by Sean Platt
Brent wondered if Bolton was saving conversation for when Teagan and the kids weren’t in the same close space, then grew nervous when he realized they were headed to the facility. He imagined them passing Desmond as they got out of the van. He’d be dangerous if already on to Mary’s knowledge of his infection. He might attack them, Bolton included, there in the open. It wasn’t as if anyone could stop him after he unleashed the aliens’ full potential.
“Sir,” Brent said, “are we headed to the facility?”
“Yes, Mr. Foster. We’re going to my headquarters.”
“Did you have someone pick up Desmond?”
“Mr. Armstrong is in custody, yes,” Bolton said.
“And what about Mary, and Paola?”
“They’re fine, sir.”
Brent sighed, hoping this ordeal was nearing its finish. If Bolton had managed to capture Desmond, and Keenan had secured the vials, perhaps the Black Island Research Facility could stop the aliens before they destroyed another planet. Perhaps he and Ben could live something resembling a normal life.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, Brent felt hopeful.
Teagan looked over at Brent and smiled. Surprisingly, the kids had yet to ask any questions.
The van dipped into a parking garage on the facility’s ground level, and a large steel door clanged closed behind them. They drove until they reached a large elevator where two Guardsmen with rifles stood sentry. The van came to a stop, and Bolton got out, sliding the side door open.
Bolton nodded at the guards, one of whom held his hand over a security pad beside the elevator.
They entered the elevator, Ben reaching up and grabbing his father’s hand, tight. Teagan carried Becca, staring back and forth between Bolton and her mother, likely trying to figure out the man’s identity.
The driver followed them into the elevator, and the doors slid shut behind him. He’d left the bag of weapons in the van.
The elevator hitched, a hiccup to startle Ben before its descent.
“It’s OK, buddy.” Brent looked down, bent over, scooped up his son, and carried him against his chest. Brent looked his son in the eyes and smiled. “I promise everything will be OK.”
Ben leaned close to Brent’s ear and whispered, though probably too loud, “The man in the helmet is scary.”
Brent turned and saw his reflection in the man’s visor and figured the helmet probably was scary to a little kid. Hell, Brent would be frightened of an intimidating man in a helmet and black Guardsman uniform.
The Guardsman said, “Yeah, the helmet is a bit scary, Ben,” then reached up to remove it.
Brent stared in horror as Desmond smiled back.
“Hello, Brent. You didn’t think I’d infect Desmond and not the Director, did you?”
Before Brent could move, he felt a gun in his side, Bolton pressing it into his ribs.
As the elevator held its descent, Brent felt certain that they were plummeting to their deaths, and he was responsible.
He’d failed them all.
Desmond smiled, pulling his own holstered gun on Teagan. “Don’t even think about doing anything stupid.”
Seventy-Nine
Mary Olson
Mary woke to darkness, confusion, and a thousand nails hammering into her skull.
She reached up, felt a large, egg-sized lump on her forehead, then remembered Desmond hitting her with the gun.
Paola!
She sat up, blood rushing to her head, adding to the intense pain.
Dim amber lights in the cavernous room reflected off just enough of the glass surface to let her know she was in a cell like Paola’s.
She looked around, hoping to be sharing a cell with her daughter, but Mary was alone.
She stared through the glass and saw that of the room’s eight cells, six others were filled, though it was too dark to make out their occupants, or see if any were Paola.
I’m OK, Mom, her daughter’s voice spoke in her head. I’m in the cell next to you. Think your thoughts. Don’t speak them. They’re listening, and I don’t want them to know we can communicate.
Mary looked up to see Paola pressing her hand against the glass wall.
Mary put her own palm to the wall, crying.
I’m so sorry. Are you OK?
I’m OK. You should have killed Desmond and let me die.
No, don’t talk like that. I wasn’t going to let him kill you.
He’s going to kill us anyway.
We don’t know that. If he wanted us dead, he could’ve already killed us.
You’re right, Paola thought. He’s planning something that will make us wish we were dead.
What are you talking about? How do you know?
I’ve seen his dreams. He has the vials … all of them. There’s nothing stopping him from doing whatever he wants.
What does he want? To do what they did to the other world?
Worse.
What could be worse?
Paola’s silence sounded like a scream.
Mary asked again, What could be worse?
I don’t want to think about it, Mom. Please don’t ask.
Mary looked around at the other shapes beneath the red light.
Who else is in here with us?
Hold on.
The amber lights turned up their intensity enough for Mary to make out the others. At first, she was surprised that Paola could control the lights by thought. But her wonder quickly withered to horror when she saw Desmond’s prisoners.
Mary gasped.
Oh God. No.
He has us all.
In the cell to her right Mary saw Boricio standing, staring at her, shrugging his shoulders.
Beyond him, she saw Brent and his son in another cell, sleeping on the bed.
Across from Paola, Teagan was rocking Becca, who appeared to be crying. Keenan sat on the floor in the next cell, knees to his chest as he stared at her. Beside him was Marina, the head of the Church of Original Design, the woman whose house they’d gone to, hoping to cure Paola. She was lying on her mat, turned toward the back wall, possibly sleeping. The final cell was empty.
