by Dan DeWitt
Orpheus smiled coldly. "Well, imagine that." He grabbed Thompson by the arm and said, "Come with me."
"What, I, don't ... Colonel!"
Ralston showed his palms, indicating hands off, and Orpheus actually liked him for a split second.
Thompson climbed the ladder. He had no choice but to do it quickly, because Orpheus was right behind him.
German looked at Thompson. "We taking in strays now?"
"Don't even get me started. Clip him in and arm him." A small mob of five zombies was coming. They weren't really a threat, but they could serve as a good test.
Tino unslung his weapon and held out his hand. "Trade."
Thompson looked confused, then realized that Tino was talking about his camera. He took it from around his neck and shakily handed it over, while accepting the weapon with his free hand.
German clipped the reporter in, aimed his own weapon, and said, "Like this."
Thompson mimicked him. Tino flicked the safety off and said, "Just like a camera. Point and shoot. Steals souls."
The zombies had closed to within fifty yards. Orpheus watched Thompson's attempts at aiming. Sweat had broken out on the man's brow, and the barrel was swaying too much to be attributed to breathing.
"Still plenty of time to make the kill," Orpheus said flatly.
The zombies closed to within twenty yards, and the reporter still hadn't taken a single shot. Orpheus grabbed the weapon from his hands, aimed and squeezed off several shots. Two were headshots, the other three were to the body, which didn't kill them, but did knock them back. Orpheus finished them off with three more headshots. "Yeah, you're hardcore," Orpheus said. He handed the rifle back to a grinning Tino and went down the ladder.
"Not my responsibility," he reiterated to Ralston. "He gets himself killed, that's too bad."
"I think you just scared him straight. Now how about a tour?"
O
Orpheus gave Colonel Ralston the dime tour, and was relieved when he said it was time for him to go. He assumed that he'd see less of Ralston the longer the operation went on. There were only so many photo ops available, and it's not like he could add anything strategy-wise. As he watched the helicopter disappear into the distance, he took note of the setting sun and checked his watch. He motioned to Fish and pointed to his watch.
Fish understood and yelled, "Quittin' time, kids! Finish what you're doing and get inside."
Most of the personnel filed in immediately. Only a few lagged behind because they were moving the vehicles yet again, this time to the front of the school where they were easily accessible. Orpheus was the last inside, and he secured the door.
He saw Tim directing the drivers to the auditorium. Once they were gone, Tim said, "Counting them, you, and me, we're all accounted for. Ethan's doing another head count in the room."
"Good work." Orpheus followed Tim into the auditorium. He heard the familiar din of dozens of conversations, and was pleased that they all dropped shortly after he walked in. The only sound was the click-click of Thompson's camera. He'd apparently gotten over his fear once he had a familiar object in his hands. Ethan had finished roll call, and gave his father a thumbs-up.
Orpheus stood at the podium, a hand resting on each side. "I want to start off by congratulating all of you. Great job today, all things considered. We'll begin and end every day in here, for a briefing. We will be putting together a rotating schedule for laundry, latrine, and guard duty. If you have any other skills that may come in handy, just let me or one of my lieutenants know. That's it for today. Get some food, get some rest. Unfortunately, tonight it's going to be MREs and gym mats. No one goes off by themselves. Understood? Here at 0800, don't be late. Dismissed."
He watched the soldiers file out, and then walked out with his lieutenants. "Does anybody have anything?"
Tim said, "Comms are up. Phones, internet, WiFi."
"Good. Anything else?"
No one did.
"Then bye-bye. You're on free time."
Orpheus peeled off, and the others continued on to the gym. If they were as tired as he was, they weren't showing any signs of it. He entered his office, took off his blouse and boots, and collapsed on the couch. His right hand dropped to the side and rested on his other bag. The back of his hand hit the corner of a box. He knew everything that was supposed to be in that bag, and that wasn't one of them. He sat upright and pulled it out. Even under the wrapping paper, he could tell it was a shoe box. Jackie must have slipped it in his bag on the pier. There was no card, so he pulled the ribbon and took off the top.
