by Sean Platt
The child in the old man’s shell appeared, first his feet, then finally his head.
The child took great labor to speak. “We have to go to Black Island,” he said. “Now.”
The eternity it took for the child to finish his thought gave It plenty of time to see everything the child didn’t know he was supposed to be hiding.
It now knew what the child knew.
Its body relaxed, putting aside Its hunger now that It had seen the far greater meal waiting for It at Black Island.
There was plenty of time.
Soon It would be full.
Gorged, glutted, satisfied.
It wanted what the child wanted.
But the vial — holding the last of Its enemy — would belong to It, never the child.
It had all the time in the world, now that It knew where It needed to go.
The child whispered, “If we don’t go, we’re all dead.”
The beginning of the end was now.
And nothing would stop It.
Fifty-Six
Other Ed Keenan
Black Island
Black Island Research Facility Level 8
April 2, 2012
SIX MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT …
Ed stared at the giant monitor, wondering how long they had before everyone topside was either infected or dead.
More than 100 cameras were on the island, and all three digits’ worth were displayed in squares on the large screen in front of himself, Will, and Sullivan in the control room on Level 8; the same room they rushed inside on the early morning of Oct. 15 when Will first told them about his dream: Something bad was about to happen.
That was putting things mildly.
“How many of our own people are left?” Will asked, pacing back and forth, stroking his beard.
“Ten Guardsmen topside, five more on the mainland,” Sullivan said, looking at a computer monitor on the table, displaying a map of the island with several red dots detailing each Guardsman’s precise position, with a number assigned to each, hovering over the dots. Two dots side by side suddenly went dark.
“Make that eight,” Sullivan said.
They glanced at the monitors and saw two Guardsmen ripped into shreds by what could only be called a pack of wild mutants — running and killing together, decimating or infecting every Guardsman in their wake.
They were down to just three Guardsmen in the Facility, protecting 15 civilians. The math was getting uglier by the minute. Ed wasn’t sure what Will was trying to calculate, and didn’t dare interrupt the man when he was working through a problem. Will was loony, but genius. If anyone could think their way out of this nightmare, it was him. Unfortunately, Will was also harder to deal with since Boricio took off. Boricio had been Will’s unofficial translator, the only person who could steer Will through some of his wackier behaviors and get him to focus on the productive stuff. Boricio also provided a much-needed buffer between Will’s sometimes gruff obtuseness and the others in the Facility.
Will asked, “How many civilians topside on the island?”
“I’m estimating there are 20 or so, still topside in their homes, with 35 having been brought to the mainland before the aliens crowded the dock, preventing the ferry from its safe return,” Sullivan said.
“No sign of Dr. Williams?”
“No,” Sullivan shook his head.
Will continued pacing. Finally, Ed said, “Why are you asking about the number of people left?”
“Because we need numbers on our side,” Will said, as if the answer was as obvious as daylight.
“Why?” Ed said, glancing at Sullivan, glad to see his eyes as confused as Ed’s.
“Because Luca’s coming back. And he’s going to need allies.”
Ed shook his head, this shit again, then glanced at Sullivan who also looked as disappointed as Ed felt. “Why do you say that?” he asked. “And don’t say because you dreamed it.”
Will looked at Ed, then put his fingers over his lips with a zipping gesture.
“You dreamed it?” Ed asked, unable to control his rising temper.
“Your son isn’t coming back,” Ed said bluntly. “He’s gone. They both are. And even if they did return, what are they going to do? Unless they bring an army they’re as helpless as we are with our dwindling numbers. Why don’t you try to come up with something that doesn’t rely on dreams or hope, because it’s getting late, and our options are running dry.”
“They are coming back,” Will insisted.
Ed sighed.
Their last best hope at defeating the aliens just went full-blown senile.
Will left the control room and headed down the corridor toward the vending machine.
Sullivan approached, glancing back over his shoulder as if he expected Will to pop back into the room at any moment. “We have to consider the Hard Reset Protocol.”
“No,” Ed shook his head. “I’m not giving up hope. Not yet. We still have time to make a decision.”
“No, sir, we don’t. I saw something just before you and Will came in. But I didn’t want to say anything until I showed you first.”
“What are you talking about?”
Sullivan went to the monitor, then touched one of the squares and tapped out a sequence of four numbers.
A moment later, the box widened, taking up most of the screen, showing Camera 76, which looked out over the west side of the island’s shore. The footage was 12 hours old, from when it was still light, and showed several dark shapes dotting the water for as far as the camera could capture — about one quarter mile out.
The shapes were moving.
Toward the island.
“What are those?” Ed asked.
“Aliens.”
Ed turned his head and squinted, his eyes straining for a better look.
“Holy shit. They’re swimming?”
“Yes,” Sullivan nodded.
“There’s gotta be hundreds.”
“Yes,” Sullivan said. “And that’s just this morning.”
“Are they coming or going?”
“Coming,” Sullivan said. “And it looks like they’re gearing up for something big.”
