FROM AWAY ~ BOOK FOUR
Page 1
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Spoiler-Alert!
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Previously...
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
What Happens Next?
How To Help
About the Author
FROM AWAY - Series One - Book Four
Copyright © 2016 D. Campbell MacKinlay
Pearlcasting Press - a division of Pearlcasting Productions.
First publication: June 2016
All rights reserved. A work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic or otherwise, without the author’s written consent.
ISBN 978-0-9948359-7-0 (ebook)
dekemackeyjr.com
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For Dr. Lorraine Bliss-Mackey, who
- to her eternal credit - hasn’t killed me yet.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book would not have been remotely possible without the love, unwavering support and constant encouragement of my partner, Dr. Lorraine Bliss-Mackey. Her understanding and the sacrifices she has been willing to make were nothing less than crucial, and the need to live up to her expectations is the engine driving the entire process.
For putting up with general absenteeism, locked studio doors, shushing, hold-on-a-seconding and my more-or-less constant state of semi-distraction, I thank my long-suffering daughter, Pistachio. When, one day, she reads these books, I hope she thinks they were at least somewhat worth the trouble.
Eternal gratitude to early readers, Carac Allison, Greg Kovacs, John Luciano, Brian Sharp, and Momma Mackey for their insight, enthusiastic support and hawk-eyed typo-catching.
Special thanks to king of the sys-admins, Adrian Stiegler, without whom my online presence would be highly improbable.
PREVIOUSLY...
DAWN LESGUETTES awoke outside ADDERPOOL with no idea how she’d gotten to the walled-in ghost-town. Sneaking back to her cabin, she found her father, REN LESGUETTES missing. He’d been badly burned trying to end a protest against the construction of a bridge to the mainland.
The HUNTERS dug up a hidden underground chamber. Charging ahead, Mrs. Hunter tripped a booby-trap: Flooding the chamber. While locked inside. Despite her husband’s efforts, the couple was separated when the water reached the ceiling, forcing Mrs. Hunter further underground. Alone.
Unable to rescue ROSCOE PLATT following his abduction, SYLVIE LESGUETTES’ leadership of the WATCH came into question, while at home, her marriage collapsed when her husband, TREVOR COATES realized she would never make him a priority. Blaming the CIRCLE for two deaths: Their son and their marriage, Trevor resolved to expose the secret society to the world.
Out of her coma, PAULA FIELDS was erratic and unstable. Feeling responsible - and frustrated by DEPUTY NETTY HUBERT’s lack of progress - REN investigated. But when the injured woman vanished, Netty was forced to admit: Paula was only the latest in a series of “BROKEN GIRLS” Comatose after near-fatal assaults, they disappear soon after waking, only to then show up among the order at ST. NEOT’S COPTIC CONVENT. Armed with this info, Ren headed for the nunnery.
Looking for answers about her newly re-grown arm, WANDA LESGUETTES discovered DR. RAMSEY’S secret lab, and was captured by his mutated assistant SIMP. Promised a cure for her addiction, Wanda agreed to cooperate, only to find herself strapped to an operating table instead. Powerless to stop the doctor as he removed her other arm.
Returning to ADDERPOOL with MAX HUBERT as her guide, DAWN - unaffected by its ‘BAD AIR’ - investigated the town, discovering an antique photograph of a girl identical to her, down to her silver charm. Stunned, she failed to notice a misshapen figure creeping up with a sharpened chisel.
Attempting to warn her, MAX inadvertently inhaled spores from the black ivy choking Adderpool, dropping to the sidewalk unconscious, leaving Dawn perilously unaware of the approaching menace.
At ST. NEOT’S an arcane rite unfolded. Led by their prioress, MOTHER AGATHA, the sisterhood inducted PAULA into their order, pouring a strange liquid over her broken body which first burned, then healed all of Paula’s wounds. Finally, the ceremony erupted into ecstatic flailings as the sisters celebrated their newest member.
AND NOW...
CHAPTER ONE
“You’re still acting like this was an honest-to-God monster, Cass.” Owen eases off the throttle. Adjusts the wheel. Matching the patrol boat’s course to the coastline on the GPS monitor. “And there could be monsters out there, I don’t know... But we both saw this thing when they dumped it in back of the truck. It must’ve been right scary, face-to-face, but... Wasn’t a real monster or nothing. Just a costume. With a regular person inside.”
Mist pebbles the windshield. A thousand refracting horizons. The last of sunset’s pinks fading to purple in each. The island becoming a silhouette. Losing detail as night falls.
“That’s what you think, is it? Just a regular person?” Cass leans on the spotlight. Too early to turn it on. Shore still visible, if not for much longer. “How big would you guess Roscoe is? Bigger’n you, yeah?”
Owen bristles. “Pfft. Bulkier maybe. Not as tall, though.”
