FROM AWAY ~ BOOK FOUR Page 2

  ~

  “Hey, uh... Sylvie here. Up in Tower One. This is an All-call, so... I’m gonna want to hear back from you guys now. How’re things looking out there?”

  A trickle of sweat runs down her spine. Little tremors through her hand shake the microphone. Performance anxiety. Of course. Could it actually be getting worse? Is that even possible? It’s one thing to get nervous about appearing in front of the Old Men, but these people? She knows them. Worked with them most of her adult life. She’s their boss. Why should she feel anxious asking them to report in?

  She closes her eyes. Pretends she’s alone in the crow’s nest. Without Carol and Lonnie behind her. Judging.

  She clears her throat. “All right, um... Let’s get started with Tower Two... Talk to me, Tower Two.”

  “This is Monique at Tower Two, Sylvie. All’s well, here.”

  “Thanks, Monique. Uh...” Without an exit strategy, Sylvie stumbles. How to conclude the interaction? She settles on: “Keep up the good work.”

  “Will do. Tower Two out.”

  Phew! Simple enough, ultimately. One down, three to go.

  “Tower Three? What’s your situation? Your... Status. What’s your status?”

  “Bernie here, at Tower Three, Sylvie. Picked up on someone headed off-road a little while ago. Aiming at crossing over. Grabbed Patrol One. Sent ‘em back to nab the guy.”

  Nothing unusual there. Nevertheless, icy insects skitter up Sylvie’s back. Freezing her perspiration into icicles. “They get him?”

  “Made it across before they could catch up. Boat died on the way. P-1’s there now. Eyes on the craft, only...”

  Sylvie leans back. Looks over the various stacks of monitors. Not finding what she’s looking for. Lonnie rolls his chair forward. Reaches for the switches beneath a doppler radar screen. Clicks the view to: Tower Three and the chunk of geography it serves. The coastline and a pie-slice of ocean. Far from shore, Patrol One is a green dot floating dangerously close to a yellow line: Wreck Reef.

  “Only what, Tower Three?”

  “They’re saying it’s on fire. No visual on any people. Not in the boat. Not in the water.”

  “Shit.” Sylvie stares at a red dot just outside the yellow line. Imagines it flickering with flame. Crossing Wreck Reef causes machinery and electronics to fritz out. Circuits fry. Gears spark. A resulting fire wouldn’t be too surprising. Coupled with recent events, however... Something isn’t adding up.

  “All right, well... Keep us post--”

  “Sorry to break in, Sylvie, but... This is Patsy, out at Tower Four. Did I just hear Bernie say she has an off-roader on fire?”

  “That’s right, Patsy, she--”

  “We’ve got one, too.”

  Sylvie’s stomach rolls. Lonnie flips a switch on the doppler. Moves the view to Tower Four. The coastline changes - along with the matching arc of Wreck Reef - but the rest is essentially the same: Green dot just inside the yellow line. Red dot escaped.

  “Saw it headed out of bounds maybe ten minutes ago. Patrol Two was close, so I sent ‘em out after it. Just heard back. Jake was calling it a Viking funeral. All lit up. No signs of life.”

  Sylvie looks to Lonnie. To Carol. Her own concern mirrored on their faces. “Give me the pull-back. Show me the whole thing.”

  Lonnie clicks some buttons. Pulls it up: Mossley Island. Five lighthouses represented. Points on a poorly drawn star. Tower One at the top of the island. Three and Four at the bottom. In the ocean beneath them, the two patrol boats on duty sit altogether too close to one another, investigating the two red dots.

  “They’re bunched up.” Carol rolls her chair closer to the desk.

  Lonnie agrees: “Surprised they don’t actually see one another.”

  “They’re focused on the fires.” Sylvie mutters. “Completely occupied. Look at all this.” She traces the coast above Towers Three and Four. More than three-fifths of the island. “Almost everything’s left undefended.”

  Her heart drops as she realizes. She grabs the microphone: “Abort, Towers Three and Four! Bring the patrols back in. No salvage. No rescue. Get ‘em away from those boats and spread ‘em out. On high alert.”

  “This is Tower Four... I’ve been trying to raise Patrol Two. They’re not responding, Sylvie.”

