The Black (The Black Trilogy Book 1)

by J. M. Scarlett

  “No,” she said, thinking of poor Nurse Bertha and Dr Carter. “Not all of us.”

  She didn’t know what came over her. Stupidity or fear. Her hair, still wet from the shower, hung in front of her face like a veil, hiding her distaste for him. She stared at him, hating him, blaming him as much as the outsider for their deaths.

  He grabbed the fire iron and poked at the fire, stirring the burning embers. “You don’t trust me, do you?” he said. “I don’t blame you. When I was your age, I didn’t trust anyone, either. But then again, look who my father was. At least that’s what I used to think until I became the new ruler of the Nest, then I saw the truth. I finally realized it wasn’t easy when you oversaw others, whether that be a family or a country or even the world. When you have the weight of obligation and expectations pushing down on your shoulders, day in and day out, you tend to grow tired, restless. Desperate.”

  He hung the fire iron back in its place beside the hearth and smiled at her. “I like to think that’s why my father did what he did. He wasn’t a monster, he was desperate. And we all know how desperate men take desperate measures, don’t we?”

  The fire crackled, filling the silence. He was talking about her father, she knew. But her father was nothing like his, nothing like any of them.

  Arlington leaned back in his chair, a hint of cunning sparkling in his eyes. “I understand you went to visit our little friend, the outsider. What did he say to you?”

  “Nothing,” she confessed dryly. She wanted to tell him to go to hell but refrained from doing so. Her eyes bore through him. The smile never left his face. Either he was ignorant to her vehemence or he simply didn’t care.

  “Malik tells me you saw the outsider kill the Flesh Rotter with his bare hands? Is this true?”

  “Yes, sir,” she spat.

  The patriarch nodded. “I see.” He turned to the fire, watching its flames lick the walls. After a moment, he said, “What do you know about Operation Blackout?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Out of all the things, she never expected him to ask that. And yet, somehow, she was waiting for it, waiting for this conversation since the moment the journal went missing.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about—"

  “Don’t play coy with me, girl. I can see it in your eyes. You know exactly what I’m talking about. We both know your grandfather wasn’t as crazy as everyone thought him to be. Tell me, what did he tell you?”

  She swallowed hard, trying to hide the angst in her voice. “My grandfather was crazy, sir. Nothing he said was true.”

  The old man growled and rose from his chair. He paced before the fire, crossing his arms behind his back. His shadow danced like a giant against the wall, where his father watched him from his canvas.

  “The missing pages from the journal,” he said. “Did you take them?”

  The nerve of this man, she thought. If anyone was a thief, it was Arlington. After all, he was the one who stole the journal. How he got it, she couldn’t say, but he had it. She was sure of it. She glanced over at his desk, wondering if it was hidden somewhere in the drawers.

  “The journal,” he snapped. “What happened to the pages?”

  “They were already missing when I found it,” she confessed.

  His eyebrows arched, a series of wrinkles rippled across his forehead. “You?” he pronounced slowly. “Interesting. Your brother said he was the one who found it.”

  Dammit Ben. She should have listened to her gut when it told her he was lying.

  She looked at him gravely. “What do you want from me?”

  Arlington returned to his seat and propped his elbow on the arm of the chair. He rested his chin on his knuckles, staring not at the fire but through it. “If only the answer was as simple as the question,” he murmured. Finally, he looked at her and said, “Before my father died, he told me the truth behind Operation Blackout. It was a plan that consisted of the most wealthy, influential people in the world. The most powerful you could imagine, an entire secret society. You see, they had this idea that extinction was the key to our survival. Much like the dinosaurs. Once they were gone, Man thrived and through the years, we evolved, creating cities, computers, electricity, intelligence way beyond any other species on the planet.”

  He leaned in and lowered his voice zealously. “Imagine applying the same strategy to society; taking the weak, the bad, those unwilling to abide by the rules, and eliminating them. Our leaders believed that by destroying all life forms that threatened the good nature of our world, we were merely securing our future. But as easy as it may sound, it’s quite the contrary. The problem with billions of people sharing one planet is that too many of us are related, too many of us connected. So how do you get rid of them without drawing panic, without stirring a revolution?”