“Around two-sixty, say? And what? Six-three?”
“I’m six-three.”
“Call it six-two, then. I don’t give a shit. Big guy, however you slice him.”
“Yeah, okay.” Owen nods. His eyes underwater now. Watching th
e sonar display. Easily avoiding fingers of seaweed reaching up toward the hull.
“So this thing - this regular person, you’re saying - it carried Roscoe up out of the ocean and ran off through the woods. All two hundred and sixty pounds of him over one shoulder. Fast enough to stay ahead of Sylvie, and far enough ahead of her to have time to stop. Get out of the costume. And dump it in that hole for her to stumble over. All this after getting spiked on a drop-wall and stuck in the back with a speargun bolt?”
Owen’s brow creases. Laid out like that, it is more of a feat than he’d realized. “But where’s the good in imagining the enemy into something more’n he is? All this time, we been told it’s these terrible creatures we’re up against. Then, we finally run into one and come to find: It’s just a man. A strong man, I’ll give you that. But shouldn’t we be relieved?”
“Maybe. All I’m saying is... Just because it was wearing a monster costume on the outside, doesn’t mean there wasn’t a monster inside, too.”
Owen shivers. As much as he’d like to, he can’t pretend she doesn’t have a point. To hear Burl describe the attack? It was savage. More beast than human. Then again, the thing also set a trap to catch anyone chasing it. Beyond the capabilities of most animals.
He looks to the island. Bathed in darkness. Lights turning on in homes as Islanders realize the day has departed. Roscoe’s still out there. Somewhere. They have him. Whatever they are.
The radio crackles. Nearly sending both shipmates leaping over the sides. “Tower Three to Patrol One, come back.”
Rolling her eyes, Cass answers: “We hear you, Tower Three. Go ahead.”
“Uhhh... We’re looking at something down there with you, Cass.”
“W-What?” She stiffens. Turns in place. Looking out over the water in all directions. “What’re you seeing, Tower?”
“Looks like a boat. Fifteen footer. Currently, we have it at quad Whiskey-Seven. Heading for No-Man’s Land.” Something they’ve dealt with a hundred times: A joy-rider, headed out-of-bounds. No reason to worry it might be anything more. “Gonna need a standard intercept.”
Owen clicks a few buttons. Switching views on his monitors. “Plotting standard intercept.” He spins the wheel. Pushes the boat back in the direction they came.
“Uh, Tower?” Cass hates herself for asking: “What if it’s... Another one of those... Things?”
“If it’s one of those things?” The radio is silent a long moment. “Then you kill it, Patrol One.”
~
“Come hither! Come hither! My little daughter,
And do not tremble so;
For I can weather the roughest gale
That ever wind did blow.”
“What’s that from?” Sylvie enters her father’s workshop. Finds him bent over his latest project. Peering through magnifying glasses. Carving a tiny sliver of balsa wood with a utility knife. Reciting a poem to himself.
Martin looks up at his daughter. Over his lenses. “What’s what from?”
“Come hither, come hither, and all that jazz. Sounds familiar.” She can’t help but smirk as she says it.
Her father’s aghast. “Ya know damn well what it’s from. Philistine!”
Sylvie points to the framework of a schooner. Slowly taking shape next to the wine bottle it’s destined to inhabit. “Another Hesperus, then?”
Her father grunts. Continues his work: Building a broken ship. Foundered from the outset. Of all his shipwrecks-in-bottles, this has always been Sylvie’s favorite. Though others have included bones on occasion, the Hesperus is the only one to feature a complete human: A girl. Lashed to the mast. Hollow eyes staring out. A tiny detail. Missed by most. Sylvie’s spent hours staring through bottle glass at the poor drowned waif. Wondering what her story was. Imagining scenarios that might’ve led to her binding.
Though she doesn’t know it as fact, Sylvie’s always been secretly certain the miniature face is based on her own. The Hesperus was first added to her father’s repertoire when she was a child of similar age. He had to have modeled the girl after her. It only made sense. So sure is she, that it’s become an unspoken point-of-pride. Unspoken and unquestioned. She’ll never seek out confirmation. Knowing she’d be crushed should it turn out to be untrue.
At any rate, it’s not based on her sister. Wanda didn’t enter the picture until years later. So, at least there’s that.
Her father swivels on his stool. Turns from the worktable. Selects a small chisel from a rack of nearly identical tools. “Settle in okay, did ya?”
“I’m in, anyway. Can’t say I’m feeling settled.”
“Mm. It’s an antsy-pants night, followin’ after a right fidgety day.” He pulls a set of helping-hands closer. Adjusts the alligator clips for better access to the small ship’s wheel held between them. “Night like this, y’almost hear it, don’t ya? Whispers of them what’s plottin’ agin ya seem to carry on the breeze.”
“Who is it you imagine plotting against me?”
