Odyssey

by Michael Stephen Fuchs

  “But it doesn’t work like that,” Sarah said.

  “No. It doesn’t work like that. The instructor told him something like, ‘Sir, if you want to continue, you need to get back in the water – right now.’ And so they took the other guy out. And he was done. We could all hear the bell ring a few minutes later. And then, well, I had my arm linked with Kili’s…”

  “Kili was your swim buddy, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. Though he didn’t have that nickname yet, not back then. Anyway, he was shivering uncontrollably. And he said, ‘I can’t take it. I’m going, too.’ And so, just like the class leader, I tried to stop him, tried to hang onto his arm – but I could barely even close my fingers, and he pulled away from me. And, obviously, I could see which way it was going.”

  “There was no way you could stop him.”

  “Except I did. I only had a second, so I kicked him in the back of the knee, knocking him down into the surf. Then I ran over the top of him and grabbed an instructor. Whatever else, we were encouraged to voice any safety concerns. So I said, ‘Hey, Instructor, I think this guy’s going down from hypothermia. He’s babbling, he’s incoherent.’”

  “Was he?”

  “No. But the staff took my word for it. I had a reputation as a strong performer, and a straight shooter. They liked me.”

  “So you used that.”

  Homer just held her gaze in the dim light. “They pulled Kili out of the surf and took him into the ambulance. I found out later they tested his body temp, and blood glucose, and both were borderline. To be on the safe side, they took him back to the clinic, put him in an immersion bath, warm saline drip, some dextrose to get his blood sugar up. When he came back, I don’t know, maybe an hour later… he just got back in the water.”

  “And that was it. He was back in.”

  “Yes. Neither of us said anything about it.”

  “For twenty-plus years?”

  Homer didn’t answer.

  Sarah touched him on his knee. “Homer – how would Odin know about that?”

  Homer’s eyes widened in alarm. “Odin told you that story?”

  “Yeah. But how would he know? Did Kili tell him?”

  Homer’s mind was already racing ahead, to more current and critical matters, the implications of all this, but still he answered as his mind churned. “Who knows? Any CMC worthy of the title has eyes everywhere, even back in time. And there were other men in the water with us that day – some of whom ended up here. It was kind of a legendary BUD/S class.”

  Finally Homer stood up, and looked down. “Odin was here.”

  Sarah hesitated. “Yes.”

  “What else did he say?”

  “He said you’re willing to cover for people when it suits you.”

  Homer ground his jaw and shook his head. “Son of a bitch.”

  Sarah looked up at him, eyes pleading.

  “What else?”

  “He… he threatened me, in a not-so-veiled manner. Said I needed to let you do this mission. And at the end…”

  “What?”

  “He seemed like he was also… threatening your children.”

  * * *

  Homer powered into the former Gray Squadron team room, moving fast and with intent. Kili had been right – he hardly recognized the place. What he also didn’t recognize were his kids, among any of those playing in the central area.

  He did a fast circuit of the complex of rooms, his heart rate rising with each step – more quickly than it had any of the thousands of times he’d walked into situations where he might be killed or maimed by gunfire or IEDs in the next seconds.

  Having your children disappear is like nothing else in life.

  Emerging into the main area again, he scanned faces through narrowed eyes until he found a team wife he recognized. “Molly.”

  “Homer. Welcome home. We’ve all been so—”

  “Ben and Isabel,” Homer said. “Have you seen them?”

  “We have. Your friend brought them in earlier.”

  “I know. Where are they now?”

  “Odin came and got them.”

  Homer didn’t say anything. But his face sure must have. Because Molly’s own face dropped dramatically. “I… I’m sorry. We just assumed it was okay. Because of Ellie and Odin…”

  But Homer was already out the door. In another three minutes, he reached the Black Squadron Team Room, at a run. But his keycard didn’t open the door. So he knocked – but nothing like the polite tapping Sarah would have recognized. He pounded on the door with the bottom of his fist until it opened. Behind it stood a Black Squadron guy Homer used to know as Rich.

