They’d never go away.
And neither she nor the kids would ever get out of there alive.
* * *
Consciousness came back to Homer, in the form of pain.
His head felt like an extremely large sailor had wound up and kicked him full in the side of the head. Worse, all his muscles hurt in a strange way – it felt like his very bones ached, the marrow in them throbbing – and his skin felt as if it had been cooked.
Which, he realized, was exactly what had happened.
Looking over his shoulder, he could now see close up what he had only glimpsed for a second at a distance. It was the ADS, the Active Denial System – presumably the same one he’d seen down in the staging area. Only now it wasn’t mounted on a Humvee. It was mounted on a table. And it was pointed at the door. The same one where Kili and Homer had just made their entry.
Homer was himself sitting on the same love seat where he’d found Odin with his kids. His ankles were flex-cuffed, tight, as were his hands – and also wedged around behind him, an additional source of pain. Of course, he’d been disarmed. As his vision spooled back up, he saw his rifle propped up against one of the tables, Sarah’s Glock sitting on its surface.
Even if he’d been inclined to make a lunge for them, quick glances left and right told him he was being guarded – it looked like Mike B and Jimmy, standing to either side of him, behind the couch, holding their rifles, wearing those dumb-ass wolf pelts like half-assed Kingsguard around the Iron Throne.
No, he thought, that’d be gold cloaks. Maybe I mean Night’s Watchmen, at Castle Black. Something. Screw it.
He was obviously still dazed.
Shaking his head, working to focus his eyes farther out, finally he saw him – the Mad King himself. Odin was out beyond the dais, close to the door, talking to two other Ulfhednar. Homer realized his hearing was also still coming back when he only now started to make out what Odin was saying.
“Find that dwarven son of a whore. He can’t have gone far.”
The two pelted men, whose faces Homer couldn’t see, nodded and turned toward the door. Odin called after them.
“Oh, and keep the cocksucker alive for me.”
Something about his tone suggested he didn’t care what else they did to him as long as it didn’t kill him. Then he turned and marched across the room, back toward Homer. “Oh, good,” he said. “You’re awake.”
Stepping up onto the dais and approaching the couch, he stopped and kneeled down. But, Homer noticed, just outside of kicking range. He squinted into Homer’s eyes, smiling evilly. “Shit burns a little, don’t it? Yeah, you look a little peaked. Makes a change from sixty-degree swims at Coronado, right?”
He glanced over Homer’s head as he stood up. “It’s pretty amazing what these things can do when you up the voltage.”
Homer focused on his breathing, and trying to keep some circulation going in his arms. That – plus surveying the room, and his tactical situation. He wasn’t going to have strength to spare bantering with Odin, and it wouldn’t matter anyway. He figured he was about to get a big villain soliloquy, and wanted to use the time to his advantage, for recovery and planning.
“Motherfucking Coronado,” Odin drawled, leaning up against one of the desks, putting his palm on the butt of his pistol, and sounding nostalgic. “The start of your path. Which led you here.”
Yeah, Homer thought. Here it comes now. He knew there were no back doors to the team rooms, then tried to remember or work out where the load-bearing walls were.
Odin stripped off his windbreaker and tossed it, then leaned back against the table again, his arms bulging from under his t-shirt. “But you weren’t on the path, were you, man? You didn’t come back for the team. You just came back for your cubs.”
Homer discovered his knife was gone, too. He could now make it out on the table, by the pistol. So the flex-cuffs were staying on.
“Well, let me tell you something, frogman. Man of God. Fucking holy man – holier than thou. Your family doesn’t matter. That other fucking team of yours doesn’t matter – whatever multi-service bunch of jerk-offs you’ve been off wanking with in jolly old England. And God definitely doesn’t matter – not least due to not fucking existing and all.”
Homer took a deep breath, feeling himself being drawn into this, against his will. All right… “So,” he finally said, tiredly. “Only team guys matter, then? Or just your wolf cult here?”
