THE BLACK
J.M. SCARLETT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Christina M. Cordisco
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
ISBN-13: 978-0-578-49880-5
For my mother
Thank you,
For making the impossible
Possible.
“Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.”
— Edgar Allan Poe
Contents
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 One
THREE MONTHS BEFORE THE OUTBREAK . . .
It was late March, and the trees were still bare, the air still cold. The cemetery was packed with both uniformed soldiers and mourners alike, clinging on to sodden tissues or weeping into handkerchiefs; the sky above them was bright but bitter. Honor guards, acting as pallbearers, surrounded a coffin, draped with the American flag, cramped in the back of a black hearse. Upon command, a marching band began to play, and the coffin was unloaded and carried toward a freshly dug plot. There was a shout, and three shots fired into the air.
General Harper watched the ceremony from the back of a sedan, blended perfectly into a row of waiting cars. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before; the interment, the flag exchange, the volley of shots, the guards of honor . . . It was something he had seen way to often in his time and something he never got used to. But as much as he respected his fallen brothers, the dead soldier wasn’t the reason why he was there—
Captain David Benton, standing with the mourners, peered over his shoulder at the line of cars behind him; the clarinets of the marching band mingled with the sharp wind, whistling like sirens through the bare trees. A driver wearing dark glasses stared at him from one of the cars. The back window rolled down, and General Harper appeared, waving him over.
Ducking against the wind, Benton approached the car. The back door swung open, and his superior ordered him inside.
“General,” Benton said as he slid onto the back seat beside him. It had been months, if not years since he had seen his old friend. “Interesting place for a private meeting.”
The General took a drag of his cigar. He was all teeth and no gums. “Nothing like a good funeral to remind us how lucky we are to be alive, right Captain?” He plopped a manila envelope in Benton’s lap. “Congratulations, Captain. You won yourself a vacation of a lifetime. Here’s the papers for your next assignment.”
Benton opened the envelope and flipped through the paperwork. His brows, dark and heavy like his father’s, furrowed.
“Plum Island,” he said. “An island? What kind of job is this?”
“Funny you should ask.” The General’s eyes drifted past him toward the coffin being carried by eight guards. “It was his job, and now it’s yours, considering you don’t screw it up, that is.”
Benton looked from the papers to the General. “So, what’s the catch?” he asked. He knew the General since joining the service, nearly fifteen years now. He’d been to his house a few times too, reliving past times over cigars and bottles of cheap wine. And one thing he learned about the General long ago is there was always a catch.
“They call it Operation Blackout,” said the General. “It’s run by some German scientist, Albrecht. Apparently, according to my superiors, she’s on the verge of greatness, some big stuff if you know what I mean. Personally, I think it sounds a little hokey, but my superiors want someone in there we can trust, someone who can keep an eye on her and report back to us.”
“You don’t trust this scientist?” Benton questioned, scanning her profile in the papers he was given.
The General snorted. “It’s the government, Captain. Do they ever trust anyone?”
Benton didn’t say anything. Despite the mirth in his tone, they both knew it was the truth. You didn’t control the government, they controlled you.
“But I will tell you this,” the General said, “Between us, they’re not interested in the scientist, not the individual, anyway. It’s what’s in her laboratory that concerns them, her experiments. I want you to gain her trust, watch her, and anything she does, report back to me and I’ll pass it along to my superiors.”
The marching band outside the car stopped playing, and the ceremony continued with a salute and a speech from the dead soldier’s colonel. Benton read his lips as they moved.
“How?” asked Benton, nodding toward the coffin. “How did he die?”
The General’s eyes remained on the lapel on his jacket; his lips pursed. “Does it matter?” After Benton didn’t respond, he added, “Unfortunately, it was accidental homicide . . . He got sick.”
“Sick?” Benton questioned. “In paradise?”
“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not just any island. It’s the home of the animal disease center, I’m afraid. What can I say, Captain? Things happen.” The General motioned toward the papers in his lap. “All the information is in there. As long as you follow the guidelines, you’ll be safe.”
Benton got a kick out of that. “Safe?” he said. “Is that what you told that guy?” He jabbed a thumb at the coffin being lowered into the ground.
“That’s the thing,” the General uttered. “He didn’t follow the rules. I assume you will?”
Benton smirked. “Do you even have to ask?” If anyone followed the rules, it was Benton. It was one of the reasons he was chosen.
“Good,” said the General. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. I’ve known you for a long time, Captain, and trust you will not disappoint.” And before they departed the General left him with one final piece of advice:
“Captain?” His breath lingered for a moment before he continued. “The island, Operation Blackout, it’s not what you think. Remember that . . . Whatever happens, whatever you see there, don’t trust anything they tell you.”