“The enemy.” A matter of fact. He points his chisel at her. “No more foolin’ yerself now. Ya know sure they’re out there, and it’s got ya right agitated.”
She frowns. “There’s more going on in my life than just the Watch, Dad.”
“Is or isn’t, impact’s the same, ducky: Knowin’ there’s a body out in the world, wishin’ fer yer demise? Takes a toll. Can’t stand on nish ice long, ‘fore ya get the bivers.” He pulls off the thick lenses. Pinches the bridge of his nose. Rests tired eyes. “But any time I ever got that feelin’, tell you what I’d do...” The old man turns to his daughter. “I’d climb on up to that ol’ crow’s nest. And I’d roust them b’ys with an All-call. Get ‘em all on guard. Standin’ smart at attention.”
Well acquainted with her father’s surprise All-calls, Sylvie has yet to call one herself. Something about the idea appeals to her.
“After all, it might could be ya’re feelin’ that way for reasons, yeah? Yer inner emergency warning system goin’ off. Tellin’ ya somethin’s up ya’d otherwise maybe miss. And that’s so? Ya best pay heed. Call the Watch in line. Be sure they’re bright-eyed and wary, just in case.”
Sylvie nods. If nothing else, the constant threat of surprise All-calls helped to keep everyone on their toes. Not a bad policy at all.
Her father groans. Stretches. “Long as ya’re here, I should ask... Got a place I need to get tomorrow. Think ya might be up to givin’ yer ol’ Da a ride?”
Sylvie curses herself for hanging around too long. “If I can’t, I’m sure we can find someone.”
“Kinda hopin’ you’d come along. If it’s all the same.”
“Yeah. If I can, Dad.” She heads for the door. Pauses on the threshold. “Aren’t you even curious? Why I’m here?” A small voice. Timid. Her father, the only person to ever hear from that side of her.
“Lard Thunderin’, Sylvia Jane... The why don’t matter none. Ya need to stay, y’always got a place here.”
“But... Don’t you care?”
“Not one blessed whit. Ya want me to know, I figure ya’ll tell me, won’t ya? Otherwise? It’s yer own business, an’ I’ll keep my nose clear of it.”
Sylvie absorbs this. Exits.
When her footsteps have quieted, her father picks up a half-inch wooden dowel. Partially carved. He pulls a dog-eared photo from his shirt pocket. Holds it under the light. Wallet-sized. An elementary school portrait: Sylvie in second grade.
Referring to the picture, he resumes carving the daughter of the captain of the Hesperus. Bound to its mast by him for her own protection.
Doomed.
~
The boat burns.
Dead in the water. Flames licking the sky.
“Something must’ve shorted out as they crossed over the Reef.” From a safe distance, Owen watches the fire. A single bright torch blazing on the black sea. Too far off to make out more. Cass has the binoculars. Night-vision engaged. Not looking at the fire. Instead, methodically scanning the surface of t
he water.
“I’m not seeing anybody.” Through the lenses, the world is green. Flaring white where the flames reflect. “We’d hear ‘em too, from here. If anyone was calling for help.”
“If they were conscious.” Owen attaches a step-pump to the inflatable raft. Starts stepping. “Like it or don’t, we need to go check.”
“I don’t.” Cass lowers the binoculars. “Does any of this feel right to you?”
“Feel right?” Owen chuckles. “When’d you get so paranoid?”
She crosses the deck. Steps on the pump. Holds it down. “It could just as easily have been us. You get that, right? Instead of Roscoe, it could’ve been you that got taken. Or me.” She glances off. At the fire. “What if this... What if it’s some kind of trap?”
Owen struggles for an answer. One that will reassure his partner. One that won’t ring false.
“Tower Three to Patrol One. What’ve we got out there kids?”
Owen moves to the dash. Lifts the receiver. “A derelict, Tower One. On fire. No sign of any occupants. Just the boat.” He looks to Cass. Finds her watching him closely. Arms crossed. Anxious. Her nerves are contagious. “How, uh... How you want us to proceed?”
“Same as always, Owen: Go get ‘er. Bring ‘er in.”
“But... It’s on fire.”
“So put it out, Patrol One. What the hell? Are you new?”
“No, Cass is just... Look, Bernie... We’re thinking there’s somethin’ about this... It just doesn’t pass the smell test.” He nods to Cass. She returns it. Eyes hopeful.
When Tower Three replies, Bernie’s voice has lost its severity. Softened. “Guys. Everyone’s on edge, what with Roscoe gone. The circumstances around that. But the job hasn’t changed. We don’t let people cross the Reef. And if they make it across, we bring them back. By all means, please... Be on guard. Be careful. But do the job. All right?”
Cass looks away. Toward the flaming boat. Owen swallows once. “Roger that, Tower. Patrol One, out.” He sets the receiver back in its cradle. Continues pumping up the raft.