Realm of Shadows

by Eldon Farrell

  The interior wall is glass, looking out on the corridor that runs east to west and itself borders the T-shaped courtyard in the center of the school. The exterior facing wall is at the back of the open kitchen that nearly runs the length of the room. At the front of the cafeteria is a stage that the student body uses for dramatic productions while the back is shaded by the mezzanine.

  Entering from the corridor Wendy comments, “It figures that you’d find the food.”

  “What can I say,” Clay taps the side of his nose, “I’ve got a knack for finding what I need.”

  “Why don’t you find us the lights then,” she teases.

  As he flicks the switches along the wall on and off uselessly a few times, she stops him asking, “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  She points up toward the mezzanine. “I thought I heard something up there. Do you think there could be someone else here?”

  “There’s someone here all right,” they both jump at the sound of another voice emanating from the kitchen, “And it seems like we had the same idea mate.”

  Biting into a prepackaged sandwich, he steps out of the shadows of the kitchen smiling at them while mayonnaise drips down his chin. A tall, lanky fellow dressed all in black, he introduces himself to them. “Paul Chase. Who might you be?”

  Staying in the thin beam of natural lighting shining through the glass from the courtyard, Wendy answers, “We’re from the CDC. My partner,” she motions toward Clay, “Lawrence Clayton and Wendy Rojas.”

  “Charmed,” Chase says around bites.

  “What brought you here Paul?” Clay asks.

  Swallowing a mouthful of sandwich, Chase smiles as he says, “You might call me an independent contractor.”

  “And why are you still here?” Wendy asks, “Why didn’t you evacuate?”

  “Why didn’t you?” Chase poses, “Better sense would’ve had me leave—hell, it ain’t like I didn’t try but…turns out there’s something I just couldn’t leave behind.”

  Letting it go Clay asks, “Any more food back there?”

  “Plenty mate,” Chase exuberantly states, “Perhaps we should ask the blokes on the balcony if they’re hungry too?”

  “There’s someone up there?”

  Glancing at Wendy, Chase replies, “Oh yeah, they ain’t as quiet as they think they are.” Raising his voice he hollers, “You mates gonna come on down and say hello or what?”

  Hushed whispers drift down to them before Cole stands up over Jeremy’s protests and shines his Maglite down on the gathering. “Hey,” he begins, “Sorry for hiding; didn’t know who you were and this island is supposed to be deserted.”

  “And who are you?” Clay asks.

  “Cole Hewitt,” he answers, “I’m here with my photographer Jeremy Creed.”

  “Cole Hewitt,” Wendy repeats, “I know you—you’re a reporter for the New York Times. What are you doing here?”

  “My job,” he answers, “Looking for a friend and the truth about what happened to him and this place.”

  “And have you found either mate?”

  “Not yet,” Jeremy shouts as he stands casting a pointed look at Cole.

  They hear the wind howling outside as Wendy asks, “And why didn’t you guys evacuate?”

  “Because we haven’t found what we’re looking for yet,” Cole replies.

  “And what of you,” Chase stares at her, “You never answered why you two are still here?”

  “Something similar,” Wendy allows with an aloof stare.

  “Well then,” Chase climbs up onto one of the tables to sit down, “Suppose we all just wait it out here then; get to know each other.”

  “Do you…” Jeremy calls down from above, “Do you think anyone else stayed behind?”

  “That mate,” he smiles up at him, “Is a guarantee.”

  Entering through the south entrance, Caleb, Ling Tran and George vigorously shake the water from their soaked clothing.

  While bent over catching their breaths they share victorious looks and silly grins over the fact that they managed to find shelter before the full brunt of Fiona rains down upon the island.

  “Remind me to just say no next time some loco strangers ask for a lift,” George quips.

  Rising up, Caleb takes in their surroundings. The lobby is small, closed off by glass windowed doors that open into darkened hallways. To the right is a wide staircase ascending to a landing before turning back to another set of stairs leading to the second floor.

  “What is that?” Caleb asks.

