Odyssey

by Michael Stephen Fuchs

  “Exactly like a BOL.”

  Kili squinted at her. “What did you do? Back in the world.”

  “I was a cop.”

  “Oh, really.” Not a question. “Detective? Supervisor?”

  “Nope. Good old beat copper.”

  “Ground pounder, huh?”

  “Something like that. Not like you guys. Obviously.”

  Kili leaned back, slumping a little in his chair. It looked to Sarah like some tension bleeding off – but not carelessly. In a measured way. His look said he was still sizing Sarah up.

  And his gaze still made her feel self-conscious.

  There was simply no way for her to forget she was an outsider here. And also, so far, an unknown quantity. She didn’t figure they had survived this long, thrived in fact by the look of things, by giving everyone who wandered in the benefit of the doubt. And Sarah also knew enough to know this group, long before the Fall, would have been very much an in-group.

  A tribe.

  “It wasn’t just Green Team,” Kili finally said. “For me and Homer. It goes back much further.”

  “All the way to BUD/S?”

  Kili watched her for a few seconds. And then he ignored this question, too. “And not just being in the same squadron, and the same troop.”

  “What then?” It sounded to Sarah like Kili wanted to tell her more. And she was going to tempt him into doing it.

  He exhaled again. “Over nearly a decade, the two of us deployed together, over and over again. We ate, slept, and worked out, literally side-by-side. And, mainly, we ran four-hundred-plus missions together – also side-by-side.” He rubbed his thick beard. “And I mean within arm’s reach.”

  Sarah nodded at the tray to the side of Kili’s elbow. It contained a couple of hummus-and-salad wraps, and a bottle of mineral water, which he had picked up while she was getting her food. It sat untouched. “Those for him?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Homer loves this rabbit-food shit.”

  Sarah put her fork down. “You know him better than anyone.”

  Kili nodded. “I can recognize him in the dark at fifty meters by his gear and movements alone. When he does move, I know it in advance. Like one of my own limbs. Why do you think we opened the gates? It wasn’t his half-assed Morse code.”

  And there it was, finally. The upturned corner of mouth – or beard, rather. Just the ghost of a smile. Sarah smiled in response. Then she leaned over the table and said, “What happened to his wife?”

  The corner slammed down again. “She died. Like everyone.”

  Sarah leaned a little closer – and pushed it farther. She knew she did this. She didn’t know why, or how to stop. “Who was that up top? Standing over the entrance, when we came in?”

  Kili just regarded her.

  “Who was the one-eyed man?” she persisted.

  Kili took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. “The king.”

  Then he stood up. And he picked up her tray for her.

  Sarah was done.

  * * *

  Both children were asleep, not quite before their heads hit their pillows, but before Homer could get the blanket tucked up under their chins.

  He chose to believe it wasn’t despite the excitement of his return, of seeing their father after all this time. Rather, it was because of the peace of it, the feeling of security and safety. For two years, Ben and Isabel had been living without their mother, living as orphans – but had somehow chosen to believe their father would one day come back for them.

  And today he had.

  He kissed each of them on the forehead, fighting the impulse never to let them out of his sight again. But there was much that remained to be done. And most of what he needed to do tonight was for them. He pressed the door closed on their small dark room and turned around for the walk back.

  And lurking behind him, at the next cross hallway, were two shadowed figures. Standing perfectly still. Just watching. They weren’t obviously armed, but they were a little strangely shaped – their shoulders sloping up toward their necks, and out over their upper arms. When Homer approached – he was going that way anyway – he could make out that they wore some kind of fur or animal pelt around their shoulders. And then he made out their faces. One was familiar, one wasn’t.

  “Jimmy,” Homer said, nodding as he approached, and giving another nod plus a smile to whoever the new guy was.

  “Homer,” Jimmy said, nodding back. But not smiling.

  The new man didn’t speak. Also, neither stayed where they were. As Homer approached, both walked forward, passing to either side of him, not exchanging more than those two words as they went by. Homer looked over his shoulder as they disappeared into the gloom. He paused and squinted in thought.

