Nightingale felt the situation veering out of his control, but the gun… the gun at least felt steady in his hands. He was ready to fire, resolved that he would let this happen over his dead body…
Nightingale looked at Wake for a moment, glanced around the darkened hallway.…and yet he hesitated. He had seen this moment before, read it in the pages of the manuscript. He was transfixed by the déjà vu and the horror that he was a character in a story…—the page shook in his hand—…a story that someone had written. Then the monstrous presence burst in behind him—
The Dark Presence roared through the darkness, drowning out Nightingale’s voice, deafening them all. It grabbed Nightingale, jerked him off his feet and down the hallway, bursting through the door to the outside and carrying him off into the night. The manuscript pages fluttered slowly to the floor.
Wake, Barry, and Breaker stared at each other, Nightingale’s abrupt, terrified scream already fading.
Sarah was almost starting to relax. Maybe they could turn this into a win yet.
Suddenly, there was a piercing sound, like guitar feedback, and Sarah thought of Barry Wheeler talking about him and Alan onstage last night — he said they were like rock gods as they fought the Taken. Sarah’s smile faded as hundreds of birds made out of shadows flapped out of the night, hundreds of ravens swarming into the rotor of the helicopter.
The chopper bucked wildly and the control panel lit up, telling her what she already knew: they were going down. Wheeler screamed next to her. She glanced over at Alan. He looked back at her, jaws clamped as he hung on.
CHAPTER 23
“OH MY GOD,” Sheriff Breaker said in the sudden silence. “What the hell just happened?”
Wake watched the last manuscript page drift onto the floor, a snowflake in the darkness of the jail hallway. The heavy door that had blown open when the Dark Presence snatched away Nightingale now bounced back and forth in the wind like a rusty gate.
“What was that thing?” said Breaker.
“We need some lights,” said Wake, picking up the rest of the pages.
The roaring sound shook the building. A fire engine raced down the street outside, siren wailing.
“A b-big light,” stammered Barry. “A big, big light.”
“I’ve got flashlights in my office,” said Breaker. “I’ve got all your things in there too, Mr. Wake.”
“Alan,” said Wake. “It’s Alan… to my friends.”
“I’m Sarah,” said Breaker.
“I’m Barry, remember me?” He followed the two of them down the corridor, glancing behind him in the darkness. The door banged. “Hey, wait up.”
Wake heard shouting from outside as they walked down the hallway to Breaker’s office; it was a distinctive sound, one he understood only too well, the quavering voice of someone being attacked by a neighbor, a friend, a coworker, and asking why, what had they done? He saw Breaker hesitate, start to go outside and do her duty, but he put a hand on her shoulder, slowly shook his head. Even in the dim light he could see her eyes, saw the acknowledgment of their situation, her inability to help in the face of what they were confronting.
Trash cans and metal news boxes tumbled down the street, their papers blast apart by the darkness, headlines dying in the night. With a whoosh the storm of shadows carried everything straight up in the air, wooden picnic tables and metal signs promising saws sharpened expertly for 20% off, even the parking meters in front of the post office rattled violently in the curb, then launched themselves into the night, trailing concrete and rebar.
Wake and Breaker were thrown against the wall, and Barry was knocked off his feet as the fire engine landed in the middle of the street, dropped from a great height, its tires exploding, the windshield melting down the hood, the shadows so thick on the vehicle that there was no way to see what color it was. It was the color of darkness now, that’s all that mattered.
Wake stared at the fire engine as the siren started screaming again, undulating in triumph, and he thought of the car that Alice had spotted that first day as they drove to the cabin, a convertible sitting in the middle of the woods with a splintered tree driven up through the undercarriage and the ragtop. He and Alice had circled the car, trying to figure out how it could have possibly gotten there. They would have been better off to have driven out of Bright Falls at that moment, tossing the keys to the cabin out the window as they passed the Oh Deer Diner and just kept going.
“Alan?” Breaker stood in front of her office. “Are you coming?”
Wake tore himself from the fire engine, the siren sound reverberating in his skull.
