sides.

  "Come on, kid, we need to keep moving, keep pushing,"

  Thompson groaned. "I'm not the giant here." He repositioned Orpheus' arm around his shoulder, a human crutch. "Why can't you weigh less?"

  "Man up, I could've left you in the truck."

  Thompson coughed, and this time Orpheus saw a few specks of blood. It might mean nothing, or it might mean that Thompson was really broken up internally.

  It didn't matter.

  The number of zombies didn't matter.

  The injuries didn't matter.

  They had to get to that cabin. It was their only chance at surviving.

  The end of the thick woods was upon them. If Orpheus' sense of direction was correct (not a sure thing) they should see the cabin as soon as they broke through. Sure enough, as soon as they left the forest proper, they were greeted by a welcoming silhouette of a cabin, tantalizingly close.

  That was the good news.

  The bad news was that it was on the other side of a large clearing. They'd lose their advantage over the undead on that straightaway. If the few in front were the fastest of the bunch, Orpheus didn't think that they had built up a big enough lead to get there unscathed. Orpheus was really laboring on his knee. Without Thompson's help, he wouldn't be moving half as fast.

  Orpheus unholstered his Beretta and handed it to Thompson. He did the same with the spare magazines. "Try not to lose this one."

  "We're not going to make it, are we?" Thompson didn't seem frightened, just accepting.

  "Not with you bitching like that, no. But we are going to have to fight. I don't think there's a way around it."

  "Shit."

  "Just think of the story you'll have, though."

  "I sure do love awards. I just don't want them to be posthumous."

  They were halfway to the cabin when the first few zombies freed themselves from the brush. As Orpheus had feared, they still had enough pep to break into a close approximation of a sprint. Now there was no question about fighting. The need would be upon them in a few seconds.

  "We'll get as far as we can together, then I have to break off. You keep going and get that door opened."

  Thompson looked up at his companion. "What about your leg?"

  "I can stand. I can probably even fight for a bit. I just can't run. It's our only chance."

  "All right."

  "And Thompson?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Try to cover me."

  "Aye, aye, Cap'n."

  Orpheus looked over his shoulder again. Five seconds left, no more. He raised his tomahawk. It felt ready for its first real test. "Go!"

  Thompson did as he was
told. The sudden disappearance of his support underneath Orpheus' arm caused his knee pain to flare up all over again. He shifted all of his weight to his right leg just before he crumpled.

  The first zombie to reach him was a tall, shirtless man in swimming trunks. He lunged for Orpheus, who sidestepped awkwardly and clotheslined the zombie. He heard a terrible crunch of vertebrae as the thing's head stopped where it was but the body kept going. Orpheus continued to drive his arm through and slammed the zombie to the ground. He followed up with a swift strike to the forehead, the tomahawk easily slicing through necrotic flesh and bone to destroy the brain.

  One down.

  He hobbled back a few paces before the next one was upon him.

  He killed that one, too.

  He continued this way. Fighting, retreating. Fighting retreating.

  He heard several gunshots behind him, and was about to chastise Thompson for wasting rounds on targets that were so far away, but Thompson had his own set of close range problems. A few zombies flanked him at the door. He got a good headshot on one, and Orpheus watched in horror as the second lunged for the man's neck from behind.

  Thompson threw a wild haymaker of an elbow that connected with the zombie's face. It stumbled backwards from the blow, then moved forward again. It had a sizeable dent in its face. Thompson bellowed something unintelligible and fired five panic rounds into the thing's abdomen before wising up and shooting it in the head.

  Reload, Orpheus silently urged. Reload now.

  "Behind you!!!" Thompson yelled.

  Orpheus felt the impact in his back and he hit the ground with something on top of him. He landed on his right shoulder, and it was the first time that he had felt the gunshot wound since it had happened. The adrenaline had been pumping hard ever since.

  This one was big and still pretty heavy. Orpheus put a forearm into its throat and kept the gnashing teeth at bay while he attempted to free his pinned arm and weapon.

  Three rounds, separated by no more than a second each, whistled over the things's head. Orpheus' instincts told him that the rounds were getting closer to hitting their mark each time. The fourth round found its mark and hit the zombie on the shoulder. The round knocked the zombie off balance enough that Orpheus was able to free his tomahawk and behead it with two brutal strikes.

  He saw three more bearing down on him and knew that it was over if he stopped to fight them.

  He pushed to his feet and limped violently to the cabin.

  Thompson was throwing himself at the cabin door. "It's deadbolted! I can't get it open!" His attention shifted to Orpheus. More specifically, it shifted to what was behind Orpheus. "Oh, shit."

  "Just shoot!" he screamed.

  Thompson emptied the second magazine and scored several hits. The zombies didn't notice or care about the wounds they received, but they were still just flesh and bone and were knocked off course just enough.

  Got to time this correctly, Orpheus thought. "On three!"

  "What on three?!?"

  "The door! One!"

  Step.

  "Two!"

  Step.

  "Three!!!"

  Thompson understood just in time. He threw his shoulder into the door at the same instant as Orpheus. Their combined mass and momentum caused the deadbolt to break free of the frame. Thompson was closer to the opening and his momentum carried him all the way through.

  The first zombie made it to within five feet of the threshold. There was no time to kill it, so Orpheus stuck out his hand, grabbed it by its shirt, and used its own momentum to rifle it into cabin. "Incoming!"

  "Goddamn you, Holt!" Thompson screamed from the other side of the door.

  Orpheus slipped inside and closed the door as quickly as he could, but two arms slipped through. He put his shoulder into the heavy door and pushed as hard as he could, but he couldn't close it. He only had a few more seconds before too many of those things just overpowered him. He considered using the tomahawk, but he had no angle to make any effective cuts. It would just waste time.