He moved aside the tissue paper and smiled when he saw what it was covering.
A black tomahawk. Black.
Jeez, the memory on that woman.
He remembered a conversation that he'd had with his wife at least ten years prior. They'd been watching an action movie, and the protagonist had just thrown a tomahawk end over end until it buried itself in the bad guy's skull. He'd remarked how awesome a tomahawk would be when the zombies came.
It had been nothing but a joke then.
He turned it over in his hands, admiring it. It was made of high carbon steel from the feel. He ran his finger along the curved front blade. It was sharp. If he applied any more pressure, he'd be looking for a bandage. Opposite the chopping blade was a nasty spike, perfect for scrambling a zombie's brains. Between the two was a laser engraving of a lyre, representative of his namesake in Greek legend.
He held it in his right hand and took a few practice swipes. It felt perfectly balanced. More than that, it just felt right in his hand. There was also a sheath in the box. He took a moment to attach it to his belt, and secured it with a strap to his thigh so it wouldn't swing. He could feel the pressure against his thigh, but its weight was barely noticeable. He took it out of its sheath as quickly as he could. He was slow (mostly because he didn't want to cut himself), but he thought that with a little practice he could deploy it pretty quickly.
He considered things for a moment. It would certainly violate the uniform code, but he decided that he didn't care. It would probably never need to come out of its sheath, but it would serve as a constant reminder of why he was doing this, and for whom.
He owed her a phone call.
O
It was dark when he opened his eyes. He hit a button on his watch, and the display glowed for three seconds. He'd been asleep for several hours, it was now just after 2300, and he was starving. He considered changing his clothes, but he'd fallen asleep with his boots on. That was the deciding factor, so he just went as he was to grab a late-night meal. He was the sole occupant of the cafeteria, so he grabbed a sandwich from the fridge and ate it standing up.
He took a return route that would bring him by the gym. German was the guard on duty in the sleeping quarters.
"How are we?"
German passed the beam of his flashlight over the sleeping personnel. "All present and snoring."
"Ethan and Rachel?"
"Sleeping in bags in the coaches' office. I don't get that. These cots are more comfortable than any bed I've ever had."
Orpheus did get it. Ethan had already slept in the gym once before, and it hadn't ended well.
"Yeah," Orpheus said, and continued on his way.
He patrolled the entire first floor slowly, checking in with each sentry. There was one posted halfway down the length of each corridor, and one on every corner. At all times, each sentry should be in full view of at least two others. The school was locked down tight, he knew. But they had the manning, so he intended to utilize them to keep it that way.
He made a quick stop with each man and engaged in a little small talk, asking if they needed anything, and trying hard to remember their names. If he had a glaring character flaw, that was it. He'd remember a face until the end of time, but a name would shoot out of his head ten minutes after learning it, if he didn't concentrate.
All of the sentries said that they were all set, sir, and it was a pleasure to work under his c
ommand, sir (or words close enough it). Orpheus was certain that it was a combination of their learned military bearing, the newness and uniqueness of the situation that they found themselves in ... and a desire to avoid any appearance of weakness in front of a man who was attaining near-legendary status as a seeker and destroyer of monsters.
If they only knew that all I want to do is go home and kick back with my wife.
He really wanted them to relax a bit, but he couldn't exactly tell them that. Let them figure it out on their own, and he hoped that them being so wound up wouldn't result in anything stupid. He had to remind himself that, as ... comfortable wasn't the right word ... familiar as he was with dead people coming back to some semblance of life, he'd had no choice but to immediately accept it and adapt. If he'd been in their shoes, and had a lot of time to think about it, he'd probably be a little tense, too.
