FROM AWAY ~ BOOK ONE

by Mackey Jr. , Deke

  “Not... To... Worry.” She swallows. As always, her mouth fills with saliva as the goo does its thing. “It happens... The lighthouse... The whole damn thing’s all held together with spit and wishes, anyway.”

  Wanda opens her eyes. Looks at her leg. The goo has burnt away. Leaving behind a badly charred strip of flesh. Crisp. Black.

  “So what do I do, then?”

  “Well... If the generator hasn’t come on on its own, it’s going to need to be started manually.”

  “You’re saying I should do that?”

  “I’m saying somebody has to.” Wanda sighs. Already, her buzz is beginning to fade. “Either you do it, or you call it in.”

  The bathroom door clatters open. Someone enters. Wanda tilts her head. Peers through the crack. Makes out a form, but doesn’t recognize it.

  “Or you can just sit there in the dark, I suppose.” She rubs at the charred spot. Clenching her teeth. The pain gives her a jolt, but she doesn’t stop. The burnt flesh cracks. Breaks away. Flakes and powder. Dusting her half-mast pants. Beneath, her skin is red. Raw. “I dunno, Aaron. I’m just a civilian now. You’re on duty. It’s all up to you.”

  A sharp rap on the stall door. A voice: “Your five minutes are up, chick.”

  “I know. Just got waylaid. By a phone call.” Wanda quickly rubs away the rest of the crispy-fried coating until nothing remains but a hot-pink rectangle. No worse than a bad sunburn. “It’s Aaron.”

  She pulls up her pants. It’s a struggle. They’re too tight for this to be quick or easy. She cringes as the denim brushes against her freshest wound, but fights through it.

  “Everything all right?” asks the voice outside the stall.

  “What? Yeah. They’re fine.” Wanda brushes herself off. Straightens up. “You’re fine, aren’t you?”

  “Me?” Aaron is far from certain. “I’m... I still don’t know if I should--”

  “Good! Good. I gotta go, kiddo. Best of luck to you.” Wanda hangs up her phone. Drops it into her pocket. Flushes the toilet.

  And opens the stall door.

  ~

  The full force of the storm batters Aaron as he opens the lighthouse door. Forces him to step back inside until he can muster the power to fight his way out.

  He plays his flashlight along the slick rock. Follows its beam around the circumference of the building. Steadies himself with one hand against the stone wall as he approaches the generator shed.

  A late extension to the century-old lighthouse, the wooden shed was added long after the advent of electricity. With its own separate entrance, it remains inaccessible from within the main building. Attached, but never fully integrated. Aaron curses the architects for their short-sightedness.

  Keys out and ready, he finds the padlock has been removed. Hasp hanging open. He plays his flashlight over the ground. Any further than a few feet away is a mystery. The darkness eats up his beam of light whenever it strays too far from its source. No sign of the lock nearby.

  He turns back to the shed. As he opens the door, the wind rips it from his hand. Slams it against the wall. He struggles to pull it closed behind him.

  Inside, the generator is silent. Dark. Definitely not operational.

  Aaron shines the light around the interior, looking for the laminated instructions he remembers seeing hanging on one of the walls, during orientation a month earlier. His first day on the job.

  There. Attached to the back of the door. He swipes raindrops away. Reads the title: Emergency Manual Power Transfer Instructions.

  Step One: Before attempting transfer, turn ALL breakers/disconnect switches to OFF.

  A moment’s searching turns up the breaker box. With stiff clacks, he snaps every breaker into its off position. Simple enough. He returns to the door for his next instruction.

  Step Two: After disabling grid-use functions, determine whether ATS is set to Normal or Neutral. IMPORTANT: Do not crank or attempt bypass while in EMERGENCY position. Failure to follow these directions can result in catastrophic damage to equipment and injury or even death to operator.

  Um... ATS? Grid-use functions?

  Try as he might, Aaron cannot find anything at all labelled ATS, and far too many things labelled Normal or Neutral. He’s utterly stumped and unwilling to risk life and limb for an uninformed guess.