Where’s Rose? Mary asked her daughter.
She got infected with The Darkness, and then she died.
Oh God, Mary thought, looking back at Boricio, wanting to hug him, console him. He must be so messed up. First person he ever opened his heart to.
He’s hurt bad, yes.
Can you talk to the others? Mary thought.
Yes. Everyone but Marina. For some reason, I can’t reach her. Maybe because she’s the only one of us The Light is not part of.
Mary glanced at Keenan again, saw him staring at the glass, and suddenly realized why.
Does he know about Jade?
Yes.
Oh God.
She wanted to cry, to hug him, too.
Mary began to pace. We’ve got to get out of here. Dammit.
She racked her brain, trying to think of anyone who could possibly help. But everyone she could possibly turn to was sharing her boat, including Boricio.
She looked back at him again. He looked like a caged panther, itching to get free as badly as she.
Mary’s mind flashed back to something Desmond had said — about he and Paola being no different. They were both infected by the aliens, the only difference being that his alien was deemed bad while Paola’s was good.
Mary had an idea.
Eighty
Paola Olson
Paola stared at her mother, listening to the plan as she thought it.
Paola nodded. It was a bold scheme, reliant on a hunch that someone other than Desmond was watching them on the security cameras. And that whoever was watching had been instructed to keep them alive.
Paola reached into the minds of the others, all except Marina and the children, and relayed the plan, as they’d need to be prepared for movement the moment she did what had to be done.
She told them all to remain in their pre
sent positions. Brent had to pretend he was sleeping, as did Teagan.
Once everyone agreed, Paola reached into Boricio’s mind.
I’m going to need your guidance. Can you help me?
You know it, Paola. Boricio thought, in what felt like a growl. Let’s give these fuckers some nightmares.
Paola positioned herself so she faced the camera in the cell’s rear corner and began rolling her eyes into the back of her head. She cried out, gasping as if choking, and brought her hands to her throat.
Paola fell to the ground, hard, thrashing around as if in a seizure.
She could hear her mother banging on the glass, screaming for someone to help her daughter.
Come on.
No one was coming.
Was the show for naught? Was nobody watching?
Paola kept thrashing, and added a gurgling as if she were choking on her saliva or something she imagined might convince a guard to run in and help her.
The main lights turned on, drowning the room in bright white.
Paola continued her act, not looking to see if anyone was coming. She had to keep selling it.
Her mom, and now the others, were all screaming for help. She couldn’t hear them through the glass, but their thoughts were screams in her mind.
She heard her door open.
A Black Island Guardsman rushed in, no helmet, and dropped to the ground. Another man stood behind him, shotgun in hand.
“What’s wrong?” the first man asked.
Paola kept shaking, then tried to whisper something urgently to him to bring him closer.
He leaned in.
Showtime.
Now!, she thought.
Everyone in their cells played their part, distracting the other Guardsman by pounding on their cell walls at once.
Eighty-One
The Light
The Light leapt from Paola’s throat, rushing into the Guardsman’s mouth before he could stop it.
The Light, equal parts Luca and the alien species, took immediate control of the Guardsman, Joseph Calloway.
“Knock it the fuck off!” the other Guardsman yelled, smacking the butt of his shotgun on Keenan’s cell.
The Light reached down, grabbed the pistol hanging from Calloway’s holster.
Raise it and shoot right in the back of the skull, just like I taught you, Boricio thought.
Boricio hadn’t taught Luca or The Light, but The Light had enough of Paola’s memories to remember her training.
Calloway raised the gun, aimed at the back of the other Guardsman’s skull, and pulled the trigger.
The shot instantly killed him.
“Woo-whee!” Boricio yelled, clapping. “You’re blinding me with science!”
The Light sent Calloway to Boricio’s cell first. He placed his palm on the door and opened it.
Boricio popped out of the cell, grabbed the shotgun from the dead Guardsman on the ground, and turned back to The Light. “Time to get this team on the field.”
The Light went to the other cells and released the others, Paola last.
It was odd seeing Paola from outside her body. The Light wanted to reenter as she was more vulnerable without It inside her. But The Light had to stay inside Calloway until they left the facility. His palms and retina scans were their passage.
The Light searched Calloway’s memories: There were another two Guardsmen stationed just outside the elevator. They would have to take the elevator to the main floor and flee the facility after that. From there, The Light wasn’t sure where Mary and Boricio would want to go next — leave the island or kill Desmond. The Light guessed the latter, but first they had to take out the guards.
Calloway turned to Boricio. “OK, there are two guards stationed at the elevator. I’ll go and distract them. You follow behind and take them, OK?”
Boricio laughed. “Man, I knew you and me would get together and kill some fuckers, little lamb, but I didn’t think you’d be so goddamned ugly.”
Paola said, “Hah-hah!”
Boricio turned to her and winked. “Just kiddin’, sweetie. Hold on while Uncle Boricio kills some fuckers with your alien self.”
The Light led the way, stepping through the double sliding doors by himself, holding them open.
