Operation Blackout

by J. L. Middleton

  “Terrorists?” Orion repeated, imagining the worst.

  Connor chuckled derisively. “It’s not as dramatic as that. ‘Other’ terrorists—not the jihadist kind,” he replied insouciantly. “If it’s VSION, things might get hairy, but they usually stage an incident then cut and run. They’re more the violent ‘activist’ sort than killers, and they tend to avoid direct confrontation.” What Connor didn’t mention was that “direct confrontation” generally involved bullets, as impressive abilities notwithstanding, very few Others could stop modern technology. In posing a threat to Blackout, they forfeited clemency with the BSI and its international sister agencies.

  “That makes me feel better…”

  Connor grinned, beguiling witticism on the tip of his tongue, and then froze abruptly as a vision replayed itself in his mind’s eye: Orion lies on the polished wood floor of an abandoned house, his neck at a regrettable angle and his body wracked with spasms, and he is covered in a layer of coarse white dust. He’s only a few feet away, yet Connor can’t seem to reach or even perceive him.

  It was only a nightmare—an almost welcome change from his normal repertoire of night terrors—and yet he suddenly no longer wanted Orion to accompany him. Pushing the irrational concern aside, he continued, “You’ll be fine. Just duck behind a car or something.” He paused, and then added semi-facetiously, “Or identify yourself as a fellow Other. That might make ’em hesitate as long as you don’t tell them you’re with the BSI, too.”

  Orion sighed deeply; his exasperation was palpable, and he wished Connor could be completely serious for even one conversation. “So why do you have to go? I thought the point was for you to keep out of danger.”

  Connor nodded. “’S true, but I’m also the best at ferreting out Others. If this is a new one, I have the best chance of unmasking him, and if the bloke’s unaffiliated, then we need to get him off the streets immediately.” He chuckled again, and self-aware, he acknowledged, “A lot of ‘ifs’ there. Anyway, think of this as your next phase of training—just quite a bit earlier.” He smiled reassuringly, quirking the corners of his mouth up and thereby undermining any sincerity in the action. “Trust me, you’re overthinking it. You’ll be fine,” he said, slapping Orion’s shoulder smartly. Then, in a tone that really didn’t invite disagreement, he commanded, “Now go pack some snacks. Scotts Ridge is an hour and a half away on a good day. Let’s not overcomplicate this trip any more than we have to. It’s bad enough we’ll have to switch trains three times just to get to the car rental agency. I don’t want to have to make a detour for a decent sandwich.”

  - - -

  Their drive to Scotts Ridge was uncharacteristically silent. Orion didn’t have to suffer through awkward conversation or Connor’s attempts to tease him, as the latter appeared to be lost in deep thought aside from the odd furtive glance. Connor never asked him to take over the driving, for which Orion was grateful, because although he technically knew how to drive, he’d only received his license last month at Connor’s request, and he had zero confidence in his new abilities.

  Instead, Connor had him review the file for the case they were currently working on. The attack, as it had been tentatively classified, had involved several victims spread across a small city park. Witnesses had given confusing, often conflicting accounts of the incident: Many had described a horde of spiders swarming up their bodies, beneath their clothes, and into their mouths, while others had claimed to suddenly find themselves in freefall or trapped in enclosed spaces. Some had been more specific, such as animal attacks in which the description of the animal or animals had varied widely, spanning from snakes to dogs to a bear. One individual had even stated that a particularly fierce clown had chased him across the square that covered the park. The handful of children present had become practically catatonic, choosing only to cling to childhood objects such as stuffed toys while refusing to speak or close their eyes for even a moment.

  Additionally, there was a common thread among the adults: They had each seen the children’s massacred bodies lying across the playground and had then heard them giggling before suffering their respective hallucinated assaults. The city authorities seemed stunned, as no signs of disease or biological weaponry had been found in the area, and while shaken, the adults seemed to have recovered. However, it was expected that the children would require intense therapy to restore their responsiveness.