Breaker tried the light switch in her office. Nothing. She went to her desk, tossed Wake a flashlight, rummaged around for others for Barry and one for herself. Wake pointed his flashlight at the ceiling, the reflected light softly illuminating the room. Barry pointed his light directly at his own face, hoping to stay safe in the spotlight. Breaker opened a cabinet on the other side of the room. Breaker handed Wake the shotgun and revolver that Nightingale had taken from him at the Anderson farmhouse. “Well, now are you going to tell me exactly what’s going on in my jurisdiction?”
Wake took a deep breath. “The thing that swept Nightingale away… it’s an entity of some kind, something powerful that lives under the lake. It’s called the Dark Presence.”
“The Dark Presence?”
Wake expected her to mock him, but her tone of voice indicated that she took his statements at face value. He nodded. “It uses darkness somehow… it takes over people, things, uses them. The townsfolk covered in shadows, they’re called Taken. The darkness protects them, so they can’t be hurt by guns or shotguns or anything else unless you burn away the darkness with light.”
“That why you wanted the flashlights?” said Breaker. “With them and the guns we can protect ourselves.”
“You should have seen us last night, Sarah,” said Barry, blinking in the beam from his own flashlight. “Me and Al totally owned the stage at the Anderson farm. I was shooting off fireworks, and manning the stage lights while Al blasted them to bits. We were like… like rock gods.”
The sheriff turned to Wake. “Rock gods?” She had a pretty smile.
Wake blushed. “You had to be there.”
Barry strummed air guitar with the hand holding the flashlight, the beam shooting around the room, glinting off the badge pinned to the sheriff’s chest.
The siren of the fire engine went silent.
Breaker went to her desk and took a small notebook out of a locked drawer. “Wheeler, I need your help.”
“I’m your man.” Barry grinned.
Breaker handed him the notebook. “I need you to call the names on this list while I check the fuse box and see if I can get the power back on. Call those numbers and tell them that you have a message from me. ‘Night Springs.’ Okay? They’ll know what to do.”
“Night Springs? Like the TV show?” Barry checked the list. “Who’s Frank Breaker? He related to you?”
“My father,” said Breaker, walking out the door.
“Is this like a secret society?” called Barry, but Breaker was already gone. “Wow. That is one take-charge lady.”
For the next five minutes, Barry called the names on the list and gave them the message: Night Springs. Most of the time he had to repeat it, but no one argued. No one lingered on the phone either.
“No luck,” said Breaker, hurrying into the office. “The fuse box is totally fried.”
“I need to find Cynthia Weaver,” Wake said to Breaker. “She can help me stop the Dark Presence.”
“Wheeler, did you make contact with everyone on the list?” said Breaker.
“Every one,” said Barry. “I like the whole code-word thing, sheriff. Mucho mysterious.”
Breaker picked up the box of shells from the desk, started loading her shotgun. “What do you think Miss Weaver is going to do for you, Alan?”
Wake shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“The And
erson brothers left us a message in one of their songs,” explained Barry. “They said the Lamp Lady had the answer.”
Breaker raised an eyebrow at Wake, then resumed sliding shells into the side of the shotgun.
“I know what this sounds like,” started Wake, “but—”
“The only time my father ever got really mad at me was when I was ten years old,” said Breaker, “and he heard a rhyme I made up about Miss Weaver—‘Weaver, Weaver, loony believer, scared that the dark is gonna eat her.’ My father sat me down, furious, said Miss Weaver paid attention, which was more than most people in Bright Falls did, and even more importantly, she tried telling people what she knew. Wasn’t her fault that most folks didn’t want to hear it.”
She finished loading the shotgun, racked the slide, the sound echoing. “That was good enough for me. So, if you say Miss Weaver knows how to defeat the Dark Presence, seems to me we need to get to her as soon as—”
One of Breaker’s squad cars tumbled end over end across the street and crashed into the side of the sheriff’s department. A scrap of ceiling panel floated down onto them.