  He should have called it in. That much is clear. He should never have attempted this on his own. As hard as everyone has been on him since his false alarm, no one could have faulted him. A power outage? Entirely justified. All the monitors are down. The island left unprotected. The more he thinks about it the worse the mistake seems. He needs to call in for assistance, now. There’s no time to waste.

  Even gripping the handle tightly, Aaron loses the door to the wind once again as he exits. Before he can regain his hold, he sees three enormous black forms advancing towards him. Shambling through the sheets of rain.

  After a frozen moment of panic, he grabs for the handle. The things break into sprints. Run towards him, just as he yanks the door shut.

  He’s shaken as they slam into the other side. Holds tight as they yank on the handle and bark at him through the wall. Guttural sounds he can’t make out through the storm and their pounding.

  With a loud crack, the door frame buckles beneath the assault. It’s too much. Aaron lets go of the handle. Hoists his flashlight over his head with both hands.

  As the door flies open, he brings the flashlight down with all his might. Square in the face of the first creature to enter.

  The man screams in pain and surprise, grabbing at his instantly gushing broken nose as a second man leaps forward, stopping Aaron from landing another blow.

  “What the hell!? Aaron, it’s us!”

  Aaron looks up into the familiar face of the man restraining him: Roscoe. Turning, he sees Burl. Hands held over his face. Blood pouring forth from between his fingers.

  “Augh... Ah dink ee broke by puckin’ dose.”

  A smaller third black shape storms into the shed. Grabs Aaron away from Roscoe without breaking stride. Slams him into the breaker box.

  “M-Mom?!”

  She snatches the flashlight from Aaron’s grasp and shines it into his face. Holds it there. The light blinds him. Burns his night-adjusted eyes.

  “You useless idiot! What the fuck are you thinking?”

  “I wanted to help. I wanted to fix it.”

  Aaron can’t see his mother’s face beyond the flashlight beam. He blinks hard. If tears come, he knows he’s forever sunk in her eyes, but the light is so bright.

  “Sylvie.” Roscoe puts a hand on the woman’s shoulder. Squeezes. “Let the kid loose. We’ve got work to do.”

  Sylvie releases her son. Turns away. “Go. Get the first aid for Burl.” She puts the light on the generator. Slides open a panel. She knows what she’s doing.

  Aaron trudges out of the shed. Into the rain. Rounding the building, he finds Max standing in the dark of the lighthouse doorway. “Aaron! Where were you?”

  He sighs. “You called it in?”

  Max is incredulous. “The power’s out and I couldn’t find you anywhere. Of course I called it in.”

  Of course he did. Aaron steps past his partner. Heads inside to get the first aid kid, wondering what nicknames will come of this.

  ~

  Sylvie gets the generator up and running in no time. As it rumbles to life, the light shining from the lantern above brightens distinctly. No longer on solar backup alone, the beam cuts a sharper swath through the pounding downpour and out over the ocean.

  The lamp over the shed flickers. Resumes its task. In no need of further tightening. Beneath its light, Sylvie’s team emerges from the generator shed. Heads around the lighthouse towards the main entrance. She brings up the rear. Slams the door. Closes the empty hasp.

  Finding no padlock and seeing no sign of it on the ground, she pulls a wrench from her work belt. Jams it through the loop to hold the door in place. It’s a tight fit, but does the job.


  She then follows her men inside. Out of the weather.

  ~

  Only when the lighthouse door has closed do those watching dare to move.

  Back from the rocky shore, in a nearby thicket of fir trees, they stir. Turn away from the lighthouse without a word to one another. Head off through the dripping foliage.

  The last of them hangs back a moment. Drops a useless hunk of metal to the ground before following the others into the darkness of the woods.

  A padlock.

  CHAPTER TWO

  So far, Ren Lesguettes has not lost his temper. Despite idling in his SUV behind an unmoving tollbooth arm for nearly twenty minutes, he’s maintained his patience. Ignoring the nearly continuous parade of vehicles swooshing past in the other lane, he’s remained polite. It’s a remarkable demonstration of understanding and restraint, and it is slowly driving his daughter insane.