Odin smiled that scary smile, and shook his head. “Nah, man. They’re all disposable, too. Even my guys. Everyone is, in the end. But tell me this – how the fuck are you going to reconcile all of your loyalties? God, your family, your team… your other team. How are you even gonna try? It’s not possible.”
Homer shook his head, smiling faintly, despite the pain. The truth was, he had already figured that one out. But he sure as hell didn’t owe Odin an explanation. Instead he said, “So if even the team doesn’t matter to you, then what does?”
Odin straightened up, bringing his arms to the edge of the table and gripping it with his powerful hands, smile melting. “The motherfucking mission, man. Closing with and destroying the enemy. That’s it. That’s the clarity. The discipline. And it’s the priority – every time. Damn the cost, personal or organizational. Damn the casualties. Fuck the civilians. Fucking villagers digging in the dirt. To hell with all the loyalties.”
Homer shook his head. “To hell with people, you mean.”
Odin smiled again. “Hey, man, we’re all of us bound for Hades, sooner or later. Doesn’t matter whether people die today, or in fifty years. But, yeah – maybe you’re finally getting it now. People are a goddamned pain in the ass. But, just sometimes, we need them, you know, for this and that.”
He went to the wall and pulled down a sheathed blade hanging there – something between a big knife and a small sword. He yanked the scabbard clear and dropped it. And he approached Homer again, kneeling down, closer this time. In the same instant, Homer felt two rough hands on his shoulders, one on either side, the men standing behind him, pressing him down into the couch. Pinning him in place.
Odin stared at him, squinting. And he said:
“Just like I need you right now – to get us into that DoE facility. But, you know what, I don’t need all of you. Not that much, in fact. Just your fucking eyes, and your thumb. But for some reason you just keep running off, taking them with you. So, you know what? I think I’m gonna cut your fucking legs off, throw on a couple of CATs, cauterize the wounds. No anesthetic. You’re a tough guy, right? Plus you’ve got God as your solace. Then I’m gonna drag your legless freak ass up to Andrews, and use your biometrics to badge my ass in.”
Homer looked back at him calmly, in his one eye. “You know what Odin, you don’t actually look like a pirate king in that thing. You don’t even look like Adam Brown. He was beautiful.”
Odin laughed. “What – you don’t like my cheese-melt face?”
Homer shook his head. “Adam’s was prettier. But that’s not what I meant. He was a beautiful man. He had a beautiful soul.”
Odin’s smile melted, and he spat on the floor. “Adam Brown was a fucking pussy. He got himself shot and bled out in the dirt of some shithole village, trying to be a fucking hero.” He put the wicked edge of the blade against Homer’s leg. “But, hey, the world needs heroes. Like you, man. Thanks for bringing those eyes and thumb back. I knew you were still a team guy at heart.”
Homer felt the steel press into his flesh.
Reverence
That first bang on the boathouse door was their death sentence.
Sarah had gotten a barricade up in front of the unlockable and in fact free-swinging door, using the heaviest stuff inside, which wasn’t heavy enough. And she’d gotten the kids hunkered down in the opposite corner. But none of that mattered.
Because the dead had seen them go in.
One of them had followed them down that pier. And one would always bring more. This meant they were done
. But Sarah tried to focus on Homer, and his faith, and his instruction, and how he tried to make her understand that everyone screwed up – but that the weight of that bag of bricks would drag her down if she hung onto it. And so instead she grasped at hope.
It was still possible there was only one of them out there.
There was still a chance.
She stepped to the door and listened for the next bang. When it hit, she put the silenced pistol to the wood and fired once. But she knew she’d missed when the banging not only repeated – but picked up in ferocity.
She fired four more times at head height, left to right.
Something heavy hit the wood outside. A body.
She almost started breathing again. It had worked. Now, if they could stay utterly silent, and jus—
But then the door banged again, harder than before – and in more than one place. And then she heard the moaning. She had dropped one. But it was too late. More had followed. Too many. The singularity was on. It would be a small one, out on the pier.
But it would be big enough to doom them.
