The Dark Above

by Jeremy Finley

  As the furious agent tried to muscle through the cluster of cameras and microphones, Stella threw open the door and ushered them into the back seat. The agent broke through, reaching for her.

  She swung open her own door, his hand slamming against her window. She slid in and ignited the locks.

  The agent pounded on the window, ordering her to stop.

  With the cameras pointing in, Stella uttered a curse so offensive that, if it could have been heard through the windshield and above the chaos, would have caused the networks sensors broadcasting the event to scramble to bleep. Instead, the world of social media scrambled to make a GIF of it, ending with Stella throwing the car into reverse.

  For a brief moment, Lynn caught the agent’s eyes. She knew he was remembering her words from the day before. You don’t know what I’m capable of doing.

  Lynn nodded once to him as the car backed away.

  * * *

  The surreal feeling of being the only vehicle on a highway in the middle of the day, an experience usually reserved for weary overnight truck drivers on holidays, was heightened by the repeated, crackling, robotic voice on the radio.

  It didn’t matter the station—WNOE, B-97, WKBU—it was everywhere on a continuous loop: Hurricane imminent, evacuate the city.

  And yet, with the gray skies looking down at them in disapproval, the Jeep Cherokee, with 210,000 miles and drained of windshield fluid, resulting in an army of slain mosquitoes blurring the view, continued its solo journey towards New Orleans.

  The girl at the store had happily agreed to Steven’s offer to trade the boat for the car, especially when he’d thrown in an additional hundred dollars. She’d pointed out that the Jeep needed new tires, but that she’d driven it just last week, and it got her back and forth to the beach.

  So far, it chugged along. William had rightly feared they’d be pulled over almost immediately, spotted by a state trooper as the only vehicle on the road headed in a dangerous direction. Thus, whenever he saw a vehicle approaching in the distance on the parallel interstate, he would swerve over to the shoulder and come to a stop, telling Steven and Lily to duck. Only when the car had passed, perhaps thinking theirs was an abandoned vehicle, did they once again rise from hiding.

  They could only assume that most law enforcement was assisting the Louisiana National Guard within the city battered over the last few months by the repeated hurricanes that had drained most of its residents. Steven feared that the highway, which crossed over Lake Pontchartrain at several stretches, would be flooded. But it was a safer bet than Interstate 10, which was certainly blocked off.

  While the water was frighteningly close to the edges of the bridges, it was, for the time being, passable, although they sprayed through puddles so deep they had to drive at practically a crawl.

  Before the phone lost Wi-Fi an hour or so prior, as they crossed from Alabama into Louisiana, William read how meteorologists were baffled by the war the weather was waging on the beleaguered city. The latest, a tropical storm that appeared out of nowhere yesterday, had climatologists scrambling to understand the errors in their predictions. They joined colleagues all across the world struggling to understand how it was also happening on coasts outside most developed countries.

  William knew he’d had the dream yesterday in the boat, and had seen the storm begin to surge. Now New Orleans was bracing for another assault.

  He shifted his shoulder to lean against the window. How was it happening? In the dreams, he was always so horrified when the disasters unfolded that he never gave thought to what was igniting them.

  You are the conduit.

  He looked back to where Lily lay sleeping in the backseat, under a blanket they’d swiped from the motel. She’d cried herself to sleep after Quincy’s security team swept in. She’d kept asking, though, when Quincy was coming back. When William admitted he wasn’t, she’d just clutched the dress he’d bought her.

  Perhaps she’d picked up on the panic they all felt, realizing that, with Quincy suddenly ripped away, they’d lost their only chance to financially navigate the days to come. Steven knew it as well, rushing to make the bad deal on the car, even spending a bit of their remaining cash just to get them on their way at first light.

  It was irresponsible what they were doing, bringing a child into this severe of a storm.

  But if I can stop you …

  How in the world was he going to even find the others like her? If what he saw in the dreams was true—the disasters unfolding around the world—it would be impossible to get to them all.