  “We don’t want to make anybody’s life harder.” Dawn leans across from the passenger seat. Clearly frazzled. Every moment that passes without making headway towards the Eastern Star Ferry waiting less than thirty yards away pushes her closer to the edge. “We’re just asking you to check again.”

  Agent Ladd sits in her booth, unyielding. Unreadable behind mirrored sunglasses. “Miss Lesguettes. I’ve checked. I’ve rechecked. It’s just not--”

  With a thunderous rumble, a muddy green Jeep arrives. It makes the poor choice of queueing up behind Ren’s vehicle, even as the other booth’s arm swings out of the way, allowing its second-last car through.

  “Dawn.” Her father turns to her. “I think maybe we need to face facts, here.” That’s it. He’s giving up. Turning back.

  “No!” Dawn feels her heart breaking. It’s all she can do to keep the petulant teenager out of her voice. “Dad, I’m telling you: It was all there last night. It was all there this morning. You can’t just let her stop us from--”

  “Dawn...” A warning: Don’t push it.

  She doesn’t. She clams up. Sits back in her seat. Looks out the window in the direction of the Island. So close, after so many years pestering her father to take her. To be turned back now? That would suck.

  On the sidewalk nearby, six modern nuns arrive on foot. Rather than full habits, they wear conservative black dresses. Only minimal wimples and clunky crucifixes identify them as separate from the laity.

  As they pause at the pedestrians-only tollbooth, Dawn can’t help but focus on one in particular: The youngest. Not much older than she is. A single, flame-red lock of hair hangs free over her forehead. Her sister notices. Pushes it up beneath the girl’s wimple. Out of sight. The moment she looks away, it escapes once again.

  “I’m going to need you to look one more time.” Low and quiet. His serious voice. Dawn looks back in surprise. Maybe he’s on her side after all.

  “I-I can only work with what you’ve given me.” Even Agent Ladd appears taken aback by Ren’s tone. She squares the stack of paperwork. Regains her composure. “And it remains incomplete.”

  “You know who I am? Why I’m here?”

  “I’m well aware of the purpose for your visit, Mr. Lesguettes.”

  “Then you know: You can’t keep me off the Island. This is federal. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “No one is keeping you off the Island, sir. You are cleared to board.”

  “He is?” Dawn is shocked. “Wait. I’m the holdup?”

  The ferry blows its horn. A warning to any stragglers. Time is growing short. Dawn can feel it slipping away.

  “Please, just... Tell us what forms are missing. I’ll fill them out again. I can do it right here, lickety-split. And then--”

  “The forms are fine, Miss Lesguettes. It’s your blood work which is incomplete.”

  “Au contraire! My blood work is very definitely complete, see?” Dawn holds out her arm. Displays a Hello Kitty bandaid on the inside of her elbow. “If you think it’ll help, I can try to squeeze out some more, but...”

  “Dawnie...” Ren takes his daughter’s arm. Gently moves it away.

  “No, Dad! It’s crazy. She’s seen our papers. You’re an Islander. I’m your daughter. Genetically? I’m a half-step removed from the Island. Everybody knows this whole customs process is just a ridiculous and archaic formality. And these blood-tests? Nothing less than codified xenophobia. Something we’re only perpetuating, by playing along.”

  “Be that as it may, Miss Lesguettes...” If Agent Ladd is impressed by Dawn’s rant, she expresses her appreciation through a slight sneer. “I do not make the rules. I only carry them out.”

  “But unjust rules are justly broken, right? You can do that. If you don’t agree, then... You can just ignore them. Let us through as a silent protest.”

  “And if I do agree?”

  “If you...”The possibility someone might actually approve of the rigmarole is so implausible to Dawn that she has no answer at all.

  Ren steps in: “I think we’re out of options for today, Dawn. Paperwork’s one thing, but if we have to get your blood drawn again, I don’t see--”

  “You have a fax machine?” The adults just stare at Dawn. “You can call our doctor. I’m sure they’ll fax you my results.”

  Agent Ladd looks at her for a long moment. Then, glances down at the paperwork. Shuffles through. Pulls one form to the side. “Dr. Markham?”

  Dawn nods.