  When Connor pulled up to the park, which was now taped off as a crime scene, he left the car without a word and walked slowly across the grass while examining every inch of it. Orion followed him dutifully, observing his movements, but he quickly grew impatient with the lack of conversation or even acknowledgement from his partner. Because Connor had given him the file to read, he’d expected an explanation or an irritating, smug, one-sided dialogue when they reached their destination, but instead, he was being met with indifference. Deciding that he wasn’t going to get anywhere if he just waited, he steeled himself against his anxiety and asked, “What are we looking at here?”

  While Connor didn’t quite start, he seemed to have temporarily forgotten Orion’s presence. He stopped examining the grass, stood up from his kneeling position, cleared his throat, and replied, “All those witness statements, yet they can’t agree on what they saw.” He pointed a few feet from them at an upset wooden seat flanked by two trash cans. “A man said a pack of ‘hellhounds’ attacked him by that bench.” He indicated the curb opposite their car at the boundary of the yellow crime scene tape. “A woman saw the ground drop out from beneath her. She said a cliff suddenly appeared at her feet, and she was prevented from backing away from its edge.” He turned around and pointed at the playground where swings, seesaws, and slides sat abandoned. Its sawdust had been trampled flat by many feet and then piled to the side when investigators had decided to examine its plastic bed for evidence. “The children were playing over there. Nothing reported outside the bounds of this park.” He sniffed the handful of grass in his hands and then brushed it off into the breeze when it yielded no noteworthy clues. “I just wanted to see what it was like before we checked into the hotel.”

  Orion’s stomach dropped. “Hotel?” He instantly started to wonder if he’d secured the apartment properly and shut off all the lights. His mind started deliberating which arrangements to make for Cassie—which friend’s parents would be home and receptive to an impromptu sleepover on a school night—when he remembered that it was no longer necessary. Cassie was in Pennsylvania with the Vickers, and he was absolved of daily responsibility for her, but his mind still substituted their old situation out of habit: Cassie was merely out with friends, sullenly checking in to appease him, and would return home after her school and work obligations were fulfilled. It wasn’t until late at night when it was evident that she wouldn’t be returning that he remembered their new circumstances. He’d once called her new number to talk to her and find out how she was settling in, but there had been no answer, and she had yet to respond to his voicemail. That was reasonable; she was probably still processing the events herself, and it would take her a while to adjust to her new circumstances and accept their parents’ actions. He didn’t mind giving her space and time to adjust, or more optimistically, he figured that she was busy with her new family and school and hadn’t noticed the message he’d left.

  “Yeah. We’re staying the night,” Connor replied confidently.

  “Of course we are,” Orion grumbled. He decided against asking why this hadn’t been mentioned previously because he knew that Connor would roguishly state that he had already told him and that he should have deduced this result given that Scotts Ridge was so far away. He sighed and continued to observe Connor. The senior agent retraced the steps of the victims, trying to recreate their viewpoints based on their various accounts, and he would stop occasionally to examine the ground or the odd landmark. Orion didn’t always follow his reasoning or methods, but one
thing was certain: Connor wasn’t making light of the situation, as he had done with the previous case. His demeanor was grave, and Orion realized that Connor hadn’t been purposely ignoring him; rather, he had been concentrating, and Orion had been merely background noise.

  - - -

  Aaron felt sick to his stomach. His anxiety had increased of late, exacerbating his aversion to the outside world, and he’d allowed himself to grow lax when it came to his usually strict routine of making daily forays to the park. After the commotion the day prior, he’d completely forgotten to eat or even pick up his prescription; his mind had been preoccupied with returning home as soon as possible to recuperate. Familiar with his medication’s withdrawal symptoms—namely, nausea and dizziness—he knew that he should remedy the latter problem before even thinking of eating a meal this morning. If he’d only preserved his routine as he’d been instructed by his therapist, he’d have collected his refill before, but he now had less than a handful to ration, which was the reason for his current desperation.

