Orpheus: Homecoming (The Orpheus Trilogy Book 2)

by Dan DeWitt

  ORPHEUS: HOMECOMING

  By

  Dan DeWitt

  © Dan DeWitt. All rights reserved

  Cover art by Jim Fields, Jr.

  This one’s dedicated to my boys Nate and Max. They’re putting me in the odd position of reassuring them that zombies don’t exist, while at the same time preparing them to be awesome zombie fighters.

  Orpheus believes he’s done with the island.

  The island isn’t done with him.

  After a narrow escape, Cameron Holt is content to leave his home to the zombies forever. Now, reunited with his family, he wants nothing more than to live a normal life and forget the horrors he experienced. One outburst of anger takes that decision out of his hands, and he again finds himself face-to-face with both the zombies and the mysteries behind the outbreak. This time, he has the guns, the manpower, and the backing of the United States military. An old enemy returns and reminds him that, in a world where the dead come back to life, control is only an illusion.

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  Reunion

  Instant Celebrity

  Running Errands

  Unwelcome Invitation

  Party Animal

  Slammer

  Back in Uniform

  Bon Voyage

  Trial by Fire

  School's Back in Session

  Settling In ... Again

  Jackie Gets Her Gun

  Understandings

  Good Start

  The Hangover

  Torres

  The Cure That Doesn't

  Trending

  Back to business

  Crisis at Home

  A Lead

  Homecoming

  House Cleaning

  Picket Fence

  The War at Home

  Missing Pieces

  Prodigal Son

  Ethan's Birthday Gift

  Walking Wounded

  Last Stop

  Goodbye, Again

  Hostages

  Cheers

  Epilogue

  A Word from the Author

  Foreword

  There are few people I would trust with my life when the Zompocalypse shit hits the fan, but Dan DeWitt is at the top of my list.

  I’m getting ahead of myself. I guess I should start from the beginning, which just happened to be the summer of 2011. That summer, I met this gruff, scruffy guy at my new job, who shared my love of horror movies and my unhealthy obsession with the undead. His first question to me was “Do you read zombie fiction?” My snarky reply was, “No Dan, I like zombie non-fiction.” From then on, an odd friendship was formed.

  I spent the next few months in training with Dan, during which we got into several heated debates about whether or not zombies could breathe, if they are able to make sound, the best strategies for survival, and the rate of deterioration of the average zombie. It was the most fun I ever had at work. Then one day, Dan came in all excited because he had just received a proof of his first book; a collection of short stories. Being the good friend that I am, I volunteered to bite the bullet and proof his book. I ended up spending my entire workday reading Underneath: Short Tales of Horror and the Supernatural. I just couldn’t put it down. I was hooked.

  After reluctantly returning the proof copy to Dan, I began to yell at him because of the cliffhanger at the end of the last story. He promised and promised that he would finish his next novel as soon as he could. So again, being the good friend that I am, I pestered him on a weekly, if not daily, basis for the remainder of the story. And after a lot of waiting, and an incredible exercise of patience on my part, the final draft was finished and ready for my “editing”. It was worth the wait.

  Orpheus was just the book I needed to read. I immediately fell in love with the story, but the characters are what kept me wanting more. I know the novel is called Orpheus, and that it’s his story that is being told. But I have to admit that I love Mutt.

  If you’ve read Orpheus you know all about Mutt. The selfless soldier who sacrificed his one chance to be cured to save a girl he didn't even know. The hesitant police officer that incurred Orpheus’ anger in Orpheus Born for not being ready to do what was necessary. Orpheus’ best friend and moral compass through the worst time in his life. And the man that broke Orpheus’ heart when he didn’t make it home.

  I won’t lie: I cried. Then I yelled at Dan for killing off my favorite character. And then I cried some more. After I finished the novel, and my tears had dried, I found that there was this empty place in my soul. And then I realized it was left by these characters that, although fictional, had become a part of me, and their absence took a piece of me with them. I miss my friends. I miss Mutt and Sam, Orpheus and Ethan, Fish and Lena. I miss them all. They’re more intertwined with my soul than any fictional character has ever become. When I reread Orpheus and Orpheus Born, it’s as though I’m home, and I’m safe with my friends.

  Orpheus and his crew are why I would trust Dan with my life when the zombie apocalypse hits. Dan understands that there will always be good and evil, and that each side needs each other to survive. He understands that there is no stronger bond than family, and that family is not limited to blood. He understands that survival is a dependent act; everything you do has a ripple effect, and your actions may lead to the survival or demise of others. Dan explains all of this through Orpheus. It also doesn’t hurt that Dan has a kickass plan to stockpile supplies and lock up in a certain retail store, which shall remain nameless.

  And now we have the newest chapter in Orpheus' story. I have been a great friend to Dan this past year by encouraging (*author's note: that's pronounced "pestering"*) him regularly to complete the next installment. I have been waiting patiently, and now it is finally here. I am so excited to present to you Orpheus: Homecoming, by my wonderfully talented friend Dan DeWitt. Please enjoy. And remember… be good to your *chomp chomp* friends.

