by R. T. Lowe
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 Into the Woods
Chapter 2 Americana
Chapter 3 Reunion
Chapter 4 The Infiltrator
Chapter 5 Procrastinating
Chapter 6 General Shale
Chapter 7 The Perils of Cohabitation
Chapter 8 Leviticus
Chapter 9 The Video
Chapter 10 The Professor
Chapter 11 Demise of the Rational World
Chapter 12 Internal Security
Chapter 13 The Growing Stain
Chapter 14 Water
Chapter 15 Releasing Steam
Chapter 16 The Test
Chapter 17 The Watchers
Chapter 18 Tough Love
Chapter 19 The Order
Chapter 20 Morning Flight
Chapter 21 The Talk
Chapter 22 Footage
Chapter 23 Return to No-Man’s-Land
Chapter 24 The Rose Bowl
Chapter 25 Convalescing
Chapter 26 The Chosen One
Chapter 27 Lofton
Chapter 28 Crossing Lines
Chapter 29 The News Room
Chapter 30 Killing Prophecies
Chapter 31 Extermination
Chapter 32 The Chamber
About the Author
The Felix Chronicles
Five Days in January
By R.T. Lowe
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by R.T. Lowe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without written permission of the author.
Cover design by Jenny Zemanek
eBook by Amy Eye: The Eyes for Editing
For Bryce
Keep your eyes open.
Chapter 1
Into the Woods
Bill had been brooding through the long course of the night and his dark silence was making Felix feel off balance, as if he had done something wrong and the slightest provocation would trigger an avalanche of disproportionate wrath. Bill, however, remained silent and outwardly calm, his normal reaction to failure—flashing anger—hidden, just like the monsters they were searching for deep within the heart of Ashfield Forest. The abandoned mining facility was supposed to contain a subterranean level that branched off into corridors and chambers used for the concealment of the creatures responsible for the Ashfield Forest Mystery, the mutilation (and apparent eating, since the authorities had only recovered two bodies) of nine people that began last summer. They’d found the lower level without much trouble, a vast space that stored mining equipment, mostly enormous machines broken, streaked with oil and rust and cobwebbed like a nightmare from the industrial revolution. But no monsters lurked among the discarded skeletons of the facility’s past.
On the main floor, Felix stared out through the empty casings of long vanished windows as the first light of a cold winter morning struggled to penetrate the dense canopy. Overrun with wild grasses and moss, mechanical equipment littered the room. Some of the larger machines were tentacled with pipes and chutes that extended outside toward a distant stream barely visible through hemlocks and Douglas firs whose branches pressed down on the building, grating on the metal roof when the wind churned. The barn style doors on one end were off their tracks and left half open, allowing the gray light to filter in gloomily across the pine-needled concrete floor. Felix clicked off the light on his headband and stepped out into the chilled air. There was nothing left to search. They hadn’t uncovered anything and he wasn’t interested in searching the basement again simply because Bill was too stubborn to admit he was wrong about this place.
Not long after they’d set off into the woods during the darkest hours of night, Bill had chastised Felix for not displaying an appropriate amount of fear, then proceeded to waste a solid hour trying to convince him the monsters shouldn’t be underestimated. To be fair, Bill hadn’t been there at the Cliff Walk a month ago when Felix dismantled four Protectors on a rocky sliver of path at the top of a sea cliff rising 700 feet above the Pacific Ocean. The Protectors were an ancient society of assassins whose mission was to kill all Sourcerors—those who possessed the ability to transcend the limitations imposed by natural laws by drawing from the Source, the wellspring from which all Sourcerors’ powers derived—because they believed Sourcerors were draining the Source’s energy and diminishing its original state of perfection, which would eventually lead to its destruction. So considering his impressive display of Source-wielding at the Cliff Walk, Felix felt like he was the most dangerous thing in Ashfield Forest. While he’d made some attempt to not completely disregard Bill’s cautionary words, he didn’t believe deep down in his gut they were in any real danger. He just wanted to see them. They were, after all, monsters, not exactly a common sight, and Felix was curious. Curious to see what they were like—did they have fangs? claws? could they talk?—and curious to find out if their appearance might reveal anything about Lofton Ashfield, the man who created them, and the man who owned this forest and headquartered his company, AshCorp, within its boundaries.
Lofton was much more than a billionaire CEO and a stakeholder in a tract of old growth woodlands just east of Portland. Lofton Ashfield, like Felix, was the culmination of a 2,000-year-old prophecy called The Warning that foretold of the Suffering Times, when the brutality, lawlessness and depravity of society would extinguish an already wounded Source and all living things with it. The annihilation of humankind, however, was not a foregone conclusion, nor was it the prophecy’s only possible outcome. Before the universe surrendered to the cold and the blackness of an eternal night, the Source would provide humanity with a final chance at survival, sending forth the two with the power to save it. The Drestian—Lofton—destined to mend the Source by ruling over humankind but at the cost of enslavement and the slaughter of those who opposed his rule, and the Belus—Felix—the defender of humanity’s right to determine its own future, and the only one capable of preventing the Drestian from fulfilling his destiny.