Okay, so hope was a bust. What else? She tried instead to keep thinking, and acting. Figuring out how to adapt and overcome. Maybe she could get them out of there, through the window, down onto the water. But what the hell would she do with two small children floating out in the ocean? And, anyway, the dead would just follow them out, splashing mindlessly into the surf. They couldn’t drown.
But the kids sure could.
Sarah looked to the corner, where Isabel sat whimpering, clutching her Paddington Bear. She was a brave girl, and strong, but she was only little. And this was getting to be too much for her. Hell, it was getting to be too much for Sarah. Ben was still holding it together, cradling his sister.
Sarah racked her brain. Adapt and overcome. Maybe she could still get them out of there. God, she had to. To stay was death. Out onto the water would be bad, but she was getting desperate. Maybe they could fight their way back to the CRRC, below the base of the pier, and escape in that. That would be better than swimming for it. Moving to the side of the boathouse facing the water, she found a shuttered window and peeked out.
Searchlights. On the water, sweeping the shore.
Motherfuckers.
Scylla the monster was back out of its cave – even as the whirlpool Charybdis was surging all around them, trying to pull them under.
Panicked, guilt-riven, Sarah now had no idea what to do.
Even if she somehow got the kids out of the shack before it was surrounded and beleaguered, back onto the boat, they’d likely be captured, perhaps shot. Could she surrender? To save the children? Hope the structure kept the dead out? That Homer came for them? But that was a forlorn hope, ridiculous. After her stupid-ass loss of the radio, there was no way Homer wou—
And then she remembered.
Speaking of dumb-ass oversights.
Homer had put a tracking device in her goddamned vest. That was how he’d find them. She should have trusted him. She should have known a team guy, a Tier-1 guy, would have another plan. And this was it – one he’d orchestrated long in advance. Genius. Retreating to the corner with the kids, away from the dead hands banging on the door, she holstered her pistol and put her arm around Isabel, squeezing her tiny shoulders.
“It’s okay, baby,” she whispered. “It’s okay. Your dad is going to come for us. He’ll find us. I promise.” Taking her hand off the girl, she reached to her vest and opened up the right pouch. Bending her wrist, she dug inside, around the two rifle magazines.
Then she pulled the mags out and dumped them in her lap.
More frantically now, she twisted and dug around inside the pouch. Then her lap, then the floor around her. Then her pockets. Nothing.
The tracker was gone.
She looked down at Isabel, whose eyes shined up at her, becoming brave again. Sarah pulled the little girl to her breast, cradling her head, and shielding her eyes – both from what was coming for them, and from what she feared she couldn’t keep off her own face. Which was the crushing reality that…
The three of them were going to die right there.
* * *
Well, this is it, Homer thought, as he felt the blade cutting into the flesh of his leg, the two rough hands still pressing him down from behind. He was out of time, and out of options – and he was going to have to execute his Not going out like a punk plan. It wasn’t much, it wasn’t good, and his odds of success were low in the extreme. But it was the best he could come up with.
And you were never out of the fight.
So he knew he might find himself with God in the next few seconds. But his children would be with the Kennedy, the god of warships. Sarah would get them there. And he knew Ali would raise them. Handon would be godfather to them. Ben and Isabel were safe.
He took a breath and tensed his muscles, to make his move.
The door to the team room banged open again.
Odin eased the pressure off the blade, and looked over his shoulder, as the weight pressing Homer down eased. Odin said, “Well, that was a pretty sad fucking showing, even for you. What, did you escape for like four minutes?” When he straightened up and turned, Homer could see past him to the door.
Kili.
He was back. But he was flex-cuffed himself now, hands behind his back, and also disarmed – but still wearing his vest. He was flanked by two Ulfhednar, who held him by the elbows. Homer could see one was Tony, the other one the guy he didn’t know, who had pinned his hand in the computer lab.
They marched Kili forward into the room.
Odin rose, turned, and walked to the edge of the dais, meeting them halfway. Facing away from Homer, he boomed, “So, tell me, you hairy asshole from underneath the Misty Mountains. Have you turned your back on this team? Are you loyal to this traitor now?” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at Homer, who could see Kili hanging his head in response.