  His vision swam, and he paused to lean on the automatic door for support, accidentally upsetting the mechanism from its jamb. The ache in his legs was also renewed as he barked his shin on the frame and stumbled away. He must have injured himself more than he’d thought when he’d fled the scene yesterday; since his self-exile, he’d rarely left the house on long trips, and his stamina and physique had consequently degenerated.

  The store was moderately populated for the afternoon, and he muttered halfhearted greetings to other patrons as he made his pained way toward the pharmacy at the back of the store. During his third brief exchange, he noticed that the shadows were gathering, pooling, and coalescing just at the edge of his peripheral vision. He averted his gaze, opting to ignore the phenomenon, until he heard a shriek that confirmed that his perception was reality. He quickly crouched, taking shelter near a display. Clearly frightened figures huddled together across the aisle, and he wanted to send them a signal of reassurance, but he could not get their attention.

  Beads of sweat started to form on his brow. He had not carried a firearm for years—he had been forbidden to—but he had his special tactics training to fall back on, making him the hostages’ only chance; he had to take control of the situation. He paused, shook his head to clear it, and inhaled a deep, calming breath. How did he know that there were hostages or a hostage situation? There had been no gunshots or orders issued, and he had not seen any gunmen. He needed to stay grounded in the present.

  As if to answer his dilemma, light footsteps passed his position and turned the corner. She was a petite blonde who was probably lovely under the layer of grime that seemed to cling to her enraged form, and despite the sorrow etched into her features, there was an all too familiar fury in her eyes. She raised her weapon, which he knew instinctively was her father’s hunting rifle, but she aimed it at a cowering woman and the children she sheltered. Aaron knew that he had to act. He shoved the barrel away and toward the floor, and though he desperately wanted to be the hero—to correct his past failure—his feet instead propelled him past the slip of a girl and out the door of their own accord. He could not save the hostages— thought maybe he could have once long ago—and his terror insisted that he could save only himself as he fled into the afternoon sun. His feet pounded across the parking lot pavement and continued unabated until he reached the safety of his cozy cottage apartment.

  - - -

  Even though each man had his own room, Connor ended up invading Orion’s, but he found that he didn’t mind the agent’s company this time. Since they’d arrived in town, he’d been watching Connor, trying to figure out this new beast and how he worked. The case file lay open, and dossiers were scattered across the table and their folder. Connor had loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar, and rolled up his sleeves as he’d rearranged them, and their new order was a mystery to Orion.

  A mess of Chinese takeout cartons was also spread between them. Connor’s mouth, when unoccupied by food, no longer stretched into a sly smirk but set into a dogged scowl, and the agent scanned each report periodically between bites. While Connor hadn’t tried to stop Orion from taking any of the dossiers, he didn’t feel it would be a welcomed action, and now that he realized that Connor wouldn’t actively teach him, he concentrated on learning through observation. The agent had behaved exactly as Orion had expected any investigator to act—poring through files and examining evidence himself—and somehow, Orion felt less anxious during this investigation than he had during the previous case. Maybe because he wasn’t being pressured into providing answers or taking actions when he wasn’t ready and was instead moving at his own pace. Then again, Connor was still driving their momentum steadily forward, but this time, he wasn’t showboating and grandstanding at every opportunity, and this might have made the difference when it came to his teaching technique.

  “Okay. For the sake of argument,” Connor said suddenly, breaking the silence that had descended between them, “this was some sort of attack and not a psychic event, because if it was, then the DHS would have sprung for the Paranormal Division to come instead.” The latter sounded like an aside, so Orion merely nodded encouragingly over his chow mein and made a note to inquire later about the Paranormal Division and why it hadn’t been partnered with them on the investigation. He’d skimmed the missions of the other departments and gathered that they weren’t as successful at the BSI, but he didn’t really understand how the other departments were expected to operate on a shoestring budget and still deliver results.

