Orpheus: Homecoming (The Orpheus Trilogy Book 2) (32 page)

German heard the gunshot, then another. He peered over the edge of the roof, as Thompson was already doing.

"Few more seconds," Thompson said. "Even if they all won't fit, we have to go while they're all still trying." Thompson moved to the side of the house, wanting to be as far away from the door as possible. "Wait ... wait ... now!" He didn't waste any time and dropped to the ground. German heard a yelp of pain, screamed into his radio, and followed Thompson down. The reporter had a few seconds head start, but German closed the gap almost instantly. Thompson was a mess. German took the other man's arm and slung it over his own shoulder almost without breaking stride, and they were off.

"Don't look back," German grunted. "Nothing back there but a world of shit."

"The view in front isn't much better!"

The bullets started flying and the bodies started falling all around them. One of them was damn near crippled by pain, and they had no weapons between them.

German noticed a distinct increase in effort by Thompson. The reporter grimaced and grunted with each step. "Fuck, I looked back!"

Now German was powerless to keep himself from doing the same, and he immediately saw why Thompson was suddenly in much more of a hurry. The zombies that hadn't been able to shoehorn themselves into the cabin were coming.

The pace of the firing increased. He'd seen the mini-armory on each of the Rhinos, and the number of rounds it was stocked with, which was impressive. The shooters clearly weren't concerned with killing the zombies, just delaying them long enough.

German was fine with that. All of these things would be vaporized soon enough, anyway. The island's time had come and gone.

They were close now. The Rhino bore down on them at a rate of speed that seemed reckless, even given the circumstances.

Once again, German could not have cared less.

Someone on the roof was trying to get his attention. German could make out the words ... “... ladders in the back!"

The Rhino flew by German and Thompson and dismantled a small group of the fastest zombies behind the runners. German had no idea they'd gotten so close, but the Rhino absolutely exploded them and then skidded to a stop. The two men pulled a quick U-turn and made it to the back. German practically threw Thompson at the ladder on the right and took the one on the left for himself. Zombies got close enough to claw at German's trousers before a hail of bullets cut them down.

A pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and practically manhandled him to the roof.

"Just lay flat," Tim whispered next to him. "We're travelling like this." Tim reached across German's body and clipped him in.

"Works ...” German coughed and tried to catch his breath. " ... works for me." He felt the Rhino backing up for a distance, then make a wide turn back onto the road. He relaxed a bit once he knew that they were clear of the zombies. He just stared up and watched the night sky pass above him. It was bitterly cold on the roof with the wind whipping over him, but it was far better than the alternative. In fact, it was damn enjoyable.

He tried not to think about the man they'd left behind, but he was probably dead already. German hoped for that ending. It was the best of a bunch of bad choices.

He eventually recognized the scenery and realized that they were near the school again, but the Rhino showed no signs of slowing down. He rolled over to his side and propped himself up on an elbow. He saw forms milling around outside the school, then make a beeline for the fences as soon as they spotted the moving vehicle. "No."

Tim said, "Yeah."

"What happened?"

"No idea yet. We should get answers soon."

German laid back down. "Jesus, this place is cursed, isn't it?"

"Now you're getting the idea."

"Well, at least there's some good news."

"What's that?"

German said, "The ferry's still here."

The Rhino drove down the dock and was met by two guards. One of the guards hit a switch and lowered the ramp, which settled in with a thump. Fish pulled the Rhino onto the ferry and the ramp closed behind them. He parked the Rhino where it was and killed the engine.

Ethan helped Thompson down the ladder, and Fish assisted him when the injured man got to the ground. Ethan was the last pair of boots to hit the deck, and by that time, Tino had met up with them.

"Wow, I thought you guys were dead meat." Before his mind could process who was and wasn't there, he asked, "Where's Orpheus?"

German responded by shaking his head.

Tino sighed. "Aw, shit. I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "We, uh, have another problem."

"Where?" Ethan asked.

"The bridge."

Ethan exhaled hard through his nose. "Patch Thompson up as best you can." He spoke to no one in particular, but Fish and Tim agreed. Then, to Tino: "Show me."