  "Little help!" Thompson yelled. He had his hands wrapped around the zombie's throat, at a stalemate. Orpheus slid the tomahawk across the floor to Thompson and hoped he would grab it in time.

  He turned back to his own problem and threw himself into the door again. He heard the snapping of bone, but the arms held together. His anger, kept mostly in check since he had come back to the island, erupted all at once. He slammed into the door three, four, five times. Infuriated that the arms wouldn't just break off and fall, he grabbed one and wrenched it backward viciously. This time it broke off cleanly. He dropped it to the floor and repeated the action with the second arm. He was able to shut the door, but the lockset was ruined.

  "Here! Here!" Thompson was gamely attempting to slide a heavy oak country armoire into place in front of the door. It caught on a raised section of hardwood floor and he just said, "Fuck it!" and tipped it over. It fell toward Orpheus, who was able to both avoid being crushed and redirect it at the door. The armoire hit the door with a crash and stayed there, leaning.

  "Anything out there?" Orpheus asked.

  Thompson was nearly out on his feet, but he managed to make it to the window and pull back the drapes. "Got a few seconds."

  Orpheus moved away from the door and retrieved his tomahawk from the zombie's skull before dropping to a knee at the base of the armoire. He hacked away at one of the hardwood flooring planks and created a deep trench. Before he could slide the base of the armoire into it, more zombies hit the door. They unintentionally made Orpheus' job easier, as the impact drove the armoire backward a few inches until the base jammed itself into the trench. However many were outside pounded on the door, but the cabin door was sturdy. With the armoire adding strength, it would be impenetrable for the near future.

  Orpheus slid on his ass until his back reached a wall. He sat there breathing heavily, and assessed his injuries.

  His verdict was that he was a genuine hot mess.

  "Nice job," he said to Thompson when he began to breathe normally again.

  Thompson didn't hear him. He was under the window, unmoving.

  "Aw, no, no, no," Orpheus said, as he dragged himself across the floor to the reporter. "Come on, kid, don't do this shit." After what seemed like hours, Thompson's chest began to rise and fall at regular intervals. He wasn't dead ... not yet ... but he was out cold from fatigue.

  "There you go," Orpheus said as he sat next to Thompson. Orpheus watched his own breath form clouds in front of him, and for the first time he was able to slow down and realize how cold the cabin was. There hadn't been time to realize the extent of the damage that they'd both taken, and there was almost no doubt that they were both hypothermic long before they'd reached the cabin. Now, seriously wounded and approaching shock, Orpheus began to shut down. One of the armoire doors had fallen open and spilled most of its contents. With great effort, he reached over and managed to snag a few blankets with his fingertips. His shoulder protested loudly as he drew the blankets back. He moved closer to Thompson until they were touching at the shoulder, covered them both up as best he could, and joined his friend in unconsciousness.

  Last Stop

  Orpheus awoke to the sound of pounding. His fatigued mind first thought that it was the rain hitting the aluminum roof, but the sound was all wrong for that.

  Was it drumming? That made no sense. Not out here.

  The cabin had fallen into darkness. He took a look at his watch, but it was too dark to make out the time. He tried to press the button that would light up the display, normally the easiest of tasks, but he couldn't make his fingers work.

  His eyelids started to flutter closed, but a single word, barely a whisper, shocked him awake.

  "Boss."

  He saw two silhouettes approaching him from the back of the house. One was average height and stocky, the other tall and lanky.

  Orpheus instinctively pushed backwards in an attempt to put more distance between them, but he was alread
y sealed up tight against the wall. He croaked out, "Thompson." The man next to him didn't respond. He tried again and got the same result.

  "Relax, Orpheus."

  The words carried no hint of a threat, and Orpheus settled a bit. It's not like he had a choice. He was wiped out and weaponless. Whatever was going to happen would happen without any input from him.

  The two figures stopped a few feet short and squatted down in front of him. Orpheus tried to get a better look, but they remained dark, featureless.

  "Well, would you look at this? The boss is taking a little nappy nap." The figure spoke enough that Orpheus was finally able to identify the voice, but his conclusion was impossible. That man was dead.

  "M-Mutt?"

  "Give the man a see-gar." This time the other figure spoke. Also not possible.

  The tall figure patted his front shirt pockets. "I'm fresh out, Sammy."

  "You guys can't be here," Orpheus protested.

  "So who are you talking to?"

  Orpheus didn't feel like arguing with his hallucination. He wanted it to be real. He wanted to be able to say the one thing that he never had a chance to. "I'm sorry I let you guys down."

  "Can that shit," the Sam-shadow said. "We did what we did because we wanted to. Death is just the price of doing business sometimes."

  "We went out together," the Mutt-shadow said. "Like champs, I might add. You've seen better days, pal."

  "Ragged is the only way to be in this shithole, I guess." Orpheus had dropped any resistance to the presence of his two dead friends. "No matter how well you plan."

  "That seems to be the case, yeah," Sam said.

  Mutt leaned in closer. "Listen, fun's fun, but you gotta get up, hoss."

  Orpheus sighed. "I'm burnt up, Mutt. I feel done. I don't see a way back." He motioned to his Beretta on the floor. "I only see the way out."

  "Yeah, nothing more to do I guess, right? All's well that ends well?"

  "I just don't have anything left, Sam."

  "Huh." Mutt paused. "What about this kid here? Does he have anything left? Just going to take it out of his hands? That's not the man I know. That guy had the biggest nuts I've ever seen and didn't give a shit for the odds."