  Agent Ladd picks up her phone. Slides the tollbooth window shut.

  “So...” Ren cracks his neck. Kinked from looking up into the booth. “How you liking that patented ‘Island friendliness’ so far?”

  Dawn sighs. “Da-ad...”

  “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “No, but I can say you promised me: No more Island-bashing.”

  Ren throws up his hands. “All I’m saying is: Very soon, you will likely have a greater understanding of my position on the topic.”

  Dawn ends the conversation by looking out her window. Ren can go on talking, but he knows from experience it’s unlikely she will hear anything further until she physically returns her attention to him.

  Instead, she watches the nuns. They’ve made it through the checkpoint. On their way to the ferry, they march past a large billboard.

  It could be the cover to a sci-fi novel: An artist’s rendering of a futuristic bridge. A minimalist white ribbon swooping over the water, with the sun rising in the background. “Future Site of the Cumberland Channel Bridge. The world’s longest continuous passage over salt-water. Connecting our Communities. Together!”

  Behind the sign, reality is very different. The project has reduced the landscape to a muddy mess. Mounds of excavated dirt piled everywhere. Dotted with management trailers. Towering stacks of unused materials. Banks of port-a-potties. The site is devoid of workers. Construction halted. Work well underway, but on indefinite pause.

  “I don’t get it. Why don’t they want the bridge?”

  “First you say no Island-bashing, and now you ask me to--”

  “Dad.”

  Ren sighs. “They’re isolationists. They think being separate makes them special somehow. They like to imagine they’re stronger - more rugged, more capable - because they survive on their own on that hellish little island. A permanent link to the mainland threatens that.

  “And I think they’re afraid that if it’s easier to come and go, more and more people will just go. Because even Islanders realize that no one in their right mind would ever stay there if they didn’t have to.”

  “All right, Dad.” Dawn scowls. “We all know how horrible they are and how much you hate the island. So congratulations. You didn’t want to go, and now your fairy godmother in the booth there is about to grant you your fondest wish.”

  “You can knock off the drama, Dawn. Yes, it’s frustrating to be turned away, but it’s not like we’re permanently exiled. Worst case? We go home. Pick up your blood-test in person. Sleep in our own beds another night or two. Then try again.”

  “You won�
�t go without me?”

  Ren looks at his daughter. Is that really what she’s worried about?

  “Of course not. Dawnie... Having you along is the one and only thing making this trip worthwhile at all.”

  She smiles.

  “Personally, I could’ve lived a happy life without ever setting foot on that godforsaken rock again, but--”

  “Da-ad!” She laughs.

  Ren holds up his hands. Not guilty.

  The other tollbooth arm raises. Allows its final vehicle through. As it begins to lower again, the green Jeep screams into gear. Jumps the short curb between lanes. Screeches to a stop at the tollbooth window.

  The ferry blows its horn, announcing its imminent departure.

  Dawn groans. “That’s it. They’re going without us.”

  The window slides open. Agent Ladd clears her throat. “Got the run around for a while. Dr. Markham’s not available today. The upshot is: They don’t feel comfortable sending anything without her permission.”

  Dawn deflates. Her father’s right, of course. This is a delay, not a cancellation of their trip. Regardless, the disappointment weighs heavily.

  Agent Ladd sees Dawn’s look of defeat. “Whatever you may think, young lady, nobody’s working against you. You’re welcome to come back any time with proper paperwork in hand. Including blood tests verifying your family background. Then we’d be happy to--”

  “Family background!” Struck by sudden inspiration, Dawn unbuckles. Jumps onto her knees. Reaches into the baggage piled in the backseat.

  “Miss? Miss? I need you to--”

  “Hold on. I just have to... Here. Let me show you.” Dawn drops back into her seat holding a computer tablet. Its screen glowing to life.

  “Dawnie, she doesn’t care about your--”

  “Just let her decide, all right?” She taps her way through a series of icons and tabs until she finds it. “This is why I’m here. Why I need to get to the Island.” Leaning across her father, she holds the tablet up to the window. “I’ve been working on this since I was fifteen... Almost three years now. It’s my Family Tree.”