Black

by Ted Dekker

  “You want me to present this at the meeting?”

  “I want you to tell them what you told me. Explaining dreams isn’t something that comes naturally to me.”

  “I can do that.” Tom wasn’t sure if he really could, but they were way beyond such insignificant considerations. “And someone is locating Svensson, right? He has to be stopped.”

  “We’re working on that. But we’re dealing with international laws here. And Svensson is a powerful man. You don’t just drop the hammer on him without evidence.”

  “I have evidence!”

  “Not in their minds, you don’t . He’s agreed to an interview tomorrow. Don’t worry; we have a ground team paying him a visit in a few hours. They’ll set up surveillance. He’s not going anywhere.”

  “That could be too late.”

  “For crying out loud, Thomas! You want fast; this is fast! I have to catch a flight. I’ll instruct my secretary to patch your calls through. You’re at the Sheraton, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Ten o’clockat the Sheraton. I’ll have a conference room reserved.” Merton Gains paused. “Have you . . . learned anything else?”

  The nightmare swept through Tom’s mind. The Fall. A sense of impending dread settled in his gut like a lead brick. “No.”

  “Fine.”

  “Okay.”

  He hung up.

  “What was that?” Kara asked. “He’s coming?”

  “He’s coming. With an entourage. Ten o’clock.”

  “That’s twelve hours. What happens in the next twelve hours? You’re briefing them, right? So we need more information.”

  Tom suddenly felt faint. Sick. He settled into a chair in the open dining room and stared out at the lobby.

  “Thomas?” Kara slid into a chair opposite him. “What is it?”

  He massaged his temples. “We have a problem, Kara.”

  “Why do you say that? They’re finally starting to listen.”

  “No, not with them. With me. With whatever’s happening to me.”

  “Your dreams?”

  “The colored forest has come apart at the seams,” he said.

  “What . . . what do you mean?”

  “The colored forest. It’s not colored anymore. The bats have broken past the river and attacked—” Tom broke off.

  She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. “That’s . . . is that possible?”

  “It happened.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know.” He hit his hand on the table. The plates clattered. A couple seated two tables away looked over.

  Again, not as loud. “I don’t know; that’s the problem. As far as I know, I won’t even go back. And if I do go back, I have no idea what the land will be like.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  “You can’t imagine.”

  “This explains your sudden interest in weapons.”

  “I guess.”

  “Then you have to sleep! You can’t meet with all those people without knowing what’s going on over there. Our whole case hinges on this . . . these dreams of yours. You’re saying it’s over? We have to get you to sleep!”

  “I’m not going to tell them what’s going on over there!” he said. “That’s for us, Kara. It’s bad enough talking about what I learned in my dreams, but there’s no way I can give them any specifics. They’ll lock me up!”

  “But you still have to know. For yourself.”

  They sat quietly for a moment. She was right—he had to find out if he could go back. They had twelve hours.

  “Tell me what happened,” Kara said quietly. “I want to know everything.”

  Tom nodded. It had been a while since he’d told her everything. “It’ll take a while.”

  “We have time.”

  Twelve hours had come and gone, and Svensson hadn’t forced Monique to change her mind as promised. But one look at his face when he opened the door to her white-walled cell, and Monique suspected that was about to change.

  They’d moved her during the night. Why or where she had no idea. What she did know was that the plan unfolding about her had been the subject of immense planning and foresight. She’d picked up enough between the lines to conclude that much.

  Virologists had speculated for years that one day a bioweapon would change history. In anticipation of that day, Valborg Svensson had laid exhaustive plans. His stumbling upon the Raison Virus might have been a fluke, but what he would now do with it was anything but. Actually, he hadn’t stumbled upon it at all. He’d invested in a vast network of informants so that at the first sign of the right virus, he could pounce on it. In effect, he had many thousands of scientists working for him.

  This man standing tall in the doorway to her white room was a brilliant man, Monique thought. And perhaps completely insane.

