Orpheus: Homecoming (The Orpheus Trilogy Book 2) (20 page)

"We're going to get noticed, there's no avoiding that. We'll just have to think of a good excuse."

"I think I can handle that." Lena consulted her map. "Yeah, yeah, I can post the squads in pairs here and here. That way, Tim and Fish can command both really easily, and you can do post checks." She made air quotes around the last two words. "Even better, if you run into any real trouble, you'll have backup close, even if they don't know it."

"That is genius," Orpheus said in awe. "Okay, I want to go tomorrow, early. Let's get it done."

Orpheus had trouble sleeping. The Scotch didn't help. Talking to Jackie didn't help (although it always made him feel better, lighter somehow). Reading, TV, fresh air ... nothing helped knock him out. His mind wouldn't stop racing, and it felt like he hit the same bump in the road every time around. Normally, a little meditation would slow it down enough that he could sleep, but even that was ineffectual.

Something was nagging at him.

It wasn't the plan, or going home, or the zombies. He was bringing two very capable people with him, two Jeeps, and plenty of firepower. If things went bad or he just didn't see what he hoped to see, he could call the whole thing off and retreat easily. Even if things went completely pear-shaped, they could hole up long enough for the cavalry to come in and mop up. He'd have some 'splainin' to do, but he'd manage.

The primary mission of reclaiming the island was going smoothly, save for the one as yet unexplained tragedy. They'd follow up on Jen's discovery tomorrow, and hopefully not come back empty-handed. Supplies were plentiful, equipment was in good working order, and even the interviews with Lena weren't horrible.

What was he missing?

He rolled over and looked at the digital readout on the clock. Not yet midnight.

He got up and double-checked his gear. His sidearm was ready, though he'd grab a rifle from the armory before they went on post checks. His uniform was pressed, his boots shined. His ID was on the table, along with an MRE in case it took longer than he thought it would. The tomahawk had been cleaned; that was definitely coming.

The black pouch containing the antidote was with his gear. He must have put it there out of habit. Not long ago it seemed like the most important thing in the world to carry with him, now it was just a waste of a pretty sweet pouch.

I wish I could get my hands on Vincent one more time, zombie or not.

In order to make that happen, Orpheus would have to move God knows how many tons of steel and concrete to get to him. But the thought of a zombified, yet not truly dead, Vincent trapped under the rubble all of this time tickled the darkest parts of his soul.

Orpheus didn't allow himself to feel bad about it. The very least that Vincent deserved was to never go home again.

Home.

That word stopped Orpheus cold, but he wasn't sure why. Something was trying to click into place in his mind. He tried to let it happen and willed himself to think about something, anything else. He grabbed his tablet and fired up YouTube. He played the first video he saw, a monologue from one of the late night hosts.

Home.

That was it. That was the bump in the road.

Vincent wasn't an islander, and he would have never called this place home. But he had to have a place here on the island prior to the outbreak. He was the string-puller, and he wouldn't have done that over the phone.

If he was ever going to find out anything about the cure, that was his best shot.

He knew just the snooping bastard to bring in on this.

He scrolled through his phone directory until he found "PITA."

Pain In The Ass.

Suddenly, he was very glad to have added his number.

A sleepy voice answered on the third ring. "What?"

"Thompson, Orpheus. We need to talk. No, it can't wait."

Thompson cleared his throat. "Okay, where?"

"I'll come to you."

Thompson said, "Okay, I'll bake a cake," and hung up.

Orpheus didn't bother putting on his boots. Thompson was just down the hall anyway. He jogged to his room in his sock feet and knocked softly. Thompson let him in and closed the door behind him.

Orpheus said, "Hey," then lost his train of thought when a lovely aroma hit his nose. "You brewing coffee?"

"It's not my first midnight meeting, Cap. You ain't talking to a rookie. It'll be done in five minutes."

Orpheus didn't say anything, and Thompson filled the silence. "But I bet that you didn't come here for my hazelnut blend."

"True. That report you gave after the ... the thing."

"Yeah?"

"You earned my trust. How would you like to earn my respect?"

"That'd be nice, of course. It's never a bad thing to get on the good side of men in power. But I'd prefer being owed a favor."

"You come through, that may come to pass."

"What do I have to do?"

"Just be you. Sneaky, underhanded, persistent, ballbusting you."

"You and your sweet talk."

"I need an address."

Thompson pulled a small spiral notebook off of a side table. "Whose?"

Orpheus gave Thompson every bit of info that he knew about Dr. Vincent. His name, approximate age, employer (at least, who he was working for at the time). It wasn't much, but Orpheus would bet any amount of money that Thompson had done far more with far less. "I can probably get you a picture, if that'd help. He wasn't a native, but he had to have a place here at least a couple months before the outbreak."

"A doctor, huh? What kind of doctor was that again?"

"If you're any good, you'll find out anyway. He was a geneticist, but he seemed to have an affinity for virology."

"I don't suppose it will do any good to ask why you want this."

Orpheus was completely honest with the reporter. "I won't answer that. Not yet."

"Then why should I help?" Orpheus knew that Thompson was already in, but he was angling for a bigger fish. He didn't begrudge him at all.

"Well, one day I may be in a position to tell that story. I'll tell it to you and you alone. And believe me, it's a fucking doozy."

"I can call some guys. Give me a few days. What are you going to do when you find him?"

"I never said anything about looking for him. I already know where he is."

"Which is?"

Orpheus smiled a smile that felt cold, and he could only imagine how it looked to Thompson. "Not going home."