Ethan followed Tino up several flights of stairs. "As you know," Tino explained, "they're going to wipe this island out. It was supposed to have started already, and the ferry was supposed to have been long gone before that, but all of you were still out there. Ralston's orders were specific that it was a hard deadline."

"And?"

"So someone needed to change his mind."

They had arrived at the door to the bridge. The door was locked, and Tino knocked on it. Ethan tried to look inside, but the curtains prevented that.

"Who is it?" A female voice.

"Ethan's here."

"He can't come in yet."

Ethan looked at Tino, confused. "Is that Lena?"

"And Jen."

Ethan pounded on the door. "Come on, Lena, open up."

"Can't do it, Ethan. Is everybody here?"

Ethan swallowed hard before answering. "Yeah. Everyone."

Lena spoke to someone else inside. "Okay,
now
we can go home."

"Then let me in."

"Sweetie, step to the window and you'll understand why."

Tino said, "They locked me out before I even knew what they were planning."

Ethan sidestepped several feet and stood in front of the window. He couldn't see inside until the curtains were pulled open. Lena and Jen were in there with two other men. One, Ethan knew, was the ship's captain. The other was Ralston himself. Both of the men sat in chairs, and Ralston's hands were ziptied in front of him. The rage pouring out of Ralston was palpable. When he saw Ethan, his face turned an even deeper shade of red. Ethan was thankful that the Colonel didn't have a gun.

The only guns in the room were in the ladies' hands. Jen had hers pointed in the general direction of the captain, who didn't seem particularly stressed about the whole thing. She lowered it and the man took his place at the helm. Jen saw Ethan and said in a cheerful tone, "Hi! We're probably going to jail."

Ethan held up his hands. "What the fuck happened here, Lena?"

"We had to buy you time. They were going to bomb the island."

"They should."

"I agree, but this asshole," she motioned to Ralston, "... was going to do it with you still on it. Intentionally. We asked for a little more time, and he said no."

"It was for the security of-"

Lena's face took on a darkness that Ethan had never seen before. She took several steps toward Ralston and leveled the gun at his face. "Shut. Your. Mouth. You were going to kill my family.
My family
, you son of a bitch. I won't ever let that happen." The gun moved closer by an inch or two, and Ethan was concerned that it wasn't just for effect. He was afraid that Lena might actually pull the trigger. Everyone had their breaking point.

"Whoa, it's over," Ethan said. "We're safe."

"Lena, hey," Jen said. "We did what we had to do." She put a hand on her friend's arm.

Lena didn't move, but Jen had gotten through to her. Her face softened slightly. "So we stopped him. Just us civilians."

Ethan said, "I get it. But it's over now. Let me in."

"It's over when we get back to the mainland and the press is everywhere, not before." Lena walked away from the window and Ethan could hear, "Captain, would you kindly take us back home?"

It had been a busy couple of weeks for Martin Trager. He hadn't slept more than a handful of hours in the last three days.

That wasn't a figure of speech. There was just too much to do.

He was using every available resource, lawyer, media outlet, and personal favor he could to keep the Dynamic Duo out of jail. They'd surrendered peacefully as soon as the ferry got safely to port, as promised. They were arrested immediately, and there was nothing anyone could do about that. They'd pulled guns on two men, one of them a high-ranking military official, and caused a military op (albeit, a bullshit one) to be delayed by a grand total of 98 minutes, where it was then delayed indefinitely.

However, it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

For openers, as soon as Lena and Jen gave their first interviews they rocketed to #1 and #1A on America's Sweetheart Countdown. That's how well they played to the cameras. No one could bring themselves to believe that either one of these sweet little things would have ever harmed anyone. Trager wanted to agree with that statement. But he knew Lena. If Ralston had pushed her far enough, Trager had no doubt in his mind that she would've hurt him. Trager knew that Lena believed she was living on borrowed time, anyway, so the thought of jail to keep her friends safe didn't scare her anymore. Neither one of them would've harmed the ship's captain, though, and everyone knew that, as well.

