Orpheus: Homecoming (The Orpheus Trilogy Book 2) (15 page)

He grabbed his e-reader and collapsed in bed. He knew after spending six minutes on a paragraph that reading wasn't going to happen, either. He tossed the device to the other side of the bed and stared at the ceiling.

"You fucked up, pal."

He thought back to Falcone's symptoms. They screamed "hangover" to him, and he wasn't alone in that. Every leading authority on zombies was in that room, and none of them thought anything of it. They all saw what they were logically supposed to see: someone who'd thrown back too many and was now paying the price. And why shouldn't they? There was no reason to believe otherwise. Falcone hadn't even come close to a zombie, and it was impossible for him to have been bitten by one. They'd all committed the sin of complacency, his sin being the biggest.

If he'd taken two minutes to look into things, Falcone may still be alive. The guard, Barr, certainly would be.

Ethan's airborne hypothesis was terrifying, but no one else had any symptoms.

The paranoid parts of Orpheus' mind (parts which were considerably larger than they had been several years ago) began to posit that the zombie virus was an intelligent, vindictive creature sent to Earth solely to fuck with Cameron Quincy Holt.

Hey, you think you know everything about me? Let's see if you're ready for this!

He backhanded his pillow in frustration. It didn't hurt his hand any, but his shoulder objected. On top of everything else, he'd injured himself. If he was lucky, it was only a pulled muscle. But at the rate things were going, he'd need surgery.

He sat up again and crossed his legs as best he could. He closed his eyes and tried a few meditation techniques that his shrink had taught him. He liked the guy, Dr. Clausen. He was a good listener, and he was direct. Orpheus remembered the day that the doc had broached the subject of meditation. Naturally, he had resisted, and said he didn't see the point. Clausen countered that the point was to "keep you coming to me instead of a divorce attorney."

Orpheus started listening immediately after that.

He visualized a single candle in the darkness and concentrated on nothing but his breathing. He was only a few minutes in, but he could already feel his heart rate slowing and some of the tension leaving his body. He stayed at it for another ten minutes until fatigue made him start to drift.

He kept his eyes closed and slid under the covers. The last thought he had before drifting off to sleep was
At least I know that we bottomed out today.

Then his phone rang.

While he was running down the hall, he really wished that he could learn to stop tempting fate.

Orpheus rushed into the infirmary. He threw open the door hard enough that it bounced against the wall and came back, but he was already through.

"What's going on?" The question itself was entirely unnecessary. He'd seen Torres as soon as he’d gotten feet into the room, and for a moment he saw Falcone all over again. Torres was sweating profusely and his eyelids were fluttering but not opening completely. He began to make gagging noises, and Orpheus realized that he was choking on his own vomit but lacked the strength to change his position.

"Jesus, help me sit him up," Orpheus ordered as he moved to the man. The medic stepped tentatively to the opposite side and looked afraid to touch him. Orpheus glared. "He hasn't turned, but if he chokes to death, he sure the fuck will." Either the logic or the gaze made the medic understand what was expected of him, and they got Torres to a seated position. He expelled the vomit that was in his mouth, and followed it up with a more protracted bout of heaving. When that was over, his head just kind of lolled around on his shoulders. They stacked some pillows behind him and managed to get him in a reasonably safe reclining position.

"His symptoms just appeared out of nowhere. His fever spiked to 105. I monitored him and gave him some antibiotics, on the off chance that he has a ... different ... kind of infection. He went downhill quickly. We had to really secure him, just in case."

"Did you administer anything else?"

"No, sir. I contacted you immediately."

"Do it now." Orpheus pulled the pouch from his cargo pocket and handed another loaded syringe to the medic. He hated having to keep the cure (of which he had brought plenty to the island) hidden and 100% under his control, but it was without a doubt the most sought-after pharmaceutical in the world. The list of companies who would do anything to get their hands on it was a mile long. It was why everyone who had access to it lived in a constant state of alert and almost never travelled. When they did, they did so with private undercover security in tow. It was just the price of doing business now.

The medic gave Torres the shot, and they waited. After fifteen minutes or so, his fever was knocked down to 101 and he regained consciousness, but he was clearly weak. Orpheus told the medic to call Martin Trager and get him here now.

"Hey, how you feeling, son?"

Torres coughed. "Been better, sir." He had another fit of coughing, and his breathing was accompanied by a subtle wheezing. "They told me what you did for me. Thank you."