  They were down to four hundred dollars, with no way to get any more cash, heading into a city that was, in essence, under siege.

  The Jeep began to swerve, and William gripped the steering wheel tighter. He could see the wind blowing across the water, forcing waves over the bridge.

  “If we can just make it over this, we should be clear of Lake Catherine. No more waters to cross,” Steven said. “If we’re lucky, we’ll make it to Little Woods, find a place to hunker down before it hits. Hopefully the houses are abandoned.”

  William nodded. “You know a lot about New Orleans?”

  “Spent a lot of time there over the last decade. There are quite a few Researchers there—or at least, were there, until the storms started. It’s actually where I met Neve years ago.…”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t even know how to express how sorry I am.”

  “Nothing to say. It wasn’t your fault. She, Kevin … they knew the risks. Especially in the hysteria that followed your return all those years ago. We all wore scarlet letters if we outed ourselves publically. Everybody went underground, even deeper than we had before. Your great-grandparents got the true first taste of what the SSA can do. To think, all those years ago, I sent their daughter on the same dangerous path to find you…”

  “You sent her?”

  “She never told you? Any of it?”

  William turned on the wipers. “She insisted that I have as normal a life as possible. I don’t think I could have comprehended what she went through … what Blue went through … until I read it, and saw it for myself. But she deserves to know. All of it.”

  “I wanted her to know. I still do. It’s why I’m now determined to stay alive to make sure I at least deliver on that. It is the least I can do for Lynn.”

  William shifted in his seat.

  “Sorry. Probably makes you uncomfortable to think of someone else in love with your grandmother.”

  William tapped the steering wheel. “She certainly loved my grandfather.”

  “That she did. It’s important you know that, in the end, she chose a life with him over one with me.”

  “You never married?”

  Steven smiled sadly. “If you had known your grandmother in those days you would understand that once you met Lynn Roseworth, no one would ever compare. Then to see her, all those years later, be so brave, risk so much for our grandson, and still be so beautiful—”

  “OK, I get it.”

  “I wanted her to have her father’s letters. And when I learned her mother was alive, I was determined to deliver both to her. I don’t have much time left, after all.”

  William looked over quickly. “What?”

  “I’m dying, son. Congestive heart failure. Pretty advanced. Didn’t think I’d even make it down that tunnel. I’m at the end of my days, but I’ve got to see this through. I intended to go with Lynn to find you in Colorado, but the Suits got to me first. I’ve never forgiven myself for putting her in such harm’s way. And now I feel I’m doing the same with you. You must understand why I have to see this through. We have to determine how it is you can stop Lily. Because whatever is in your grandmother, if you trigger her…”

  She’ll die.

  Steven continued. “She hasn’t been activated yet. But I fear it’s coming. But if you can control what’s within her, maybe even prevent it from awakening, then there’s a fighting chance she’ll survive.”

  “But I
don’t know how. I can only assume I trigger all of them in the dreams. I can stop Lily, but I can’t even communicate with the rest. I don’t have the slightest idea how to figure that out.”

  Steven looked in the rearview mirror. “We’re a good distance off the lake now. We need to get off this main road. Cops could be around, making sure no one’s still here.”

  The rain started to heavily pelt the car as they turned down a neighborhood street, where yards were already flooded.

  “We better start squatting somewhere quick,” Steven added.

  William spotted a shotgun home built on a slightly higher elevation and pulled in. He ran up to the front door, knocking loudly. When no one answered, he went around to the back. Finding it unlocked, he entered, calling out if anyone was home. He was greeted with silence.

  He ran back out to the car, finding Lily still passed out as he lifted her, covering her head with the blanket to shield her from the rain. He carried her in, finding a bedroom. Gently laying her down, he sat on the edge of the bed.

  “So what now?” Steven whispered from the doorway.

  The raining was hitting hard now. All his life, the pattering sound had made William drowsy.

  “Need to try something. Give me a little bit.”