“Miss Weaver lives in the old power plant,” said Breaker, as though nothing had happened. “She’s been living there for years. Illegal occupancy, but no one’s ever complained, and even if they had…” She flicked her badge with a forefinger. “My father used to say that half of law enforcement was knowing when to apply the law and when to apply common sense.”
She carried the shotgun easily in one hand, the barrel pointing toward the floor. “We’ll take the rescue helicopter and see what Miss Weaver has to say.”
“You know how to fly?” said Barry.
“How hard can it be?” said Wake.
“That’s not funny, Al,” said Barry. “You do know though, right, Sheriff?”
Breaker and Wake headed out the door, and Barry hurried after them.
Downtown Bright Falls was a disaster, a combination of Mardi gras revelry and an EF2-level tornado. Crashed cars, broken glass and trash everywhere, a geyser of water spewing from a knocked-over fire hydrant. The DEERFEST! banner drooped almost to ground level. One end of Main Street was blocked by an overturned logging truck, logs strewn like pick-up sticks, the other end closed off by a Deerfest parade float that stretched from sidewalk to sidewalk. Across the street from the police station, sparks showered from a major power outlet that had been hit by a car, sizzling on the wet pavement.
“This way,” beckoned Breaker, edging along a nearby storefront. “There’s an alley past the bookstore. We can cut through and get to the helicopter.”
The three of them scuttled down the alley, the wind kicking up newspapers and bits of trash around them. They emerged cautiously from the alley. Most of the storefronts were lit on this street. As they crossed over toward the dim lights of the Oh Deer Diner, the roaring of the Dark Presence started up again, increasing in intensity with every step they took.
A pickup truck with a camper shell on the back hurtled around the corner, the pickup thick with shadows, heading right toward them. Barry stayed in the middle of the street, frozen in place until Wake jerked him toward the diner. The pickup missed them by inches and slammed into a parked car.
The crushed radiator bubbled and steamed, the Taken stepped out of the pickup’s billowing vapor, a muscular man wearing an “I Survived Deerfest” t-shirt and jeans. He hitched himself toward Breaker, his movements jerky, a carpenter’s tool belt slung over one shoulder, a claw hammer in his hand. “Home repairs done… dirt cheap,” he intoned.
“Tom?” Breaker raised the shotgun, pointed it directly at the Taken. “Tom Eagen, you put down the hammer right now.”
“Clogged drains?” The Taken kept coming, hefting the hammer. “Leaky roof?”
“Tom? Listen to me,” ordered Breaker. “Tom!”
The Taken swung at her with the hammer, just missed her as she backed up.
Wake caught the Taken in his flashlight beam and the hammer trembled in its hand as the shadows slid away. He shot it with his shotgun, shot it one-handed, the kickback almost jerking the weapon free.
The Taken dissolved in the blast.
Breaker stared at the spot the Taken had been. “That… that was Tom Eagen. He fixed my front porch not three weeks ago. Lousy carpenter, but—”
“That wasn’t Tom anymore,” Wake said quietly. “Sheriff? Sarah? That wasn’t Tom.”
Breaker nodded. “I know.”
The roaring sound grew louder.
Barry peered into the diner. Rose’s life-size Alan Wake cutout was near the door, backlit by the warm red glow from the soft drink dispensers, and the jukebox. “It… it’s safe in there.” The door to the diner gaped, sprung from the frame, the lock broken. Barry pushed it open as the roaring came closer and went inside. “Come on.”
Breaker and Wake slipped inside the diner after him, crouching down as a dump truck rumbled down the street, four Taken in the back, all of them carrying axes and chainsaws. They peered over the sides of the truck, looking for someone… looking for them.
Wake and Breaker and Barry eased to the floor, watching as the truck slowly drove past.
“Th-they may come back,” whispered Barry.
“What did you mean before?” Breaker said to Wake, lying beside him on the floor.
“When?” said Wake.
“You said, ‘It’s called the Dark Presence. They’re called Taken.’” Breaker’s eyes reflected the red light from the jukebox. “Who named them?”