Orpheus nodded.

Torres had more to say. "I was putting a glass of water down next to his bed, next thing I know he's got his teeth in my arm. I shook him off, and he came at me again. I panicked and hid. I ... I didn't know what else to do, sir."

"You did the smart thing. It took four of us just to get to you."

"Yeah. The smart thing." Orpheus knew that there was more in what he didn't say.
If I'd done the right thing and subdued or killed him then and there, the other soldier would still be alive.

Orpheus said, "I'm not blameless in this."

"No one picked up on it. We all should have. We went through the training. I personally read all of your firsthand accounts. It all went out the window when I got bit."

"That's happened to a lot of people, believe me. You're good to go, though. I know for a fact that this works."

"Then why didn't it? Your daughter is the only person who's ever been cured, and that only took one dose a few years ago."

Orpheus had been thinking the same thing since he was woken up. "That's a question for the eggheads to answer. They'll be here soon."

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

"It won't come to that, but you know that I would. Get some rest. That's an order."

"Copy that, sir." Torres closed his eyes and was sound asleep within a few moments.

He was right about the antidote. Rachel had received one dose and was cured. According to Jen, Mutt had received multiple doses, but kept backsliding. Just like Torres.

Vincent had been holding back on the cure, and had only ever been forthcoming with a "treatment."

Orpheus was obviously no medical professional, but three possibilities jumped out at him. One, the virus had mutated, but he had a hard time reconciling that with the fact that no one else had been infected. Two, his people were incompetent. Or three, Vincent was managing to fuck with him from beyond the grave.

He didn't know which one frightened him the most.

The medic said, "They'll be on a chopper within the hour."

"Good. Go get some sleep." He looked at the three guards. "You, too. He's not going anywhere. I'll stay with him."

The four of them seemed relieved to be leaving. Maybe they were just fatigued, but Orpheus got the distinct impression that they didn't want to be around when their colleague died and came back.

He didn't blame them one bit.

O

Jen had been the first one on the helipad. It was pretty easy to do, because while she didn't technically live in the lab, she almost never left. Despite the chill October air, she travelled in only a pair of jeans and a sweater. Pacing back and forth along the length of the roof kept her warm. She carried a notepad in her hand and a pencil clamped between her teeth. Every once in a while she would stop pacing to make a note, then the pencil went back in her teeth and her feet started going again.

Trager was second. All he carried were two coffees. He handed one to a grateful Jen. "I still don't know how you take it."

"Oh, I don't care. Just gimme." She took a long sip of coffee that had to still be close to scalding, but it didn't faze her. "You are the best. Umm, where are your bags?"

"This is either going to be a day trip or I'll be moving in, so I'll just send for my stuff if I need to."

"Do you think ...?”

"If we get there and you tell me that it's better if you work there and that you have everything you need to do it, I don't see you coming back to the mainland for a while. I wanted us to be there from the jump."

"What about Ralston?"

"What about him? Fuck him." That wasn't bluster. Trager really didn't give a shit what the Colonel thought about, well, anything.

On cue, a sleepy Ralston walked through the door. He didn't carry a bag, either, but only because it was being carried on the shoulder of the private, his driver, behind him. The driver hustled the bag to the waiting helicopter, then came back to assist Trager and Jen with theirs.

"No coffee for me?"

"Sorry," Trager said. He theatrically wiggled his free hand. "Only have two of these."

"They make trays for that."

Trager took a long, satisfied sip. "What will they think of next?"

The pilot signaled that they were ready to go. The three of them climbed into the helicopter. Trager took the co-pilot's seat. He'd been taking flying lessons. Pre-zombie Martin Trager would never have bothered. But if he expected Jen to go outside of her comfort zone "just in case," he thought it was a good idea if he did the same. They buckled in and put on the headsets that had been placed at the foot of each seat. The pilot did a quick radio check and said, "Everyone ready?"

He saw three thumbs up.

"How about you?" Trager asked, looking over at the helmeted pilot. "You ready for this?"

"As I'll ever be." He made a few slight movements and the helicopter rose into the early morning light. He checked his heading (not that he needed to), and headed for the island.

Ralston almost immediately fell asleep, but Trager had much more on his mind. He glanced over his shoulder at Jen, who had her head turned slightly so she could look out the window. She was a study in conflicting emotions this morning. Excitement, anticipation, dread, fear ... they all competed for face time.