  But then kept on moving.

  For the rest of his walk back, as he threaded the dim halls, he passed no one else. No more familiar faces, back-pats, warm words. One the one hand, it was pretty late – and also, he realized, he had no idea how much of the team was left. How many had survived, had fought their way back here. On the other hand, he also knew his return was unlikely to be a secret, and had to be a pretty big local event. The turnout in the courtyard when they arrived underscored this. His guess was the others had agreed to leave him alone for a while.

  To give him time. With his children. With his thoughts.

  All of them had – except those two. But he shrugged it off.

  As he walked in solitude, he got back into his thoughts, ruminating again on the choice his kids had made, to believe he was coming back. And, then, more broadly, on the matters of choice, and belief, including his own.

  Homer’s whole life he had believed that God was infinitely merciful – he had chosen to believe that. But for the last two years, it had been a struggle to hold onto that belief. Every day, he’d had to battle to maintain this faith.

  But he had kept that inner war to himself.

  Even as a devout Christian, he’d never had any desire to convert others. This had been another source of doubt for him to wrestle with. If he genuinely believed those who weren’t saved, who didn’t learn and follow the word of Christ, were doomed to eternal hellfire… the only compassionate thing for him to do, perhaps the only justifiable thing, would be to preach the word of God. To try to save everyone he could.

  But that had just never been Homer’s style.

  And after the Fall, of course, he definitely wasn’t going to convince anyone. Nothing and no one would. And they all had much bigger problems, anyway.

  And so he had served God, and humanity, in his own way.

  By trying to save everyone in this world.

  He hung a left at the next intersection, and took a deep breath – once again enjoying the quiet, the safety, and the solitude. And also more peace than he had felt in a long time. He was not only reunited with his family, his flesh and blood, once again.

  He was also back with his people – his tribe.

  Then again, maybe the team at Dam Neck wasn’t his tribe – not anymore. For the last two years, Alpha had been his family. And he had chosen to put everything he had into them and their mission – to try to save everyone else, everyone left alive.

  He thought again about the matter of choice.

  Of course he’d had to choose. And what he had chosen was not just Alpha over DEVGRU. No, that choice had been forced on him. He had been where he was, when the end came. And he had been chosen for the job he was chosen for. But what he had consciously chosen was:

  Humanity – over his own family.

  For two years, he had chosen to stay and progress Alpha’s mission to find a vaccine, the one thing that might bring humanity back from the brink. And he had left his wife and children to their fate. Never knowing. Never going to them, as his flesh called out for him to do every day, every minute. He definitely didn’t sit around lavishing praise on himself. But at the same time some objective part of him knew that act was as noble and selfless as it was wrenchingly painful. But, now…
r />   He had finally come back for them, too. For his family.

  He had his children back, safe in their beds, safe under his care. And now he also knew there was no way he could have gotten back in time to save his wife, Ellie. He presumed she had died getting them to safety. That was who she was. And she had gone on to her reward. So, for the first time in two years…

  Homer’s conscience was clear.

  Ultimately, God would judge him – for his failings, for his sins, for the decisions he had made. But, now, at least in this tiny little space and time, he could stop judging himself. In this moment, finally, everything was okay. As far as he knew, Alpha was on their way back to Britain with the vaccine, or at least the beginnings of it – giving humanity the best chance of survival it had seen since the Fall.

  A whole lot of his brothers, his old teammates, were still alive.

  And, mainly, of course, he had found his children.

  All these miracles.

  And so God, it seemed, was infinitely merciful, after all. And Homer’s faith, while badly tested, had been justified.

  He looked up to see that, not only had he reached the Red Squadron Team Room, but had gotten there at the same time as Kili and Sarah.

  Finally… he was home.

  Team Room

  “Kids okay?” Kili asked.

  “Yes,” Homer said. “They’re asleep.”

  “Better dreams now, I expect.”

  Homer smiled and shook his head. “Dave must just love having dozens of families living in the Annex. Not to mention a nursery in the Vikings’ team room.”

