Oak Ridge

by Edward Mullen

Oak Ridge

  Edward Mullen

  Copyright Edward Mullen 2016

  The Edward Mullen Podcast is available for free on iTunes and www.EdwardMullen.com

  Oak Ridge

  Copyright © 2016 by Edward Mullen

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and events are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person (alive or dead) or event is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a published review.

  Vancouver, BC, Canada

  ISBN: 978-1-928196-03-7

  Oak Ridge

  Also by Edward Mullen

  The Art of the Hustle

  Destiny and Free Will

  Prodigy

  The Secret Manuscript

  Prodigy Eternal

  Prodigy Returns

  Intro

  On January 9th, 2015, the A&E Network commissioned me to write a short story to help promote The Returned – a new series starting in March. The guidelines were clear – over the next five weeks I was to write a short story, focusing on the theme of the show. This is what I came up with…

  ***

  Word around town is that people are coming back from the dead. The ‘returned’ is what they’re calling them – god damned zombies if you ask me. I haven’t seen any of them personally, but I know some people who have. All the families who have had loved ones come back have been keeping pretty quiet, probably afraid of what people might say. I’m not usually one to believe in rumours or conspiracy theories, but everyone seems to be pretty freaked out lately. My dad is the Sheriff so I’ve seen a lot of things I probably shouldn’t have, but he has yet to confirm or deny these so-called "returned" people. Probably doesn’t know how I would react to something like that. Hell, I’m not sure he even knows how to make sense of it.

  My dad told me once that the word Sheriff comes from an old-English phrase 'Shire-Reeve' or Keeper of the Shire. I'd say that is true for the town of Oak Ridge, where I'm from. When there’s a problem in town, people usually look to my dad for answers. But if people are coming back from the dead, I’m not sure this is a problem even he has an answer for. It’ll likely be a while before this mystery gets solved.

  The way I see it, there are three kinds of people where I live: Those who've had zombies come back, those who're waiting for someone to come back, and then there’s everyone else. I’m not exactly sure which category I fit into. I only know two people who've died — my granddad died of lung cancer a few years back, but he lived halfway across the country so I don’t reckon I’ll be seeing him anytime soon .The second person was a kid we called ‘Newbie’. The truth is, I don't much fancy him coming back. I’m not sure what I’d do if that little brat comes knocking at my door and yapping about what we did to him.

  Chapter One

  Oak Ridge — Nine months earlier.

  Conor’s breath froze in the crisp autumn air as he exhaled. Extending his arm out in front of him with one eye closed, he was attempting to determine how much daylight was left. By aligning his thumb on the horizon line, he counted how many hand lengths it took to reach the sun.

  “I’d say we got another two hours before she goes down,” he said to the small group.

  Bundled up, the three set off into the woods. School had finished for the day and Conor and his friend Mitchel had decided to take the new kid in class, Charlie, on an adventure. Having been born and raised in Oak Ridge, he had spent his entire life exploring every inch of the small town and was quite comfortable in the surrounding wilderness.

  His father, Sheriff Jameson, tried his best not to expose his only son to the sort of information that comes up in police reports — the type of information that could corrupt a young and impressionable mind — but Conor was a lot more clever than his father gave him credit for and would always find ways to get the latest town gossip. Whether he was snooping through records while at the police station, or eavesdropping, Conor was usually the first person in school to hear about the latest mishaps and secrets of the townspeople. Having this knowledge made him popular, even for a twelve year old.

  Two months away from his thirteenth birthday, Conor showed no signs of maturing. He always seemed to find a way to push the boundaries of his mischievous behaviour. Being one of the biggest kids in his grade, as well as the Sheriff’s son, made Conor a natural leader. Now leading a small expedition, Conor was looking forward to hazing another kid. A newcomer was even better since they were much more desperate to fit in and make a good impression. They were usually willing to do things other boys were not just to find acceptance.

  Trying his best to keep up with the boys, Charlie was a few paces behind, growing evermore nervous with each step. His eyes were mainly glued to the uneven forest floor as pine cones and sticks crunched beneath his boots, but every few feet he would look up and take in his surroundings. He and his family had recently moved into the small town from Chicago and he had never really seen wilderness like in Oak Ridge before. Seeing the sun scatter through the large trees that extended skyward and the snow-capped mountains was truly awe-inspiring.

  It seemed like they had been walking for hours, but in actuality, it had only been about 20 minutes.

  “How much further?” Charlie called out through his panting breaths.

  “Listen, Newbie,” Conor barked back. “This is your initiation. If you want to be a part of our club, then you’ll do as we say.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I’m not going to tell you,” Conor said. “What would be the fun in that?”

  “Hey, go easy on the poor kid, Conor,” Mitch whispered.

  “Relax, we’re just going to mess with him a bit. When it’s over, everyone will have a good laugh.”

  The three of them had now stopped in front of a narrow river. As it was the middle of October, the river had yet to freeze over, but it was still bitter cold and deep enough to make it dangerous to cross.

