Ash and Darkness (Translucent #3)

by Dan Rix

  “Huh,” I said.

  “I mean, unless it’s collecting the dark matter each time it wants to channel something here, but I kind of doubt that, because why would it willingly open a wormhole for stuff like food and water? Or Megan’s snake? Or your phone? No, I think there’s a very large standing reservoir that acts like a collection tank . . .”

  But I had stopped listening, caught on the first few words she’d said.

  Collecting the dark matter.

  An opening on the other end . . . Project Trojan Horse . . . the Air Force collecting dark matter—

  “I know how to do it!” I gasped, jolting upright. “I know how to get back to Earth!” I spun toward her, breathless. “You need an opening on the other end, a hole in space large enough for someone to fit through, and the only way to get a big enough hole is to have a bunch of dark matter concentrated in one place, right?”

  “Riiight . . .” she said.

  “I know where to find it. I know where to find an opening on Earth. I’m such an idiot.” I stared at her face in the darkness, heart slamming against my chest. “They’re collecting dark matter at Vandenberg Air Force Base, sixty miles north of here.”

  Chapter 17

  “It’ll probably be in a cistern,” Sarah said, her face fading in and out of the lamplight as she paced the bedroom. “A heavy steel tank of some sort. They’ll want to have it isolated in case of a leak, with negative internal pressure—and probably surrounded by security. Lots of security. Of course, there won’t be any security on this end. We’ll need to put on dark matter. I’ve got mine here—” She lifted the vial on its leather cord from around her neck.

  “Do we put it on now?” I said,

  “Not yet. We need to put it on when we’re in the same place as the dark matter reservoir on Earth—basically, inside the cistern. If the positioning is right, then the two overlapping holes should fuse together, forming a wormhole to Earth. Otherwise it’ll just spit us right back out here . . .” Her fingernails went to her mouth, and she started chewing. “But can we navigate inside a wormhole? It’ll be a ten-dimensional maze . . . we can’t possibly . . . it was all white last time—”

  “It’ll work,” I said, fighting to keep spirits high. The mere thought that we might escape made me giddy. “It has to work. We can even go tonight. Maybe we can even wake up on Earth!”

  “No, not yet,” she said, shaking her head. “A sixty-mile trek? Even if we biked, we’d never make it. We’re exhausted, we’re dehydrated. We need water. We stock up on water, then we go. Not before.”

  “So why are we just sitting here? Let’s turn your thing on.”

  “It’s solar-powered, Leona. We need sunlight.”

  “Right. Sunlight.”

  “Trust me, the moment sunlight hits those panels, I’ll be out there pumping. We’re just going to have to be patient, okay?” She glanced at the lantern clock. “Look, it’s already three. Four hours until sunrise. We can wait four hours.”

  “Four hours, I can wait four hours.” I sat at the edge of the bed and dragged my fingers through my hair, then jumped up, too wired to stay in one place.

  I wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight.

  She watched me fidget. “Leona, it might not work.”

  “It’ll work. It has to work.”

  “Look, going through a wormhole . . . it’s not like stepping through a hula hoop,” she said. “Remember how it was all white? We were inside the wormhole for hours. It was a vast space. No up or down, no signposts, no arrows pointing the way.”

  “We made it here just fine, didn’t we?”

  “We were guided here. We won’t have a guide this time, which means we’ll have to attempt to navigate it ourselves.”

  “Yeah, that’s why we get in that cistern or whatever.”

  “Yes, there will be a wormhole. It will connect. But we still have to get through it, we still have to make it to the other side, and with all ten dimensions folded up—I mean, space inside a wormhole, inside a naked singularity . . . it’s not even going to make sense.”

  I held her gaze, my jaw quivering. “So you’re saying what? You’re saying we’re going to get lost? We can at least try, right?”

  She opened her mouth to reply. Except no words came out, only a choking rasp. Her eyes flew wide open. She bent over, clutching her stomach, and hacked into her hand.

  “Sarah? . . . Sarah!” I leapt to her side.

  “I’m fine . . . I’m fine,” she wheezed, hitting me away.

  But I saw her hand, where she had coughed into it, now a spray of red dots. Blood trickled down her palm, carrying tiny chunks of ash.

  She hadn’t thrown up all the food from earlier. No, not food. Digestive enzymes, she’d called it.

  She was being digested from the inside out.

  “You want to know something really creepy?” I whispered, drawing the words out as my thighs straddled Emory Lacroix’s hard hips, craving every part of him, hungry for him.

  His sharp blue eyes locked on mine and his hand withdrew from the bottom of my tank top, which he’d been about to peel off my sweaty skin.

  “What, Leona?” Guarded now. Suspicious. Because now was one of those times he wasn’t sure. “What’s creepy?”

  I played with his hair, wrapping it around my finger. “Beg.”

  He caught my wrist, his grip iron. “You’re doing it again. Stop it.”

  “Beg,” I said again.

  “Stop it,” he growled.

  “Stop what?” I purred, arching my back and prowling up his bare torso, running my palm over the hard ridges of his six pack, which tensed reflexively at my touch. I tossed my long hair to the side and eased in close to brush my lips to his ear, holding his earlobe captive between my teeth. Then I whispered in a low, throaty voice, “Ask me what’s creepy?”

