Shadow Cast: A Brock Finlander Novel (Coastal Adventure Series Book 3)

by E. J. Foster

  This thing was much bigger than the beast I killed earlier today.

  The spider turned in the direction of the kids and watched them run. Then the eight legs tapped out a pattern on the floor, rotating the huge beast around. I peered back into the container, almost as if it was pondering something. Deciding.

  “Brock.” Jules’ voice quivered and when she looked up at me her eyes were swimming pools. “What’s happening?”

  “What I described at the lab. This thing looks exactly the same,” I said. “But much, much bigger.”

  “What was that smoke?” Jules asked.

  “It’s still venting out,” I said, pointing to the video. A steady stream of gas was jetting out of the meteorite, creating a plume in the air that continued to grow. “It’s spore dust. At least, that’s what Katie called it.”

  “There!” Jules spotted more motion on the camera. “Look at all those little ones, on the floor along the wall.”

  It looked like a steam grate releasing hundreds of tiny streams of spore dust into the hall. A little jet of smoke streamed out of each tiny meteorite.

  “That must be the green dust we found all over Katie’s lab,” I muttered. “Pretty nasty stuff in vapor form. Highly flammable.”

  “Flammable is the least of its nastiness,” Jules said. “Look what it did to that guy! Brock. Those meteorites came from outer space.”

  Outer space.

  “Are these aliens?” Jules' voice wobbled. “Are they here to take over our planet?”

  Jules had questions, but I didn’t have any answers.

  “Do you think they’re refugees?” Jules was still guessing. “Maybe those meteors were lifeboats, and they were escaping a desperate situation.”

  Jules always had an affinity for animals. She could make a connection with almost any beast. She knew how to speak to them, knew their language. Her intuition about creatures had helped me before. Maybe even saved my life. It was no surprise that she could dream up a scenario where these things were innocent and benevolent.

  “Even if that were the case, they’re still ending lives on this planet to do it. That’s not acceptable,” I said. “Not on my watch.”

  After a moment of silence, Jules spoke again.

  “So, the smoke changes people into aliens?” she asked.

  “Airborne spores... transform living creatures... into those things,” I said to myself.

  A lump developed in my throat, and my heart skipped a beat. The room went silent, and I had a feeling that Jules was thinking the same thing as me.

  “The kids.” My voice was unsteady.

  Jules quickly scanned the room and spotted a fire extinguisher. Next to it was an enclosure on the wall marked: emergency supplies. Jules unlatched the box and flipped it open.

  “N95 masks,” she said, grabbing one and pulling it onto her face. She tossed me one. “Put that on.”

  “Take all of them,” I said, pointing at the stack of masks in the box. Jules grabbed the stack and shoved them into her backpack. “We gotta find those kids. Can you tell where they are?”

  “How?” she asked. “The cameras aren’t labeled that way. It just says H2.”

  “Find anything in view of the camera. Maybe there’s a clue.”

  We both looked back down at the screen and Jules gasped. I swallowed hard.

  The thing was gone.

  Jules' finger trembled uncontrollably as she touched the screen. A bead of sweat hit the glass of the phone and I remembered how hot this room was. I was dripping.

  Jules pinched and pulled at the screen, zooming in on different areas, searching closely, pixel by pixel. There was nothing identifiable in any of the well-lit areas. Just a damaged shipping container, door open, dead body on the floor in a nondescript dim hallway, extending down to the darkened intersection where the kids were hiding.

  “Zoom into the dark area at the end of the hall,” I said.

  “There’s nothing there,” Jules said.

  “Just try.”

  Jules pinched into the area, stretching her pointer finger away from her thumb and the dark end of the hallway got closer and filled the screen.

  “See. Nothing,” Jules concluded.

  “Can you enhance?”

  “Enhance?” Jules looked at me with disdain. “This is not an action movie. There is no enhance.” She was clearly frustrated.

  “Can you brighten it up?”

  At that, Jules thought for a moment, then pushed two hardware buttons on the side of her phone.

  “Screen capture,” she said, and began working. “I can open this still image in another app.”

  In a few seconds she had the still photo of the dark halfway on her screen again. Jules adjusted sliders in the app. Brightness. Contrast. Hue. Saturation.

  As she moved each slider, the images morphed and changed, getting brighter and sharper until a dim faded sign on the wall was finally legible.

  Hold #2.

  “Let’s go.”

  29

  Two flights above the lower holds, and two flights below deck, the chief engineer bent over in his silver jumpsuit, and torqued on the bolt head with an oversized pipe wrench. Steam filled the expansive engine room in which he worked; the ever-present hiss drowned out any chance at solitude down here. At least he wasn’t in the lower bowels.

  A green mist rose up out of a hole in the floor behind the engineer, no larger than a golf ball. The gas began to slowly mix with the steam, lightly coloring it and filling the room.

  The man was working hard, and his breathing was labored. He stopped for a moment, unable to catch his breath. He started to feel sick. Was he ill?

  The engineer picked up the wrench again and loaded it onto the bold head, coughing. He was trying to clear something in his throat that wasn’t there. He man gasped. Breathing was becoming difficult.

