FROM AWAY ~ BOOK FOUR

by Mackey Jr. , Deke

  “Wouldn’t recommend that. It’s some dangerous there. More’n ya know. That sour atmosphere put yer Aunt Wanda in hospital two weeks when she was a girl.”

  “Dad told me. Only... I don’t think I need to worry about that.” Bundle checked, she drops it with a dusty thump. Atop a pile of others, already inspected. She scans the attic for a glimpse of more newsprint. “It didn’t seem to affect me.”

  “Ofttimes, it’ll start folks in to hallucinatin’. Don’t even realize it’s happenin’ ’til their clocks run right out.”

  “No...” Dawn shakes her head. “I saw what it did. To the people I went with. But I was fine. It didn’t do anything bad to me.”

  Martin squints at her. “Must have yer Gram’s lungs. Always said Merryweather could hold her air to the mainland, she ever set her mind to it. Then again, yer Grams never tried breathin’ in that chemical soup.”

  Dawn lifts a box from atop a pile. Thinking she’s found another stack. Finds herself rewarded with surveyor’s maps instead. Groans. “What happened there, anyway? Everybody I talk to has a different story, but if anybody knows the truth, I’m guessing it’d be you, Grampy.”

  Her grandfather nods. Of course it’s him. He looks off. Into the past. “Knowin’ the truth don’t necessarily translate into sharin’ it, though, ducky.”

  “Ah. Circle business, then?” Behind an old Burroughs typewriter, she unearths another pile of newspapers. Loose, this time. She goes through them one-by-one. Dealing onto a new stack.

  “There are things I can speak of. Things I can’t. But what happened to Adderpool? It happened ‘fore even there was a Circle.”

  He wants to tell her. She can hear it in his tone. Not wanting to scare him off, she keeps to her task. Masked in indifference. Waiting for him to continue. Not for long.

  “Best we can say? Some good-fer-nuthin’ hangashore dug somethin’ up should best’ve been left be. Back then, folks thought it was nothin’ less than the doorway to Hell, what with the black smoke and smell of brimstone pourin’ out. Nowadays, ya’d call it a geothermal vent, but it don’t change what it does to anyone unfortunate enough to try breathin’ in the vicinity.”

  “Did it kill them? Is that what happened to everyone?” Newspapers forgotten. Dawn stares at her grandfather.

  “Worse, luv. It changed ‘em. Made ‘em strange. And they were right far gone ‘fore anyone outside the town gawked to what was happenin’. Turned on the rest of the island. Tried infectin’ us with whatever they’d come down with. So we raised the wall. Shut ‘em in. But we all knew: It’d only hold so long. In the end, they left us no choice. We had to send ‘em all away.”

  “The whole town?”

  “Every soul.”

  Dawn thinks a moment. “What does that mean: You sent them away? How?”

  Martin’s not proud of the answer. “We... Corralled ‘em. Onto boats. Tugged the boats out to sea. Well-past Wreck Reef. And there we just... Let ‘em go.”

  “Didn’t they try to come back?”

  “We didn’t let ‘em.” He grits his teeth. On the razor’s edge of saying too much. “And we still don’t.”

  “But... How could you even begin to...” Dawn’s eyes widen. She knows. “When we came over on the ferry... All the paperwork. The background checks. The family history.” She gasps! “The blood tests!” Her mind reels. The rest of the pieces fall into place. Answers. Followed by more questions.

  He nods. “They’ve nare stopped tryin’ to return. Every year, a few of ‘em make the attempt. Descendents of descendents. Still out there. Still wantin’ the island fer their own.”

  “And the Circle--”

  “Dawnie.” He waves his hand. Bowed over. Exhausted by the revelations. “That’s my limit. As much as I can say, if not more’n.” He leans against the wall. Points a bony finger across the attic. “But I’m askin’ ya. As a personal favor to yer Grampy... Stick away from Adderpool. There’s nare a thing to be found there that could ever be any good for anybody.”

  “Of course, Grampy. Now that I know, I’d never...” She trails off. Mind racing. Returning her attention to the newsprint. Fingertips black with smudged ink. Nearly to the bottom of the pile when Adderpool distracted her. With only a few more to go. Dates getting close to her target. In 1965 now. The year on the Waxes’ note. Only a few months to go. Flipping past June. Then, July.

