A somber silence fell over the room.
“Majestic” jogged something in Archer’s memory. He’d heard the name before, when he’d been assigned to the president, but he couldn’t remember what type of information it signified exactly. What he did know was that the “Majestic” moniker was the highest designator in the government’s repertoire of secrets.
“First of all, most of the general public isn’t even aware of the gravity of the situation.” His voice was smooth and even. He seemed at peace with all that was happening, and, for some reason, it unsettled Archer. “However, there are those of the conspiracy fringe, whom we monitor closely, who have been putting much of this together and coming to some pretty interesting conclusions that resemble our own experts’ deductions. Those of us in this shelter are the only ones who know the truth of what’s really going on out there. Yes, the world knows that nuclear strikes have plunged most the planet into devastation, and they even know of the tsunami that has entire nations under water right now, but only a few of the governments still functioning are striking against the real enemy. The world at large doesn’t even know the half of it.
“What I’m going to tell you will cause you to question everything you know of the world—your faith, your fortitude. You may not believe it—”
“Sir,” Sam said, to the surprise of Archer. “There isn’t much I wouldn’t believe right now. What I’ve just seen and had to do…well nothing can shock me now. So spit it the fuck out. Don’t hold anything back.”
“Alright, Miss Velaska. Point taken.”
Sam smirked for the first time in days. Evidently, Archer realized, she was surprised this man knew her name.
“First off, let me inform you that I am not an agent of the government as you know it. I work for an agency you’ve never heard of, an agency that doesn’t exist. Since the world powers have gone to hell, there’s no point in all these secret, cloak and dagger games any longer. No more pretenses. I am—was—a higher up for the Black Rock agency, and Palmer is one of my most trusted men. We’ve worked in this facility for years with everyone else, but we are the only two Black Rock agents assigned here. Now, you know, along with everyone else out there.” Waters pointed to the closed conference room door.
They stared at each other, not fully comprehending what he was saying, or what Black Rock really was.
“We’re a twilight organization,” he went on. “Specializing in other worldly cases and unexplained phenomena. I don’t have to tell you this is one of those cases—the ultimate case. We have teams of psychics and spiritualists on this. The ones that are still alive, that is.”
“You mean that psychic crap is for real?” Sam said. It seemed anything that popped into her head came right out. Archer wondered why she was acting so erratic.
“More than real, Miss Velaska. It’s right here, right now. Always has been. There is a delicate balance out there. A thin veil between our reality and many others—realities more terrifying than imagination. There is not just one reality. There are many, with many life forms and many deities—things that have been waiting to be awakened, waiting for their chance to get into our world.”
“What else do you know?” Archer said. “Those things, the shadows, the island… What in the hell...”
“Yes, Thaddeus,” Waters said. “I was just about to get to that. A very powerful collective has learned how to use negative energy to wake and bring something back into our world, something old and sleeping, something still without its consciousness. This group of dark psychics raised the island out in the Pacific. It houses the incarnation of the Old One. Chthulu himself.”
Archer knew exactly whom he was talking about. The cult—that blasted cult! They’re who he’s talking about. The ones that took Casey. All of this is their fault. What the hell do they want with Casey?
Waters continued, “However, when they raised the island, there were side effects. Through their misuse of power, they created rifts in the fabric of the veil—the delicate walls that separate our realities. Through these rifts came the shadow beings—the ones that take hosts, the ones that fly, the ones that look like human and animal monstrosities. They are everywhere, and many in number.
“My people have been working hard on closing those rifts, and we’ve managed to do just that to almost all of them. The shadows need hosts. They prefer to take the dead, reanimate the body, and use it to carry out their will. But they will take the living when they get desperate. It doesn’t give them a secure grounding in our world, however. They have a very loose grip on the living. We still don’t know how they choose these living hosts. It might be those with weaker wills, or who are a bit unstable. That’s why there are so many suicides. The battle between shadow and hosts breaks down the human mind—erodes their sanity after a while. Those with stronger constitution seem to be immune.
So in any event, we’ve been destroying the dead. No body, no host. We’ve informed everyone to automatically burn the body of anyone who dies or is killed. It’s keeping most of those shadows in line. You may have noticed you can destroy them while they animate a corpse, because they merge with it in our world and become tangible. The longer they control the body, the more solid they become in our world. They also become more vulnerable to our attack. So they do have their weaknesses.
“But without a host, they can’t be touched. North Korea and China launched nukes at the island around 0930 this morning. We’re not sure what exactly happened, but something did. There was a psychic black blast from the detonations. We’re not entirely certain the nukes struck the island, but we are fairly certain there was some type of reaction to their detonations. Whatever the wave was, it wiped out the initial wave of shadow puppeteers. Now the other ones…”
“The giant birds,” Archer said.
“Yes. They are a lot tougher. Don’t need hosts, and attack without warning. We have to always be on guard. One last thing. What we’ve been able to detect is the group responsible for all this isn’t finished. They want to wake their god, bring it to life on that island. If that happens, we are as good as done. We can’t let that happen. Our remote viewers are working on some leads, trying to get a pinpoint on where they are.”