“Who’s they?” asked Benton, but it was too late. The window was up, and the sedan was gone, gliding past the black brigade just as a patch of clouds blurred out the sun. The wind blew, cutting through Benton’s suede jacket. He looked down at the manila envelope in his hand: Operation Blackout. What the hell did he get himself into this time? The marching band began to play again, and Benton turned back toward the ceremony. The Colonel, the one giving the speech, was off the podium now, standing with the other uniformed soldiers, staring at him. He gave a nod, and Benton nodded back. There wasn’t an ounce of kindness on his face, like he knew something Benton didn’t.
* * *
The blades of the chopper cut through the air as it touched down on the platform. Plum Island was located in the middle of the Atlantic, surrounded by dark, choppy waves. There were no palm trees or resorts or sandy beaches here, only a flat land of rock, scatt
ered with a few white, flat-roofed buildings that housed the National Animal Disease Center. Benton stepped down from the aircraft, dressed in camo gear and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Immediately, he was greeted by an elderly gentleman dressed in a lab coat, escorted by two armed-officers.
“Glad you could make it,” said the old man. His hair was white and thick, slicked back like a mobster. He wore silver-framed glasses and a tight grin. “I’m Dr Corvine. We spoke on the phone the other day.”
“Yes, sir,” said the soldier, shaking his hand. “Captain David Benton at your service, sir.”
“Nice to have you, Captain,” Corvine said and motioned for the two guards to retrieve his luggage from the aircraft. “Dr Albrecht wanted to come personally and give you a tour, but I’m afraid she’s a bit tied up at the moment. We didn’t expect you to arrive so early.”
Benton looked back at the dark clouds approaching from the west. The waves crashed against the sharp rock that bordered the island, spraying salt water into the air. “All due respect, Doctor. I didn’t have much of a choice. The storm is expected to last for days.”
“Ah, yes,” said Corvine, glancing toward the dark sky. “Quite common this time of year, I’m afraid, but no need to worry. Our facility is built to withstand the worst of Mother Nature. Come, I will show you to your room. Of course, you’ll be expected to stay on the island fulltime until the end of your term. Under no circumstances are you permitted to leave. I assume you read over the contract?”
“Affirmative, sir,” said Benton, following Corvine toward one of the buildings, a one-story, square structure, the size of a department store. “I understand and accept all the details of my contract. Whatever you need of me, sir, consider it done.”
“Good,” Corvine beamed. “I can see why the General recommended you. You’re a very well-praised man, Captain, and I mean that with the highest regard. I’ll have you know that not many are offered this sort of opportunity. You should consider yourself lucky.”
Benton took note of all the armed-guards patrolling the island, including the ones in boats, scouting the rocky ocean. It felt more like a fortress than a disease center.
He forced a smile. “Appreciate it, sir.”
“No need to blush,” Corvine teased. “It’s the truth, Captain. And something tells me you and I are going to become great friends.” He put a hand on his back, squeezed his shoulder. “I guess you can call this home now considering you’ll be here for the next three years. Welcome, Captain. Welcome to our family . . . Welcome to Operation Blackout.”
The accommodation Dr Albrecht and her team had set up for Benton was far more luxurious than he would’ve thought. Unlike the obscure, grim seascape outside the facility, inside was bright white, pristine and fixed with just about every amenity from a spa to a five star kitchen and personal chefs. The only thing it lacked was internet. Other than that, it was a place he could find himself enjoying compared to the meek, desolate, dark places he was used to. He dropped his duffel bag on his new bed, coated in a puffy goose down comforter and fresh linens. The room was contemporary but small, equipped with his own personal bathroom.
“I hope it meets your standards, Captain?” asked Corvine, showing him a closet bigger than the one back at his last base. “Due to strict rules, we have twenty-four hour service. You can either bring your meals back here, or we have plenty of onsite dining rooms on either side of the facility; feel free to take advantage of any one of them.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, Doctor” said Benton. “What is Operation Blackout? The mission profile wasn’t exactly specific.”
Benton noticed Corvine’s smile falter. Just the slightest.
“A man straight to the point,” said Corvine. He crossed his hands behind his back. “Though I’d love to tell you, Captain. The truth is I’m not in charge of the project, nor is it under my discretion to educate you on all its glorious aspects. I will leave that up to Dr Albrecht—”
Suddenly, something beeped. A small pager clipped to Corvine’s pocket. Benton didn’t realize people still used those in a world of modern technology. Apparently, he had a lot to learn on this island.
“Ah, here we go,” said Corvine, reading the message. “Just in time. Dr Albrecht’s ready to see you now.”
Dr Albrecht was a pleasant surprise, thought Benton upon first meeting her. She had dark, cropped hair, green eyes, and black glasses that framed the contour of her face. But her pretty smile wasn’t what took him by surprise the most. It was her age. She couldn’t have been any older than thirty-five. He’d never met a doctor, let alone a scientist, so young before. Not that he met many, but the ones he did were always old and vain, sort of like Corvine.