  But Homer didn’t know him – now he was just a guy in a nappy fur shawl standing between him and his kids. He gave the door a powerhouse shove that knocked Rich back and down on his ass, then marched in over his sprawled-out form. Inside, it was a lot like the last scene – familiar in shape, profoundly different in effect. The layout was the same as the Red Squadron team room, along with a lot of the furniture. But the light was lower, and the decor darker. There also seemed to be a lot of weapons on display. And not just guns.

  Blades, elaborate ones. Medieval shit.

  And in the big central area, beyond the bar and living room, there was what did look a little like an actual throne room. It was kind of an open-plan office now, on a raised dais, with several tables in use as desks, flanked by chairs. In the center, facing the door, was not a throne – but a big overstuffed love seat.

  And sitting on it was Odin.

  With Ben and Isabel perched on either side of him.

  Fighting tunnel vision as he powered forward, Homer clocked a dozen men sitting, standing, working, whatever. Most wore side arms and knives. All wore the pelts.

  Everyone stopped what they were doing.

  As Homer launched himself up onto the dais, he took a deep, slow, steadying breath. And he approached the couch at a measured pace. He had to battle the impulse to physically pull Ben and Isabel away from the big bearded son of a bitch who sat between them, arms out along the top of the couch like he didn’t have a care in the world. But the kids looked okay, happy and comfortable, practically in his lap. Obviously they knew him. So Homer just squatted down and said, “Hey, guys, how’s it going?”

  “Good,” Isabel said.

  “Uncle Odin’s reading to us,” Ben said.

  “Oh, yeah? And what are you reading?”

  “The Cat in the Hat!”

  Homer nodded. “That’s a good one.” He looked up at Odin, who now sat higher than him. “Let’s go somewhere and talk.”

  Odin looked down at him, pinning him with that one evil eye, but smiling easily. “Nah, man, I’m good right here. I like playing with your kids. Right, Ben? Izzie?” He put his arms around their shoulders, one small, one tiny, and looked unflinchingly at Homer. “You upset, man? Because they disappeared? I figured you’d come find us. Right here where I live, you know?”

  Homer stood up.

  Odin went on, leaning back to look up at him. “But, hey, you wanna talk? Let’s do it. Why don’t we talk about how your kids have been perfectly safe here, for two years. Right, guys? So, you know what – they’ll be just fine one more day.” He smiled again, but the effect wasn’t reassuring. “Anyway, you were never one to run out on a mission – were you, Homer? Or to shirk your duty? ’Cause I heard that about you.”

  Homer didn’t respond.

  Odin’s smile turned to a scowl. “Then again, I also heard the opposite. But I don’t think I believe it. Nah, you’re still our brother. You’re a team guy. And on this team… you work for me.”

  Homer twisted his head, slowly. “I’m not so sure about that, Master Chief. Because I got chopped to UKSF, and had a very different job for the last two years. And a different mission.”

  “Oh, yeah, and a whole new team, too, right? Tell you what, man, I don’t give a rat’s red dick about any of that. And whatever the fuck you’ve been doing over there, you’re ba
ck on my boat now. And, despite the huge pain in the ass you seem to be lately, I’d still rather have you inside the tent, pissing out.”

  “Hey. I don’t appreciate the language. Not in front of my kids.”

  Odin leaned back. “Ha, yeah, you’re right. My bad.” He put his hands on the children’s heads, mussing their hair, his big bear paws enveloping their small, fragile skulls. “Tell you what. After this mission, you want to bake bread, you go with God.”

  “What’s the mission, Odin?”

  “Not so different from your last one. Then again, not exactly the same, either.” Odin laughed. “Old saying, brother: A fool goes to war to save the world. A wise man goes to avert disaster.”