  Kili shook his head. “Dave’s not CMC anymore.”

  Homer looked up, brow furrowed. “Who is?”

  “Odin.”

  Homer looked like he was trying not to react too much to this, but Sarah could see the worry on his face. “Vikings?” she asked. “CMC?” The two men turned to her. Until she’d spoken, it was like she had disappeared from the scene entirely.

  “The Vikings are Gray Squadron,” Homer said. “Transport guys – SDVs, fast boats, APCs. And the CMC is the Command Master Chief. The senior chief, or enlisted man, in the team.”

  Kili shrugged. “Anyway, Odin never goes down there to the family area, believe me. Come on,” he said, turning and badging the door, and opening it for the others. “You’re finally back, man! Still getting my head around it…”

  The three stepped inside, and Sarah gawked at the space that opened up before them. The main area of the team room, much deeper inside, consisted of a giant open square with three large conference tables, one for each troop. Closer in, just past the entrance on the right, a long bar with stools stretched out, with a big stainless-steel freezer behind it, alongside what looked like an industrial refrigerator with sliding glass doors – stocked from end to end with so many brands of bottled beer it looked like a supermarket cooler. Leaning over the bar, Sarah could see two sinks, and two microwaves.

  Turning around, she faced what looked like an open-plan living room opposite the bar, to the left of the door, with three leather couches and a coffee table. On the wall above one of the couches hung framed photos of mostly smiling men, largely in military garb. And also one dog.

  She turned to Homer.

  “Fallen friends,” he said.

  “And the dog?”

  “Spike. Also a fallen friend. He died in Iraq.”

  Sarah turned and saw on the opposite wall a large wooden plaque, with hundreds of engraved names.

  “Every man who’s ever been a member of the squadron.”

  “The Redmen?” she asked.

  “The Tribe,” Kili answered.

  Homer shrugged. “Our tribe.”

  Sarah scanned toward the back again. The “team room” was really a complex of rooms, with offices, briefing rooms, a lab full of computers, all letting off the main area. And all of it unoccupied. She said, “With this much space, I’m surprised there aren’t people camping out. Sleeping on the couches.”

  Kili grinned and said, “Believe me, some have tried.”

  Sarah got it. This was a sacred space. The vibe in here, including from the other two occupants, told her as much.

  She looked back around the open area they stood in at the front. The rest of the wall-space over the couches was covered with a couple of flat-screen TVs, and what looked like a dizzying variety of trophies and mementos. She arched another eyebrow, and Homer pointed out a few of them, starting with a light machine gun, the barrel of which was bent at a sharp angle. “Remember Neil Roberts?” he asked. Sarah nodded. “That was his weapon – and what happened to it when he fell out of that Chinook over Takur Gar.”

  “And you said, ultimately he—”

  “Was awarded the Medal of Honor,” Kili said, cutting her off. “Posthumously. Was what ultimately happened to Neil.”

  Sarah shut up. Homer went on, pointing casually. “Hood and handcuffs used to arrest a war criminal in Bosnia… that painting is of the Maersk Alabama – and the hat above was signed by Captain Phillips.”

  “As in the one captured by Somali pirates? Were you—” but this time Sarah cut herself off. She looked down, and saw she was standing on a 10x15 area rug, red and white, with the same emblem as the one on Homer’s shoulder – the Native American warrior with crossed tomahawks. Suddenly she felt out of place standing on it, and moved back toward the other two, who still watched her from by the door.

  And at that point, she belatedly saw, couldn’t miss actually, the life-size American Indian standing guard by the entrance.

  “Cigar-store Indian, huh?” she said.

  “Tecumseh to you,” Kili said. “A great warrior.”

  Sarah looked to Homer, who added, “He was there for the worst defeat ever inflicted by Native Americans on U.S. forces. President Washington sent six hundred soldiers to their deaths – more than twice as many as died at Little Bighorn.”

  Sarah nodded respectfully.

