The Black (The Black Trilogy Book 1)

by J. M. Scarlett

  The Commander eyed her, waiting for a reply. There was none.

  He swallowed and went on, “But don’t worry, Supreme Commander. We’re checking the levels again and my men have already begun to search the outside. Wherever he is, rest assured, we will find him—"

  “No, you won’t,” she said, turning away from the last of the people boarding the craft. He was gone, she knew. The connection between them broken and clouded with static. Something had changed between them. She could no longer feel his fear.

  “You allowed him to get away,” she said calmly, never raising her voice, not once. “What part of ‘finding Adam is the upmost priority’ didn’t you understand?”

  “I apologize,” he murmured. “But the stairwell had been destroyed and the elevators didn’t work. We had to find another way down.”

  As much as she wanted to blame her men, she couldn’t. It wasn’t their fault. After all, she had created Adam. She knew him better than anyone and should have known it wouldn’t be so easy to find him. She closed her eyes, remembering when she first felt him after sixty years of silence, snapping awake in the middle of the night. He was alive! Her son was alive! And though the connection was faint, it was there, and it was real. She could sense it like an approaching storm, darkening her blue skies, blocking out the sun. Darkness was coming.

  “Commander Albrecht?”

  She raised her dark eyes to meet her commander’s face. There was something in his hand, a jumble of metal. He held it out to her.

  “I found these,” he said. “I figured you would want to see them.”

  She took the dog tags in her wrinkled hand and rubbed a thumb across the name.

  “Where did you get these?” she whispered.

  “One of the survivors had them, sir,” he replied. “A girl. We brought her on board with the rest. I tried to reason with her, but she wouldn’t talk, so I had to use force. I’m afraid at the moment she’s out like a light.”

  She stared at the dog tags, hypnotized, squeezing the two slivers of metal between her fingers as though she was reading them in her mind, seeing something that neither the Commander, nor the rest of them, could.

  When she spoke, she spoke so softly that the Commander had to strain to hear her. “Gather the rest of your men and prepare for takeoff. We’re heading back to Silo Zero. Bring the survivors with us, especially the girl.”

  “But, sir,” he stuttered in utter shock. “What about Adam? He couldn’t have gotten far. We can still find him—”

  “Are you questioning my orders, Commander?”

  The Commander withered under the weight of her stare. “Of course not,” he stammered. “I apologize. I only thought . . . We know he’s here, we know he’s close by. We can still find him—”

  “We don’t need to find him,” she said. “He will come to us.”

  The Commander was confused. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t understand. Isn’t that the reason why we came? To get Adam?”

  “Things have changed, Commander.” She looked down at the dog tags and smiled. They mirrored off her glasses. “He will come for her and when he does, I will be waiting.”

  “You mean the girl?” he said. She didn’t need to be telepathic to read the doubt all over his face. “How can you be sure?”

  A trickle of blood flowed from one of her nostrils and gathered at the top of her lip. The Commander cringed as her tongue slid out and licked it away, savoring the taste.

  “Because,” she said. “I can feel it.”

  From the Missing Pages of Benton’s Journal . . .

  For three and a half days, I drifted in the open sea on a busted board from the wreckage, the words U.S. Military stamped across it in ragged paint. There was no sign of the children, no sign of salvation, no sign of life itself other than a passing boat in the distance, too far to be hailed down. I was dehydrated, starved, weak, and horribly ill. And if those things didn’t kill me, I was sure the sharks would. It was only a matter of time before I either drowned or became fish food. But then something happened . . . I opened my eyes, the sun beating down on my sun-blistered face and saw a bunch of men pointing and shouting at me from above, crowded on the deck of a large vessel. A rope was lowered, and I was brought on board. It was a fishing boat. They didn’t speak much English, but they gave me food and plenty of water. When we docked, I thanked them for their help and disappeared.

  It took me several weeks to find my way back to the United States, and once I did . . . I went to my grave, not far from Conner’s, the man who had died before me. There was something on my gravestone, waiting for me. A message, a letter from General Harper. Some kind of warning, perhaps. Or a last farewell? It was hard to say. But either way, I wasn’t finished with him yet . . .