He repeated the process on the second floor. He paused when he passed the science room that had Ethan's friend in it. He opened the door and poked his head in. The taggers and baggers had done their job and removed the body. The mess, and a little bit of the smell of death, remained, but it wasn't their job to clean up. When this was all over, Orpheus was sure that some contractor would get an absurdly high contract to come in and scrub the buildings worth saving.
Maybe that's my next career move, he thought. Start a cleaning company, win the bid, and get paid.
He finished the circuit and headed for the stairs that would take him back to his office. His feet stalled at the top step. He wasn't tired. At all. He turned his head back and forth, trying to figure out if it was worth it to try and fight himself back to sleep when his eyes rested on the door marked "ROOF ACCESS."
He checked in with the nearest sentry and told him that he was going to the roof for a while.
On the way up, he flashed back to the last time that he'd made for the roof on this island. That time had been much more hurried and full of zombies and gunfire.
And dead friends, although he hadn't known it then.
He'd have to recover Mutt and Sam. Both out of respect, and to ... be certain.
He knew that the building was down, but he would move Heaven and Earth to ensure two things, that their bodies were laid to rest with honors, and that he could piss on that ghoulish doctor's empty skull. Everything else was optional.
He snapped back to the present and walked out onto the roof. Some go-getter had strung up work lights at regular intervals, and they provided enough light to, if not see every detail, navigate safely. He hadn't given that order, but he wasn't about to discourage proactivity. He and micromanaging had never really seen eye-to-eye. The lights revealed just enough to convince Orpheus that it was pretty much the same as every other roof he'd been on. It was a sea of black dotted with air conditioners and vents. He walked a few feet away from the edge and did a full circuit, making a few mental notes about places for canopies to keep them out of the weather, and some harnesses to prevent any accidental falls. He'd ask his men what else they may need or want. He knew the budget was only as limited as what he deemed necessary, so if he could slip through a few extravagances, who would give a shit?
He walked to the edge of the roof and looked out, as he had done nightly from the roof of the hospital. This view was considerably less impressive, as it was about eight stories lower and in a rural setting. Still, it helped relax him. His hand patted at his cargo pocket, which, unfortunately, was empty. "Gotta remember those next time."
"You mean these?"
Orpheus spun and reached for his sidearm, which was back in his desk.
He'd lost the draw to Tim, who was holding an object in his hands. A pair of objects, actually.
"Son of a bitch," Orpheus said, and reached for one.
"Getting sloppy, boss. There was a time where you would've drawn before I came through the door."
"I'm management now, so I'm allowing myself to get old while other people handle shit like bringing me cigars when I forget to."
"Fair enough." He handed Orpheus the lighter. "Age before awesome."
Orpheus lit his cigar and took a deep, satisfying draw. "I've been a really good influence on you."
Tim laughed around the cigar clenched between his teeth and lit his own. A moment later he responded, "And I can't thank you enough." Sincere.
The response caught Orpheus off-guard, but he managed a nod. You're welcome.
"It's a lot different this time," Time said in between draws.
The symmetry of this moment was obvious. Orpheus observed Tim as he had on that hospital rooftop a lifetime ago. Back then he saw a nervous greenhorn, now he saw a seasoned leader. He wanted to take credit for the transformation, but the reality was that Tim had just been given an opportunity to grow into the man he was meant to be. If Orpheus had never made it off of the island, Tim would still be right here on this roof, running things. And he suspected that his son and Rachel would be right here with him.
He knew that the future was in good hands.
His job was to protect it for the time being.
Jackie Gets Her Gun
Donnie Morelli pushed off slightly with his foot, and the creeper that he was lying on rolled a few inches to the left. He readjusted his grip on the oil filter wrench and gave it another tug. "C'mon, you stubborn bastard," he grumbled. While he struggled, he kept mumbling incoherently.
"Having fun, dad?"
His hand slipped off of the wrench and his knuckle paid the price. He automatically put it in his mouth and sucked on it, happy that he tasted no blood. "Ten thousand miles, Peach. Your mother waited ten thousand miles between oil changes and neglected to tell me. I'm surprised that this thing didn't have a heart attack. I still might."