  “I’ll try to remember that,” Homer said. “Come on, guys. We’re leaving.” He pulled Ben to his feet, and picked up Isabel – but she reached back with both arms, and Homer saw it was for her Paddington Bear, which lay on the floor by Odin’s throne. The man picked it up, stood, and handed it to her – but as he did, its half-severed hat flopped backward.

  “Hey, man,” Odin said, “you should fix that for her.”

  Homer smiled tightly and turned to go. But as he did, he felt a vise-like grip on his elbow. Odin’s voice turned to a growl. “Don’t be like the bear.” Homer looked down at the hand, but Odin held on. “Don’t lose your head.”

  Homer pulled free.

  And he got Ben and Isabel out of there.

  In the Fall

  For once in his life, Homer didn’t knock.

  Sarah startled and looked up as he pushed through the door – not only with both children in tow, but with both of them looking ready to travel. Just one backpack each, but both fully dressed, including shoes and coats.

  “So we’re going?” she asked.

  “No,” Homer said, putting Isabel down. “But they’re moving in. And staying with us until we do leave.”

  “Which is still after the mission.”

  Homer shrugged. “Nothing’s changed.”

  “Hasn’t it?” Sarah’s eyes pleaded with him.

  “No. Not really. This mission is still how we get out of here. Odin’s not giving us the aircraft before I do it.”

  Sarah shook her head. Homer was conspicuously omitting that the stakes had been substantially raised. She said, “That man scares the hell out of me.”

  He turned to face her. “I have to get back to mission prep. Stay here, with them. Do not go out. I don’t have to tell you—”

  “Yeah,” Sarah said. “They’re watching.”

  “Daddy!”

  “What, angel?” Homer squatted down before his daughter. Sarah could see the stress he was under from his body language. Being alone out on the ground with millions of undead, battling in mortal contests where death could come in seconds, none of that rattled him in the slightest. But butting heads with his former teammates, and having his children in peril as a result, sure as hell did. Of course, he had to be a rock for his kids. And he was fooling them. Just not her. Isabel held up her stuffed bear.

  “Can you fix him before you go?”

  Homer didn’t hesitate. “Of course I can.” Watching him in profile, Sarah could also read something the little girl couldn’t. The reason he couldn’t say no to her was that this might be the last time he was ever with her. Sarah imagined he had lived through this scene many times before.

  She watched as he went over to his pack, propped in the corner along with both of their vests and rifles, and emerged with a small sewing kit.

  “Winding a bobbin,” Sarah said.

  “Hand-stitching will have to do on this one,” Homer said, taking the sewing kit, the bear, and the girl, and setting them all on the bed, alongside himself.

  Since she had another minute here to make her case, Sarah decided to make it. Also keeping her voice calm, for the sake of the kids, she said, “Homer. We should go. Just get out of here.”

  Unwinding a section of thread from a cardboard spindle, he said, “I told you. I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s impossible. Maybe we could get out of the Annex.” He looked up from his work, first at Isabel, then at Sarah – a look that said he didn’t want to try a prison break with two small children in tow. “But we definitely can’t get back. There’s no way back to the carrier without a boat or plane.”

  Sarah sat on the bed beside him, Isabel between them, with Ben across the room, pulling toys out of his backpack. “They can’t possibly control every boat or plane in the region.”

  “They may well,” Homer said, threading a needle. “Every working one. Anyway, like I said, Odin’s not going to let us leave.”

  Sarah put her hand on his thigh. “And how do you know he’s going to let us go after you do the mission?”

  Homer finished tying off the thread, then looked across at her. “Because Kili gave me his word.”

  “And who owns Kili? His family’s locked in here, too.”

  Homer didn’t respond to this. He just picked up the Paddington Bear and pulled back its hat. He showed it to Isabel. “Look, his brains. If I open up your head, is that what your brains will look like?”

  “Silly,” Isabel said, smiling and putting her chin on her chest.