  “On the other side of the river is our clubhouse,” Conor pointed. “And how we get there is by climbing up this tree and making our way across that bridge.”

  Charlie craned his neck to look up at where the rickety bridge was tied to the tree. His eyes followed the rope all the way across the swift current to the ratty tree house on the other side.

  “Is it safe?” Charlie muttered, asking the obvious question. He was trying not to show his fear, but on the inside he was absolutely terrified. His spindly legs trembled, but he tried to ignore it, telling himself it was just the cold weather and not his nerves.

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Conor replied. “But that’s why it’s an initiation. If it were perfectly safe, then it wouldn’t be much of an initiation now would it?”

  “You guys are coming after me, right?”

  “No of course not, we’ll need to be here to make sure you don’t die.”

  “What?”

  “He’s joking, Charlie,” Mitchel said, attempting to make Charlie feel at ease.

  “And hurry up, Newbie, we ain’t got all day. We have better things to do than to stand here like a couple of schmucks, freezing our cojones off.”

  With tremendous trepidation, Charlie summoned the courage to accept the challenge. A rope ladder was affixed to a branch about five feet up the base of the enormous tree. Charlie unlatched the ladder and let it fall to the ground. Gripping it tightly, he found his footing on the second rung and pulled himself up. He looked back at the two boys who were both watching his every move. If they said anything to him, Charli
e didn’t hear it. He was too focused on the task at hand.

  Taking one step at a time, he made his way up the wobbly ladder and then transitioned to the thick branch that was used to secure the bridge. He was over 30 feet off the ground when he made the unfortunate mistake of looking down. Paralyzing fear consumed him and for a brief moment, he thought he wasn’t going to be able to go through with it. He quickly closed his eyes and hoped the two boys below couldn’t see.

  Maybe I can just find some other friends, he told himself. No, if you don’t do this, you will be forever known as the boy who wimped out. His internal dialogue continued. This has to be safe. Conor is just trying to mess with me. Just don’t look down and you’ll be fine.

  After a couple deep breaths, he re-opened his eyes. The whistling wind blew through the trees, stinging his eyes and knocking loose more foliage to the ground. Stabling his balance, Charlie inched forward. He was now completely off the tree and onto the rope bridge. Staring across at the wooden planks that made up the bridge, Charlie began to walk across. It was too much to ask of him to stand up straight, so he crept forward in a crouched position, being mindful of the gaps between the planks.

  “All the way across and all the way back!” Conor shouted.

  Charlie heard the instructions, but didn’t look down to acknowledge him. He felt at any moment, he might cry if he allowed himself to, so he consciously blocked out those thoughts. His snotty nose dripped on the already slick wood planks, but he did not want to remove his hand from the bridge to deal with it. He continued with what he had been doing up until that point — sliding his hands across the rope, then moving the rest of his body.

  The rope bridge became scarier with each step and before long his shaking legs were battling fatigue, causing the swaying bridge to feel even more unstable. The further he got out, the louder the sounds became. The wind and the raging waters howled, making him unable to concentrate on his own thoughts, which he had been relying on to coax himself across.

  Charlie took another step and was now in the middle of the sagging rope bridge. Both of his feet were planted side by side, which concentrated his entire body weight in the centre of the plank – the weakest point. Then he heard a creak. Charlie had thought he knew what fear was until he heard that distinct sound. The moment he heard it, he knew the plank was going to give way. A whole new kind of fear pulsed through his body.

  Without further warning, the plank broke in half, causing a loud crack to echo throughout the forest. The two boys below watched on in horror. They both knew a rescue mission was beyond the realm of possibility. All they could do was watch helplessly from the shore.

  With the gaps on either side of the plank, plus the space where the plank used to be, it was large enough for Charlie’s slender body to fit through. His legs were the first to go, shooting through like a kicking mule. Following that, the sudden and unexpected fall jerked his weak grip loose. Charlie was in a free fall. In a last-ditch effort, he managed to grab onto the bottom rope of the bridge. His body now dangled precariously above the unforgiving current below. Instinctively, he began to look for a new footing. His feet thrashed about in all directions as if he were riding an invisible bicycle, but all that spastic movement only served to weaken his grip.

  With a panic-stricken face, he screamed in terror as if no one was around to hear him. “HELP!” he cried, knowing he was about to fall any second. His arms extended above his head, desperately trying to preserve the last moments of his life. Then the nylon from his cheap mittens began to slip, making the feat even more difficult. Even without the mittens, at twelve, he hadn’t developed the adequate strength to sustain his entire body weight as well as all his layers of clothing. Urine uncontrollably flooded out of his bladder, soaking his pants, but that was the least of his concerns as he clung for his life.

  Then, the inevitable conclusion happened.

  Charlie’s fingers opened up and he fell 20 feet into the raging river. Time seemed to slow down. The fall wasn’t enough to kill him, but as soon as he plunged into the water, his clothing became soaked and heavy, restricting his movement. He wasn’t a strong swimmer to begin with, and the frigid temperature combined with his fatigue and water-logged clothing made staying afloat impossible.