  “You are amazing, General,” said a deep voice over the phone. General Harper sat in his office, the phone pressed to his ear, a cigar clamped between his teeth. “Without you, Operation Blackout would’ve been ruined.”

  “Thank you, sir,” replied the General, blowing a cloud of smoke across his desk. “I appreciate that.”

  “I should be the one thanking you,” said the man on the other end. “You’re a hero, General. People don’t understand the importance of what we’re doing, most won’t, but you—you have never faltered off course. You have been true from day one, and that’s why I’m honored to share my kingdom with you. The arrangements have been made. Have you received your papers?”

  General Harper stared at the documents on his desk, the ones permitting him into the silo. “Yes, I have, Mr. President, thank you.”

  “You’ll be safe there, General,” the chief of state advised him. “Good luck to you.”

  The call was disconnected before he could wish him farewell. He wondered if he would ever see him again after Operation Blackout was carried through. Despite the chief of state’s optimism, he doubted half of them would make it; after all, all was fair in the game of biological warfare. He checked his watch. The buses would be leaving soon, transporting them to the silos. He rose from his desk and sauntered over to the window that overlooked the military base. A big, yellow sun hung in the sky. It was bright, brighter than normal in a cloudless sky that never seemed so beautiful—maybe it was because it was the last time he would be seeing it. Once the silos were loaded, they would be sealed down below until the virus ran its course. Sure, billions would die in the process, but like his father always told him, “In the game of life, it doesn’t matter what you know, but who you know.”

  Now, there was only one last thing he had to take care of—

  “Hello, General.”

  The General chuckled. Somehow, he had always known, hadn’t he? He turned around and faced Benton, who stood in the doorway with a gun in his hand. He looked older, grayer, like Plum Island had stolen more than his sanity, it had stolen his youth.

  “They said you drowned,” he said, his eyes flitting from the gun to his face. “But I always knew the truth, didn’t I, Captain?”

  A nasty smile touched Benton’s lips. “I got your letter.”

  “I knew you would. Why do you think I wrote it?” He took another drag of his cigar, seemingly unmoved by the gun. “Though I am surprised you made it this far. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get in here?”

  “I have my ways,” was all Benton said.

  The General didn’t doubt it. He taught him every trick he knew.

  “You’re wasting your time, Captain. You can’t stop it. It’s already in the process. It’s been in the process for years now. In fact, it’s already begun and there’s nothing you can do to prevent it—”

  “You’re going to unleash it?” Benton said. “Are you crazy? Do you realize what will happen?”

  “It’s called eradication, Captain. And unfortunately for men like you and I, we don’t control the game, we’re only pawns in it. And all that matters is which side you are on, and you, my friend, chose the wrong side.”

  “I’m not your friend,” Benton spat.
The gun was shaking in his hand. “I know what you are. I know what you did. You killed Conner and now you’re going to kill the world—”

  “Don’t give me a morality speech, Captain. We both know the things you’ve done. You’ve killed women, children—”

  “I did it for my country!” Benton bellowed.

  “And we’re doing this for the good of the planet,” the General retorted.

  “By unleashing a virus that will annihilate everyone?”

  “Oh, go cry yourself a river,” the General snarled. “Men kill each other every day. Turn on the news and what do you see—killings, kidnappings, child abuse, rapes. There’s more degenerates in the prisons than they know what to do with. Bombings, terrorism, racism, it soaks our streets, floods our cities. Admit it, Benton. They don’t deserve to live.”

  Benton shook his head. “And you do?”

  The General looked at him and smiled. “Why not? It’s time to hit the reset button, Captain. It’s time to stop the hate, and the only way to do that is to clean the slate.” He took one last drag of his cigar. “Forget them, Captain. Join me. Come with me to the silo. There’s still time.”

  Benton’s eyes narrowed. “What silo?”

  “They’ve built shelters deep beneath the earth. They plan to put us there until the virus runs its course. Once everyone’s dead, we’ll start rebuilding again.” He motioned to the papers on his desk. “I can get you in. It’s the only way to survive. Come with me, Captain. It doesn’t have to end like this.”