One of the two Guardsmen, a man named Hollings, asked, “What are you doing away from your station, Calloway? Something wrong?”
Boricio appeared seconds later and turned Hollings’s face to gore with the shotgun.
Kent, the other Guardsman, went to fire his weapon, but Calloway raised his and fired a trio of shots. The first two missed, but the third pierced his helmet, dropping the man a moment after his gun went off.
The Light turned and saw a blast in the wall, inches from Boricio.
“Damn, little lamb, try not to miss so much next time?”
“Sorry,” said The Light.
They returned to the others. Boricio handed Mary and Keenan shotguns from the two fallen Guardsmen.
Boricio smiled. “So who’s ready to get the fuck outta here?”
Eighty-Two
Mary Olson
Mary hugged her daughter close as they stepped into the elevators. The puppet Guardsman pressed his palm against the security panel and hit a series of buttons to send the elevator back to the surface.
“I thought I lost you, baby,” she said, her eyes welling with tears.
“It’s OK, Mom, we’re together now. I’m sorry I couldn’t reach you. I think Desmond was keeping me from talking to you, so I had to reach out to Brent.”
“No, you did the right thing.”
Mary looked at Brent, who was holding Ben in his hands. He smiled nervously. They’d escaped the cells, but not yet the facility. Brent was doing his best to present a calm face.
Ben, sleepy eyed, said, “We found you, Paola.”
“Yes, you did,” Paola smiled.
Brent said, “We were ‘playing’ hide ‘n’ seek with you both while we hid in a house on the west side of the island.”
“Ah, OK.” Mary smiled and waved at Ben.
Teagan and Becca stood beside Brent, Becca still crying, rubbing her ruby eyes.
“We’re going home, soon.” Teagan kissed her daughter on the cheek.
Boricio and Keenan headed toward the elevator doors, guns aimed out as they arrived at the top floor. Marina followed like a nervous bird behind them.
“How many Guardsmen’ll be waiting?” Boricio asked the puppet.
“Should be five on duty, but likely just one in the area immediately outside the elevator. Take him out quietly, and you won’t attract attention.”
Boricio looked at Keenan. “Silence isn’t exactly my forte, you wanna handle this?”
Keenan nodded.
The doors opened.
A Guardsman was standing about twenty feet from the elevator, staring at the exit doors on the other side of the lobby.
Keenan raised his hand, telling the others to stay back as he rushed, light footed, toward the Guardsman.
Mary was surprised how quickly, gracefully, and silently he moved.
The Guardsman turned when Keenan was about ten feet away. He saw Keenan, then everyone else at the elevator.
Too late, he raised his M-16.
Keenan punched the man in the throat, sending him to the floor.
He then dropped on top of him, quickly slamming the butt of the shotgun into the man’s face three times.
Keenan grabbed the assault rifle and waved them forward.
They ran to join Keenan in the lobby. Keenan handed Brent the shotgun as he held onto the M-16. “Here ya go, buddy.”
Brent put Ben down, telling him to hold Teagan’s hand and don’t let go.
Mary could hardly believe their luck: The space between the lobby and front doors was surprisingly empty. Beyond the lobby was a large expanse of paved area that would have held a parking lot if the island’s inhabitants drove to work instead of walked. She wondered why they didn’t head to the par
king garage and take one of the vehicles, but figured they’d have to cross more Guardsmen, and were likely better off on foot until they figured out their next move.
As they approached the front doors, Mary asked Boricio, “What next? Do we leave the island or go find Desmond?”
Boricio stepped out the front doors and into the night then turned to Mary. “We find Desmond Do-Right and kill the fucker dead.”
A pair of gunshots cracked the cold night air and stopped them in their tracks.
Paola collapsed to the ground.
Mary screamed as she looked down and saw her daughter’s face destroyed, blood gushing from her head. Mary fell beside her, holding Paola, looking down at her dead body, trying to wish life back inside her.
Mary’s heart froze in her chest. Time stopped.
No, no, no, no!
Boricio screamed out, “Up there!”
Along the facility’s first-story roof, four Guardsman were lined along the top, sniper rifles aimed.
“You fuckers!” Boricio fired his shotgun at the roof, hitting nobody.
“Back inside!” Keenan yelled, firing his rifle and laying down cover to run.
As the others ran, Mary stayed frozen, cradling her daughter’s body, not wanting, or able, to move.
Just seconds ago, they’d been talking, holding one another. They were almost free.
And now … this.
“Come on!” Boricio grabbed her shoulder.
“No!” Mary yelled. “No more running!”
Keenan kept firing shots. Lights appeared behind them — vehicles pulling up.
Desmond’s voice hit the loudspeaker. “Put down your guns!”
Keenan kept firing at the Guardsmen on the roof. “Tangos at twelve o’ clock down. Got many Tangos at six o’clock. Let’s go!”
Mary stood, grabbed the shotgun, and fired at the five vans, not knowing which held Desmond.
She emptied the shotgun, not hitting anything, as they were out of range, and screamed.
Guardsmen opened fire.
Desmond’s voice returned to the speakers. “Put down your guns, and I’ll let you live.”