  Sarah "First Fan" Coli

  April 2016

  Reunion

  Their embrace lasted about as long as expected for two people who had long ago buried each other in their minds.

  That is, not long enough. It could never be long enough.

  Jackie Holt was the first to break the embrace, but she didn't separate from her husband. She grabbed his shoulders fiercely and asked, “Ethan, is he-?”

  “He's fine, he's okay.” He tried to explain quickly, but stumbled repeatedly, unable to boil down the events of the island to just a few sentences. He held up a finger and pulled out his cell phone. Jackie kissed him again while it connected. Ethan picked up on the first ring, as if he'd been waiting on the call, and Holt had to pull himself away from his wife, both of them laughing. He explained that there would be plane tickets waiting for him and his girlfriend when they were ready. “It's time to come home.” Holt listened, then smiled. He put the phone on speaker and said, “Say that again.”

  “Quit playing, Dad. What do you mean it's time to come home? Our home is gone.”

  Fresh tears rolled down Jackie's face when she heard her son's voice.

  “Someone wants to talk to you.”

  Jackie cleared her throat. “E-Ethan? It's-”

  “Oh, my God.” There was a long pause. “MOM!”

  “Hi, baby!” She was sobbing now, but happier than Holt had ever seen her. “I missed you so much!”

  A series of unintelligible noises came through the speaker. After a moment, Holt knew it was because Ethan and Rachel were both celebrating wildly. He heard unfamiliar male and female voices shouting, as well. He assumed they were Rachel's parents, and liked them immediately for it.

&nb
sp; After everything calmed down, Ethan promised that he would catch a flight out in the next day or two. “And I'm bringing my fiancée with me.”

  Jackie gave Holt a look that said, Engaged? What else did I miss?

  He mouthed, I'll fill you in. “Okay, kid, we'll see you soon. Get some real rest.” He kissed his wife deeply again. He grabbed her by the hand and led her to the house. “Now let's get inside before-”

  “Omigod, Mr. Holt?!?” Holt sighed and looked over his shoulder at Jimmy Crabbe. Jimmy was his in-laws' paperboy, lawn mower and raker, car washer, driveway shoveler, and general do-whatever-Donald-Morelli-didn't-feel-like-doing kid. He'd just come out of the garage, rake in hand. Now he was frozen in place. “You're dead! I mean … I mean, you were! Zombies!” Jimmy looked side to side, as if he didn't know what to do next. He finally settled on yelling, at the top of his lungs, “Dad! DAD!!! Mr. Holt's back!”

  Jackie completed his thought, as she so often did. “Before something like that happens?”

  Holt waved at Jimmy. “Uh-huh. I figured I'd at least make it to the door before you saw me.”

  Jimmy ran into his house, yelling all the way. Heads popped into windows or out of doorways to check on the commotion. Whispers gave way to chatter gave way to shouts.

  Holt heard a wooden gate slam against the house and he turned to see Donnie hurrying from the backyard. “Jackie! Are you okay? I heard---holyshit.” His mouth opened and he felt blindly for the wrought iron bench next to him. He sat in it on autopilot and just stared and blinked.

  Holt thought that a heart attack was a real possibility, and he was kicking himself for handling his return from the dead like an amateur. Then again, it was his first time.

  Jackie walked to her father and spoke softly as she stroked his shoulder. “Dad, it's okay. You're not going crazy.”

  “I'm fine, Peach,” he said, using his pet name for her. “I'm just making sure my heart doesn't explode.” He stood up slowly. “Okay, I'm good.”

  He walked slowly to Holt and hugged him fiercely. He spoke in a calm and conversational tone. “I knew it, son. I knew you wouldn't leave my little girl all alone.” They clapped each other on the back before breaking the embrace. Donnie sniffed and wiped his eyes. “Beer?”

  “Sounds great. I'll need one for my press conference. And take Jackie inside so you two don't get caught up in it.”

  “What press conference?” father and daughter asked in unison. Then they noticed the dozen or so people hurrying to the Morelli house.

  Holt moved to head them off, resigned to the fact that his desire to keep his return unnoticed for as long as possible had crashed and burned. He had his hands raised to quiet everyone down, but questions were coming quicker than he could address them.

  “I'll make it two,” Donnie said to his back. He kissed his daughter's cheek and led her inside. They stood at the picture window and watched. “Your boyfriend's back.”

  She couldn't do anything but nod, and the tears ran freely.

  O

  Word spread quickly, and that impromptu press conference for the neighbors led to a more official one with the local media. Holt quickly grew tired of the sunburst of microphones in his face. Fame had never been a goal of his; it seemed like a horrible way to live. He answered the questions politely at first, but it grew more difficult with each passing inquiry.

  Worse, he had to filter his answers with respect to how much he told, and of what. He and Trager had come to an agreement that any reference to Scalpel, Scythe, Dr. Vincent, Anders et. al. would be better left unshared.

  “Holt, we can't tell anyone about the more … intriguing things that went on here.”

  “I agree.”