Fifty-Seven
Ryan Olson
Dunn, Georgia
March 31, 2012
FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT …
Lisa turned to Ryan, sitting in the passenger seat of the van, and smiled. They were finally a half mile or so from the compound. She had driven the van faster than Ryan thought possible, for which Ryan was thankful, since that meant much less time wanting to consume her.
Ryan had spent the trip wanting to tear into Lisa’s flesh, and diving deep inside his mind to monitor and push down the alien urge. He craved the feast of her body, but was even hungrier to get to the compound so he could finally find his wife and daughter.
Lisa had missed shooting his face off, but only by the fraction of a moment. She had moved her hand at the last second, after she said she’d seen something in his face change. She said suddenly he didn’t look like a man begging to die, but rather someone with everything to live for.
Though she missed killing him, the gunshot had come close enough to shatter his eardrums. However, the pain and ringing had lessened in the past 20 minutes, perhaps thanks to his alien side, which seemed to foster fast healing.
Lisa swung the van into the empty driveway of the compound, then looked over at Ryan. “I’m gonna leave the engine running.”
“OK,” he said.
Lisa climbed from the van and Ryan followed, turning his eyes to look anywhere but her back, hating himself for seeing her as easy prey. She pounded on the door for several minutes, though she didn’t have to. Ryan could tell that nobody was inside to answer.
He cursed himself for not having known for sure if they’d left. He’d been so busy resisting the urges to kill Lisa that he’d not been tuned into the Darkness, which had taken control of Charlie. The last he’d seen through the teen’s eyes, he was in the ro
om, talking to the group. He could feel the same lust for death in the Darkness as he felt in himself. But the Darkness was also resisting the urge, for reasons Ryan couldn’t discern. Nor could he count on the Darkness continuing to resist. Perhaps it was playing the long game, waiting for something.
Ryan tried to reach out and find the Darkness, but was coming up blank.
“I’m kicking it in, cool?” Lisa said, breaking his focus.
“Do your worst,” Ryan said. “But I’d check to see if it’s locked first.”
Lisa said, “Duh,” even though Ryan would’ve bet that her leg was already twitching to go into action.
The door swung open, and Ryan inhaled more of his family’s lingering psychic scent. Not a lot was left, but there was just enough. He closed his eyes, imagining them so wholly that he could almost reach out and touch them. But all that was left was their auroras, echoes of their souls. He may as well have tried to touch a ghost. His heart crushed beneath the weight of his growing sadness.
Ryan could smell Mary’s protective shield wrapped around their daughter’s heavy terror. Ryan longed to see more of their memories, maybe something specific, but those memories were now dead — dust drifting into a different wind.
Something stabbed inside Ryan’s mind, sending him to his knees in a scream.
“You okay?” Lisa looked down, eager to help.
Ryan swallowed, then said, “Yeah, thanks.” He shook his head, then set his claw against it, rocking it for comfort. “I’m fine, just felt something . . . weird.”
“You sure?” Lisa’s eyes said she wasn’t, even if Ryan was.
But he wasn’t fine. Not at all. The pain was gone, but it was replaced with an increased hunger. Ryan wanted to tear Lisa limb from limb, he longed to taste her, and wanted to share her flavor with others like him. The others he was growing closer to by the minute.
Ryan wanted to join them.
With so many mutants and aliens around, Ryan could easily find the growing collective. He should just forget about Mary and Paola — it wasn’t like he could enjoy any sort of normal life with them — and feast on Lisa.
Then he could join his new family.
No!
Fuck you, I’m still human!
The hive in his mind grew worse for its volume. Ryan had to force himself to stand up or else he might not ever get up . . . not as a human, anyway.
The living room felt emptier than it was. He saw signs of recent life — a bowl of batter and a couple of half-eaten pancakes on the bar — but not a single breath was in the house.
Mary and Paola’s scents, physical and psychic, were strongest, at least until Ryan smelled Charlie’s.
Except Charlie’s trail wasn’t a scent; it was more like a broadcast.
Charlie had what he’d come for, but decided he wanted more.
Another sudden flicker — no, a flash — inside Ryan’s mind sent him back to his knees. It was something horrible, something crowding his mind. Something from outside. They were coming. The dark horde sensed them and was coming.
“We have to go,” Ryan said, trying to stand. “We have to follow them and get to Black Island immediately.”
Ryan tried to stand while Lisa stood openmouthed and unsure.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
Ryan nodded. “Yes, but we’ve gotta go.”
Lisa didn’t question him, just looked at him while trying not to stare, grazing her eyes up and along his mutated body, while Ryan tried to set his eyes anywhere but on his potential meal.
Lisa swallowed, then said, “Okay,” and headed for the front door.
Ryan scrambled to his feet, screamed, “No!” then ran toward Lisa as she was halfway through the threshold. He reached out, his claw grabbing the edge of her shirt and pulling her back toward him. The fabric tore with a loud RIP! as Ryan fell hard to his bottom and Lisa fell on top of him.
She screamed, then quickly crawled away backward and scurried to her feet.
Once standing, Lisa screamed, “What the fuck!” while kicking at Ryan and taking a step to the side, away from the door.