Archer was very interested in this as well. He grew agitated, felt his face flush red, and his hands grew damp. Tell me…tell me where they are so I can kill each and every one of them.
“We’re being blocked right now,” Waters said. “But we’re getting close. Once we find them, we will stop them.”
“What makes you think you can stop them once you find them?” Secretary Carling spoke up for the first time.
Her voice. Archer thought. What is it that’s so familiar about it?
“We have some methods that we will employ,” Waters replied.
“Methods?” Carling said, as if she were savoring the word.
“I’d like to help with this, and be kept informed up to the minute,” Archer demanded.
“Hold on, Thaddeus. We all have a job to do. I’m assigning—”
“They have my little girl!” Archer said.
“What?”
“My daughter, Casey. The cult took my daughter.”
“Jesus!” Waters was beside himself. “You mean she’s still alive? All the other girls taken were said to be found murdered. Sacrificed to their God. If they’re keeping her alive, there must be a reason. We’ve got to find out what they—”
There was a knock at the door. Waters went over and yanked it open. Palmer was on the other side, his eyes wide as he breathed heavy. “The viewers have picked up something on the cult. You need to come to the COM link and talk to them.”
The two hurried out of the room and down the hall, leaving Archer, Sam, and Carling on their own.
“None of this makes any sense,” Carling said. “It’s ridiculous. Rifts in reality, sleeping gods, a cult… What is all this?”
“Madame Secretary,” Archer said. “It’s the explanation that makes the most sense. The cult is behind
all of this, and they have my Casey. I’ve tracked and hunted them. I came close to losing my life to them. I killed their leader, McBain. I will not rest until I get my daughter back. They’re real, and they’re gonna pay.” Archer stormed out of the room, following Palmer and Waters down the hall.
Sam and Carling stared at each other, then they went after Archer. Sam noticed Carling expression morph as they left. Her eyes dimmed, and her skin darkened with red. Veins throbbed in her temples.
“Are you alright?” Sam asked as they went down the hall.
“Yes, it’s nothing. Just a headache.”
* * *
They stood in a room that was more like a storage closet then an actual room. Waters had an old-fashioned microphone in his hand. Palmer sat in a folding chair, tuning dials and adjusting the volume. It seemed they were relying on old technology to get them through the end of the world. Archer wondered how long before they were reduced to building telegraph technology again. If the world wanted to communicate again, they’d better think of something.
“Say again?” Waters said. “Somewhere in North Dakota.”
Archer thought he noticed Secretary Carling’s eyes widen.
“Yes,” Waters continued. “That’s all they can find. What about a town or a landmark of any kind? Nothing. OK, keep pushing. No, nothing here either. Well, at least we know a state.”
The COM began to buzz and click. “We may be losing the signal, Dan.” Palmer tried to keep the line alive.
“It’s OK, Eli. Let it go. That’s all the info we’re gonna get for now.”
Palmer released his controls and let the machine go quiet. A slight hum droned through the air. He looked up at Waters, who simply shrugged.
“At least North Dakota is relatively free of nuclear fallout.” Waters turned to the others. “There hasn’t been much activity there, but my contact says the remote viewers have seen the cult on the road in North Dakota. The cult was trying to delude them to throw them off the trail. They were unable to clearly make out a town or any solid descriptions.”
“Will they keep on trying?” Archer asked.
“Of course. It’s tough. We’re dealing with a real powerful group here.”
“How do they know North Dakota isn’t some sort of a trick?”
“They don’t, but they’ve been picking up a large energy source there, and it isn’t nuclear. It’s negative, and causing a lot of disturbance in the balance of nature there. There’s definitely something. What we can do next is go there, meet up with some white witches or shamans, and get to the bottom of it.”
“Mister Waters?” Carling said. “This has gone far enough. I must be informed of President Wendell’s location, and I must speak with him. He is still the leader of our country, such as it is. It is of great urgency that I be able to reach him and know his whereabouts.”
“Of course, I’ve been meaning to address that. The president is well and safe. I can debrief you all if you want to step back to—”
“I insist on holding a private conference with him and you. This is a matter of National Security, and the proper clearance is needed.” Carling eyed Archer and Sam.
“Of course,” Waters said, hurrying her back to the conference room.
“What’s her problem?” Palmer got out of his seat and chuckled.
“She’s been under a lot of stress,” Archer said. “I don’t think she wants to believe any of this is real. Back in New Orleans, she acted as if nothing was wrong. She might feel lost, being separated from the president. I think we need to cut her some slack.”
“If you say so,” Sam said. “She’s starting to get on my nerves.”
Moments later, Waters stepped out of the conference room and closed the door behind him. He gave a strange look to Palmer and the others, almost one of distress, and then headed toward them.
“Secretary Carling is in touch with President Wendell now. She’ll be done shortly. Palmer, I need to take care of some pressing business in my quarters. I don’t wish to be disturbed.” He rubbed his head frequently.
Before any of them could say a word, Waters started swiftly down the hall, tapped his head a few times, muttered to himself, then turned right toward where private quarters were housed.