  August 1st.

  August 8th.

  August 15th.

  Dawn stops. Breath held. Carefully pulls the newspaper free. Brittle edges flaking away. She doesn’t need to scour through the articles to find the name mentioned in the Waxes’ note. It features prominently in the headline:

  PEARCE SIBLINGS PLEDGE INHERITANCE TO PUBLIC USE

  Centered beneath: A strangely familiar photograph. Black and white. Reproduced in halftone dots. A smiling duo. Obviously brother and sister. It takes a moment for Dawn to recollect how she knows the image.

  But, of course: She’d encountered it earlier that day. Framed. On Mother Agatha’s desk.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  “Headed home, Tower One. Mission accomplished, but do we ever have a story to--”

  “Stay off the air, Max. Radio silence until further notice.” Lonnie’s voice is strained. Sharp. Ambient murmuring fills the room behind him. A large gathering, given the volume.

  “Uh, okay, Tower, I guess we’ll just--”

  “Silence means shut-the-fuck-up, Max! No further confirmation required. Just... For Pete’s sake, close your hole, man.”

  Hurt, Max places the microphone in its cradle. No way they’d blow him off like that if they knew what he’d been through. Everyone’s going to want to hear about the attack. They all need to know the creatures have returned.

  “Fixable.” Norman declares. Sitting in the passenger seat. Bent over. Pulse generator held between his knees. Examining the inner-workings. A few minutes earlier, he’d all but told Max to shut up, himself. “Shell’s the worst of it. Inside? Nothin’ missin’. Not even broken, really. A few connections bent out of shape. From when the explosives got crammed in, I’d bet. We get back, we’ll crack ‘er open, proper. Fix ‘er up, fresh as a daisy.”

  “Running into those things out there... Kind of a big deal, wouldn’t you say? Wouldn’t high-priority information like that maybe warrant breaking silence?”

  The Electrician shrugs. “Sounded to me: Everybody’s otherwise engaged. Been a busy day fer the Watch. Didn’t even have back-up to send, when they saw the diver coming after ye.”

  Max thinks. “You ever hear a request for radio silence before?”

  “Not as I recollect.” Norman produces a handkerchief. Coughs into it. Relatively subdued. The old man subtly checks the fabric before folding it away. Makes no comment on what he finds. “Then again? First time ridin’ with Max Hubert.”

  Max rolls his eyes. “Har-dee-har.”

  Nearing the shore. He turns the wheel. Points the bow toward the boathouse. Small and vulnerable. Floating at the base of the cliff. Far above: The lighthouse. Already lit. Slowly spinning.

  “What’s all that about, I wonder?” Norman points to the cliff itself. Activity on the staircase. Ants in an ant-farm at this distance. Max grabs binoculars. Sees: Eight people charging down the stairs at top speed. Sylvie in the lead. Burl trailing. Clutching the railing. Hobbling down on one crutch.

  “Think they’re coming down to meet us?”

  “No, lad, I do not. That procession’s not fer our benefit. That there is somethin’ else.”

  ~

  Sylvie pounds down the steps. Barely slowing for the turns. Just enough to keep from slamming into the railings. Keeping her eyes ahead. Not allowing them to scan the beach below.

  Confirmed from the crow’s nest: A single figure. Stumbling along the shoreline. Based on size and shape? Almost certainly Roscoe. Beach otherwise empty. No one else in sight. No one following. No one laying in wait.

  Everything about the situation is hinky. Had he escaped?
Had they let him go? Either way, he was tagged, somehow. The woman gave up the tracker without a fight. The moment Sylvie asked. Wanted her to find him. A plan was in place. Maybe even a trap. And not only is she not trying to avoid it... She’s charging toward it as fast as her legs can carry her.

  Around the last corner. Down the final flight. Taking the steps two-at-a-time. Hitting the beach on rubber legs. Feet fighting the deep, white sand.

  Ahead: The figure. Dirty. Bleeding. Clutching tatters and rags over himself. A hooded brown cloak that’s seen better days. Watching the ground as he walks. Chin to chest. Face in shadows.

  Sylvie pulls up short as she reaches him. Suddenly apprehensive. The others thunder up the beach behind her. None cross the imaginary line she’s stopped behind.