  Then his skin began to burn, as if it was peeling off.

  The smoke moved as if it was alive, surrounding him and enveloping the man.

  He struggled to focus on breathing. The machinery in front of him looked foreign, and momentarily, he didn’t understand it. The pain ebbed and he remembered what the machinery was again.

  Across the large area, a woman in a silver jumpsuit entered the space, her blonde hair drawing his attention. He recognized Katiana. She was in a hurry.

  The searing pain was back, and he choked on fumes as his skin burned. He didn’t understand where he was; he didn’t recognize anything. All his knowledge was gone. Only instinct remained.

  He saw movement. White and silver in the distance. Food.

  30

  Katiana was sprinting the length of hold number two. Her heart raced. She was still unsure of what had happened. Did she absolutely witness a murder? She questioned whether it was real or not, but she kept running out of the hold and into the engine room, trying to make her way up to the wheelhouse directly above her, in the bridge castle.

  She hustled up two flights of stairs, and entered the engine room, planning to cut across it to save time.

  But she was stopped in her tracks.

  Across the engine room, in a cloud of green steam, the chief engineer writhed and twitched. And then came the scream. So loud that she instinctively tossed her platinum mane back and covered her ears.

  His silver jumpsuit stretched and burst apart under the tremendous pressure of unchecked growth. He was no longer recognizable. Not as a man. Spines grew out of his bare and blackened torso, lengthening slowly, until they were fully-formed black legs jointed high in the air.

  Katiana’s stomach turned, or was it the ship? She was no longer sure of the ground under her feet. Her world spun as the terror gripped her and sent her heart thudding against her ribcage, as if trying to break free of it.

  The black spider towered over everything in the large room. Its feet clicked and tapped against the steel floor as maneuvered itself, turning towards her. It sounded like steel blades tapping on glass bottles of poison.

  The g
reen eyes of the beast stared directly at her. She recognized the look; she had seen it before in the eyes of past sexual partners. This spider wanted something––and it wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  On instinct, Katiana bolted out of the room, twisting and turning down hallways. She turned the corner once more at full speed and made full impact with what felt like a brick wall.

  The collision jolted her into disarray, rattling her brain.

  A moment of confusion startled her, and she thought she was hallucinating.

  Katiana was in the arms of the tall, muscular stranger. He was holding her safe, her chest pressed against his.

  The handsome man.

  31

  I opened the door of the small network room Jules and I had been camped out in for the past half hour. Cool air rushed in, and relief washed over my skin.

  “Ahhh. Summer breeze,” Jules said as she reacted to the sensation.

  I stepped out onto the steel grating and turned. A warm body crashed into me, a cyclone of platinum hair whirling. As if she’d fallen from heaven, a woman was in my arms, pressed tightly against me. Her tornado of hair finally settled and fell back, a face revealed itself.

  I pulled down my mask and we were face to face, eyes to eyes, and lips to lips, standing just inches from each other. The woman from before.

  “Bonjour, again,” I said. “Brock Finlander.”

  Those sapphires blinked and then gazed at me for a moment in silence.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur Brock.” Her full lips parted again. “Katiana.”

  My body went warm again at the sound of her voice. Her delicate French accent worked on me.

  “Just Brock is fine... Katiana,” I said.

  “Helloooo.” Jules was tapping her foot as she pointed to a bare spot on her wrist and checked a watch that she wasn’t wearing. “We have things to do.”

  I snapped out of my momentary lapse, reluctantly releasing Katiana’s warm soft body from my grasp. I didn’t want to let go.

  “Listen. We need—” I started.

  “No.” The woman looked back from where she came. “Something comes,” she said, her voice shaking. She began pushing me back into the network equipment room. I could tell this was important and I obliged. Jules followed us in and shut the door behind us with a click.

  The heat was back.

  “Animal,” she said, gesturing with her hands in the air. “How you say… spider.”

  I raised an eyebrow at that. Jules and I had just seen something like that.

  “I know,” I said.

  “There is more,” the woman continued. “Local pilot is...” she paused, not sure of the next word. “Morte.”

  I lowered my head, solemn. “I know.”

  After a moment of silence, Katiana spoke again.

  “We evacuate must,” she said.

  “Not without the kids,” I said. “I’m not leaving until I find them.” I turned to the red mohawk. “Jules. Camera?”

  Jules mumbled something I couldn’t quite hear over the hum of electronics.

  “Say again,” I said.

  Jules pulled down her N95 mask and tried again. “Masks,” she said, pointing to mine which was around my neck.

  “Oh, right,” I said, placing the mask back over my mouth and nose. “And can you get one for...” I turned to address our new team member. “Katiana.” Her blue eyes sparkled.

  Jules pushed a mask into Katiana’s chest. “Keep it on.”

  I turned back to Jules. “How about that camera?”

  Jules had the phone out again, and pulled up the app. On the small screen the video screen was labeled H2 and showed a familiar dark hallway with a damaged shipping container. The door was open

  The dead body of the bay pilot was no longer there. Randall was gone.

  A man with dark hair with a slash of platinum running through it appeared on screen, pushing an empty cart. He looked around, then inside the container as if something was missing.