  “Jesus... Keep trying, Patsy.” Sylvie bites her lip. Thinks before shouting into the microphone once more. “Full attention, Towers Two and Five. It’s all been a distraction. They wanted our attention down there. So something must be happening up here.”

  The towers roger back as Sylvie stands. Spins on the Tower One team. “Call in Dale and Norris. Anyone seaworthy. I want more boats on the water, ASAP.” Pushing between their chairs, she heads for the staircase.

  Carol calls after her: “But where are you going?”

  “The Boathouse.” Sylvie shouts over her shoulder. “I’m taking out Patrol Three.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  A gasp from outside.

  Dawn turns. Looks through the rotting toy shop. Out the broken front window. Just in time to see Max drop out of sight. She hears him land on the sidewalk: A soft thump followed by a hard clonk. Body, followed by head.

  Without a thought, she leaves behind the strange photograph that had held her attention rapt. The mirror image which cannot be her. She rushes for the exit. Focused on getting to Max. Unaware of anything she passes by in her rush to leave the dark shop.

  “Max!” She finds him. Collapsed. Tangled in ropes of the thick black vine which has laid its grasping claim over so much of the town. His face bright red. Eyes rolled back. Throat swollen. Tongue protruding from open mouth. No longer gasping. Not getting any air at all.

  She drops down next to him. Tears at the clinging ivy. “Why didn’t you stay away?” But she knows why. She is why. He came to save her. Unaware she’s somehow immune to the town’s toxic atmosphere. Its ‘bad air’ may make everyone else sick, but it seems to have no effect on her.

  Once freed from the foliage, she pulls him into the shadowy street. Moving the lanky teenager more easily than expected. He’s lighter than he looks. Or she’s stronger. His body quakes in her arms. His limbs stiffen. Over-extend. His back arches in some sort of spasm. “We’ve got to get you out of here. Can you walk at all?”

  His eyes dart in all directions. Tears run down his cheeks. His lips quiver. No words come. Dawn can’t wait for a reply. She rises. Arms beneath him. Encircling his chest. She lifts him to his feet. Once again, surprised by how little effort is required. Max is skinny, but he’s tall. It should even things out, but it doesn’t. He’s a featherweight, apparently.

  Stooping, she lifts. Gets him up and over her shoulder without difficulty. Takes a tentative step. Then, two. She can do this. Somehow, she can carry him.

  Rather than question it, Dawn runs. Toting Max away from the ivy-choked buildings. Along the road. Past the tiny waving flags. Toward the wall, and the fresh air that lies beyond it.

  Praying she isn’t already too late.

  ~

  He could’ve stopped her. Held her there.

  In his hand: The sharpest chisel. It’s also the quickest.

  But he didn’t want to hurt her. Not if he didn’t have to. He’d have taken no pleasure in that. And she wasn’t ready. Not without force. He would’ve had to hurt her to make her stay.

  Instead, he let her go.

  Hearing the gasp, he’d ducked back into the shadows. Froze as she emerged from his back room. Ran through. Out the door. Out of his shop. Out of his sight. Too soon for her to go. Too soon after far too long.

  It had all happened before. Long ago. Way back when, he could’ve made her stay. But forced himself to let her leave. So as not to hurt her. He no longer knows how much time has passed in her absence. Gave up on counting days. Didn’t think he’d live to see her return. But now...

  She’d come back. She’d been so close. He could’ve reached out and... And... The chisel darts forth. Strikes at shadows. Fighting himself,
he returns it to its sheath. Flexes his fingers. Sore from clutching. Extending them, he watches the webbing stretch between each one.

  He peers over the edge of the windowsill. Sees her. Running down the road. Carrying that horrible boy away. Almost to the wall. Exiting his world again. Ripping a hole in the poor, lonely heart he’d long considered dead.

  He recedes into the shop. Enters the back room. Gazes at her portrait. Hanging on the wall in its place of honor.

  She’ll return. Whatever drew her there, would draw her back. She won’t be able to resist its pull forever. She’ll come back to him, and when she does, he’ll be ready. And if she doesn’t? He’ll just have to leave Adderpool, and go get her himself.

  ~

  Air!

