Orpheus: Homecoming (The Orpheus Trilogy Book 2) (16 page)

"And fuck you back, I had four other researchers verify the serum that Jen made. It matched the data to a T."

Through all of this, Ralston said nothing. That caught Ethan's attention, and he gave the Colonel a hard look. He was just watching it happen with a satisfied smirk, and Ethan understood how easy he made it for people to want to punch him.

"Guys," Jen said, "you too going at isn't helping. This is no one's fault but mine, okay? It was my job to make you a working antidote."

Ethan shouted everyone down. "Hey, knock it off!" he yelled with no concern for protocol. "No one's blaming anybody for anything, right?" He held his father's gaze, and then Trager's. "
Right?
"

Orpheus squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay. What's done is done. Let's just figure out what's next. Jen, do you think you can learn anything from Torres? Because if you can't, I need to put him down. I'm already breaking a promise as it is."

Jen seemed eager to get to work. "Maybe, I don't know yet. I'd like to get a look at the other one, Falcone. He'll probably have more to offer in an autopsy, to be honest."

"Okay. Tim, take Jen to scout out the best room to work in and get her set up. Assign at least three guards. Tell Fish that he can be one of them, but only for today. I'll need him tomorrow."

"Will do." Tim and Jen left the room, both clearly relieved to do so.

Ralston spoke for the first time. "We have to get in front of this, media-wise. We have to acknowledge what happened, but we can't let it out that we have no idea how Falcone got infected. That might cause a panic."

He looked to Trager, almost as if he was expecting an argument. Trager merely said, "Agreed. Let's go talk to your intrepid reporter."

Ralston was already dialing Thompson's number, and as they walked out, could be heard asking, "Where are you?"

Then it was just the elder and younger Holt men.

Ethan asked, "What about me?"

"Tomorrow, we're back to business as usual. We're not doing any good just sitting on our asses clutching our pearls. So make sure that everyone is ready to go."

"Consider it done." But he didn't leave.

"Say what's on your mind, Ethan."

Ethan looked his father square in the eye, and the resemblance to a young Cameron Holt had never been more evident. "Are you good?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know damn well what I mean. Are you good to handle this? Because I don't want anyone else to have to do it."

Orpheus decided to be honest. "Look, I'm tense. I'm angry. I resent all of this, but only so much because I brought it on myself, which makes me annoyed." He tapped his head. "There's a lot of shit going on in here, but I'm in a pretty good place. I promise."

"We'll handle the mission. You don't have to worry about that. You just have to figure out what's going on."

"Deal."

"I'll go rally the troops." As Ethan walked by, Orpheus held his hand up, and Ethan completed the high-five without breaking stride.

Are you good?

He let out a frustrated growl which only succeeded in getting Torres' attention. The creature craned its neck toward the sound. Orpheus could see its bound hands spasming and clawing ineffectively, but he had become so used to the zombies at this point that he didn't bat an eye. He felt only a profound sadness for Torres.

Sir, if it doesn't work, kill me. I saw what it made Falcone. I don't want to ever be that.

He was betraying a dying man's last request. It was necessary, of course. They had to use every resource available, gain every possible bit of knowledge. This was bigger than any one of them, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to feel like a shit.

"If there was any other way, son, I'd take it. I'll end it as soon as I can."

Once again, Torres reacted to his voice and strained to attack.

Orpheus raised the radio to speak, but decided that it wasn't really for everyone to hear. He called Tim's cell phone. "Have you found a place?"

"I think so. Have you ever seen this place's auto shop?"

"On my way."

He double-checked Torres' bonds. He wasn't going anywhere. Still, Orpheus felt more comfortable at the foot of the gurney. He unlocked the wheels and took Torres for a quick ride.

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 shuttle 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."