  “The other one,” I said.

  “Personne diabolique,” Katiana seethed in French. “He… uh, killed pilot.” She pointed at the screen.

  The twin began loading more bars onto the cart.

  “We don’t have time for this. I’m flipping,” Jules said and then pressed the button advancing to the next feed. She clicked several times scanning through a series of video feeds of empty dark spaces. She was cycling through fast.

  “There,” I said. “I thought I saw movement.”

  Jules backed up.

  “Finn,” I said upon seeing him.

  “And Jessa, there.” Jules pointed to another part of the screen.

  I let out a long breath, relieved. “They’re okay.” I was worried we might be too late. But seeing them in full motion on the video lifted a weight off me.

  “Where are they?” I asked.

  “La cuisine,” Katiana answered.

  “The feed is labeled GL, but it looks like a... kitchen?” Jules guessed.

  “The galley,” I said. “Let’s go. We can watch on the way.”

  “Slowly,” Katiana spoke. “Thing… is around.”

  I knew what she meant. “Okay. Carefully,” I said. “Katiana, you know the way. You lead. Jules, you’re in the middle. I’ll take up the rear.”

  The girls gave quick nods.

  I opened the door and the cool air rushed in again, refreshing like an island breeze on a hot day. That’s all I ever wanted, I thought. Why did life have to be this much trouble?

  Katiana moved out into the hallway slowly. Jules next. Then me. We left the area and sprinted in the direction of the galley.

  In the empty hallway, the green mist rose up out of the floor grating outside the network room. The area began to fill with the alien smoke until it was completely saturated. The spores continued rising upward, searching for holes and shafts, seeking escape routes, trying to extend itself to every part of the great ship.

  32

  On the bridge, Crewman Martin watched as Captain Bernard tapped on the screen. Static video pixels glitched and then magnetized back together again.

  “The cameras are doing it again,” the captain said.

  Crewman Martin nodded.

  “Where’s our local pilot? And where is the boatswain?” Irritation rose in the captain’s voice.

  “Je ne sais pas,” Crewman Martin said, before repeating in English, “I do not know.”

  The captain tapped on the video screen again, but the glitch didn’t resolve.

  “We must have taken damage from that meteor storm. The screens have been like this for hours.”

  “I’ll check it out, sir,” Martin said.

  The old captain looked out the bank of windows of the large wheelhouse. A storm was gathering. The blue, white, and red vertical stripes of the French flag were stiff in the steady wind, under the bright work-lights on deck. He looked back to see the crewman still standing there.

  “Well? What are you waiting for?” the captain barked at Martin.

  “Right away, sir. I’ll check the network connections,” Martin said and spun on his heel.

  Martin’s heels clicked on the polished floor of the bridge until he reached the door and stepped in the metal grating which made up most of the walkways on this ship.

  Martin hustled down two flights of stairs and turned the corner, heading forward in the boat. He preemptively pulled the key to the network room out of his pocket and spun it on his finger. He had run this drill before.

  When he reached the network equipment room, the door was ajar.

  Martin slowed and narrowed his eyes. This was unusual. The key on his finger stopped spinning, and he tightened his fist around it.

  Martin placed one palm on the door and slowly pushed, inching it open.

  He scanned the empty room, looking for signs of life. The emergency supplies box on the wall was opened, and some of its contents had been raided.

  Martin stepped further into the room. Someone had been here. H
e looked down at the key in his hand, the only one on the ship, and wondered how they got in.

  He ran his hand up and down the door jam. No signs of damage.

  Martin decided he would ask around. He’d have to solve this later. He was here on another assignment, and the captain wasn’t in a good mood.

  Martin turned his attention to the racks of computers and network switches. Rows and rows of lights twinkled like a Christmas tree, with hundreds of blue network cables feeding into black boxes. There seemed to be as many cables as there were lights.

  Martin ran his finger along every cable in the top row, checking each connection, unplugging each RJ-45 connector and then re-plugging each one back in. After the first row was complete, he began the next. Then, the next. After a few minutes, he came to a red wire. Unusual.

  He squinted his eyes at it. Was he going color blind in this hot room?

  He followed the red wire, back and around, disappearing behind the network rack. Martin started moving large cardboard boxes to the side, making way for himself to squeeze back behind the equipment. He could hear the hum of the electronics combined with the hiss of cardboard friction against floor tiles.

  Martin finally reached the back. He tugged the red wire, pulling it toward him. He was dragging something with it.

  The other end of the red wire was plugged into a small black box, the size of a large deck of cards. The box had three small antennas and a picture of what looked like a radioactive pineapple on it, along with a homemade label with some words on it. Martin just stared at the message on the label: Property of Jules.

  33

  Jessa and Finn tore down the hall at lightning speed, heading to the back of the ship, approaching another submarine style door which was already open.

  Jessa leapt over the threshold as she ran, just barely clearing it. Finn was right behind her, moving fast.

  He leapt through the door at full speed. Searing pain shot through his ankle as hit the ground with a thud, knocking the wind out of him. His foot had caught on the tall steel threshold and tripped him up.