  Homer took two fingers and shoved the beige stuffing down inside – but then stopped, his expression changing. He dug around farther down inside the stuffed toy, and came out with a thin rectangle of steel and glass. A cell phone. As Sarah watched, Homer held it up in front of Isabel.

  “It’s Mom’s phone.” But this was spoken by Ben, sitting on the floor across the room, playing with two plastic action figures.

  “No, it’s not,” Isabel said, sounding very certain. “It’s her journal. She wrote in it every day.”

  “Izzie keeps it in her bear with her all the time,” Ben said. “In case Mom comes back from heaven. So she can have it back.”

  Sarah squinted, wondering how the hell Isabel could possibly remember that – her mother, and the journaling. She couldn’t have been older than one or two when her mother died, two years ago. She looked to Homer, but he wasn’t looking back.

  He was staring at the phone in his hand.

  Breathing shallowly, he pressed the power button, which of course did nothing. He touched Isabel’s chin with his free hand, rose, and went over to his pack, pulling out the same micro-USB charging cable he’d used in the truck. Then he went to the desk and plugged it into one of the USB ports, along with the phone.

  Now it powered up.

  After a few seconds, he tapped, then swiped, then tapped again, and finally started scrolling, reading as he did. Sarah watched his expression change dramatically in the glowing light of the screen. After a few seconds, he laid the phone back down on the desk. He looked like he was trying to keep his hand from shaking. Straightening up, he repeated his instructions from earlier.

  “Stay here. Watch them. Don’t go out.”

  “Where are you going?” Sarah asked.

  “And don’t open the door for anyone but me. Bolt it.”

  Then he was gone.

  Suddenly getting a bad feeling, or rather a worse one, Sarah reached across to her belt, which hung on the bed post, and drew the silenced SIG. She double-checked that it was decocked, then looked at the kids, who ignored her – she guessed they were used to having guns around – and went back to playing.

  Then she moved over to the desk. The phone was still on, the screen not locked. On it, she could see what looked like a journaling app, paragraphs of small text. It looked intimate, personal. Instead of reading the text, she hit the back button.

  The screen switched to a list of journal entries, with dates.

  The last one was dated less than a year ago.

  * * *

  “Hey, brother. Why aren’t you dow—”

  “You fucking lied to me.”

  Homer was glad he hadn’t found Kili with his wife or kids, because he didn’t know if he would have been able to restrain himself, even if
he had. As it was, he body-slammed Kili against a wall, forearm pressing against his throat through his beard.

  Kili didn’t resist. And he didn’t speak. He just slumped. He couldn’t hang his head far, with Homer’s iron arm-bar pressed against his windpipe. But he seemed to try.

  “She was alive, for at least a year. Where the hell is she?”

  This caused Kili to look up, his eyes wide and wet. “Oh, God, Homer. She is dead. I swear to you… She just… she didn’t die in the Fall. She wasn’t infected when she came in.”

  Homer didn’t let him go. “How, then? How?”

  His breath shallow, Kili looked like he couldn’t bear to answer. “I’m sorry. She checked out, brother. She packed it in.”

  Homer’s forehead wrinkled and his mouth hung open. He let Kili go and took a step back, but didn’t look away. “No. She wouldn’t do that. She’d never do that.”

  “I know. I would have said the same thing. But…”

  “But what?”

  “She wasn’t herself. When you didn’t come home. When she started to realize you were never coming home.”

  Homer could barely get his breath. It was like a gut punch. Everything he’d feared these last two years – it was all true. He should have come for her. He could have saved her. He was guilty after all. Impossibly guilty. Beyond redemption.

  Kili kept talking, but didn’t move from his spot, back up against the wall. “She was depressed. Agitated. Acting strange.”

  Homer finally looked up. “Strange how?”

  “She kept saying there was something she had to do, outside the compound. That she had to warn people. And then…”

  “Then what?”

  “Then one night she just disappeared. CCTV footage showed her walking out the main gate. And she never came back.”