  “You good behind a microphone?” Trager had asked. Holt had paused, because he'd never had cause to find out. “Oh, God, you've never done this. Okay, the most enterprising among them won't take your first answer as truth. Just stick to a set of answers. Channel your inner Bill Belichick. Reword them a bit, but try these: We're just a group of survivors who found each other, worked together for our survival and, for all we knew, the human race's. Just want to spend time with loved ones. Shit like that,” Trager had said, echoing Holt's own thoughts. “Grunt if you understand.”

  Holt showed him his middle finger, but smiled. He would absolutely defer to Martin Trager in public relations matters without thinking twice about it. Holt was aware of his limitations.

  “Unlike a lot of this kind of shit, your story actually has a happy ending. Keep coming back to your search and your reunion. And for God's sake, don't take your shirt off in front of anyone.”

  “Hadn't planned on table dancing.”

  Trager stared at him. “Your facial wounds are easy enough to explain outside of an autopsy, but those knife wounds will raise a lot more questions than we need. Now do you want get through this or not? Cuz if not, I'll just grab some popcorn and watch you implode.”

  Holt hadn't thought of the scars, and any vestiges of sarcasm melted away. For the first time, he was concerned that he would be the one to blow the whole thing. “Right.” A thought came to him. “What about Ethan's friends that made it off? The gay guys? They'll need to be kept in the loop.”

  “I already have people looking for them. You let me worry about that.”

  “What about the chopper?”

  “I've already briefed Jameson. He was just a survivor who happened to know how to fly.”

  “Say that again?” Holt snapped back to the present.

  “I asked how you stayed alive, Mr. Holt.”

  “I was fortunate enough to make it to the hospital and find more survivors. We worked together for our common survival. Good people.”

  “How did you get out?”

  “We made it to a helicopter.”

  The same reporter pressed. “And you just happened to have a pilot with you when you found a helicopter?”

  “No, we found out we had a pilot, so we went looking for a helicopter for him to fly.” He ad-libbed a bit, because he instantly disliked the little twerp. “It was a stroke of good luck in a place that had all but run out of it.”

  Someone different. “How many people died?”

  Too many. “As far as I know, everyone who wasn't with me is dead.”

  “How many made it out with you?” A woman this time.

  “Six others.” He named them, and saved Ethan for last. “And yes, looking for him was the only thing keeping me going.”

  “How'd you find each other?”

  He smirked. “Stubborn apples don't fall too far from the tree, I guess.”

  The goodwill ended on the next question. The twerp reporter pressed his microphone close enough that Holt could have flicked out his tongue and touched it. “What if he'd been a zombie? What would you have done?”

  Holt aimed a glare at him, and everyone else ceased to exist for a moment. It was just him and the little shit. “Have kids, then ask me that stupid-ass question. And you push that microphone any closer you'll draw back a stump. No more questions.” With that, he headed back to the house, near oblivious to the barrage of questions behind him. He spent a moment deciding whether or not he could fix the door's hardware, but it was a lost cause. His wife had, understandably, done a number on it in her haste to get outside when she saw him.

  He walked into the living room and said, “I'll take that beer now, Donnie.”

  Donne smiled sheepishly and held up two empties. “I'll get you a fresh one. These seemed to have … evaporated.”

  “Yeah, they tend to do that sometimes.”

  Holt took his wife's hand, and they looked at the ever-growing throng of neighbors and media alike. Holt guessed that the national people would show up soon, and then he'd have to do it all over again. I'll deal with that later. For now ...

  Holt turned his wife to face him, and pressed his forehead to hers. He kissed her again. It didn't last as long as he would've liked, but it would have to do. He heard the phone ringing in the background, then
Donnie speaking.

  Jackie was the first speak. He could tell that she was trying to sound conversational, normal. “How did it go?”

  “Eh, you know me.”

  “So, a lot of swearing then.”

  He laughed. “It's good to be back.”

  Donnie came back with a beer and the world's oldest cordless telephone. “It's for you.”

  “That's not possible. No one but Ethan knows I'm here … waitasec.” He took the handset. “Hey, Marty.”

  Trager spoke without preamble. “Well, that went well.”

  “What did?”

  “Your meet and greet in Pleasantville.”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “Because I'm keeping tabs on you, of course. It's streaming online, and getting a lot of business. Good grief, man, do you still have a VCR, and is the clock still blinking 12:00? Anyway, you're the first known survivor of an actual zombie apocalypse. Dead people walking around, you live through it for months, and you don't think that's big news?”

  He smiled at Jackie. “I've been thinking about other stuff.”

  “Couldn't tell! The national shitstorm is about to drop on your head. Your lady there?”

  “Yeah, and my father-in-law.”

  “Okay, put me on speaker.”

  “I don't think we have that here. This phone has a two-foot antenna.”

  “Oh, for the love of … just have her put her ear up and we'll old school this bitch.”

  Holt motioned for Jackie to join him. “I'm here,” she said.

  “Mrs. Holt, this is Martin Trager. Holt can fill you in about me later. If he says I'm a bastard, believe him. We'll go into a lot more detail at another time, but for the time being, I'm giving you a job. It's an easy one.”

  “What's that?”

  “Don't let your husband talk to anyone until I get there. No reporters, no cops, no guys in black SUVs flashing paper badges … no one. If they're not already on this call, they do not exist.”