  A funny look fell over Benton’s face. “She’s played us both,” he uttered. “Albrecht played us all.”

  The General had no idea what he was talking about, but his plan was working. He wanted to keep Benton talking until he the guards showed up.

  “Forget about Albrecht,” the General told him. “We don’t need her anymore—”

  “No, you don’t understand,” said Benton. “It won’t kill them; not like you think. You have no idea what you’re about to do. I’m telling you, General. You unleash that virus and it’s over. The silos won’t keep you safe. Nothing will.”

  “As I said, Captain . . . You’ll never stop it.”

  Benton lowered his gun. The General’s smile widened.

  “Maybe you’re right,” said Benton. “I can’t stop Operation Blackout.” His face hardened. “But I can stop you.”

  He raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

  * * *

  The buses were aligned outside the parking lot, surrounded by a long line of passengers. A bunch of guards stood at their doors, checking ID’s and packing luggage. A dark suit and matching midway cap cut through the crowd, making his way toward the guards—

  “Hey!” someone yelled in line. A hand grabbed the man’s shoulder. “Back of the line with you, pal. No cutting in—” He looked at his jacket, his hat, his badges. “Oh, sorry, General.”

  Benton nodded. He thought he was caught for sure, but it didn’t seem like any of these men or women recognized him. He tilted his hat over his eyes, covering half of his face, and approached the guards in front of the bus, handing them his papers. After a quick glance, one said, “Where’s your chip, sir?”

  Chip? He looked from one face to the other. He didn’t know what that meant. He rummaged through his pockets, pretending to look for it, and was two seconds away from pulling his gun, when one of the guard’s zipped open the top pocket of his duffel bag and pulled something out.

  “Here you are, sir,” said the guard, handing him a white bracelet with a bunch of numbers on it. It was sitting on top of a stack of clothes. “Make sure you hold on to that. You’ll need that to get into the silo.”

  Benton nodded, slipping on the bracelet. What kind of silo was this, he wondered? He thanked the guards and boarded the bus. That was a close one. He slipped off his hat, not wanting to look conspicuous, and found a seat in the back. He was sweating bullets. The shirt beneath the General’s jacket that he had stolen from his office was already soaked to the core; he hadn’t stopped sweating since he pulled the trigger. He peered out one of the windows, waiting for someone to come running after him, screaming bloody murder—

  “Hello.”

  A friendly face with red hair and green eyes greeted him on the seat beside him. She was an attractive woman in her thirties. She held a purse in her lap and a smile on her face. She didn’t look like a soldier, not by the pretty blue dress she was wearing.

  “Hello,” he said; his voice sounded shaky.

  “What silo are you going to?” she asked.

  He looked down at his papers, fumbling through them. She laughed. “It’s alright,” she said. “I’m nervous, too, but my dad says we won’t be down there for long. Just until we’re safe. You hear about that virus going around? Usually that stuff is all over the news, you know, but I haven’t heard anything yet. It must be pretty serious though if they’re moving us to the silos.”

  Benton’s jaw hardened. He wondered if any of these people knew the real reason why they were being taken to the silo.

  “Anyway,” she said. “My name’s Karma.”

  He turned to her, a bit taken back. “Karma?” he said. “What kind of name is that?”

  She giggled. Her hair sparkled in the sunlight streaming in through the windows. “I know, I know,” she confessed. “My father was a hippie turned senator. I think he named me in his wild years. What about you? What’s your name?”

  Benton tucked his dog tags beneath his shirt, hiding any evidence of his true identity.

  “Arthur,” he said, offering her a hand. “General Arthur Harper.”

  “Oh wow,” she fussed. “A general on board, eh? I guess that means I don’t have to worry then? If anything bad happens at least we have you to protect us, right?”

  “You can say that again,” he muttered.

  Benton turned back to the window; still no one came for him. A smile touched his lips as the bus’s engines roared to life and the wheels began to turn, carrying him away from his sins and toward his future.

  “You know,” he said, taking one final glance at the military base, and the world he was leaving behind.

  “Karma isn’t such a bad name, after all.”