  “Roscoe?”

  The man staggers. Stops. Looks up from beneath the hood. It’s him. It’s Roscoe. “Syl-Sylvie?” Something like relief washes over his battered face. Then, tears. “They-th-they...”

  Sylvie moves forward. Too slow to catch him as - journey completed - Roscoe collapses in the surf.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Mr. Hunter breaks the surface. Gasps for air. Flailing his free arm. Grabbing for the lip of the opening. Catching hold. Enough to keep his head above water. Enough to pull Mrs. Hunter up as well.

  Held to his chest: His wife. Still unconscious. Wearing the diving mask. Breathing fine while he held his breath. As he swam them blind through their last obstacle. A return trip through the first room they’d encountered after digging their tunnel.

  Mr. Hunter reaches up. Pulls himself over what’s left of the metal grate. The half-melted, half-wrenched ends left behind when the bars finally pulled free. At least one sharp edge digs in. Gives him a good scrape in passing. As he tips himself out. Splashing down in a much more shallow pink pool of water.

  He rights himself quickly. Leans back through the opening. Grabs his wife. Lifts her out. Rather more carefully. Ensuring no further abrasions are in store for the little woman. Once freed, he sets her down gently. On the steps. Out of the water. There, he lifts the diving mask away from her face.

  Her eyelids flutter. Open. She almost smiles when she sees him. Almost. Then, she takes in their surroundings. Realizes where they are: Out. No longer on the hunt. Progress lost. Mission on pause, if not cancelled entirely.

  With distinctly diminished resources, she’s unable to fight her emotions. Starts to weep. Her husband swoops in. Embraces her. Angry, she beats a fist against his chest.

  He understands. Lets her.

  ~

  The woman leaning on the hood of their Jeep looks up from her notebook as the Hunters climb out of the hole. They freeze when they see her. Surprised.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Hunter, I presume?”

  The duo look at her blankly.

  “Cache and Treasure?”

  Cache groans. Treasure sighs.

  “Thought so. I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.” She gestures to the other side of the clearing. Where her squad car awaits. “I’m Deputy Netty Hubert. And I’m afraid we need to have a conversation about these holes of yours.”

  The Hunters look at one another. Confer without words.

  Together they turn. Exhausted. Trudge across the clearing. Climb in the backseat of Netty’s vehicle. Close the door behind them.

  “Huh.” Netty tells the clearing. Surprised. “That was easy.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  “Stop!” Trevor emerges from hiding as Wanda swings out over the water. “You can’t do this!”

  Intrigued, Miss Philips releases the levers. She doesn’t pull Wanda back in. But neither does she drop her.

  “Trevor?!” Wanda spins on the end of the cable. Helpless. “What are you doing here?”

  “It’ll be all right, Wanda. Don’t worry.” In a show of confidence, he heads toward Miss Philips.

  “No, no, no.” Wanda knows better. “You shouldn’t even-- Trevor!”

  Gardner’s cane hooks Trevor’s ankle. Yanks it out from beneath him. He crashes down on the catwalk. Face-first. Before he can right himself, Miss Philips is standing on his neck. “Trevor... You’re Sylvie’s better half, aren’t you?”

  Pulling his arms beneath him, Trevor tries to push himself up. Miss Philips is unmovable. The little old lady far heavier than she looks.

  “He was sniffing around the Home.” Gardner shuffles forward. “Asking questions. ‘Bout Circle business. With an aim to exposin’ us.”

  “Are we an us again? Is that what you think?” Miss Philips sneers. “Were you reinstated when I wasn’t paying attention, Gardner?”

  “No, no. I just... Nare stopped feeling I was one of ye. And I thought... If I brought ‘im to ye, ye’d see where my loyalties lie. Maybe even consider--”

  Wanda laughs. “You think the Old Men change their minds? Ever? About anything?” Her electrical tape cocoon rotates in the open air. “You’re an even bigger yutz than you seem, Young Man.”

  Gardner scowls at Wanda.

  Miss Philips just ignores her. “We’ll discuss it, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up. At any rate, your actions here won’t be forgotten.” She looks around the catwalk. “Now find me something to bind this man. You brought him here. It’s the least you can do.”

  Grateful, Gardner shuffles off.

