Colony of the Lost

by Derik Cavignano

  “Moments before their arrival, an armed youth shot and killed Glenwood police officer, Douglas Sandler, who was conducting a routine patrol of the neighborhood. The youth then broke into Gallagher’s residence and fired several shots from a handgun, and although details are still sketchy, preliminary reports indicate that the gunman was a former student of Gallagher’s.

  “Police opened fire on the gunman, killing him instantly, and during the chaos, Gallagher fled the scene in a black Volvo.”

  The camera zoomed in on his front porch for a close up of the bullet hole and the dark swatch of blood smeared against the shingles.

  “Police believe that Gallagher is traveling with a former girlfriend and two others, but would not comment as to whether they are considered hostages.”

  The reporter motioned to the street, and the camera followed her gesture. “As you can see here in front of me, the streets of Glenwood are deserted. One can only speculate as to whether people have packed up and left in the wake of this ongoing tragedy or whether they are at home, locked behind closed doors.

  “It’s been three weeks since the first disappearance, and since then nearly fifty people have gone missing, although police suspect the actual number may be higher. To date, police have uncovered the mutilated bodies of four victims, but no trace has been found of the others.

  “The FBI has recently joined the investigation, and yesterday the Governor called in the National Guard to patrol the streets.”

  The camera switched to a middle-aged man in the newsroom. He sat behind a desk as people bustled about in the background. He adjusted his glasses and gazed into the camera with an expression of deep concern. “Nancy, how have officials responded to rumors that the deaths and disappearances might be linked to cult activity?”

  “Well, Peter, police have not ruled it out, but as I said, this is a very strange and complicated case. There are all sorts of rumors flying around. Earlier, I spoke with one man who swore that the town had been overtaken by aliens. Again, some very bizarre circumstances in this case, but Channel 6 will continue to sift through the information and bring you up to date coverage. Reporting live from Glenwood, I’m Nancy Wellington.”

  Crystal shut off the TV and tossed the remote onto the bed. “Every cop in the state must be looking for us by now.”

  Jay chewed his lip. “We need to ditch your car. Or at least switch out the plates.”

  “We have to go back to Glenwood,” Sarah said. “We have to find the cave.”

  Jay and Sarah exchanged glances. “The dream,” he said. “Is that what Samuel showed you? The cave?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Did he show you where it is?”

  “Only part of the way. But he showed me where it lives on the inside.”

  Tim furrowed his brow. “What are you guys talking about?”

  Jay explained what he’d learned from Samuel in his dream. When he finished, Sarah recounted what Samuel had shown her in the cave.

  “So you think we should head back to Glenwood?” Crystal asked.

  “Not yet,” Jay said. “We still need to figure out where the cave is and what Frank’s message means. And we’re going to need supplies. This isn’t going to be easy.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Margaret Connelly ran through a forest cloaked in night’s shadows, racing along a path lined with crooked trees. They appeared ghastly in the failing light, gray trunks twisted and gnarled, knotted bark scrunched into rough-looking faces. They glared at her in the dismal gloom, branches flexing and clenching, rattling like bones.

  Behind her, the Dark One followed.

  A dream, she thought. Just a dream.

  And she knew that she was both right and wrong.

  The trees loomed over her, reaching for her with spindly fingers, groping for a hold of her clothes, a hold of her hair. Branches smacked against her face. Roots snaked around her feet.

  Behind her, the Dark One laughed—a deep growling like the grinding of rocks.

  Margaret screamed, but knew there was no one to hear, no one to help.

  The Dark One emerged from the shadows, its red eyes gleaming.

  Almost time, it whispered. Almost time.

  ***

  Margaret came awake with a start. She rolled onto her back and stared at the morning sky through a screen of trees. Birds flitted about the budding branches, oblivious to the evil that lurked beneath them, indifferent to the death that stalked so many. Watching them, it was hard to believe that anything could be wrong in the world.

  I wish I were like them. I wish I didn’t know what was happening.

  She knew she shouldn’t be thinking such things, knew that it would do more harm than good, but she couldn’t help it. Her world had been torn apart. Nick lay in the ICU, stabbed by her own hand, and Sarah was on the run, confused and afraid, certain to be an orphan.

  Why did this have to happen? What did she do to deserve this?

  If only she hadn’t taken out the trash that night. If only she’d let it slide until the following week. There was plenty of room in the other barrels—it could have waited.

  Don’t do this to yourself. For whatever reason, Trell chose you. What’s done is done.

  She glanced at the swell of her belly peeking through a rip in her bloodied nightgown and wrinkled her forehead in disgust. It had grown rapidly in the last few days, tripling in size almost overnight. She guessed she had gained nearly thirty pounds and hoped to God it was near full term. Any bigger and it would never come out ... at least not in any way that she could survive.

  I’m going to kill you. I’ll find a way. I swear to God I will.

  She glanced down at her hands and wasn’t at all surprised to find crimson stains on her palms. How many had she killed last night? How many had she brought to the pool so that their blood would drip into the water and fuel Trell’s strength?