“I apologize for not being there during your arrival,” she said, speaking with a slight German accent. They were in her office, situated in another building on the southside of the island. Just like his quarters, everything was white and spotless. “Unfortunately, there was an emergency I had to tend to. I hope my colleague, Dr Corvine, showed you around?”
“He did,” Benton said, admiring the list of accolades hanging on the wall behind her glass desk. “You have a decent facility here, Doctor Albrecht. I wasn’t expecting something so . . .”
“Modish?” she suggested.
He didn’t know what that meant but agreed. He didn’t want to look stupid in front of this woman who was smiling at him, attractive but posh. She wasn’t a woman, he had to remind himself. She was his boss.
“Since Corvine’s already explained the basics,” she went on, “I’ll brief you on the rest. Operation Blackout is something we’ve been working on for quite some time, longer than the two of us put together. It started with my father and when he passed away eight years ago, I took over and from there it has been my baby. Your job is to oversee the protection of this project. If it should take a turn for the worse, or we fail to contain it, it is your job to eliminate any and all sources before it reaches the mainland.”
Contain and control, that was what Benton was good at. That’s what he was hired for; it was his job. Nothing Dr Albrecht said amazed him, not in the least. It wasn’t until she took him past the mooing cows and screaming monkeys, through a clinic of caged-dogs and rats, and into an observation room surrounded by one-way mirrors, that took him completely for a loop.
Two small children sat in a playroom. They were young, seven or eight by the looks of it, both with shaved heads and dressed in hospital gowns. They were playing with numbered-blocks, building a tower together. It wasn’t until the tower came tumbling down and the children squealed in laughter that he realized one of them was a girl.
Jesus. Kids. They were only kids—
“Magnificent, aren’t they? They are the first to be born within a lab instead of a womb here on Plum Island,” said Dr Albrecht, standing beside him, watching the children play. “They are by far our greatest success to date, the genetic key to unlocking immortality, the perfect specimen.”
“Who are they?” asked Benton.
“I say it’s time you met my children, Captain.” Albrecht glowed with the luminescence of a loving mother, smiling down at her children.
“Say hello to Adam and Eve.”
Chapter Two
SIXTY YEARS LATER . . .
"Darkness is upon us, as thick and grey and twisting as the winter clouds, and just as unyielding! Come, to take us! To claim us! To bury us in the sins of our forefathers, who sought to quench their thirst through the tears of their children!"
A circle of amused faces surrounded Old Man Arthur, preaching like a madman from his platform before the sanctuary, festooned by wreaths of fake flowers and colorful ribbons. A crown of wild, white hair flared out from behind his ears, fluttering like flaps in the wind as he scampered from one end of the platform to the other, dressed in robes of black.
"What is it they wanted?" he bellowed, panning a bony finger across the crowd. "What is it that our ancestors hoped to achieve through such madness? W
as it power? Was it a new beginning? Or was it an end?"
Karma’s dark eyes watched her grandfather from the back of the crowd, listening to the jeering whispers of the mob. There was a time when she looked just like him, until old age turned his black hair white and his dark eyes milky and left his ninety-three-year-old skin spotted and shriveled.
"Crazy Old Man Arthur!" someone shouted from the masses. "Where’s the watchmen when you need them?"
Old Man Arthur ignored them. "I'll tell you what they sought!" he continued, his rheumy eyes dancing off the fluorescent lights. "Creation! That is what our forefathers wanted! And with creation came death!"
The laughs got louder, the people no longer whispering, but patronizing him noisily.
"Tell us about the island again!" someone barked.
"And the twins, too!" said another.
More laughs followed. Karma had heard enough. She pushed her way through the crowd, elbowing this one and squeezing past that one and stepping on feet. Someone muttered a curse, but she ignored it. She stepped onto the platform, catching her grandfather by the elbow—
"Karma, my girl!" he cried when he saw her. “You’re just in time. I’m about to tell them about—”
“You’re not going to do anything, Pops,” Karma interjected. “Now let’s go.”
Her grandfather yanked his arm out of her grasp. “Go? But I haven’t told them yet! I have to warn them! They must know we’re not safe here! We’re not safe anywhere! We have to leave this place! Leave before they find us!”
The crowd laughed harder; they were relentless. Karma hooked her fingers around her grandfather’s wrist, firmer this time, and led him off the platform. Some people begged her to let him stay—the fun was only just beginning—but she wasn’t about to watch her poor, old grandfather make a fool out of himself. Again.
“Why did you do that?” asked her grandfather as she led him down the sleek, silver hallway toward the elevators, brightened by balls of light in the ceiling. It was a fifteen-level silo built deep beneath the earth, housing hundreds of survivors from a plague, the Black, that nearly wiped out all of humanity decades ago. It looked like a multi-tiered hive built underground. Perhaps that’s how it got its nickname the Nest.
The Black (The Black Trilogy Book 1) Page 1