Bill came up behind him, cradling a shotgun in his arms. Sighing heavily through his nose, he stuffed his headlight into the pocket of his camouflaged hunting jacket and tugged his hat down snugly over his ears with gloved hands. Their breath puffed out white in the frigid January air and lingered for a moment before trailing away in the gusting winds. Felix was dressed like Bill, though his attire was purely for purposes of decorum. He didn’t feel the cold anymore (not like ‘normal’ people anyway), a realization that had stunned him on that day at the Cliff Walk. Swim trunks would have been more than adequate, and just as effective as what he was wearing.
Bill turned for a moment to look back at the sliding doors, giving his head a disappointed shake. “Shit,” he muttered sourly. “Wasted the whole goddamn night for nothing.”
“We can come back,” Felix offered in a half-hearted attempt to lift Bill’s spirits. Now that the monsters were a no-show and it had sunk in his curiosity wouldn’t be satisfied, his mood, and that of Portland College’s assistant groundskeeper, were beginning to creep closer together. He checked the time on his phone and added two and a half hours, thinking he had an outside shot of making it back to campus to meet Allison for breakfast in their dorm’s cafeteria. He and Allison had spent winter break together at his grandma’s old cottage in Cove Rock, and yesterday afternoon they’d made the drive to Portland from the Oregon coas
t for the first day of the spring semester tomorrow. Allison wasn’t aware of where he was at the moment and he knew she wouldn’t be happy when she found out. Last night when they were at the dorm—Downey—watching The Walking Dead, he’d told her he needed to check his mail at the Student Center. Instead he’d rendezvoused with Bill at his house a few blocks from campus. There were sixteen texts from Allison on his phone and he didn’t need to read them to know what they said. He imagined the look on her face as she waited for him at the dorm and he felt actual fear. He was more scared of Allison than he was of Lofton’s monsters.
“It’s not that simple,” Bill replied uneasily as they started off toward the stream, the landmark they’d used to guide them to the facility. They picked their way through giant sword ferns and moss-wreathed trees that stretched up into the heavens like unearthly monuments of the forgotten past. A pale mist hugged the uneven ground, rippling and scattering as the wind sighed through trees so thick in places it could have still been night. “I’ve been practically living out here for the past month.” He cocked a thumb despondently at the building behind them. “That was it. There’s nothing left in this quadrant. Every goddamn building in this whole goddamn forest is clean.”
Felix’s parents hadn’t been fond of camping or hiking. Before today, he’d never been to the woods—not woods like these anyway—so he wasn’t sure if the complete absence of sound was to be expected. They were too far from the stream to hear the water rushing over the rocks and no animals stirred, nothing on the ground, big or small, and not a single bird nested in the branches or soared above the treetops. He didn’t find the silence unsettling, he just didn’t know if it meant anything.
“So…what do you think?” Felix asked after some time had passed, more concerned with managing Allison’s anger than doing a postmortem on Bill’s failed plan. “Where are they?”
“Here,” Bill said, frustrated, arms raised angrily to the sky. “Somewhere. This genius plan of ours—mine, sorry—to wipe them all out at once requires they actually congregate during the night. That was my…assumption.” He slipped around a tree and added with a surly snort, “It seems they have an aversion to making good on my assumptions.”
They reached the fringes of the stream without further discussion and turned south, moving easily through a field of ferns, hemlocks and smooth stones where the water flowed when its banks flooded in the spring. “I never really understood why you thought they all got together at night,” Felix admitted. “It’s not like they need to hide from anything out here. You don’t even know how many there are, right?” In truth, Felix thought Bill’s plan was pretty stupid, but he’d gone along with it because Bill had seemed so confident they would find the monsters.
Bill gave him a sharp look. “The killings were in the seventh and eighth quadrants so clearly they’re protecting the borders from trespassers. From what I’ve learned about the scope of AshCorp’s activities there—and from what I’ve seen—Lofton could support the population of a small city in those quadrants alone. I don’t know what he’s preparing for, but there are simply too many people involved there for his creatures to be roaming around unseen. I got within a hundred yards of two of the buildings on that map I showed you and Allison before your break, and there’s just no way Lofton’s using them as dormitories for monsters.”
It was becoming more and more clear to Felix that Bill was throwing darts in the dark. “So they’re not letting anyone in,” he said thoughtfully, “but they’re, uh, staying somewhere else?”
“They’re in the forest!” Bill snapped, his Boston accent thickening as his temper finally shattered through his calm veneer. “If they’re not in the seventh and eighth then they have to be in a building like that.” He threw a hand toward the facility that had already vanished behind a curtain of trees. “There aren’t many buildings like that one though. That’s the problem. Before Lofton purchased his own private forest, not much went on here. There’s a few cabins used by hunters, and squatters have constructed a shack or two, but there’s nothing large enough to support more than a few people—or monsters.”