  “Hello, Monique. I trust we’ve treated you well. My apologies for any discomfort, but that will change now. The worst is behind you, I promise. Unless, of course, you refuse to cooperate, but that is beyond my control.”

  “I have no intention of cooperating,” she said.

  “Yes, well, that’s because you don’t know yet.”

  She didn’t indulge him with the obvious question.

  “Would you like to know?”

  She still didn’t .He chuckled. “You have a strong backbone; I like that. What you don’t know is that in exactly fourteen hours, we—yes, we; I’m certainly not alone in this, not even close, although I would like to think I play a significant role—are going to release the Raison Strain in twelve primary countries.”

  Monique’s vision swam. What was he saying? Surely he wasn’t planning to . . .

  “Yes, exactly. With or without an antivirus, the clock starts ticking in fourteen hours.” He grinned wide. “Astonishing, isn’t it?”

  “You can’t do that . . .”

  “That’s what some of the others argued. But we prevailed. It’s the only way. The fate of the world is now in my hands, dear Monique. And yours, of course.”

  “The virus could wipe out the earth’s population!”

  “That’s the point. The threat has to be real. Only an antivirus can save humanity. I trust you would like to help us create that antivirus. We have a very good start already, I must say. We may not even need you. But your name is on the virus. It seems appropriate that it also be on the cure, don’t you think?”

  34

  The first thing Tom realized was that he was back. He was waking up in the Thrall with Rachelle and Johan curled by his feet. He’d dreamed of Bangkok and was getting ready to enter a meeting with some people who were finally willing to consider the Raison Strain.

  They’d spent the evening huddled together on the Thrall’s floor. The night seemed colder than usual. Depression hung in the room like a thick fog. Rachelle had even tried to dance once, but she just couldn’t find the right rhythm. She gave up and sat back down, head in her hands. They soon grew silent and finally drifted off to sleep.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, they were awakened by a scratching on the roof, but the sound passed within a few minutes and they managed to return to sleep.

  Tom was the first to wake. Morning rays lit the translucent dome. He quietly stood, walked to the large doors, and pressed his ear against the glowing wood. If anything alive was waiting beyond the doors, it made no sound. Satisfied, he hurried across the room to a side door that Rachelle said led to storage. He opened it and descended a short flight of steps to a small storage room.

  A clear jar containing about a dozen pieces of fruit sat against the far wall. Some bread. Good. He closed the door and returned upstairs.

  Rachelle and Johan still slept, and Tom decided to leave them to their sleep as long as he could. He walked over to the main doors and put an ear to the wood again.

  He listened for a full minute this time. Nothing.

  He eased the bolt open and cracked the door, half expecting to hear a sudden flurry of blac
k wings. Instead, he heard only the slight creak of the hinges. The morning air remained absolutely still. He pushed the door farther open and cautiously peered around. He squinted in the bright light and quickly scanned the village for Shataiki.

  But there were none. He held his breath and stepped out into putrid morning air.

  The village was deserted. Not a soul, living or dead, occupied the once lively streets. There were no dead bodies as he had expected. Only patches of blood that had soaked the ground. Nor were there Shataiki perched on the rooftops, waiting for him to leave the safety of the Thrall. He twisted to look at the Thrall’s roof, thinking of the scratching during the night. Still no bats.

  But where were the people?

  Apparently even the animals had been chased from the valley. The buildings no longer glowed. The entire village looked as though it had been covered by a great settling of gray ash.

  “What happened?” Rachelle and Johan stood dumbstruck.

  “It went dark inside,” Johan said, staring past Tom with wide eyes.

  He was right; the wood inside had lost its glow as well. It must have been somehow affected by the air he had let in when he opened the door. He turned back to the scene before him.

  Tom felt nauseated. Scared. His pulse beat steady and hard. Had evil entered him somehow, or was it just out here in this physical form? And what about the others?