  All eyes lift to the cinder block wall on the landing and the full size mural painted thereon. It depicts a fiery scene—full of darkness and shadow—of angels on horseback galloping down to a scorched field.

  “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse,” George answers flatly.

  “Well,” Caleb glances at Ling Tran saying, “That’s not like…foreboding at all.”

  “We should get away from the doors,” Ling Tran states as she watches a trash can go flying by outside.

  “Good idea,” Caleb turns to George asking, “Did you go here?”

  “What you mean…to school?” George laughs, “My folks didn’t have anywhere’s near the means to send me here.”

  “So you don’t know the layout then.”

  “Well I didn’t say that,” George smiles, “I’ve attended a few games here over the years.”

  “Where’s the best place to wait out the storm then?”

  Grinning at Ling Tran he answers, “Gotta be the cafeteria. No exterior windows to get broke and should even be some food to eat.”

  “Lead on then.”

  He shakes his head saying, “Y’all head there and I’ll catch up. Just go through these doors here and straight to the end of that corridor, turn left and walk till you reach the cafeteria.”

  “Where are you going?” Caleb asks.

  “I’m gonna see if I can find the janitor’s closet,” he answers, “Maybe find a generator to get the lights back on.”

  “All right,” Caleb nods, “But don’t go back outside.”

  “Shit,” George cusses with a grin, “Twist my arm why dontcha?”

  Standing in the reception area of the principal’s office, Jing Bai gazes through the window out over the darkened library below. From the skylight in the center of the ceiling sparse moonlight filters down casting the shelves in a bluish hue as rain drums against the glass, joining the howling wind in echoing throughout the empty room.

  “We’ve got company,” Samuel Slade growls from behind him.

  Turning to face him, Jing waits for further explanation.

  “Before the power failed the cameras outside picked up visitors entering the school.”

  “How many?”

  “Two.”

  Nodding, Jing asks, “Do we know them?”

  With a shake of his head Slade answers, “It was too dark to tell.”

  “And where are they now?”

  “Don’t know for sure,” Slade replies, “But they entered over by the gymnasium so chances are they’re still somewhere on the north side of the school.”

  Heavy footsteps in the hallway prompt Slade to reach for his sidearm just as the outer office door is flung open and Alexander Cummings marches inside.

  Relaxing slightly, Slade slides his fingers off his weapon.

  “Wolf,” Jing purrs, “Nice of you to join us. I trust that if you’re here you have recovered your lost data?”

  “Where is Edlund?” he demands.

  “Hmm,” Jing responds, “I’ll take that as a no then.” Hardening his demeanor he chides, “You’re wasting time you do not have Wolf.”

  “Where is he?” Cummings repeats taking a step toward Jing.

  His advance is halted by Slade positioning himself between them drawing the General’s ire. “Stand aside Major.”

  Slade holds his ground. “I’m your commanding officer Major and I’m giving you a direct order. Stand aside!”

>   “No you’re not,” Slade rebukes him with a push to the chest backing him off. “You’re not my commanding officer or in any position right now to be giving orders…General.”

  Stepping to within inches of him, the two men bump chests and stare daggers at one another.

  “Enough!” Jing bellows.

  They both back away from each other, knowing full well that when the time is right they will finish what they’ve started here.

  “Edlund is in there,” Jing points to the principal’s office, “Though I’m confused as to what that matters to you?”

  “Why did you take him? For what purpose?”

  “You brought him here for me Wolf,” Jing states matter-of-factly, “You had to know I would move on him at some point. Or is what’s really bothering you the fact that your little shadow gave you nothing?”

  Slade smirks off to the side provoking Cummings to step toward him while raising his hand.

  “Try it old man,” Slade threatens, “Anytime.”

  “That’s enough Major,” Jing declares before glaring at Cummings, “And you Wolf; you should be out finding that data not chasing after what I’m doing.”

  “I told you Chance,” Cummings warns, “If you moved against me I would bury you.”