From Kili’s right side, Tony looked across the room into Homer’s eyes. Whatever warmth he’d had for him, whatever familial bonds, all were gone now.
And Homer knew exactly why.
Evidently Odin knew, too. He turned again and glared at Homer. “Because this son of a bitch shot our brother in the back of the head. Street’s gone, man. Never got a shot off. How are we supposed to feel about that? Are we supposed to forgive and forget? Turn the other cheek?”
He switched the knife to his left hand, drew his custom nickel .45 without looking down, and leveled it at Homer’s face with one hand. “You think your all-merciful God will forgive you for that? You irredeemable son of a bitch?” He rotated again, pointing the weapon at Kili’s head, and as he turned Homer could see the wicked skeletonized hammer was already cocked. “What about you? You think your ass-buddy here should get special dispensation? Say a few Hail Marys and be forgiven?”
He was working up a head of steam now. And whatever torments he’d planned for Homer before, they were probably getting worse by the second. And, also within seconds, Homer didn’t have to wonder. Odin holstered the pistol, turned, and came back, switching the knife back to his right hand as he did. Then he kneeled down and pressed the point of the blade into Homer’s groin.
His voice lower and more menacing, he said, “Now I think maybe I should cut off your junk first. You know what, your wife liked mine better, anyway.” He squinted and leaned back. “Oh, you didn’t know, did you? Ha. Yeah. I’m sure right now you’re telling yourself: hey, she did it to save herself, to save your fucking kids. But I’m telling you: she liked it.”
He stood up, stretching his arm to keep the knife where it was. His voice rising in volume again, he said, “So. You fucking abandon the team. Then you waltz back in here and try to sabotage my fucking mission – which is giving aid and comfort to the enemy.” He glanced at Kili over his shoulder. “You suborn desertion and mutiny of one of my sailors, bringing a spy right into my wheelhouse. And then you both blast back in here, right where I live, to try to fucking
assassinate me.”
He turned away from Homer and took a step closer to Kili. “So, where do you come down, dwarf? You ready to die with your swim buddy? Or do you want to make amends? Renounce this man of God. Turn your back on him. And come back into the fold.”
But Homer could see Kili wasn’t looking at Odin.
He was looking past him, straight into Homer’s eyes. “I’m sorry, brother,” Kili said, just loud enough to be heard. “You’ve got to understand – I’m doing this for Debi. And the kids.”
Homer just nodded. Of course he understood. Kili had walked with him to the end of the line.
But this was it.
Shaking loose of the hands that held his elbows, Kili rotated in place, turning his back on Odin, the dais… and on Homer.
But in one of his cuffed hands, he held a short nylon cord.
With the other, he flashed Homer a hang-ten sign.
And now Homer could see: that wasn’t his tactical vest he was wearing. It was Tecumseh’s – from the Redmen team room.
Homer tensed his legs with all his strength – and he kicked, hard. The sofa went over backward, with him on it.
As he tumbled over, he saw Odin diving for cover.
The room exploded in flame, smoke, shrapnel – and darkness.
* * *
Aside from the choking stench of burning and chemical residue, the room now was mainly filled with smoke – and moaning. It wasn’t the first suicide bombing Homer had experienced, nor the first one he’d survived.
But he wasn’t out of this one yet.
Rolling off the back of the overturned couch, he found Mike B and Jimmy lying on the ground behind him. Both were badly torn up by ball-bearing shrapnel – evidently they’d backed out of the way of the tipping sofa, instead of using it for cover, as Homer had done. Whatever happened to Tony and the other guy, Homer was pretty sure it was about the same as what had happened to Kili. And he didn’t even want to see that.
Mainly, he didn’t have time to look.
Both Mike B and Jimmy were down on the deck, lolling and moaning – but also fighting through the pain and shock, recovering, battling back. Exactly as Homer had done when the ADS hit him. And unfortunately…
Odyssey Page 31