"You're fine, Dad. And so macho."
"The two of you." It was an indictment of their solidarity. The women were practically one and the same.
They both heard the squeal of the mail truck's brakes as it stopped in front of their mailbox.
"I'll get it," Jackie said cheerily. "You recuperate."
Donnie pushed off and shot out from under the SUV. He got three-quarters of the way out when his pant leg caught on a bolt. "Nope! Nope! I got it, just gimme a sec."
Jackie was already walking toward the road. "I can get the mail. You've gotten it for like the last three months straight."
Donnie slumped on the creeper, and his arms fell out at his sides. Defeated.
Jackie thanked the carrier and walked up the driveway, flipping through the mail. "You, you, junk, me, you, me, junk ..." She looked down at her father. "You okay?"
"For the moment." He finally extricated himself from under the truck and rose to his feet. Jackie was already ripping open the first piece that was addressed to her and her husband.
She pulled out the letter, unfolded it, and began to read. Donnie watched her eyes move back and forth across the page. She'd always been a fast reader, so at least it would be over quickly. Her eyes narrowed when she held up the check. "What's this?"
"Uh, what's what?"
She ripped open the second one and confirmed that it was similar to the first. "Did you know about these, Dad? Is that why you've been so anal about getting the mail?"
He shrugged.
"Oh, my God, how many of these are there?"
"I don't know. A ... few."
"A few. Like five?"
She got no answer.
"A few dozen?"
"Well ..."
"Oh, my God, Dad! Does Cam know about this?" Jackie went through the whole progression with no input from Donnie. "He does. He put you up to this? Of course he did. And of course you did. Oh, the two of you ..." She unintentionally repeated the phrase that Donnie had used a few moments before. She slammed down the rest of the mail on the hood and walked toward the house.
Donnie was almost afraid to ask, "Where, uh, where you going, Peach?"
"Me?" A humorless laugh. "I'm going to get my gun."
O
That wasn't a figur
e of speech. Jackie Holt walked into the living room, dropped the two letters addressed to her on the coffee table, and headed to her bedroom. She picked up her phone and considered calling her husband to chew him out, but the cooler part of her won out and recognized that, as mad as she was, what he was doing was literally life and death. She could wait to kick his ass. She continued to the closet and moved aside a few shirts to reveal the gun safe that Cameron had moved in and immediately stocked.
She remembered the conversation that they'd had on the day he broached the subject of buying it.
"Jackie, I've been thinking about something. I think it's a good idea. I mean, I don't want to get caught again, and -"
"You want to get a gun?"
"Um, yeah."
"What kind?"
He seemed surprised by this. "Uh, handgun, for sure. Maybe a shotgun for more immediate stopping power. I mean, they're dead but they can still be knocked around and blown apart, which saved my life a few times. I'll get a safe and everything, tuck it away. Maybe a rifle, too. I've seen the worst case scenario. I'd like to be ready next time. This is all just a hypothetical, and I doubt -"
"Okay."
"To which one?"
"To all of them. And whatever else you think may possibly be necessary. You have my blanket consent."
He blinked a few times, surprised. "I was expecting more resistance."
She put a hand on his cheek. "Cam, I didn't go through anything like you did. But I saw a little bit of it, and you're right. It could happen again. I have one condition."
"Name it."
"You have to teach me how to use them. Every single one. If it comes down to it, and I can't get away from them, I want to know how to go through them."
He put his hand on her waist and pulled her closer. "That," he said as he moved in to kiss her, "might be the sexiest thing I've ever heard."
Her husband obtained all of the necessary permits, and spent a couple months' worth of the government settlement on weapons, ammo, and a safe. He even bought a handgun especially for her, due to the vast difference in their hand sizes. The first time she held the Walther, she had to admit, it just felt kind of right.