  “So we’ve got to assume that this is the work of an Other—not something else.” Connor placed his carton on the table abruptly and cleared off the paperwork. He rearranged the remaining utensils and cartons—even claiming Orion’s against his soft protests—to construct a makeshift replica of the crime scene. “This is the park,” he continued, muttering more to himself than to his companion, “and this is where the attack was. The perimeter is fairly circular if we make a few assumptions—traffic on this street prevents any victims from standing here, so the theory holds true—and it doesn’t match up with the boundaries of the park, so that means there was an epicenter.” His eyes moved across the map, and his voice became more rapid. His finger traced along the outermost victims, standing near what he’d newly established as the perimeter, and then began to spiral into the interior. “These people,” he continued before pausing over a cluster of three adults, “reported vision lengths up to five minutes, and the lengths seemed to diminish further out, which supports that there was a central location.”

  Orion looked at the map. “That’s near the playground,” he observed. “Could it have been one of the children? It might have been an accident.” He chewed on his lower lip, biting back the rest of his line of thought. Despite being reassured that his membership of the BSI protected his sister, his fraternal instinct advised against exposing her further. Still, he knew that he had something relevant to add to the conversation, so he disclosed timidly, “I mean, Cassie’s first time had a lot of power behind it. She didn’t know she had it, so she really couldn’t control it.” Hastily, and possibly unnecessarily, he added, “At the time.”

  Connor shook his head vigorously. “Normally, I’d agree, so your analyzing skills are improving,” he replied absently, as if the praise were an afterthought, and continued, “but the vision of dead children doesn’t make sense for a child. Most American children have never seen such a thing, so they couldn’t project it onto an adult.” He sighed unhappily. “It must have been something an adult saw…” He trailed off, his eyes lost focus momentarily, and his face became blank as he suddenly turned inward.

  Orion had spent enough time with Connor to recognize brooding, though he’d yet to broach the issue of why it happened or what triggered it; their relationship wasn’t genial enough for that, and he honestly doubted it would ever be. If he didn’t feel comfortable speaking to him abou
t his sister or family life, he couldn’t expect Connor to confide in him. To coax him back to the present and hopefully follow his train of thought, Orion remarked, “I thought you said it wasn’t a psychic event.”

  Initially, Connor didn’t respond, but his consciousness gradually resurfaced, and he began muttering to himself. “Spiders. Hellhounds… Hell… hounds. Hounds.” He slowed, brows knit together, and deliberately enunciated each word. “Dogs. Snakes. Coffin. Heights. Freefall.” He snorted suddenly, almost coughing, as if his amusement surprised him, too. “Clowns.” He grinned as realization settled in. “Fears,” he announced confidently. “They’re fears, which explains why the children are catatonic. Everything is scary to them. Adults know how to deal with their fear.” He shrugged and added, “Most do, anyway.”

  “That’s rough,” Orion commented, but it didn’t seem like his prompting was still necessary, as Connor simply continued. The agent leaned over the map, pointing excitedly at its landmarks, and let Orion be his sounding board. “The children were here. Duration diminished outward but increased along this way. These three were near the center, but they weren’t on it, according to the discrepancies in their vision lengths. The playground is over here, boxing in the other side, which means…” He quickly switched over to the file and shuffled through the pages. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he went through them again and then twice more. “No one was standing there,” he grunted with frustration. He sighed heavily, rearranged the files, and began again from the beginning, pointing out the facts he knew. “Okay. She was here. He was here. He was here,” he said, indicating the cluster of three near the epicenter, and then he continued pointing while muttering to himself. When his repetition did not yield new results, he shook his head and rested his hands on the edge of the table. “Someone had to be here, so someone else had to have seen him, which means we need better witness statements,” he declared. He relinquished his dominion over the table and sank into a chair. Then the corners of his lips quirked up, and reclaiming his food carton as he propped his feet upon the table, he asked smugly, “How would you like to conduct some interviews tomorrow?”