  “I’ll try to scrounge up some food. Don’t know how long they’ve been without power here.” Steven quietly closed the door.

  William lay down beside Lily, his arms behind his head. A familiar anxiety rose in his throat. For a year now, he’d fought falling asleep. He began to breathe, long and slow. He should have told Steven to give him a few hours. It could take that long to even fall asleep—

  A moment later, he hovered above the churning waters, the storm barreling around him.

  He realized it then. He wasn’t asleep. It had never been a dream.

  It explained why he was so exhausted, so internally bruised afterwards. His body wasn’t resting. It was being infiltrated.

  He struggled to take control. It was apparent at once he had made a mistake—he was a blade of grass trying to slow down in a rushing river. He looked around wildly, the winds and water pummeling him.

  For a second, he saw the eyes, and then they were gone in the torrents of rain. He tried to find them, but he could already feel the familiar pull, wanting to take him elsewhere.

  The eyes. He had to get to them.

  He jumped.

  At least he tried. It was terribly awkward, more of a collapsed leap than anything. All he could think to do was see if he could move on his own.

  He leapt again. With each movement above the water, whatever bound him held tight, as if he were stretching invisible chains.

  He tried to run. That, too, was a disaster, as if he were attempting it waist deep in snow.

  As he inched closer, he caught a glimpse of not only the eyes, but a face. For the briefest of moments, he saw where she was.

  The wind ripped at his skin, the water drenching him. The woman’s face and the hospital behind her were gone in a torrential wall of rain.

  * * *

  The doctor dropped her chart.

  It clanged to the floor, echoing in the empty hallway. She reached for the wall behind her, steadying herself.

  Had she momentarily blacked out?

  She was certainly that tired. Irrationally tired. No-business-treating patients tired. But was she delusional tired?

  Because it sure felt like, for just a moment, she’d fallen asleep standing up. She’d literally had the damn dream standing up. The crazy dream, where she was watching the hurricanes form, the waves fighting against each other, all of it rushing towards New Orleans. And, as always, hovering over it all, was William Chance.

  She’d finally told Shelia about the dreams yesterday, and her friend had laughed until she cried. She loved to watch Shelia laugh like that, especially in these dire hours. Her face crinkling up, her hand rising to her heart to momentarily cover up her nurse’s badge on her upper chest.

  “Jane, my heart, my heart,” Shelia gasped, in between laughter. “My heart is going to burst if you don’t stop. You mean the hot alien dude?”

  “Trust me, he was never my type growing up. Which is what makes this so ridiculous.”

  “I don’t know, girl. How long has he been showing up in these dreams of yours?”

  Jane had sheepishly admitted it had happened on and off for about a year. Shelia had slapped the table so hard she almost knocked over her coffee.

  She wanted to share in Shelia’s laughter, to think it was funny too. After all, it was ridiculous. Of course she was dreaming about hurricanes, they haunted the nightmares of every person still in the city. And the dreams were becoming more frightening each time.

  “Wait, wait, Dr. Doogie,” Shelia had stammered when she finally caught her breath. Shelia relished in calling Jane by the nickname she’d earned by becoming the youngest resident in the hospital’s history. Now everyone on staff, even the janitors, called her Doogie Howser. “I want this dream. But in my dream, it’s going to be Denzel. Malcolm X Denzel. And he’s gonna be floating just like your William. I don’t even care if I drown, if Denzel is with me.”

  Jane had laughed at that, but then the ambulance had screamed up to the emergency room with an older couple that’d refused to leave the city. The man was in the throes of a heart attack, and his wife had soiled herself because their bathroom was flooded. Nothing was funny from that point on.

  She’d slept since then, hadn’t she? She truly couldn’t remember. There were so few doctors left to go on rotation.

  And, she’d been walking; it wasn’t like she had stopped to lean against the wall or something. She hadn’t passed out, otherwise she’d have been on the floor with a wicked headache.