  “It’s all changed!” Rachelle cried. She grabbed Tom’s arm with a firm, trembling grip. Frightened? She’d known caution before. But fear? So she, too, felt the effects of the transformation even without being torn to shreds.

  “What . . . what happened to the land?” Johan asked.

  The meadows surrounding the village were now black. But the starkest change in the land was the forest at the meadow’s edge. The trees were all charred, as though an immense fire had ravaged the land.

  Black.

  For a long time they stood still, frozen by the scene before them. Tom looked to his left where the path snaked over scorched earth toward the lake. He placed his arms around Johan and Rachelle.

  “We should go to the lake.”

  Rachelle looked at him. “Can’t we eat first? I’m starving.”

  Her eyes. They weren’t green.

  He lowered his arm and swallowed. The emerald windows to her soul were now grayish white. As though she’d contracted an advanced case of cataracts.

  It took every ounce of his composure not to jump. He stepped back cautiously. Her face had lost its shine and her skin had dried. Tiny lines were etched over her arms.

  And Johan—it was the same with him!

  Tom turned around and looked at his own arm. Dry. No pain, just bone dry. The nausea in his gut swelled.

  “Eat? Don’t you want to go to the lake first?”

  He waited for a response, afraid to face them. Afraid to look into their eyes. Afraid to ask whether his eyes were also gray saucers.

  They weren’t responding. See, they were afraid too. They’d seen his eyes and were stunned to dumbness. They stood on the steps of the Thrall, ashamed and silent. Tom certainly felt—

  He heard a loud smacking sound and spun around, fearing bats. But it wasn’t bats. It was Rachelle and Johan. They’d descended the steps and were stuffing some fruit he hadn’t seen into their mouths.

  Whose fruit? Everything else here appeared to be dead.

  Teeleh’s .

  “Wait!” He took the steps in long leaps, rushed over to Rachelle, and ripped the fruit from her mouth.

  She whirled around and struck him, her hand flexed firm and her fingers curved to form a claw. “Leave me!” she snarled, spewing juice.

  Tom staggered in shock. He touched his cheek and brought his hand away bloody. Rachelle snatched up another fruit and shoved it into her mouth.

  He shifted his gaze to Johan, who ignored them totally. Like a ravenous dog intent on a meal, he greedily chewed the flesh of a fruit.

  Tom backed to the steps. This couldn’t be happening. Not to Johan, of all people. Johan was the innocent child who just yesterday had walked around the village in a daze, lost in thoughts about diving into Elyon’s bosom. And now this?

  And Rachelle. His dearest Rachelle. Beautiful Rachelle, who could spend countless hours dancing in the arms of her beloved Creator. How could she have so easily turned into this snarling, desperate animal with dead eyes and flaking skin?

  A flurry of wings startled Tom. He spun his head to the blackened entrance of the Thrall. Michal sat perched on the railing.

  “Michal!”

  Tom bounded up the steps. “Thank goodness! Thank goodness, Michal! I . . .” Tears blurred his vision. “It’s terrible! It’s . . .” He turned to Rachelle and Johan, who were making quick work of the fruit scattered below.

  “Look at them!” he blurted out, flinging an arm in their direction. “What’s happening?” Even as he said it, he felt a sudden desire to cool his own throat with the fruit.

  Michal stared ahead, regarding the scene serenely. “They are embracing evil,” he said quietly.

  Tom felt himself begin to calm. The fruit looked exactly like any fruit they’d eaten at a table set by Karyl. Intoxicating, sweet. He shivered with growing desperation. “They’ve gone mad,” he said in a low voice.

  “Perceptive. They’re in shock. It won’t always be this bad.”

  “Shock?” Tom heard himself say it, but his eyes were on the last piece of fruit, which both Rachelle and Johan were heading for.

  “Shock of the most severe nature,” Michal said. “You’ve tasted the fruit before. Its effect isn’t so shocking to you, but don’t think you’re any different from them.”