  “A virus,” she uttered.

  The old man nodded. “A natural disaster is more acceptable than a deliberate one, don’t you think? However, the virus didn’t react the way it was meant to. It killed them alright, but then it did something to its victims and turned them, changed them. The thing you saw today is an example of what the Black can do. The silos were designed to keep us safe until the virus wiped out billions, but now, we are stuck down here until we find a way to defeat them.”

  Karma couldn’t believe her ears. It was true. Her grandfather wasn’t crazy. Operation Blackout, the conspiracy, the silos, the Black, it was all a part of some major machination to wipe out the world.

  “We are all guilty of something,” Arlington continued solemnly. “Every single one of us. You, me, the souls that fill this silo. Our ancestors sealed our fates the moment they set their elaborate plan in motion, but who are we to suffer? If the truth came out, if people knew the real reason why they were down here, they’d never look at their fathers the same again.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” she asked. It was a question that bothered her the moment he opened his mouth. If Operation Black was such a secret, even to this day, then why was he exposing it now?

  There was a gleam in his eye, more like a spark, threatening to burn down her entire life and everything she loved. She was at his mercy.

  “You’re a smart girl,” he said as the spark grew into a fire, consuming all his features, dark and devious. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out by now.”

  “You’re going to banish me?” she blurted. Or kill her. It was one or the other, and by the look on his face, she hit the target right on the mark. His next words confirmed it.

  “If you go quietly,” he said, “I’ll allow your mother and brother to stay. You have my word no harm will come to them.”

  She was confused, didn’t understand. “But why?” she said. “What did I do?”

  “You know why.”

  She looked from the floor to his face. “The journal?”

  “Take your pick,” he said. “Dr Carter. The journal. The outsider. Every time something bad happens you seem to be involved—”

  “Me?” she spat. “But it was you who ordered the junk run. You who had the outsider brought back to the Nest. You who put the Doc in danger—”

  “I’m the one who protects us!” he bellowed. The flames quaked inside the hearth, even the fire was afraid of him. “Before me this silo was going to hell in a hand basket. I took it from my father. I breathed life back into it and raised it from the dead. Without me, you wouldn’t be here. None of us would. You have no idea what it takes to keep harmony in a cage of trapped rats. Believe me, it takes more than order to keep them from clawing each other apart. It takes dedication, commitment . . . strategy.”

  “Strategy.” Her face hardened. “Is that all we are to you, is pawns?”

  Arlington looked at her; his gaze no longer fierce but grave. “My dear, we’re all just pawns of some bigger game, even me.”

  Just then, the door opened with a clang and a red-faced watchman, out of breath and wheezing, came rushing in. Arlington sprang from his seat, as hot as the bu
rning embers crackling in the hearth.

  “I told you I didn’t want to be interrupted!” he snarled.

  “Sir,” the watchman exclaimed between heavy breaths. “You better come quick. Malik needs you in the surveillance room. You’re desperately needed—”

  “I don’t give a cahoots,” Arlington started.

  The watchman marched over and whispered something in his ear. Arlington’s eyes widened. His face went from red to pink to white in mere seconds. “Watch her,” he instructed the watchman and disappeared out of the room in a hurry.

  Whatever was going on, it didn’t sound good.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  But the watchman didn’t answer.

  He didn’t say a word.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Arlington blasted into the surveillance room like a tornado, blowing past the guards, knocking off their hats. Malik stood at the center of the control panel, striking buttons left and right. A band of watchmen were clustered around him, as still as toy soldiers, staring at a wall of monitors surveying outside the Nest.

  “How bad is it?” Arlington hissed. “Where are they?”