  Max’s throat opens. Ratcheting gulps fill his lungs with oxygen. So good, he doesn’t want to exhale. Holds his breath as long as he can before blowing it out. Coughing. Wheezing. Gasping for more.

  Slowly, his vision returns. The white screen which had blanked everything out flaring less brightly with each cough. Somehow, he’s outside the wall again. Kneeling on the broken tarmac of the former road into town. How this has occurred, he doesn’t know. Last he remembers: It was dusk. He’d followed Dawn into Adderpool. Trying to save her. Now it’s dark. Night fell while he was otherwise engaged.

  Dawn’s okay too. She’s there with him. Clapping his back. Each impact dislodging more of the thick mucus clogging his esophagus. He hacks and spits yellow clots into the weeds growing between the tarmac chunks. Ashamed for once again proving unable to control his baser bodily functions in front of her.

  “You’re... You’re all right?” The best he can manage between coughs.

  “Of course I am!” She’s all right. But she’s also pissed. “Why’d you come after me? Couldn’t you see I was okay?”

  “At first... But then you were gone.” Max’s coughing subsides. For the moment. Even so, it’s left his throat raw. “I thought you might be... In trouble.”

  Shaking her head, Dawn looks around. “Hey! What happened to Mandi and Allison?” No sign of either of the girls who so obligingly drove them to Adderpool. Demonstrated proper traditional flag-planting form. Then utterly mistreated Max for wanting to opt-out of the game. Trying to force him to play.

  “They left. After they saw your graffiti.” He swallows hard. Attempting to lubricate his vocal chords.

  “Oh, geez!” With everything else going on, Dawn had forgotten how she’d lashed out at the girls. The giant black marker message she’d drawn across a wall: M & A CAN SUCK IT! “Well, of course they left.”

  “Don’t blame yourself, though.” Max gets his feet under him. Rises. Unsteady. “I think it might’ve been their plan all along: Abandoning the girl from away in Adderpool... Seemed like they even expected me to go with them.”

  Dawn hugs him. Hard. “Thank you.” Then, she pushes him away. “But don’t ever do that again!”

  Max reels. Nearly tips over. “One thing I don’t understand, though...” He rights himself. Slaps the back of his own skull. Clearing cobwebs. “We were there, but then...” He trails off. The ‘then’ doesn’t come to him.

  Dawn attempts an explanation: “The bad air. I don’t think it affects me. Not like what it does to you guys, anyway.”

  Max is mystified. “I’ve never even heard of that.”

  “Maybe it’s a benefit of being from away? Growing up in a congested city... Could be I’m just used to breathing highly toxic materials into my lungs.” She shrugs. “Anyway, when you fell, I was able to...” The proper wording escapes her. She decides on: “I helped you get out.”

  “Oh...” It doesn’t quite sound right. “Thank you then, I guess.” Something itches at the back of his mind. Something he can’t quite scratch. He digs through what little memory he retains: Chased her into town. Running out of air. Something inside the shop. Looked through the broken window. She was in back. Looking at something. Then, behind her...

  “Holy shit!” He whirls around. One arm protectively blocking Dawn. Looking for the hole in the wall. Almost toppling over. Still dizzy. “The doll-man! Did you see it?”

  “Doll... Man?” Dawn catches Max. “What are you talking about?”

  “In the store with you. I saw... This big heap of dolls, but it came to life. Like, there was a person inside. It had something in its hand. Something sharp. And it was reaching for you.”

  “Max! It’s okay. Calm down. I saw the dolls. But nothing came to life, I promise.”

  “No, I... You were looking the other way, so you--”

  “Was this before or after your brain was badly deprived of oxygen?”

  He stops. Thinks. Dawn makes a pretty good point. “Oh, man.” He laughs. “I was hallucinating. Can’t believe I didn’t realize.”

  “Do a lot of that, do you?”

  “My fair share... Maybe a bit more.” He looks away. Shaking his head. “It was so real, though. I was sure you were about to be... But here we are. And you’re okay.”

  “I am. And you’re... Getting there.”

  He nods. A chill runs up his back. Even knowing the doll-man’s not real, they’re still too close to the town for his comfort. “Think we could maybe get out of here?”

  “For sure.” Dawn trots back to the base of the wall. Grabs her backpack. Throws it over one shoulder. “I’ve had my fill of Adderpool for the day.”