  I felt him swallow against me. “What?”

  “The other one’s watching us right now. . .” I breathed, my mouth tugging into a slow, sinful smile as I moved down his neck, drawing gooseflesh. “And she’s jealous.”

  I sat bolt upright next to Sarah and gasped.

  A dream. Just a dream.

  Eyes wide, I gaped in horror around the dark bedroom—the black doorway, the insect-like hulk of the telescope, the blinds drawn tight against wisps of starlight.

  Just a dream.

  A slow, smoldering thirst burned deep in my throat. Salty, tarlike slime coated the roof of my mouth, which no amount of tongue scraping could remove. Even breathing hurt, like dragging sandpaper down my windpipe.

  Water. There was a jug of water downstairs, which Sarah had declared “tainted.” Surely it wasn’t a complete goner.

  Just a little sip. A sip couldn’t hurt, could it? I mean, it would be a waste not to . . .

  I was halfway out of bed, already salivating at the idea of a drink, when I finally got a grip.

  No, Leona. Don’t eat or drink anything.

  Inadvertently, my tongue darted across my lips to rewet them, only to wince as my acid saliva scorched the cracked skin. I pressed my lips together to dull the sting.

  My gaze slid to the backlit clock face hovering in the darkness, and my heart leapt.

  6:48 a.m.

  Only twenty minutes to go! Then we could make water.

  I slunk to the blinds and peeked out. Still pitch black out there. But dawn would come soon.

  As I shuffled back to bed, the folded page of Ashley’s diary jutted into the back of my thigh. Still in my pocket.

  Well, I was wide awake now. I hauled the lantern onto the floor and dialed it up to a flickering blue glow, which I positioned over her last diary entry. We’d been so busy, I still hadn’t gotten a chance to finish the mystery.

  After we’d lost the shelter, the la
ntern and its 6-volt Duracell battery were our only source of light. Sarah had cautioned me to conserve power, but it hardly mattered now.

  This was our last night.

  Tomorrow, as soon as we extracted enough water, and after we chugged as many bucketfuls as we could—I reveled in the image of pure, ice-cold water pouring over my lips—we were making the journey to Vandenberg Air Force Base and getting the hell off this rock.

  “We’re going home, Ashley,” I whispered. “Because of you. Because you gave me hope, and food and water, and inspiration.”

  And redemption.

  Her diary. The sticky blue ink had evaporated, leaving what looked like normal pen—no, hold on. I peered closer. Not pen. The letters had been burned into the page. By the ink? Weird.

  I reread her message. Twice.

  Each time, my eyes lingered on one sentence in particular.

  I’m writing this down because I think I can keep a memory of myself alive that way.

  A wave of prickles slid across my scalp. Why did I get the sense she’d left behind more just than a torn diary entry? Like maybe the paper in my hand held an actual memory, not just words.

  And what kind of ink glows?

  I glanced at the blinds. Still dark outside. Then at the clock. As I watched, the minute hand nudged over to the twelve.

  Seven o’clock—eight minutes until sunrise.

  And still no sign of light?

  I crawled to the window and tugged the curtains back. Nothing. Not even a hint along the horizon.

  It could have been midnight.

  Huh. It was late October, the nights were getting longer. And Sarah had said the clock was fast.

  I went back to the paper. A brown stain obscured the first few words, crusted at the edge. Like something had dripped on it.

  Blood.

  Sarah’s? No, it looked too old. Had to be Ashley’s. Which meant . . . which meant what?

  When she wrote this, four months ago, she’d been bleeding.

  As if this couldn’t get any more sinister. I turned the paper over, realizing I hadn’t actually checked the back.

  I felt my eyebrows pinch together.

  She had written something on the back, and she’d dated it. Her final final diary entry. A short one. The burns from the previous page blotted out the letters, but by tilting it just right under the light, I could make it out.

  When I did, an icy wave of prickles descended my spine.

  July 1

  Now, Leona, you’re probably wondering what all this has to do with you. All you need to do is follow the breadcrumbs, like I told you.

  —Ashley

  My heart thudded at the base of my throat.

  She’d just addressed me by name.

  Nuh-uh. No way. She couldn’t have known my name, not four months ago when she’d written this. The page trembled in my hands, fingers sweaty on the paper. I flipped it over, searching for an explanation, but there was none. Flipped it again. This was all she’d written.

  No, it was impossible. She had died before she knew me, before she knew who killed her. In fact, the name was smudged, illegible. I peered closer, nodding to myself. I’d read it wrong. It could have been Leanne, or Leah, or Lenore. One of her friends, maybe.

  Someone else.

  Not me.

  At last, I let myself relax. Not me. Overreacting, Leona.

  I let out a long sigh and glanced at the clock again. Quarter past seven. Sunrise was overdue, yet the crack in the blinds remained dark.

  I nudged them aside and peered out at the dead world. Not a glimmer of light out there, not a hint of dawn.

  I swallowed the gummy taste in my mouth, thirstier than ever.