  “Everywhere,” someone muttered. It could have been Malik, or one of the other watchmen. It could have been his eyes for godsakes! He couldn’t believe what he was seeing— hundreds of Flesh Rotters scaling the dome to the evacuation chamber, clawing and gnawing at the steel plates that held it together. They were grotesque things, deformed with bent knees and long, twisted faces, destroying one security camera at a time. One by one, the monitors began to go blank.

  Never in all his years . . .

  “What are they doing?” he stuttered. “What’s happening?”

  “They’re trying to find a way inside.” It was Malik who answered; he was sure of it. “We can’t just stand here. We need to secure the base, sound the alarm—”

  “There’s no need to,” Arlington snapped. “The Nest is impenetrable. They’ll never get inside.”

  “We can’t take the chance,” Malik countered. “We need to evacuate everyone to the Vault and arm the guards. You saw what that Flesh Rotter did to that nurse. If they get inside, it’ll be a massacre . . .” He stopped suddenly, a light bulb going off in his head. “The outsider!” He grabbed Arlington by the shoulders, rattling him. “It’s him! Don’t you see? He killed the Flesh Rotter and now they want revenge. That’s it! That’s why they’re here.”

  There was a stir among the watchmen. “I say we throw him to the dogs then,” someone grumbled, followed by a rally of complies. Malik was right along there with them, insisting they release the outsider to the Flesh Rotters and send him off to his doom. They were convinced that the death of the creature had brought them, but Arlington knew better. These morons had no clue what they were dealing with.

  “Shut up,” Arlington exploded. “Shut up all of you! Out! Everyone out of the room! Get out!”

  Looks were passed, comments were uttered, but no one protested. The watchmen filtered out of the room. Arlington caught Malik by the arm. “Except you.” Once they were alone, Arlington faced the monitors. Only a few remained—showing glimpses of the Flesh Rotters cleverly seeking out the security cameras and destroying them.

  “Sixty years ago,” he began. “There was a government study called Operation Blackout. Not many knew of the project, except for a selected few. It was conducted on an island, under the sole direction of a German scientist, Dr Victoria Albrecht. Two children, twins, one boy and one girl, Adam and Eve, were the heart of the project. Albrecht used her own embryos to create them. When they were born, they weren’t only born inside a lab, but born with special abilities: Death flowed through the veins of one; life flowed through the veins of the other, one was the virus, one was the cure, and together they were unstoppable, a living weapon if you will, created by Albrecht herself. They were to be the most powerful weapon the world had ever seen. The only problem was they were killed by an army official, Captain Benton, who was sent to the island to protect them. He blew up the laboratory and destroyed all of Albrecht’s work, losing his own life in the process.”

  Malik shook his head in disgust. He felt nauseous at the thought of it. “What kind of man kills children?” he mumbled. “He deserved to die if you ask me.”

  “Perhaps,” Arlington said. His eyes became glassy, jittery. “Perhaps not.” Before Malik could comment, he said, “Remember when we spoke in the observation room? Remember what I said? How on the devil’s dead earth did that boy infect Dr Carter? I couldn’t answer it then. I had no clue, but now . . . now I wonder.”

  “Wonder what?” Malik growled.

  He was growing frustrated, Arlington could see. Malik was never much of a thinker.

  “Think about it, Malik. The outsider’s test was clean, but his blood type was also unknown. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t showing any signs of infection. Maybe because it’s not an anomaly in his system at all but a part of it, a part of his DNA. Don’t you see? The boy, the outsider, he isn’t infected. He is the infection. The Black flows through his veins. That’s how he infected Dr Carter.”

  “Wait a second,” said Malik. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to piece together the words. “What are you saying, Arie? That the outsider is some kind of walking, talking virus?”

  The old man’s eyes were alight with fire, one Malik didn’t recognize. “What if the children never died that day?” he contended. “What if they got away somehow? Look at all the signs: The boy in the tank, Dr Carter, the Flesh Rotters. Maybe you were right, Malik. The Flesh Rotters do want the outsider, but not for the reasons we think.” He stepped closer, his hand trembling when he laid it on Malik’s shoulder. “They sense him, Malik. They can sense their maker—"

  “I don’t believe you,” Malik spat, shrugging off his hand.