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Ryan said, calmly waving his claw in front of his face to shield himself from Lisa’s feet. He stood, then said, “I swear,” though the drool dripping from his hungry maw probably made him hard to believe. He added, “I’m trying to help you.”
Lisa took another several steps back, then turned toward the door, closed it, and spun back toward Ryan. “Want to tell me what the fuck is up then?”
Ryan thought it was funny, how he wanted to save Lisa’s life, and take it from her at the same time. He wondered which of his two sides would be most likely to win, and how much longer it would be before he found out for certain. But whatever gallows humor he found in his condition ended immediately when he followed the thoughts to their next logical destination — what happens when I find my family? Can I protect them? Or will I endanger them?
“What the hell’s happening?” Lisa repeated, her voice shaking behind.
Ryan walked to the door and said, “I’ll show you. But you have to stay behind me, okay?” Lisa nodded, and he opened the door, slowly stepping through the threshold with Lisa a half-step behind.
On the other side of the door, Lisa gasped.
There were at least 15 mutants and aliens standing between the gate and the house, with four on either side of the van.
“Will we be okay?” she whispered, raising her gun.
“Don’t shoot,” he said. “Let’s just walk real slow.”
Lisa wrapped her arm around his waist, as if he could protect her, and like he wasn’t thinking the same thing they were.
“Yes,” he said. “But we have to get to the van. Once we get to the van, we’ll be safe. I promise.”
“Should we run?” she asked.
“No,” Ryan shook his head and took a tentative step forward. They were about six feet away from the van. Two mutants stood to the right. Two to the left. They’d have to get close to them in order to get in the van. That’s when shit would get tricky. He turned to Lisa and said, “Don’t make any quick moves unless they attack. Just keep doing what we’re doing, we’re almost there.”
He and Lisa crept toward the van, as the two aliens on either side swayed on their feet, waiting for the one that was sort of like them and the one who was nothing like them at all to make a move. Ryan wasn’t sure if they would strike or not. Even they seemed confused as to what to do. Ryan’s alienness had taken a simple decision, whether to kill the girl, and made it difficult. They were hive mind and did not fuck with the hive thought.
And Ryan was thinking: Do not hurt her. She is with me.
They were almost to the front of the van, with maybe four steps to go on either side doors, when the stabbing pain returned to cripple Ryan. He hunched over, hands clutching his aching skull, crushed by the weight of the hive suddenly inside his mind.
Ryan screamed, trying to drive the clicking and beeping hive thoughts from his head.
Stop it, stop it! GET OUT!!
Ryan couldn’t think straight, so Lisa thought for him.
He saw nothing, but heard four shots — two sets separated by a heartbeat’s worth of silence, then two thuds followed by a chorus of shrieks. And he felt intense pain in his chest and head, where he figured the gunshots hit the creatures.
Lisa pulled Ryan to his feet, then dragged him the four remaining steps, sliding the van’s side door open with one hand, throwing him inside with the other, and climbing in behind him, then locking the door as the first alien pounded its body hard against the metal.
She climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving Ryan in a moaning puddle at the back.
“Fuck yeah,” she said, then threw the van into reverse and rolled over a pair of rampaging aliens.
“Now!” Ryan screamed. “Get us out of here and out to Black Island before we’re overrun.”
“You think I’m a fucking idiot?” Lisa screamed back, pulling the
van from the compound.
“Well,” he said. “You are traveling with me.”
Lisa said something else, but Ryan couldn’t hear it. His head was swimming — flashes of Mary and Paola, on their way to Black Island with everyone else as the Darkness inside Charlie patiently waited to end them.
The Darkness waited because It had a new goal.
“It wants the vial,” Ryan said, suddenly knowing for certain, and wondering how long it would be before he would finally kill Lisa and join the Darkness.
Fifty-Eight
Brent Foster
East Hampton, New York
East Hampton Docks
April 2, 2012
SIX MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT …
Their vans arrived as the last of the purple twilight surrendered to black, pulling up to the East Hampton Docks that were as dark as the desolate cities.
Lights from the ferry flickered in the distance, a few hundred yards offshore. Further out, Brent could see the barely-there outline of Black Island, a dark smudge you’d miss if you didn’t know where to look.
Boricio Bishop, Ed, and Brent took one van, while Boricio Wolfe, Mary, Paola, Luca, Charlie, and Callie followed in the other. Brent was glad to not have been stuck in the van with Wolfe, who may have been the most arrogant person he’d ever had the displeasure of meeting. Bishop was far less crude and maybe 2 percent as terrifying, despite his bald head, scarred face, and pirate’s eye patch.
“Is the ferry just sitting out there?” Brent whispered so that his voice would not carry to whatever might be lurking in the darkness. “Are we gonna have to wait for the morning?”
“A Guardsman should be stationed on shore,” Ed said, looking up the dark street and into the driver’s-side mirror.
Apart from the houses to the left, and a restaurant along the boardwalk to the right, there wasn’t anything or anyone else but them on the dark street.
“And you don’t have a radio, do you?” Bishop said.