  “I’m not moving against you, you fool!” Jing hisses, “I simply needed to know what Edlund knew. Go, talk to him if you must. He knows nothing. But what I know is that if you don’t recover what you’ve lost because of your wasting time on your paranoid delusions—I will bury you.”

  “My men will find what Savage took,” Cummings says, “But in case you hadn’t noticed there’s a hurricane going on out there at the moment.”

  With a knowing smile Jing declares, “Then you’re here to help…excellent. Gather Edlund and head to the science lab. There you’ll find the repentant one. Bring them both to me.”

  “And where will you be?”

  Pointing Slade toward the door Jing replies, “Somewhere in the north corridor welcoming our guests.”

  “Why?” Wendy asks of Chase as she sits down across from him.

  Their small group is busying themselves eating as she asks, “Why is it a guarantee that we’re not alone here?”

  Slurping from a can of Pepsi, Chase sets it aside before saying, “Common sense.”

  Staring at him, she lifts her brow in expectation of him continuing. With a sigh he adds, “Think about it mate, each one of us thought we were the only one who stayed behind and yet take a look around.

  “If we all decided to stay here why would you continue to think we’re the only ones?”

  “Who else might’ve stayed behind?” Jeremy nervously inquires.

  Chase replies with a shrug, “Couldn’t say for sure mate, but I don’t imagine all those Black Creek soldiers just…ran away.”

  Asking around a bite of ham sandwich, Clay poses, “What are you driving at? Why wouldn’t they leave?”

  “Why were they here in the first place?” Chase retorts, “I couldn’t possibly be the only one who’s wondered how a private army got placed in charge of this situation? Why wasn’t the National Guard dispatched? Or the real Army?”

  “Knock it off,” Clay says, “The last thing we need here is some conspiracy theory frightening us into taking leave of our good sense.”

  “No, he’s right.” Cole speaks up, “Why was the disappearance of a civilian population put in the hands of a private enterprise? An enterprise, I might add, that actively sought to ensure that answers would not be found.”

  “How can you say that?” Wendy asks.

  Raising a finger in her direction Cole defends his position. “Why would the CDC be contacted for what is obviously not a disease outbreak? If disease felled these people, there would’ve been bodies left behind. Even I know that, and yet here you are.

  “And it’s not just the CDC. Black Creek brought in the FBI, Homeland, NBFAC, probably the CIA too along with any other alphabet agency they could think of.”

  “They’re looking for answers,” Clay states.

  “Or they’re looking to muddy the waters and hope that any real answers slip through the cracks of inter-agency communication. I’m telling you; Black Creek is bad news and there is no good reason why they’re in charge of this investigation.”

  “I’ll give you a reason—money.” Wendy chimes in, “It’s no big mystery. Our military is stretched thin fighting two foreign wars that are bankrupting this country. Into the vacuum steps a private alternative—at a profit.”

  “So if there’s profit still to be made,” Chase points out with a smile, “Why would they leave?”

  “Well so what if they did stay behind?” Clay comments, “It’s not like Black Creek is some kind of boogeyman or anything. Hell, I hope they did hang back; I’m sure they’d be of help to us.”

  Cole and Jeremy exchange uneasy glances before Chase whispers, “Careful what you wish for mate,” as he rises and stares at the cafeteria doors.

  Almost on cue they hear the sound of voices carrying from out in the hallway. The group tightens in formation, their first instinct veering toward fear and distrust.

  The doors underneath the mezzanine are pulled open as two shadows enter the room. Upon seeing the group huddled together they stop in their tracks.

  Stepping forward Wendy shakes her head in disbelief, “Caleb?”

  Stepping from out of the shadows, Caleb replies, “Wendy? What-what are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” she laughs, “What are you doing here?”

  “What are any of you doing here?”

  As one, all eyes in the room shift to the main cafeteria doors by the stage, landing on the immaculately dressed Asian man and the obvious Black Creek soldier standing beside him.

  “Who are you?” Clay asks while Jeremy and Cole slink back into the shadows by the kitchen.