  Johan reached the fruit first, but his taller sister quickly towered over him. She put one hand on her hip and shoved the other at the fruit. “It’s mine!” she screamed. “You have no right to take what is mine. Give it to me!”

  “No!” Johan screamed, his eyes bulging from a beet-red face. “I found it. I’ll eat it!” Rachelle leaped on her younger brother with nails extended.

  “They’re going to kill each other,” Tom said. It occurred to him that he was actually less horrified than amused. The realization frightened him.

  “With their bare hands? I doubt it. Just keep them away from anything that can be used as a weapon.” The Roush looked at them with a blank stare. “And get them to the lake as soon as you can.”

  Rachelle and Johan separated and circled each other warily. From the corner of his eyes, Tom saw a small black cloud approaching. But he kept his eyes on the fruit in Johan’s fist. He really should run down there and take the fruit away himself. They’d eaten more than enough. Right?

  Tom cast a side glance at Michal. The Roush had his eyes on the sky. “Remember, Thomas. The lake.” He leaped into the air and swept away.

  “Michal?” Tom glanced at the sky that had interested the Roush.

  The black cloud swept in over blackened trees. Shataiki!

  “Rachelle!” he screamed. These black beasts terrified him more now than they had in the black forest.

  “Rachelle!” He bounded down the stairs and seized first Rachelle and then Johan by their arms, nearly jerking them from their feet. He glanced at the skyline, surprised at how close the Shataiki had come. Their shrieks of delight echoed through the valley.

  Rachelle and Johan had seen, too, and they ran willingly. But their strength was gone, and Tom had to practically drag them up the stairs into the Thrall. Even with Rachelle finally pulling free and stumbling up the steps on her own, they just managed to flop into the dark Thrall and shove the doors closed when the first Shataiki slammed into the heavy wood. Then they came, shrieking and beating, one after another.

  Tom scrambled back, saw the door was secure, and dropped to his seat, panting. Rachelle and Johan lay unmoving to his right. He had no idea how to follow Michal’s last request. It would be hard enough to sneak undetected to the lake by himself. With Rachelle and Johan in their present catatonic state, it w
ould be impossible.

  Neither of them stirred in the Thrall’s dim light. The once brilliant green floor was now a dark slab of cold wood. The tall pillars now towered like black ghosts in the shadows. Only the weak light filtering in through the still-translucent dome allowed Tom to see at all.

  He rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. The Shataiki still slammed unnervingly against the door, but the period between hits began to lengthen. He doubted they could find a way to break into the building. But it wasn’t the Shataiki he feared most at the moment. No, it was the two humans at his feet who sent shivers up his spine. And himself. What was happening to them?

  The fruit in the storage room. Tom scrambled to his feet and pounded down the steps. Had the air destroyed that fruit as well? Actually, now that he thought about it, the fruit in the forest had dropped to the ground as he ran by, but it hadn’t turned black. Not right away.

  He slammed into the door and pulled up. This door had been closed before they’d opened the main Thrall doors. If he opened it, would the air that now filled the Thrall destroy the fruit?

  He would have to take that chance. He threw the door open, stepped in, and slammed it behind him. The jar stood against the far wall. He bounded over, grabbed one fruit out, and immediately stuffed rags in the top. He had no clue if this would work, but nothing else came to mind.

  Tom lifted the one red fruit up and blew out a lungful of air.

  Bad air, he thought. Too late.

  The fruit didn’t wilt in his hand. How long would it last?

  He shoved the fruit into his mouth and bit deep. The juice ran over his tongue, his chin. It slipped down his throat.

  The relief was instantaneous. Gentle spasms ran through his stomach. Tom dropped to his knees and tore into the sweet flesh.

  He’d eaten half the fruit before remembering Rachelle and Johan. He grabbed an orange fruit from the jar, stuffed the rag back into its neck, and tore up the stairs.