  Homer squeezed her shoulder, lightening the mood. “Red Squadron’s had him for a long time – longer even than either of us old men. You can tell by the Vietnam-era weapon.” He nodded at what looked like a grease gun over the Indian’s shoulder.

  Kili smiled now, patting the figure on its chest – or, rather, its vest. “Though they didn’t have suicide bombers back then. Later addition. Now we call him Abu Paukeesaa.”

  “Wait, what?” Sarah said.

  “Father of Paukeesaa. That was Tecumseh’s son.”

  “No, I get that,” Sarah said, leaning in closer. “But – that’s a suicide vest?” She’d seen it, but imagined it was, like, a buckskin vest or something. Now she could see differently.

  “Yep. It was almost the end of Homer and me both. Plus what probably would have been a quarter of the rest of the squadron.”

  “What the hell happened?” Sarah asked.

  Kili said, “The detonator had one job. It failed.”

  “Jesus,” Sarah breathed.

  “Yep,” Homer said. “Whoever wired it up had reversed the connections. I’m convinced it was the Lance Factor at work.”

  “Vintage Lance Factor,” Kili agreed. “Come. Sit down. We need to talk.” He started to turn, but Sarah didn’t follow.

  “Hey, who’d you take this off of?” she asked.

  Homer and Kili exchanged a look. “Oh, you know,” Kili said. “Just another shitbird jihadi.”

  Sarah reached out to touch it. It bulged. “Please tell me you took the explosives out…”

  Kili laughed. “Nah, it’s pretty safe with the detonator disconnected. Anyway, I’m sure the battery’s long dead.”

  The two men were already moving to the couches. Following them, Sarah said, “And what happens if someone puts in a new battery?”

  Over his shoulder, Kili said, “Why the hell would anyone go and do a thing like that…?”

  * * *

  “You took care of my kids,” Homer said, simply.

  He and Sarah now sat on one of the couches, Kili adj
acent on the perpendicular one. “Course I did. What did you expect?”

  Homer didn’t say any more. He hoped everything was conveyed in the look he gave his friend.

  Kili slumped back on the cushions and laughed. “Hell, who am I kidding? Debi took care of ’em. I don’t even raise my own kids.”

  Sarah looked at Homer, who explained. “It’s sadly common. Team guys are away from home three hundred days a year. Either deployments or offsite training.”

  Kili laughed again. “And when we’re ‘home’ we work fourteen hours a day. Oh, and that three-hundred-days-a-year figure is for the other SEAL teams. But that was then. Now our problem is cabin fever. But I still let Debi do most of the parenting.” His smile gently melted away. “Speaking of deployments – where the hell have you been, brother? No, scratch that. I know where you’ve been – Britain. The question is: what are you doing back? And why now? Also, where the fuck are my manners…”

  He hopped off the couch, circled behind the bar, opened up the fridge, and came back with three frosted bottles, handing two off. Homer squinted at the label in disbelief.

  “No way,” he said.

  As Kili produced an opener and took the tops off, Sarah read the label of hers aloud: “Modern Times, Monster’s Park, Imperial Stout.” She took a sniff. “Wow.”

  “Yeah,” Kili said. “It’s not only got coffee in it, but chocolate and coconut. Like an alcoholic candy bar. Homer loves this shit.”

  Sarah took a sip. “Wow.”

  Kili said, “Yeah – a very alcoholic candy bar. Thirteen percent.”

  “It’s from a brewery back in San Diego,” Homer said. “How can you possibly still have any of this on hand?”

  Kili took a sip. “Who the hell else would drink it? Just like the old days, man.”

  Sarah said, “Do you keep everyone’s favorite beer stocked?”

  “Life’s short. Especially in our line of work.” Kili looked over at Homer. “And now…”

  “Yeah,” Homer said. “The question was what am I doing back here. Other than enjoying this.” He proceeded to give Kili the four-minute version of Alpha’s mission to Chicago – both the reason for it, and the outcome. And then his decision to leave his team, and his job. To come home, and find his family.