  She closed her eyes and opened her mind, and the memories returned to her in a flood of images, a grisly kaleidoscope of death. If she wanted to discover how to kill the demon, she had to endure the pain of these memories, had to sift through them in search of clues.

  She saw herself breaking into a house in the dead of night, creeping into the children’s bedrooms while they slept. She pressed strips of duct tape over their mouths and zip-tied their wrists, all before they had a chance to come fully awake. Then she carried them outside, roped them together, and dragged them into the woods, their eyes bulging as their muffled screams went unheard.

  Enough!

  She closed her eyes and hugged her knees as hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She wondered if she’d be better off being ignorant like the others. They numbered in the hundreds now—soldiers of Trell, ordinary people turned into slaves. Leading loved ones to their deaths.

  But none were quite like she, none had moments of clarity, moments when they were truly themselves again. It was because Trell had come to her in the beginning, back before it had gained enough strength to survive on its own. It had chosen a select few to bring victims to the pool so that their blood could counter the effects of the poison and fuel its strength. What had become of the others, she didn’t know. Most likely, it had killed them. They would have posed a danger to it, knowing what they did about its origin, its purpose. So far, it had spared her…but only because she carried its child. Once it was born, it would kill her too.

  Maybe it could hear her thoughts, or maybe it was just coincidence, but a sharp pain flared in her uterus, so intense she fell back against the ground and screamed. After it passed, she sat up slowly, fearing that the slightest motion might set it off again. She closed her eyes and drew a cautious breath. She’d experienced these pains on and off for days now, pains she had at first thought—prayed—were the onset of a miscarriage. When she first felt them, she began to push, trying with all her might to expel the creature from her body, picturing a mini Trell writhing in the dirt, kicking and mewling. But it didn’t happen. After a minute or so the pain subsided. Since the
n, it had returned every four hours. Just like clockwork.

  A frightening thought began to take shape in her mind, a thought she’d tried for days to suppress. But now she couldn’t hide it from herself any longer. The cramps were too regular to be punishment from Trell, too scheduled to be retaliation for something she did or thought. And there was one more thing—the pains felt like needles clamping down on her flesh, gnashing and tearing before moving on to another location.

  It’s feeding. Not on the nourishment my body provides, but on me. Biting my flesh, drinking my blood.

  She shook her head and closed her eyes.

  It hurts more each time … and it just keeps getting hungrier.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Tim lay sprawled on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling with his hands laced behind his head. He was alone in the room, all by himself for the first time in what seemed like years. The quiet sounded strange, almost too peaceful.

  Like the calm before the storm, he thought, and pictured a dark mass of thunderheads gathering in the sky.

  He was grateful for the occasional sound that filtered in from the street outside—the honking of horns, the screeching of tires. Listening to the city traffic, it was hard to believe that just a couple hours away, a creature from another world lurked in the woods, killing anyone who crossed its path.

  It was crazy. But somehow true.

  He glanced at the wound on his shoulder and thought about Maria. He imagined her walking along the Mass Pike, hitchhiking back to Glenwood.

  Let me out of these cuffs, Tim. I want to make you feel so good.

  He thought back to the first time he’d ever seen her. She was sitting on the bleachers in gym class, wearing spandex shorts and a pink tank top. She glanced over at him, smiled, and asked if he was new there.

  No one else at school had given him the time of day. Most of the kids ignored him completely, either too cool or too shy to bother being friendly.

  He hoped she was okay, hoped she was too far from Glenwood to do any killing for Trell. He had to get her back, but there was only one way to do that.

  Kill it.

  But how? It was too strong now. Bullets probably wouldn’t even hurt it. And even if they did, how could they prevent it from going into the pool to heal itself?

  Destroy the gateway. Cut off the source of its power.

  Samuel’s words. But what did they mean? Where was the gateway? And how could they destroy it?

  He wished he could’ve been in the dream with Jay. He would have forced Samuel to give them at least one useful piece of information.

  And speaking of useless information, how did Frank’s message fit into all of this?

  Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe Trell wrote the message to throw us off track, keep us running around in circles until it murders the rest of the town.

  He glanced at the clock. Why weren’t the others back with lunch yet?

  Maybe I should just go. Leave while I have the chance.

  The thought came out of nowhere, but he quickly dismissed it. He couldn’t let them face Trell on their own, couldn’t just walk away with Maria in her condition. Like it or not, he was part of this thing. And, yes, he was afraid … but so was Trell. Why else would it single them out? Why else would it demand to know what Samuel had told them?

  Even Jay seemed committed to seeing this thing through. Tim couldn’t stand him when they first met, had written him off as a worthless drunk. The guy had no real reason to fight Trell, nothing he stood to lose should he give in—no family, no job, no girlfriend. But somehow he found the strength to sober up and defend the town that had alienated him.

  He never thought he’d say it, but the guy was actually a good role model. Unfortunately, his lunch-getting skills were terrible. Seriously, how long did it take to find a McDonald’s?

  What if the cops recognized Crystal’s car and pulled them over? Or what if Trell’s assassins found them?

  He pictured Sarah, Jay, and Crystal slumped forward in the car, the side windows spattered with their blood, the doors riddled with bullet holes.