  Before Jing has an opportunity to answer, the overhead lights flicker once then return to life. Newly illuminated, the motley group stands in judgment of one another while hurricane winds buffet the walls around them.

  “Why did none of you evacuate as ordered?” Jing asks eloquently.

  “Why didn’t you?” Chase quickly remarks, “Oh wait, guess I know why you two didn’t leave.”

  His face darkening, Slade takes two steps toward Chase before a thump behind the stage curtains draws everyone’s attention.

  “What was that?” Jeremy nearly squeals.

  Stepping to the front, Ling Tran rests her palm on her side holster while Slade does likewise. They exchange a terse look before focusing their attention on the stage.

  The sound of a chair toppling sets everyone’s nerves on edge before the curtain is drawn back and a figure staggers to center stage. Blinded by the lights, she holds an arm up to shield her haggard eyes.

  Caleb’s breath is snatched from him as he gasps in recognition. Taking a halting step forward he whispers her name, “Lynne.”

  interlude

  Four Weeks Ago

  Houston, Texas

  There’s been an accident…I’m so sorry…she’s gone.

  The memories assault his psyche every single time he closes his eyes. Sitting in his father’s lavish office, Hong Bai is a wreck. His rounded shoulders have become even more stooped these days as his head perpetually hangs down. His weak jaw line and sunken cheeks combined with his forlorn eyes cast him as a reluctant survivor of some great tragedy.

  As he waits for his father to arrive, his sleepless eyes close, bringing the memory of Felicia’s funeral to the surface…

  …it’s perverted, he thinks. The day my love is laid to rest should be dark and gloomy. It should be pouring rain. The sun should not be shining brightly in the sky while flowers bloom on the ground. It just shouldn’t be.

  Raising his head he absently listens to the pastor reciting a Bible passage as he stands by the headstone adorned with her name. More tears spring forth just from seeing her name carved into the granite.

&
nbsp; This can’t be happening. She’s too young for this. How…how could this have happened?

  His eyes shift to her family on the other side of the open grave. Over the ornate coffin he watches her parents comforting each other. Their grief is an open sore—raw and painful.

  He would share in their grief if they would let him, but they won’t. Since he made the difficult phone call to tell them that Felicia was gone they’ve spoken to him only once—to blame him for their daughter’s death.

  “Where were you!?” her mother wailed at him. “Why was she alone out there!?”

  He struggled to explain but they would have none of it. Her father leaving him with words that will haunt his soul forever: “Our daughter is dead because of you!”

  Lowering his gaze he wipes away tears and feels a hand placed on his quivering shoulder. Standing just slightly behind him, his father is a rock. He displays no outpouring of emotion but in that gesture Hong knows that he feels for him.

  He is sorry for my loss…

  Jarring back to the moment, Hong shakes for a time in his seat, overwhelmed by the emotion of his recollection. This is how it is for him now; a tormented soul doomed to relive the reasons for his isolation…

  …“Where are you going?”

  Glaring at him, Amir spits, “What does it matter Hong? You’ve got your father now; you don’t need anyone else.”

  “That’s not true Amir,” he reaches out for his friend’s hand only to have it jerked away. “We’re friends Amir; Felicia is gone…I need you now more than ever.”

  “Felicia is gone,” Amir replies spitefully, “And whose fault is that huh? Who invited the snake into the garden?”

  “Damn it Amir! This isn’t about my father.”

  “Isn’t it?” Amir hollers back, “He gets involved and suddenly Felicia has an ‘accident?’ She ‘accidentally’ drives her jeep off a bridge. That doesn’t seem the least bit off to you? How did she miss the bridge?”

  “I don’t know!” Hong retorts, “But she did…she’s gone.”

  “And why was she out there in the first place?” Amir accuses, “Because you refused to get the samples back from your father. Your father—who neither of us trusted. Your father—the mercenary who has ordered the deaths of how many people in his twisted life? Your father—who killed Felicia because she was in his way.”