  “It’s true,” Arlington urged. “I never knew about Operation Blackout, either. I never believed it until my father told me the truth, but . . . Look at him, Malik. Look at what he can do. If he is Adam, if Adam lives, then so could Eve—”

  Malik stumbled back, shaking his head. “And you went after him? You broke him out of that tank and brought him back here, knowing what he was? Jesus, Arie. You could’ve infected us all.”

  “But I didn’t,” Arlington said. “I had no idea what he was until now. Truthfully, I still don’t. For all I know, I could be wrong—” He stopped talking at the sight of Malik’s gun. He unholstered it from its strap. “What are you doing?” he questioned with a wary eye.

  Malik said, “What do you think? This stops here and now—”

  “You can’t,” Arlington exclaimed. “You can’t kill him! If he is who I think he is, then he may know where to find the cure—”

  “I couldn’t care less,” Malik snapped. “That boy’s the reason why Dr Carter’s dead, and I’m not going to stand here and wait to see who’s next.”

  Arlington tried to wrestle the gun out of his hand, but he was too feeble and weak to stop him. Malik knocked him to the ground. He opened his mouth to cry out for help but stopped. What would he say? If the others discovered his secret, the next life to be taken would be his. There was nothing he could do to stop him, other than beg.

  “Please,” Arlington pleaded, his hands clasped in prayer, dropping to his knees. “Don’t do this, Malik. He may be the only one who knows where the cure is. If he tells us, we can change everything, we can cure the world . . .”

  Malik, who had been more loyal to him than a dog for the last forty-five years of his life, since he was born, looked at him with such disgust that it forced Arlington to shrink back. In that moment, he wasn’t the patriarch of the Nest or some poor old man who made a foolish mistake. He was a child, just a frightened child, suffering under the judgement of a man who had been like a son to him.

  Malik laughed, but it wasn’t friendly or compassionate. It was full of loathing. Animosity. Disappointment. “Cure the world? You’re the reason why it’s dead to begin with.” He point
ed to the last monitor, the only one left. A Flesh Rotter crawled up to it, opened its jaws, and the screen went black. “Maybe I’ve been afraid of the wrong monsters all along.”

  And with that said, he was out the door.

  * * *

  “Get out of here!” Charlie bellowed, swinging his wrench. “Stupid rats!”

  Down in the Pit, where the generators sat below level one, Charlie was hard at work, chasing away the rodents that infested the tunnels on a daily basis. He was covered in sweat and soot, looking like a maniac waving his heavy wrench around, cursing and fussing at every passing shadow.

  “For cryin’ out loud!” His buddy Sam shouted over the drumming of the generators. He was in the midst of balancing a large tool box in his arms. “Forget the darn rats, Charlie, and get over here and help me carry this! We need to fix the pipe in sector C.”

  If Charlie heard Sam, he gave no indication of it, keeping his eyes locked on the ground, swatting his wrench at this and that. The place was a bloody dump, smeared with rat droppings, but you couldn’t tell over the stench of sulfur wafting through the air. Charlie hated it, though the rats didn’t seem to mind, attracted to the warmth of the generators more than anything else. He spotted another one now, cutting across the floor, and stomped his boot, barely missing its tail—the lucky bugger!

  “Are you gonna help me with this or what?” barked Sam. “I don’t got all day, you know!”

  They had been on him about the pipe in Sector C for weeks now, and all he wanted was to be done with it.

  “Just give me a minute,” said Charlie. The pipe in sector C could wait, but the rats, those pesky rats— “I think I found one of their nests! I can hear ‘em! A bunch of ‘em, too!”

  Something sounded from inside one of the air vents, banging through the duct. The rats were taunting him, teasing him, he knew, their sole purpose bent on driving him mad. But unfortunately for them, Charlie had them right where he wanted them. Trapped.

  As giddy as a child with some evil plot brewing between his ears, Charlie exchanged his wrench for his torch.