Trager was only dealing with one thing, and that was a desire to find out what had happened on the island. He had no way of knowing this at the time, but he had arrived at two of the same three possibilities that Orpheus had an hour earlier. He didn't like either of them.

With what they knew, the likelier outcome was that Jen had screwed up recreating the formula. Trager had a hard time going with that. Jen had become a different woman and scientist under his care. Gone was the introverted girl who doubted herself constantly. Now she was confident and commanded respect by virtue of her performance. He supposed that a lot of that had to do with just getting out from under Dr. Vincent, but that was only part of it. The truth was that she was really gifted and had grabbed her opportunity to shine by the throat.

Taking it as a given that no one on the planet was more qualified than her, the other option, that the virus had mutated and had some unknown delivery system, was just unthinkable.

He found himself hoping for Option A, because that, at least, was solvable.

They approached the island. The pilot asked, "You want I should go straight there, or do you want to get a lay of the land first?"

"Time for sightseeing later. We have some shit to get to the bottom of."

"Got it." He circled the school and gave the personnel on the ground time to clear out of the LZ. The bird dropped to the ground much more quickly than Trager would have liked, but the pilot decelerated at the last moment and they touched down with a gentle thud. A few switches and buttons later and the pilot gave the all clear to leave the helicopter. The pilot said, "I'll get your bags to you."

Trager said, "Thanks," and removed his headset.

They hopped out and were immediately met by Tim, who snapped off a crisp salute. He shook hands with the men and hugged Jen tightly. "Aw, it's good to see you."

The Colonel cleared his throat, and Tim broke the embrace. "Follow me, sir."

Trager asked, "Nurse's station, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, I think we can manage to find it on our own. Why don't you run on ahead and throw down rose petals or something for the Colonel."

Tim was only barely successful in maintaining a straight face. "Colonel, is there anything I can help you with? Otherwise, I can make sure that Captain Holt is waiting for your arrival."

"That would be fine, yes."

"I'll go with,” Jen said. They both took off at a trot and disappeared around the corner.

"Let's see what we can get out of this clusterfuck. I severely overestimated Orpheus."

"Please. If you didn't have him, you wouldn't have me, and this whole op would've crashed and burned in a week under your stewardship."

"Excuse me? Maybe you've forgotten who's in charge."

"Let's get this straight. I don't report to you. I
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you. I boil everything down into a nice little teabag so you can sip it at your leisure. You're free to give fun little soundbites and quotes to the media and pump yourself up as some sort of conquering hero, when you're just an empty uniform. I secured as much, if not more, funding and support as you did. Without me, and him, you're nothing."

Ralston stopped walking and grabbed Trager's forearm. "I'm tired of putting up with your disrespect, Trager."

Trager shook it off violently. "Then take a fucking nap. Remember what happened the last time you grabbed someone." They walked in an angry silence for the next few minutes until they reached the nurse's office, occasionally being asked to produce ID by one of the sentries. Trager was the first to walk in, and he saw Jen sitting at a desk. She looked shocked.

Trager saw the thrashing, snarling creature on the bed.

Then his field of vision was dominated by Orpheus, who pointed an accusing finger at him and said, "You sent me here with a serum that doesn't fucking work."

O

Ethan had a hand on his father's arm and was wrestling him backwards, which was proving to be a pretty difficult task. His old man was pissed. Orpheus' unencumbered arm was still raised and pointing at either Trager or Ralston. Ethan thought that it might have been a two-for-one kind of thing, though.

"What did I just say? It doesn't fucking work. Guy gets bitten, guy gets antidote, guy ends up like that, anyway."

Orpheus motioned to the cot behind him. On it, the hooded Torres was straining against his bonds. They'd been thorough, and Torres had no chance of breaking free. He couldn't see or escape, but that didn't stop him from trying to get Jen, the closest human. Ethan had almost forgotten how tenacious they could be.

Orpheus's voice rose again. "This is your fault, Marty."

"Me? How the Hell is it my fault?"

"Are you serious? You had Vincent's data. You told me this was a legitimate treatment, just in case something went wrong. Something did, and three of my guys are dead."

"I'm not the one who sent an infected guy back to his room to sleep it off."

"Hey, fuck you! The symptoms were completely different. There was nothing to indicate that's what it was."