“Maybe they don’t need a building,” Felix suggested, struggling to conceal his annoyance that he’d had to lie to Allison over nothing. “Maybe they’re like animals. Why wouldn’t they just live out in the open?”
Bill fell silent, frowning deeply. “I realize now my assumption may have been based on desperation,” he said at last, sounding discouraged. “Perhaps you’re right, but where else—?”
“Hello there,” a voice called out, not unpleasantly, like a neighbor shouting a greeting from his front porch.
Felix snapped his head toward the darkness of the sheltering trees, squinting, searching for the source. A monster? he wondered hopefully, and a feeling of excitement bubbled up from his stomach at the prospect of actually encountering one. Maybe the night wouldn’t be a total loss after all.
“Hello!” the voice called out again. Its location had changed, further ahead.
“Hello!” Same voice but now it was behind them.
“It’s them,” Bill whispered urgently, curling his finger over the trigger.
Felix’s pulse picked up a few paces. Finally—he was going to see a real live monster. Where were they though? He looked over his shoulders and to the other side of the stream where a wall of trees grew thick and wild, their trunks cloaked in mist.
“They’re fast,” Bill reminded him, placing a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “Hold up. Let them come to us.” They stopped and waited in the silence, glancing all around.
“Hello, my friends,” a voice broke the quiet and a man with short dark hair—or was it a woman?—dressed in knee length basketball shorts and a tie-dye T-shirt with MULTNOMAH COUNTY POTFEST scrawled across the front emerged from the shadows. It’s not a monster, Felix thought dejectedly. It was just a person—a weirdly dressed person, but a person all the same. Or was it? He—or she—raised one hand in a gesture of greeting and said amiably, “What brings you to the forest, gentlemen?” The voice belonged to a man, though its features weren’t clearly male or female, but a blend of both. Felix’s eyes were drawn to its mouth, the long sweeping curve of full lips that barely moved when it spoke, showing no teeth.
Felix felt Bill’s hand tense on his shoulder then he lowered it to the gun, directing the barrel of the military grade weapon at the man’s chest. As Felix studied his face, thinking it odd he didn’t seem at all concerned by Bill’s gun, the feminine lips twitched up in an ironic smile, stretching wide. Too wide. His mouth was grossly out of proportion with the rest of his face. That was it. It wasn’t a he or a she. It was a monster, Felix realized with a thrill and wondered what was lurking inside its mouth.
“Probably hunting,” a voice rang out from behind. “Notice the impressive looking firearm, Number Twenty-Three. Maybe the other one’s his guide,” it added with laughter in its voice.
Number Twenty-Three? Felix thought, turning to see someone loping toward them at a jog, the straps of its lime green ski pants hanging off its shoulders as if it had been at the lodge enjoying a cocktail after a long day on the slopes. Its large slate gray eyes found Felix and it smiled from its cheeks, its mouth remaining closed. Felix felt his jaw go slightly slack. It looked like the other one. Exactly like the other one. Other than their clothes, they were identical in every way. It ran a hand lightly through its dark wiry hair and the smile grew, the edges widening and stretching. Its lips creased its face from one ear to the other. Its mouth—its monster mouth—had to be enormous. Felix wanted to see what was inside. To see its teeth. They had to be amazing. Fangs like a vampire? Or more like the chompers of a crocodile? Why weren’t they showing them? he wondered impatiently.
“Only two?” it said, keeping its steady gaze locked on Felix. “That’s very disappointing.” A half smile flickered across its face. “But they’re both quite large. Should be a hearty meal if we dine before the others arrive.”
A hearty meal? Felix thought in s
urprise. These two were planning to eat them? How? They weren’t very big, and even if they had eight-inch railroad spikes for teeth, Bill had a massive shotgun and Felix was a Sourceror with the ability to create fire and control objects with his mind. They would mop the forest with these overconfident strangely attired clowns.
“Drop your weapon,” Number Twenty-Three said to Bill, not raising its voice.
The shotgun slipped from Bill’s fingers, the barrel clanking against a dew-frosted river stone shrouded in moss. Felix jerked his head toward Bill and shouted his name. Bill stood there, staring back at Number Twenty-Three, his eyes wide and vacant, his gun lying uselessly at his feet. “Bill!” Felix shouted again. “Bill! Hey! What are you—?”
Felix glimpsed a blurring streak of green and then he was on his back, the air crushed from his lungs, pain flaring where his head struck a root at the foot of a fir. A mouthful of teeth—long and shaped like triangles—snapped down ferociously at his face like the jaws of an excavating machine. Felix let out a gasping scream and threw up his arms, pushing against its neck, a titanic pressure bearing down on him, closing the gap between them. His elbows buckled as the teeth gnashed together, cutting into its own lips, opening and closing, spraying saliva and droplets of blood, black and syrupy.