The captain himself was a gift. He refused to press any type of charges. If Trager read him right (and he usually did) the captain never wanted to leave anyone behind on the island in the first place. He had to follow his orders. So when two women busted onto his bridge and made him sit in a chair instead of leaving people behind to die, he considered that a favor. Trager was having a lot of success in using the captain as leverage against Ralston. After all, if the captain didn't take it personally, why would a stout military man be so angry about people protecting some of his own men?

When all was said and done, he figured they'd both end up on probation and he'd pick up their no doubt hefty fines.

Money well spent, as far as he was concerned.

On the other hand, Trent being on the loose was a real problem. Trager provided security wherever he could, but if Trent really wanted to get back at any of the Holts or that girl from the bank, he would. Trager figured that he had bigger ambitions at this point, and that was a terrifying thought. Trent would be a ghost until he resurfaced, presumably with a big, horrifying, deadly bang.

And there was the memorial. Memorials. Orpheus, the national hero. Jameson, his own long-time pilot. The soldiers at the school.

The island itself.

The Whale was a lost cause, there was no doubt about that anymore. Trager had managed to delay the bombing for the time being, but only after anthropologists and biologists and virologists worldwide had begged him to. He'd convinced the Senate that this was a once-in-a-lifetime learning opportunity. They had an entirely self-contained zombie ecosystem to study. Thanks to drone technology, there was literally no risk to any humans. He'd bought a few months, at most. This was a particularly bitter pill to swallow, as Trager's preference was to just sink the entire thing ASAP. But even though he'd been wearing an administrator's hat for far too long, he was still a scientist at his core.

His secretary knocked on his door. "Your mail, Martin." She had stacked the packages according to size, some personal correspondence on top, then FedEx packs, and finally a cardboard box on the bottom.

He motioned to the corner of his desk. "Right there's fine."

"Yes, sir." She placed the stack neatly on his desk and turned it so he could read the labels. "Anything else?"

"No." She turned to leave. "Yes. Hold up. Karen, how long have you worked for me?"

"Outside of your time on the island, eight years."

"Have you enjoyed it?"

"Sir?"

"That's a serious question, not a trap."

"More often than not, no, but ..."

"Thought so. I know I can be a shit."

"You didn't let me finish, sir. What I was going to say is that this second stint has been a different story. You came back different."

"Slightly less of a shit?"

She laughed and held her finger and thumb close together. "Slightly."

"What day is today?"

"Thursday."

"Knock off for the rest of the day. Take a long weekend, too. Life's too short, you know."

"Are you sure?"

"Go before I change my mind. I'm mercurial."

"Yes, sir. Thank you." She left immediately. He heard her log off of her computer, grab her purse, and leave inside of sixty seconds. Martin Trager didn't hire fools.

He grabbed the stack of mail and thumbed through the letters and bills. There was nothing that couldn't wait. The two FedEx packages contained contracts that he'd have to look over with his lawyers, so he put those to the side, as well. He picked up the box and gave it a little shake. The box had some weight to it, but he had no idea what it held. The return address was in Scotland. The shipping alone must have cost a fortune.

He grabbed his letter opener and punctured the packing tape. When he opened the box, he was greeted by a dense collection of bubble wrap. He cleared out the top layer and pulled out something cylindrical. It was surrounded by at least an inch of bubble wrap. He cut the piece of tape that held it all together and unrolled it on his desk. He hadn't completely removed the wrap before he knew with certainty what it was. He could see enough of the label to recognize it. He had, after all, once seen that Macallan 1928 label staring at him from his shelf every day.

Every day, that is, until Cameron Holt had liberated it.

Trager just stared at the bottle, unable to say anything, even if there had been someone else in the office to say it to. He couldn't be sure how long he just sat there, stunned. When he finally spoke, he just mumbled to the empty room, "Has to be a prank. I told that story at the gala. It's just some wiseass trying be funny."

What would be the point of that? It wasn't signed, there was no one trying to take credit, there wasn't even a hint of agenda.

But there was that other thing.

He'd never said what kind of Scotch that Orpheus had taken. He also doubted that anyone would drop so much money on a prank.

But Orpheus was dead. The witnesses included his own family.

But.

But, but, but.

He picked up his phone and paused, unsure of who to call. He settled on the last person to ever see the man alive. He was scrolling through his contacts, cursing himself for not committing Thompson's phone number to memory, when it began to vibrate in his hand.