Wake shifted. Cleared his throat. “I think I did.”
Breaker cocked her head.
“A lot of what’s been happening around Bright Falls… it’s because of me.” Wake pulled the manuscript out of his jacket. He explained his dream, his vision from the farmhouse. He told her everything he knew. He told her how the Dark Presence had stolen Alice, using her to get Wake to write the manuscript of Departure, making him tell a story that would give it more and more power.
“Your writing did all this?” said Breaker.
“He’s a really great writer,” chimed in Barry. “It’s a gift.”
“Barry, you’re my best friend,” said Wake, “but please shut up about my gift.”
“All those people… taken.” Breaker looked at Wake. “Maybe when you get Alice back… maybe you can write things back to the way they were.”
“I don’t know if it works like that,” said Wake.
“What happened to Rose?” said Breaker. “She’s not covered in shadows like Tom Eagen… she’s not a Taken, but she hasn’t been right since we found her at the trailer.”
“What happened to Rose is the same thing that I think happened to Cynthia Weaver,” said Wake. “Rose and Weaver weren’t taken, they were only… touched by the Dark Presence, because it got more for them that way. It needed Rose to lure Barry and me to the trailer. It needed Weaver…” He looked up at the cardboard cutout of himself, a perfect likeness only flat and empty. He shook his head. “The Dark Presence touched me too… after Alice and I arrived in Bright Falls.”
Breaker looked concerned, tightened her grip on the shotgun.
“It’s alright,” said Wake, “I’m still me. For the time being.”
“The Dark Presence… did it touch you during this week you can’t remember?” said Breaker.
“It needed me to write the manuscript, that’s why it kept me alive,” said Wake. “I’m the one it wants. I’m the one who keeps the wheel spinning. The sooner I’m gone, the sooner this town will get back to normal.”
“Get down,” hissed Barry.
The dump truck slowly drove down the street, the plate-glass windows of every storefront that it passed blowing out, glass tinkling through the night.
The three of them covered their heads as the windows of the diner exploded.
Wake peeked his head up, saw the dump trunk continuing down the street. “We should get to the helicopter while we still can.”
“We can go out the back door of the dine
r,” said Breaker. “The helicopter pad is close.”
They made their way cautiously through the restaurant. Barry lifted the clear plastic container, grabbed a jelly donut.
“Don’t give me that look,” said Barry, chewing with his mouth open. “I haven’t eaten all day. And my blood sugar… oh, forget it.” He took another donut, stuffed it in his pocket, and scooted after them. As he crossed the diner, he slipped on the broken glass scattered across the tile and skated into the jukebox. His flashlight slipped out of his parka, rolled across the floor.
The needle of the jukebox scratched noisily across a record, then caught, the jukebox blazed up, blaring out some old Top 40 hit from years ago.
The dump truck halted in front of the diner.
“Go!” shouted Wake.
“My flashlight…” Barry ran.
Breaker held the back door open for them, raced out after them. “This way,” she pointed. “Another block over. The helicopter pad is on a big vacant lot.”
Wake heard the roaring first, and then trucks screeched up at each end of the street, blocking them from going around. The trucks were so thick with shadows that the darkness leached out, made the night even blacker.
“Go through the general store!” called Breaker, her voice half lost in the storm.
Wake stepped through the broken door of the dark store, guarding the entrance while Barry and Breaker came in after. He could see Taken approaching from the trucks, hefting axes and tire irons. Breaker ran down the center aisle of the store, the counters heaped with model airplane kits and dolls, holiday lights and ornaments, racks of paperback books and an enormous display of souvenir t-shirts.
Wake stared at a portable TV set resting on the counter. The power was out in the store, but he turned it on anyway. The writer in the cabin show was on, Wake’s doppelgänger hunched over the typewriter, madly beating the keys.
“The story I’m writing won’t save Alice,” said the voice-over. It wasn’t Wake’s voice, but it was close enough. “It’s a horror story, and it’s going to kill her, and me, and everybody in this town. The darkness will be free, unstoppable.”
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