  The river swallowed the small child like a hungry beast. His arms flailed as bobbed up for air, but he was dragged back under by the current. His attempts to scream for help were impeded by the rushing water that replaced the air in his lungs. Then almost as quickly as it had begun, it was over. The rustling wind through the trees met with the flowing water to create a natural symphony. The two boys on the shore remained silent, in shock, independently trying to process what they had witnessed — what they had been a part of. When one of them finally spoke, it was Conor, advising Mitchel to never speak of this day.

  Chapter Two

  Present day.

  Just like everyone else, Jerry Brills and his wife Linda had heard the rumours that had been circulating the small town of Oak Ridge. They were relatively new to the community, having only moved there ten months earlier. Jerry worked as a lawyer at his private practice while Linda worked as a counsellor at the local school. They barely had enough time to settle in and make friends when their boy Charlie mysteriously vanished after school one day. There was the standard investigation and search party, but neither produced any substantial leads. The case was eventually closed and the Brills had to deal with the travesty of the loss on their own.

  The unsatisfactory closure of the case made the situation even worse. As a counsellor, Linda was trained to give guidance to help people through social and psychological issues, but when she lost her only child, her training seemed inadequate at helping her and her husband cope. People felt weird around them, not exactly sure how to act. Most people, including their neighbours, avoided making eye contact with them, afraid they might say the wrong thing.

  The small town was surrounded by forest and despite several warnings, kids had a habit of playing in the woods. Charlie Brills was twelve years old when he went missing and had no experience with nature. The family had previously lived in the city, but when Jerry got laid off and was unable to find another job, they were forced to relocate. Charlie was presumed to have become lost in the woods and most likely attacked by predators. Many believed he hadn’t even survived the night.

  “There’s been another one,” Jerry said, reading the local news on his computer.

  “Who?” Linda asked.

  “It looks like Robert’s wife showed up unexpectedly, looking exactly as she did the day she died. That makes three this week.”

  “Ava, right?” Linda confirmed.

  “Yeah.”

  “She died in a car accident four months ago if I remember correctly.”

  “Yes, I helped Robert with her case against the drunk driver.”

  “Are there any patterns?” Linda asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, with who’s coming back. The age of the deceased, gender, when they died, how…”

  “Not that I can tell,” Jerry said, moving over to the couch to sit with his wife. “So far, it has only been adults and I don’t know enough about those who’ve returned to—”

  Suddenly, a knock at the door interrupted their conversation, causing both of their hearts to skip a beat. Jerry rose from the sofa and cautiously approached the front door. He could see Sheriff Jameson through the window. Deputy Marcus remained in the squad car.

  “It’s the Sheriff,” Jerry said warily to his wife, before opening the door.

  “What can I do you for, Sheriff?” Jerry asked.

  “I’m terribly sorry to intrude, Jerry,” the Sheriff said, “but we found your boy.”

  Jerry was at a loss for words, unsure how to process the news. Linda overheard the conversation and immediately shot up from the living room and ran toward the front door, hoping to see her boy. When she saw it was just the Sheriff, she was confused. On the verge of tears, she a
sked an important question, “Is he alive?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, he’s very much alive and doing well… just like the others. Someone reported a young boy wandering in the woods earlier this evening. Deputy Marcus and I responded to the call and we personally retrieved the boy.

  “Where is he?” Jerry asked, rather abruptly.

  “At the hospital,” the Sheriff replied. “We thought it would be best to bring him in for an examination and make sure he was okay. As a courtesy to you folks, I figured you’d want to hear the news in person so we came straight here afterward.”

  “Thank you for everything, Sheriff,” Jerry said, grabbing his coat off the hook. Linda, now crying, thanked the Sheriff as well and followed her husband out the front door. Overrun with emotions, the couple raced to their car.

  “Y’all drive safe now,” the Sheriff said, making his way back to his vehicle. Opening the car door, the Sheriff wedged his body into the seat. They stayed parked on the edge of the property and waited for the Brills to drive off before filing their report.

  “How’d they take the news?” Deputy Marcus asked.

  “As you might expect,” the Sheriff responded.

  “What do you make of all this, George?”

  “I’m not sure, David,” the Sheriff responded, still gathering his thoughts, “but I think this may be beyond our capabilities. I think it’s time we call Washington.”

  “The White House?”

  “The FBI.”

  Chapter Three

  Sheriff George Jameson returned home late in the evening and was greeted at the door by his wife, Julie, and their son, Conor. The Brills’ boy was the same age as Conor and when he went missing, it had hit close to home. It made the Sheriff appreciate his family even more. Being in law enforcement, he had seen more than his fair share of tragedy and always took extra precaution to keep his family safe.

  “How was your day?” Julie asked, giving her husband a kiss.

  “Interesting,” he replied, not wanting to dive into all the issues at that moment. “Soup smells good,” he said, removing his hat and jacket.

  The family gathered at the dinner table as they did every evening and talked about their day.