  The sun should have risen by now.

  Chapter 18

  “Sarah . . . Sarah . . . Sarah!” I hissed, shaking her shoulders.

  “Mmmm,” she moaned irritably.

  “Sarah, wake up. It’s time to wake up.”

  Her eyelids opened a crack. “What time is it?”

  “Uh . . . I can’t really read the clock. Do you think maybe you could check? I just . . . I think I’m getting the hands wrong.”

  “It’s still dark outside,” she muttered, yanking the covers tight and rolling over. “Go back to bed. There’s no point in being up until sunrise. And turn the lantern off. You’re wasting batteries.”

  “Could you just check the time? Please?”

  “What number is the short hand pointing to?” she grumbled into her pillow.

  I peeked at the clock face, hoping I’d somehow made a mistake. The short hand was pointing to eight.

  As in eight in the morning.

  It was still pitch black outside.

  “Could you just check for me? It’s analog. I don’t know how to read analog.”

  She sighed and dragged herself to the edge of the mattress to squint at the clock. “It’s eight,” she announced and buried her head back in the pillow. “Now go back to sleep.”

  I nodded, my mouth dry.

  “Wait.” Her eyes opened again and slid from the clock to the blinds, the blackness outside. Without another word, she climbed out of bed, rubbed her eyes, and took the lantern to the window to peer outside.

  I held my breath. Please say there’s light . . . please say there’s light . . .

  Her brows wrinkled. She turned the lantern over in her hands, clicked open the battery compartment. “Did you change this?”

  “No,” I whispered.

  “Huh.” She snapped it closed. “Must be broken.”

  She yawned and carried the lantern back to the bed. The fluorescent glare climbed the blanket’s folds and spilled onto the sheet underneath, illuminating a dark shape for a split-second before the lantern clattered onto the bedside table, plunging it into shadow again.

  “Wait, give me that.” I seized the handle and swung the lantern out over the bed. “I thought I saw something—”

  The light fell on a row of black streaks, which exactly fit the rising indentation in the memory foam made by Sarah’s body. I leaned closer, and the streaks resolved into a fine black dust. I touched the sheet, and my fingertip came away black. I rubbed it together, an oily texture, and sniffed it.

  A foul, decayed smell bit into my nostrils. I grimaced and recoiled, hurriedly wiping it off on the sheets. I turned the lantern on Sarah.

  She blinked and shielded her face against the glare. “What?”

  Crusted mucous lined her eyes like rhime, shadows sank deep in the hollows of her cheeks, fresh blisters glistened on chapped, flaky lips. Probably what I looked like too. Like a corpse.

  “Turn around,” I said.

  She hesitated, then rotated in place. Her side came into view, and then her back. The folds of her T-shirt were caked with reddish black stains, the centers of the darker stains wet and runny, fresh.

  My hand went to my mouth to stifle a gasp.

  “What is it?” Fear crept into her voice. “What’s on my back?” She craned her neck to peer behind her.

  “Lift . . . lift your shirt,” I stuttered.

  Slowly, she peeled up the bottom of her shirt. It came away with a wet sucking sound, peeling up soggy strips of the top layer of skin. Underneath, spongy sores oozed clear serous fluid, which beaded and trickled into grayish dead patches of skin. Where her ribs pushed out, the flesh cracked and flaked away in bits of ash.

  I averted my eyes, feeling woozy. “It’s not that bad,” I croaked, my voice hoarse.

  She grabbed the lantern from me and stormed into the bathroom, leaving me shivering. A moment later she whimpered, “What is this? . . . my skin, it’s . . . it’s necrotizing, I can’t . . . I can’t feel anything.”

  “The food,�
�� I said quietly. “It’s because you ate the food.”

  She emerged, eyes wet. “And now it’s eating me.”

  The short hand clicked to the twelve.

  “It’s noon.” I stalked to the window and heaved the blinds open, glared out at the black landscape. The exertion left my head spinning, and I had to brace myself against the sill to stay upright. The thirst had dried up my willpower too. I couldn’t think about escape right now, all I could think about was water. “What is this? It’s been night for eighteen hours. The sun should have risen five hours ago.”

  “It knows.” Sarah huddled in a corner, prodding her wounds. “It knows we need sunlight to make water.”

  I couldn’t even focus on caring for her. I fell to my knees, gasping for breath as exhaustion tightened around my chest. “How do you even do that?” I panted. “How do you stop a sun from rising?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what this is anymore.”

  “You think it’s daytime in China? Or night everywhere?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “The stars are still rising,” I said. “And the black hole. It moved since last time I looked.”

  “It’s been following me,” she muttered, paying me no attention. “It’s been waiting for this. Won’t be long now. A few hours . . . a day. Soon it’s going to take me.”

  I dug my fingers into the carpet. “I can’t do this . . . I can’t make it to Vandenberg like this.”

  “It wouldn’t have worked anyway,” said Sarah.

  “Is there any other water?”

  “It takes a transdimensional being to navigate through a wormhole.”

  “What about the jug downstairs?”

  “Yeah, bring it up here. Let’s drink it. Hurry this along.”