  He shook the image from his mind and grabbed his backpack off the floor. Tucked into the front pocket was the trail map he’d copied at the library. He pulled it out and unfolded it carefully, smoothing out the creases on his legs. The map showed the region of Washaka Woods from Elm Street Park to the foot of the Berkshires. A network of trails snaked between a cluster of ponds, and color-coded symbols differentiated the walking trails from the biking trails.

  He studied the map closely, his eyes poring over every square inch. Just as he was about to fold it up and put it away, something caught his eye.

  He shook his head. “I don’t believe it. There it is.”

  ***

  By the time the others returned with three bags of McDonald’s, Tim was ready to pass out from hunger. “What took you guys so long?”

  “Sorry,” Crystal said. “We had to get Sarah something to wear besides a nightgown. Also,” she said, pointing at Jay, “Magellan over here got us lost.”

  “I didn’t get lost. We just got turned around because of all the one way streets.”

  “Well,” Tim said, “while you guys were out joyriding, I figured out part of Frank’s message.”

  Jay unwrapped a cheeseburger. “Seriously?”

  “When am I not serious?”

  Sarah surprised him by smiling. “You said before you had fourteen toes.”

  “What did you find out?” Jay asked.

  Tim spread the map over the bed, and they all crowded around for a closer look. He traced a finger along one of the trails and tapped the spot where it was labeled. “Check out the name.”

  “Arrow,” Crystal said.

  “Now look at this one,” Tim said. “See the trail that intersects it up here?”

  Sarah glanced up at him. “Wolf. That’s what Samuel said in the dream—follow the path of the wolf!”

  “That’s got to be it,” Jay said. “Arrow Wolf. Frank was trying to tell us where it lives.”

  Tim nodded. “The cave must be right here. Just off the path where they intersect.”

  “But what about the runes?” Jay asked. “And the obelisk? Anything like them on the map? In the legend, maybe?”

  Tim shook his head.

  “I have an idea about the runes,” Crystal said. “While Jay was driving around in circles, I thought back to a paper I did in college on the origin of language. I did most of the research at the Boston Public Library, and I remember coming across books on the language of ancient civilizations. Things like hieroglyphics and Druid runes.”

  “I doubt we’ll find a match in any book,” Jay said. “According to Samuel, Trell comes from another world, and the pool lies at the nexus of who knows how many worlds. The runes could be symbols from any one of them.” He shook his head. “That sounds so crazy, doesn’t it?”

  “All of this is crazy,” Crystal said.

  Tim shrugged. “It may be crazy, but if we don’t do something soon more people will die. And that includes us—we know too many of its secrets. Besides, I’ve heard people say that Egyptian hieroglyphics may have originated with aliens. I know it’s a long shot, but I think we should at least check out the library.”

  “I agree,” Crystal said.

  “So do I,” Sarah said.

  Tim nodded. “So first the library, then the cave.”

  “Look,” Jay said. “You guys need to understand that whoever goes into the cave will probably never come out again. If anyone’s going inside, it should be me. Tomorrow, we’ll drive back to Glenwood together. Anyone who chooses not to go into the woods can go home or go back to the city where it’s safe. I want you to think about that very carefully … because it might be the last decision any of you ever makes.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The cabin lights flickered as the train plunged into the tunnel, the walls shuddering as the engine shifted gears. Jay stared out the window and watched graffiti zip
past in a swirl of color. As the station fell away in the distance, the darkness of the tunnel transformed the window into a mirror. In it, Jay could see Tim, Crystal, and Sarah sitting in the seats behind him. They were all thinking about the cave—he could read it on their faces. But there was no reason they all had to go. If his Dad’s .45 wasn’t enough to kill Trell, then whoever went with him would die.

  He glanced up at an advertisement posted above the window—a public service message for Hepatitis B. The photo depicted three teens with haunting yellow eyes. The image reminded him of the people in Glenwood who were under Trell’s control, and he pictured Steve grinning in the motel room, a gun pointed at Crystal. He willed the memory away, but not before hearing the phantom echo of the gunshot and seeing Steve’s blood splatter against the wall.

  He drew a deep breath and bit his lip against the threat of tears. An ad for Dewar’s scotch whiskey hung on the wall beside Crystal. He stared at it for a moment before a swell of anticipation bloomed in his stomach, and he had to glance away.

  The craving was still there. Diminished, yes, but still there. He wondered if it would ever vanish completely.

  I don’t want to relapse, I don’t ever want to be that person again. But what if I can’t help it?

  The T driver announced the stop with what sounded like a mouthful of marbles. Tim stood up and translated. “New England Medical Center. This is us.”

  When the doors opened, they followed Tim into the station. Sarah wrinkled her nose as they climbed the stairs to the street. “I smell pee.”

  Jay chuckled to himself. “I’m glad to see the Orange Line hasn’t changed a bit since college.” He glanced at Crystal. “Remember the night I took you to see Cats?”

  She smiled. “You thought you were going to hate it until you saw how tight the girls’ costumes were.”

  That was a good night. After the play, they dined at a rooftop restaurant and gazed down at the city, sneaking kisses and pointing out all places they’d been together. It seemed like such a long time ago.