  “As for you, Trevor...” She looks down at him. Still squirming. “Mrs. Rutherford is going to want to have a little chat. Ask you what you’re doing so far out of bounds. Find out who put you up to it.”

  “No one put me up to anything.”

  “No? We’ve been waiting for Sylvie to make some sort of move on us. Try to dig up some dirt. Send somebody in to do reconnaissance.”

  “Pfft.” Wanda can’t contain herself. “Sylvie’s not smart enough to realize she should be moving against you, Phil. She’s a good Circle soldier. Completely loyal and totally cowed by authority figures.”

  Gardner returns with an extension cord. Holds it out to Miss Philips. When she doesn’t take it, he kneels down, himself. Creaking. Crackling. Ties Trevor’s wrists behind his back.

  “Hmm... You may be right ordinarily, Wanda. But how about this...” Miss Philips steps away from Trevor. Leans on the railing. “A spousal conspiracy. A revenge plot. Distraught over the death of their only child. Resentful. Lashing out at those they believe responsible. Determined to take down the powers-that-be.”

  “Sylvie has nothing to do with this.” Now bound, Trevor flexes his hands. Cringing as the cord bites into his wrists. “She’s never said a word to me about Circle business. I’m completely on my own, here.”

  “After years of pillow talk. No secrets spilled?” She clucks her tongue. “Awfully big coincidence, finding the husband of the Captain of the Watch sneaking around. Are we really supposed to believe this is happening without her knowledge?”

  “We aren’t even together anymore. This is all me.”

  Miss Philips looks to Wanda for confirmation.

  “Don’t look in my direction! I didn’t get around to reading their latest Christmas update letter.”

  The old woman shrugs. “Well, not to worry... We’ll puzzle things out.” She resumes her position behind the control panel. “It figures though: Finally getting rid of one Lesguettes, only to have another pop up. Speaking of which...” Miss Philips pulls a lever. The cable unspools. Wanda drops.

  Trevor watches through the grate. In the tank below, the white shapes circle. Building up speed. Finally, they burst from the water. Teeth flashing as they fly through the air. Directly toward his sister-in-law.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  A hand on Dawn’s shoulder snaps her back to reality. Her grandfather. Concerned. “Y’all right, Dawn?”

  “Yeah, I... I guess I kinda phased out there for a minute.”

  Martin glances down at the newspaper. The image that’s held her rapt. “Didja find what ya were--” The photo stops him dead.

  “Grampy?”

  “This it? This wha
t ya were huntin’ after?” The old man looks up at her.

  “This?” Dawn can’t understand his reaction. “I don’t even--” The siblings smile up from the newspaper. From the past. “The Pearces... What do they have to do with--”

  “Nothin’!” His voice booms. Echoes around the attic. “Pearces don’t got nought to do with fock-all!” He snatches the paper away. Shakes it at Dawn. “What led ya to this, Dawn? What diggin’s got ya turnin’ over this rock?”

  All at once, Dawn’s aware of how little she knows about her grandfather. Scared by his sudden hostility. “I have... Friends. Giving me a hand with my family tree. They’re who first sent me to Aaron.” She backs up. To the degree the attic clutter allows. “Actually, they’re who first sent me to you. I ended up meeting Aaron after screwing up their instructions.”

  “And these friends... They sent ya lookin’ after this? Why?”

  “I don’t know.” She shifts past a steamer trunk. Glances around. Mapping out the shortest path to the staircase, should the need arise. “They’re not very... Open. They just kind of give me hints.” She thinks a moment. “Wait a minute... Does this mean we’re related to--”

  “Pearces are no relation to Lesguettes! And don’t ya give the either of ‘em another thought. Not worth the time it takes to change yer mind.”

  Dawn points at the photo. “But... This is Mother Agatha, isn’t it? From the convent? I know her. She helped when I was seasick.”

  “Seasick?!” Martin limps closer. “Lard Tunderin’, when were ya seasick?”

  “On the ferry over. Ugh. It was awful. I didn’t even get to see Wreck Reef, really.”

  “Didn’t even--” Martin’s mind spins. “Jaysus. Sick over the reef. Breathin’ fine in Adderpool.” A blue vein throbs along his temple. Clear beneath paper skin. He stumbles backward. Reeling. Dizzy. “Who ya belong to, girl? Who owns ya?”