Orpheus: Homecoming (The Orpheus Trilogy Book 2) by Dan DeWitt Read Free Book Online Page A

it go for a minute, not to bask in the adoration, but because trying to calm it down wouldn't have done any good. This was a release for a lot of people in the room who had yet to come to grips that the horrors of the world had taken a quantum leap forward.
    “Thank you, thank you. I'm not very comfortable with this sort of thing, so please be patient. I didn't prepare a speech, because I was pretty sure I'd screw it up.” He chuckled, and others followed it.
    “When I first heard of this event, I wanted to run and hide. Despite Martin's generous introduction for me, I'm not that force of nature he spoke about. I was just highly motivated, no more or less than others. Some things worked out. For me, at least. After that was over, all I ever wanted was to just forget. I wanted to get back to my life, and let the island fade away until it was nothing more than something that popped up in a bad dream from time to time. I wanted to spend every possible moment with my wife. I wanted to plan my son's bachelor party, and then dance with my new daughter-in-law at the wedding. I wanted to keep in touch with the rest of my friends from that other place, and talk about anything but that place for the rest of my life. I wanted to put Orpheus to rest for good. I wanted to get on with living by ignoring the dead.”
    Holt cleared his throat.
    “I still want those things with all of my heart, but I realize that I can't insult the dead by selfishly forgetting about them. We lost tens of thousands of people. Our friends, families, lovers, neighbors, random smiling faces on Main. My son lost so many people, people to whom I can never express my gratitude for giving him back to me. I lost my two best friends in the worst way possible, because they died saving me. They gave me back my life. One of them had salvation in his hand and gave it up to save someone else. How can anyone repay that sort of debt?”
    He let that sink in, almost unsure what to say next.
    “I don't want to bring the party down, and I don't want to scare you, but the world has changed. A nightmare has been made real, and it could happen again. This time, we may not be … lucky isn't the appropriate word, but I think you'll understand if I use it … lucky enough for it to happen on an island where it contained itself due to geography. On the lower 48, it could mean the end of everything we know.
    “So I think the best way to honor the memories of the people on The Whale isn't to forget, to pretend it didn't happen. We need to learn from it. A handful of people outlasted thousands upon thousands of undead whose sole purpose was to kill everything.” He motioned to his table. “Just a few people, with no warning, no help on its way, and no belief that there was anything left but the people at their side.”
    He paused as the applause rose. He had no intention of stopping it, because they deserved every second of it.
    “Not everyone made it. Randolph Mutters, Sam Barnes, Sister Ann McCourt, Mickey Potts, Denise Munn, and so many others fell. But each one of them died nobly, and allowed others the chance to live, to be returned to their loved ones. And if we learn only one thing from them, it has to be this: There is no such thing as insurmountable odds. Together, we can survive. Don't ever forget that. Don't ever forget them. Thank you.”
    He stepped away from the podium, waved to the crowd, and lost himself in the applause.
     
    O
     
    Holt excused himself from a group of people to use the restroom. He washed his hands and walked back into the hallway, which was empty. Instead of taking a right to rejoin the party, he took a left and snuck out the back door. He pulled out his pocket square and used it to make sure that the door didn't shut behind him. He looked around him, and was pleased to find out he was exactly where he wanted to be: alone for a moment. He texted his wife so she wouldn't worry, then pulled a cigar case out of his jacket and lit up.
    His solitude