O

Tino and German were on time but the last to arrive. They each filled in at the end of a row and completed the formation. Once Orpheus was satisfied, he put everyone at ease.

"Let's get right down to business. We're going to try something new today."

There was a brief murmur in the crowd.

"Relax, this isn't a big change. Our mission coordinator is doing some aerial recon this morning at my request. She believes that we may be more efficient if we pair off the Rhinos. Her thinking is that we can attract more zombies to us, kill them, and especially move them more quickly. I agree. So we're going to do that starting tomorrow, unless there are any delays. Questions?"

A hand went up, and Orpheus acknowledged it. "What about the squads and squad leaders?"

"We're going to roll with two, one per pair of Rhinos. Today, Tim will lead Rhinos 1 and 2, Fish will have 3 and 4. I'll have the other two with me doing post checks and testing their knowledge of the entire operation. We'll switch that up tomorrow, most likely. Mr. German and Mr. Constantino?"

Both men spoke up.

"You will be assisting the squad leaders today. Shadow them, learn what they know. I'd like to get as many people as possible trained to the point that they could take a leadership mantle if necessary. I don't expect it to be an issue, but 'just in case' should always be the rule. We've seen how quickly things can go wrong."

"You got it, Cap," Tino said.

Rachel handed Orpheus the weather report and drew his attention to something on the printout.

German teased his partner under his breath. "God, you're such a kissass."

"You should speak lower. Remember what happened the last time you were whispering around him?"

"I try not to."

"I hear ya. I'd rather forget it, too."

"Weather," Orpheus said, and all of the small conversation stopped abruptly. "It's November. It's cold. And it looks like we have snow coming. That will slow things down, but we already knew that. We already have the school's plow, and the mechanics got it up and running. I'll requisition more. As an aside, if I see anyone on duty who can't immediately produce their cold weather gear, they'll do the rest of their shift naked." There was a ripple of laughter in the formation. "Clear? Dismissed."

O

Lena was up bright and early, a full fifteen minutes before her alarm went off. She'd showered the night before, so she changed out of her sweats and into her "work clothes," which consisted of a pair of camo print cargo pants (looser than they would've been if she was in a social situation), a black turtleneck, and $200 combat boots.

She observed herself in the mirror and told her reflection, "Perfectly military-ish."

She had planned to brush her teeth, but the lure of coffee was just too strong. She filled up her travel mug, grabbed a handful of energy bars, threw her bag over her shoulder, and was off. 

She liked her job on the island, all of the planning, and looking at maps, and grease penciling. Despite her pixie-ish outward appearance, she was methodical and detail-oriented. But, as with any other job, routine could become very boring. She wasn't generally a thrill seeker (outside of the occasional snowboarding), but she was looking forward to doing some field work, even it was hundreds of feet up.

And doing something on the down low for Cam? That she
loved
to do, and this was a much more positive subject than the last time, when she was searching for Ethan. It appealed to the romantic spy inside of her. She hoped that she didn't look took too excited when he'd asked her.

The guard opened the door to the helipad before she'd reached him. She flashed her ID from the lanyard around her neck, and he said, "Not necessary, ma’am. Enjoy the view."

Now all she had to do was wait for her pilot.

When she saw the lanky figure leaning against the front of the helicopter, she said, "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me." She reached him and asked, "How'd you beat me here?"

"I don't need much sleep," Jameson said. The truth was closer to he didn't want to sleep much. "We're all checked out. I can fire her up and go."

"Do you already have the coordinates?"

"Yup."

"Then let's do this."

He had them airborne within minutes. Lena watched the few posted guards grow smaller beneath them. Jameson finessed the controls and the helicopter pitched forward. "Let me know if it's too fast," he said into his headset.

"No, this is good, this is real good," Lena answered. She pulled a camera and a notepad out of her bag. Whenever she saw activity, no matter how many or few, she took some photos and noted where they were. "The infestation is mostly pretty thin here, which is both a blessing and a curse. For safety, good. For baiting them close enough to kill them, bad."

"Speaking of which, aren't you afraid that they'll tail us all around the island, making your work obsolete already?"

"Not really. If you stay high enough, they lose interest pretty fast."

"Copy that."

By the time they got to Orpheus' neighborhood she'd taken nearly two hundred photos of thousands of zombies. That was in line with her guesstimate of the remaining population of the island.

Things changed when they got there. The cul-de-sac was completely devoid of movement. All of the zombies had moved on, for one reason or another. "You see anything?"

Jameson said, "Not really. Wait, I think I got something. Check in that pool." Jameson rotated the chopper so she could get a better look.

She put the camera to her eye and zoomed in. At first, she didn't know what she was looking at, but whatever it was, it was moving. She could barely discern that it used to be human. She zoomed in farther and immediately regretted it. At that distance, she could make out the grotesque bloated form in water that was nearly black. "Oh, gross."

"Is that what I think it is?" Jameson asked.

"Unfortunately, yes. It must've fallen in and doesn't have the dexterity to get out. That makes me sad."

"Heh. You sound like my daughter. She's sympathetic like you. No idea where she got it from."

Lena thought about what he said. A daughter. That made her think about Jameson in a new light. Despite their harrowing escape from the island, she realized that she knew nothing about the man. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You mean, after that one?"

She smiled. "Touché. Why did you come back to the island? The only reason that Cam came back in the first place is because he can't keep his temper. Ethan and Rachel are his family. I'd say the same about Tim and Fish, too."

Jameson turned it back on her. "Well, why are you here?"

"He saved my life. Tim's here. I'm the only one who could run this op. Pick one."

She couldn't see his eyes through the visor, but it felt like he was staring.

"But you?"