  “Pretty sure I’ve had enough, period. Full-stop. Exclamation point.” Max draws the punctuation in the air with his index finger as he starts away.

  Dawn glances back at the wall one last time. Then runs to catch up with her friend.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The woman in the brown robe stays low. Crouching behind a thick cluster of marram grass. Watching the lighthouse. One hand outstretched. Holding her three companions on pause. A short distance behind her. Hidden among the boulders. Along the rocky shore. Anxious for further signals. Ready.

  Beneath the lighthouse, a long wooden staircase snakes back and forth across the cliff-face toward the water below. A tiny duo rush down the steps. Descending far more quickly than is wise. Silhouetted against the white rock, even in the darkness. Reaching the base of the cliff, they disappear into the boathouse. Moments later, a light blinks on inside.

  The woman makes a fist. The others see her signal. Spring into action. Converge on her as she loosens her robe. Catch it as it slips from her shoulders. Leaving her wearing only the black neoprene wetsuit she had on beneath.

  As she ties her flame-red hair into a tight bun, the others go to work: Buckling a utility belt around her waist. Snapping a dagger in a sheath in easy reach around her thigh. Hanging a waterproof bag across her chest. They lay out flippers for her to step into. Hold open the straps of a scuba tank for her to reach her arms through. Lift it onto her shoulders. Tighten straps. Pull a mask over her face. Hold out the mouthpiece for her to bite.

  Fully-outfitted, they lift her from the rocks. Lower her into the water together. There, she grabs hold of the hand-held jet-ski. Starts it. Scoots off beneath the waves.

  Once she is out of sight, the others gather themselves. Along with any evidence of their presence. Cinching brown robes tightly shut, they climb the rocks to the empty road. Cross it and disappear into the trees.

  ~

  Sylvie slaps one button. The lift grinds to life. Lowering the third patrol boat into its slip. Another button starts the garage door. Both motors rumble loudly as the boathouse multitasks. Door rising. Boat lowering.

  This set in motion, Sylvie runs back up the breezeway. Finds Lonnie unlocking a wall-mounted cage. Removing spearguns. Rifles. She takes them from him as quickly as he can pass them along. Totes them back to the boat.

  Without waiting for it to lower completely, Sylvie clamors aboard. Sets the weaponry to one side. Turns on the radio. Speaks into the microphone: “We’re in, Tower One. Just dropping Patrol Three now. Any updates?”

  “Goddamn right we got updates.” Sylvie's father has joi
ned Carol in the crow’s nest. “Carol’s just now got herself a bead on something in our waters. Any smaller, we’d have to toss it back, but there it is.”

  Beneath Sylvie, the boat bobs. Settling into the water. No longer suspended by the lift at all. She starts the engine. “You have visual, Tower One?”

  “Just sonar. It’s under the surface. Bootin’ it, too. Halfway there, nearabouts.”

  “Halfway where?”

  “Out to sea.”

  Sylvie flashes on the thrashing twin tails of a shiny black monster. “Like the last one.”

  “Martin!” Carol shouts in the background. “It’s turning!”

  “Lard thunderin’, the bastard’s changing course.”

  “Where? Where’s it going?” Sylvie turns on her monitors. They flicker and hum as their software boots.

  The radio murmurs a moment. Then: “Oh-nineteen.”

  Sylvie freezes. “The pulse generator?!”

  “Direct course. No way it’s a co-inky-dink.”

  “Everything else was a distraction.” Sylvie processes. “This is the real mission.” Without another word, she leaps out of the boat. Rushes up the dock. Pushing past Lonnie. Stripping out of her clothes.

  “Sylvie?” Goggle-eyed. Dropping the life jackets he was transferring to the patrol boat. “What’re you--”

  “No time. Finish the prep. I’ll be right there.” She pulls open a cabinet. Riffles through the array of wetsuits hanging inside. “And grab me the bubble-maker. It’s in foot locker five.”

  Lonnie averts his eyes from Sylvie’s underthings. Mostly. “But that thing’s just a toy.”

  She yanks down a suit. Starts pulling it on. “That’s why it’s perfect: ‘Cause somebody’s begging me to come out to play.”