  But she hadn’t injured herself either when she’d blacked out before. And substantial time had passed then.

  Had it been a year now since that happened? A fellow runner had found her lying on the edge of the tree line along the Mississippi levee trail. She’d been so confused. She’d just gone for a long run. How had she ended up practically in the trees?

  When the runner told her it was noon on Sunday, Jane had panicked. She’d gone for a run at one in the afternoon on a Saturday. She’d been lying there an entire night and morning.

  The cops had been called. She’d undergone a full physical checkup. No drugs in her system, no signs of an attack. An MRI showed no tumors, no brain abnormalities. Everyone had come up with theories. You pushed yourself too hard, you collapsed. Your blood sugar was too low. A car sideswiped you and thought you were dead and left you.

  Why, then, weren’t there bruises? How can I have simply no memory of being gone for an entire twenty-four-hour period?

  Jane hurried down the hall to the nurses’ station. Shelia was there, sipping what must have been her sixth cup of coffee of the day. There weren’t many nurses left either.

  “Word is the National Guard is going to force us to move,” Shelia said.

  “They can’t. There are too many terminal patients. They can’t be removed from their life support, even for a minute.”

  “They say they’ll airlift them out.”

  “During a hurricane? That’s impossible. What does Dr. Parker say?”

  “That even our backup generators aren’t designed to run this long. That we’ll be lucky to have an ounce of power once Hurricane Nancy is done with us. Is it just a tropical storm? Or was that the last one? How are we supposed to keep track?”

  “Listen.” Jane leaned in. “Remember when I blacked out last year?”

  “Of course. I about came unglued. We were supposed to go out that night and you never showed.”

  “It just happened again, I think. Standing up.”

  “Whoa, girl.” Shelia touched her shoulder. “Go lie down now. Dr. Wraf just came in; I thought for sure he’d skip town. Go lie down. I’d tell you to go home, but that honestly isn’t an option for any of us. I’ll wake you if something happens.”

  “Y
ou know it will. But I don’t think I have much of a choice. I just checked on the head trauma patient in room seven.”

  “Go now, before the next crisis flares up. Please. You know I’ll come for you.”

  “I think, at the moment, everyone is stable. But that could change in a minute.”

  “If it does, Dr. Wraf can handle it. Dr. de Riesthal and Dr. Stankewicz are still here too. If it gets bad, I’ll wake you. Seriously. I think you are just pushing yourself too hard and your body reacts in a scary way. Go. Now.”

  Jane squeezed her friend’s hand and headed down to the doctor’s lounge. It was empty, of course. None of them had the appetite to eat anyway. The hospital had become the last lifeline for the desperate who had waited too late to escape.

  If the coming hurricane was as bad as its predecessor, it could be the end for all of them.

  Jane lay down on the cot in the on-call room adjacent to the lounge. Mom must be frantic, she thought. Dad too. She’d been able to send out a text a few days ago that she was alive and in the hospital, but then all communication had gone dark. They hadn’t wanted her to even come to undergrad at Loyola, but she’d fallen in love with the school and the city. She’d then quickly enrolled in medical school at Tulane and had never wanted to leave.

  Even after the fourth hurricane this year. Even after the levees failed and the mayor ordered an entire evacuation. Even after the CEO of the hospital ordered the patients out, leaving only the sickest of the sick and a bare-bones staff of doctors and nurses. Even after her mother had called, sobbing, begging her to leave.

  She was too ideological, Dr. Wraf had lectured her. Too young, too naïve, too much potential to get trapped here. You could die, Jane. We all could.

  Jane couldn’t explain why she stayed, beyond her true desire to stay with her patients who had no family and other loved ones.

  She also couldn’t explain that mentally and physically, she simply couldn’t leave. Something kept her here.

  She turned over in the dark, closing her eyes. No more thinking about the choices she made. Shelia could come in any second with word of the next disaster. She needed to sleep while she could. She said a silent prayer that the dream bypassed her this time.…