Thompson.

"Your ears ringing?" Trager said. "Good. I just received a package and I ne-"

"We got a beacon."

O

For the second time in an hour, Martin Trager was struck into silence.

"Did you hear me, Marty? We got a fuckin' beacon."

"When?"

"No way to tell yet. I just checked them on a whim. Could be two minutes or a week, because that was the last time I checked."

"Meet me at the pad ASAP."

"Already in the car. Ten minutes."

Trager ended the call, grabbed a bottled water and called his pilot. This pilot, much like her predecessor, was on-call 24 hours a day and elected to live in the building. Trager paid her enough to make it worth it. "Are you ready to go?" The question had a double meaning.

"Absolutely."

He stopped only once along the way, and that was to take a piss, yet somehow the pilot had beaten him to the pad and was already running the checks. He strolled up to the pilot's door and said, "Jesus, even faster than your dad."

Renee Jameson smiled. There was a definite sadness behind it, but she said, "Younger legs. We'll be ready in a few."

Thompson arrived on the roof a few minutes after that and climbed into the helicopter. As soon as they were airborne and buckled in, he produced a printout and showed it to the pilot. "The docks," he said, pointing to the paper for emphasis.

"Got it."

Trager placed a call to his contact at the Coast Guard, advising them that they were going to do a flyover. "We need eyes on that Rhino at the school. Yes, I know that you'll inform Ralston. That's why I'm telling you." He hung up and said, "How many ass-kissers work for that guy, anyway?"

"All but two, as far as I can tell."

Renee asked, "What's this about?"

"Oh, right, you wouldn't know about the beacons," Trager said. "The Rhinos are all equipped with emergency beacons. In case something went wrong with the vehicle ... for example, a collision ... the beacon would go off and help would be dispatched."

"Copy that. I don't see the big deal about this, though."

Thompson said, "Well, the satellites confirm that this vehicle has been stationary since the exodus."

"And the beacon, it can be triggered manually?"

"Now you're getting it," Trager said.

"We're there," she said. She advised the personnel on their Coast Guard escort chopper. "Proceeding to the school."

"Copy that. We'll follow you. When we arrive, peel off and give us room. Fair warning, Mr. Trager," the Coast Guard pilot continued, "if confirming the source of the beacon necessitates boots on the ground, we will likely abort."

"Understood," Trager said.
I'll go down there myself if I have to.

"Here we are." Renee maneuvered the helicopter to a good vantage point and held it steady. "I think I see the problem, sir." She pointed to the Rhino on the ground. As high up as they were, it was still impossible to miss the tree lying across the Rhino. It was hard to gauge the damage from that distance, but it looks like the Rhino's outer shell had held up admirably.

"Shit," Thompson muttered.

The Coast Guard chopper flew in closer. A rope ladder spilled out and two men entered the vehicle through the roof hatch.

There were no communications for over a minute.

"Come on, come on," Trager said.

One of the Coast Guard personnel transmitted "It's empty. No signs of recent occupation. Had to be the tree."

Thompson said, "We'll have to confirm that with the engineers, but I think that would trigger the beacon."

"Damn," Trager said, crestfallen. "Never should've gotten my hopes up." He gave the okay for the Coast Guard to extract, and Renee took them back to the base.

Back on the pad, Renee did her post-flight checklist and Thompson walked Trager to his office. "It was worth a shot, Marty."

"Yeah. But goddamn. Now I know how Kickoff Charlie Brown feels." Thompson left, and Trager sat at his desk with the intent to type up a briefing for Ralston, but he couldn't get his fingers to cooperate. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the leather journal that Thompson had given him. Holt must have slipped it into the reporter's pocket when he knew that he wouldn't be leaving the cabin. Up until this moment, Trager had figured that for Holt's final gift. He flipped through the pages. There were many answers there, just not for the questions that Trager most wanted answered. He put the journal back into the drawer and just stared at the Scotch.

That damned Scotch.

He picked up the bottle and caressed it for a moment. "I've missed you, beautiful." He opened it and poured himself two fingers' worth. He held the glass up in front of him and, before putting it to his lips, asked, "What are you trying to tell me?"