“That’s weird,” Palmer said.
Archer looked at him.
“I’ve never seen Dan behave like that before. He doesn’t usually keep anything private from me.”
Outlook Fallout Shelter, Main Hub
It had been almost an hour since Waters had retired to his quarters, and he had yet to return. His colleagues began to grow concerned. They needed their leader, they needed answers, and they needed hope. Waters gave them all that, and now, he refused to come out of his room.
Secretary Carling had long since had her meeting, and enjoyed a meal of instant potatoes and canned ham at a table with the resident cook, known only as Jesse. Jesse was an obese man who was beginning to lose his hair. He was a former military cook who could do wonders with dried food and powdered eggs. Archer and Palmer didn’t like the situation one bit. Something smelled funny, and it wasn’t Jesse’s cooking.
Palmer was a loyal agent, and he followed protocol to the letter, but this was unlike Waters. It wasn’t his normal behavior. Dan Waters was the most put together person he knew, even more so in times of stress. Something felt wrong about his absence, and the longer Palmer sat and did nothing the more he sweated bullets.
“Alright.” Palmer broke the eerie silence. “I think I should check on Dan. Something isn’t right.”
“I’ll go with you,” Archer volunteered.
The two walked down the hall to the private quarters and stopped in front of Waters’ door. Palmer knocked. “Dan, you OK in there?” Only silence answered them. “Dan, it’s me Eli. We’re concerned about you. Can we come in?”
Still nothing.
Palmer took hold of the knob, but the door was locked from the inside. “Stand back.” He drew his gun. “I’m gonna have to break it down.”
Palmer stepped back and made a charge at the door. He kicked the door in, and it bashed off the back wall. The two went in, and a foul stench hit them head on.
“Ah God…” Palmer said.
Archer felt his stomach turn as they noticed the humidity in the air. There was an attached bedroom in the back of the room. Its door was closed, but light glowed faintly beneath it.
Again, Palmer insisted on going first. He drew his pistol and made his way slowly to the door. He tried the knob and it eased open. “My God…” As he stopped cold, all color drained from his face.
The bed was stripped to the mattress, with the blankets and sheets piled neatly in the corner. On top of the bed, Waters’ naked body sat, his vacant eyes staring directly at them. Both of his wrists and his throat were cut open. Globs of crimson pooled in the center of the mattress, turning it black. On the floor, beneath Waters’ blood-stained feet, lay a straight razor.
“No!” Palmer yelled. “No way. I don’t buy it! He would never check out like this—not now. No way!”
Archer stared blankly as rage filled him. He felt as Palmer did. Waters didn’t seem like the type. Something was wrong with the whole situation, and it unnerved him. It scared the crap out of him, actually. There was more going on here—something big. Waters knew everything that was going on, and was getting closer to the cult…closer...
It waits dreaming… it waits dreaming…
A crash signaled the bed collapsing as Waters stood up, leapt from it, and toppled onto the dumbfounded Palmer.
Startled, Archer unloaded a round into Waters, shattering his shoulder. It didn’t stop the naked corpse’s rampage, as it tried to choke the life out Palmer, who sprawled on the floor, fighting for breath.
“Damn it.” Archer chastised himself for letting the body get the jump on them. He searched the room swiftly for the shadow. Against the white walls, he spotted it writhing its way across the room. It exploded as bullets tore into the wall behind it. A sh
riek filled the air as it dissolved. Waters’ corpse went limp, settling on top of Palmer.
Palmer coughed, strained, and rolled the body off of him. “Jesus Christ.”
“Are you alright?”
“I think so. Motherfu—” Palmer’s curse drew Archer’s attention to the crowd that gathered at the doorway, drawn by the sound of the gunfire. “Back off!” Palmer called. “It’s over. Get back to your posts!”
The crowd dispersed as Palmer got to his feet. His gaze met Archer’s. “Someone did this. This was no suicide. I want to know who.”
“I think I might know.” Something donned on Archer. “She was the last one with him.” He raced from the room.
Palmer followed Archer back to the shelter’s main room, to the galley where Secretary Carling was still calmly eating her meal.
“What the hell did you do to him?” Archer yelled. His nostrils flared as he seethed. “You were the last one with him!”
Carling stood up and edged herself out of Archer’s path. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t.” Archer reached out to take hold of her, but big Jesse stepped in his way.
“This isn’t how you treat a woman, bud.”
Out of nowhere, Palmer busted the side of Jesse’s head with the butt of his pistol, leveling the big man. Gasps filled the room as all heads turned toward them.
“Now, Madam Secretary,” Archer said as he looked down the barrel of his service pistol, pointed directly at Carling. “Start talking.”
Approximately Two Hours Ago
Somewhere Over the United States
President Wendell and his entourage arrived at Mount Pleasant only to find the bunker overrun with shadows. The crowd of dead leered up at the hovering Blackhawk, and their shadow puppeteers roared with frustration.
“Sir?” The pilot sought direction from Wendell.
President Wendell gasped as he recognized a few of the faces in the mob.
If God Doesn't Show Page 12
