“Where’s Ben?” Varra asked, searching the empty pews. She was just about the only one who cared, besides Karma and her mother. No one else asked.
“Off somewhere,” Karma told her. “Probably stirring up trouble, you know him.”
Varra looked disappointed. Karma noticed the extra curls in her hair and wondered if it had something to do with Ben. She wouldn’t be surprised.
“Give him my condolences, will you?”
Karma promised she would, finished saying her goodbyes, and headed down to level four with her mother to collect her grandfather’s belongings. There wasn’t much. Her grandfather was a light packer; he always had been. They left his clothes in the drawers—knowing they would be passed down to another hapless soul—cleaned out his closet, fit everything into one box, and took it home, not once thinking about it or bothering to sort through it. Most likely, it would get stowed away next to her father’s things in her mother’s closet.
That night, Karma tossed and turned in bed. She couldn’t sleep. Her brain wouldn’t let her. Other than a few missing marbles, her grandfather seemed perfectly healthy when she dropped him off on level four, but Dr Carter said old age was like that, unpredictable and as fickle as a baby. By morning, her grandfather’s corpse would be taken from the morgue to the furnaces down in the Pit, below level one, where his body would be burned, and his ashes released into the Dead World—and the Nest, the Harper’s, the rest of them, would go on living as though he never existed. A tear rolled down her cheek, staining her pillow. One day you were remembered, the next forgotten.
After several hours of shifting from side to side and fidgeting with her pillow, Karma crawled out of bed and scampered into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. She saw the box of her grandfather’s things resting on the table and rummaged through it. There wasn’t much there: a baseball hat, so worn she couldn’t make out the team; a few old books covered in dust; a couple plaques from his army days, and a rusty, black box about the size of a shoebox. She took it with her back to her bedroom, figuring it was full of a bunch of old souvenirs he left behind. Maybe she could keep one of them, a little memento of her grandfather.
She shut the door and placed the box on her bed. It looked old, totally dated with its corroded latch and crusty screws. It took her a few good tugs just to pry the lid apart. Inside, was a mess of ribbons and pins, ones just like the watchmen wore, medals and gold stars. There was an old flag, too; red, white and blue, folded into a perfect triangle, and behind it, was a picture. It was an old photograph: Her grandfather, in his thirties or early forties, by the looks of it, stood in a laboratory, dressed in his military uniform, surrounded by people in lab coats. A dark-haired woman stood beside him; her face a blank stare. An older man, with white hair and glasses, stood on the other side of him, a hand over her grandfather’s shoulder.
Who were these people? She flipped the photograph over and found a date written on the back: April sixteenth. It must have been before the outbreak. She put the picture aside and found more of them just like it: One of a dog in a cage, staring at the camera, fearfully, head bowed, eyes glowing. A newspaper article was clipped behind it. The headline read, “Montauk Monster! Mysterious Creature Washes Ashore!” Beneath it was a picture of some hideous creature with a bare beak and four legs, dead in the sand. It reminded her of the Black, a virus that didn’t just kill people but turned them into something inhuman, something they still had no cure for.
Underneath the photographs was a folder.
“Operation Blackout?” she said aloud, reading the fine print on top. It was faded but legible.
As for the rest of the documents, she couldn’t say the same. Most of the writing had completely worn off, making them nearly impossible to read, except for a few minor details, one of them being a name: CAPT. D. BENTON. She never heard of him and wondered if he was an old friend of her grandfather’s. She was just about to put it back in the box when she noticed something else, sitting on the very bottom of the box, something she recognized. It was a journal, but a different one from the night before. A single strap wrapped around its belly, keeping the pages neatly tucked inside; a few of them appeared to be missing. When she undid the strap, something fell out from between its pages. It was a letter, addressed to Captain Benton. She put it aside and opened the journal—there was that name again—Property of Capt. D. Benton, engrossed on the inside of the cover.
Who was this guy?
She turned to the first page and began to read:
My first few weeks at Plum Island revolved around Dr Albrecht and her strange experiments with the twins, Adam and Eve. Though I was never allowed inside the laboratory during the time of their ‘studies’, I had seen enough to know that there was nothing normal about them, especially the young boy, Adam, who stared at everyone, including myself, with such animosity that it turned my blood cold every time I looked into his dark eyes that were so brown, they were almost black. Nevertheless, I stayed in contact with General Harper. About once a week he would call or send word by messenger, whether it be by another guard or some deckhand delivering groceries and toiletries to the island. Letters would be passed on, words exchanged, and the message was always the same—keep watching. Watching for what, I didn’t know. But as the months rolled on, I began to realize that my mission had nothing to do with contain and control. It was something else entirely, and it wasn’t until one late night in July that I would discover, it was something otherworldly . . .
Chapter Four
TWO MONTHS BEFORE THE OUTBREAK . . .
Captain David Benton woke up in the middle of the night to the blaring of alarms, ringing throughout the entire compound, rattling the walls. He barely had time to grab his Beretta when his door slid open, and Corvine rushed in, still dressed in his nightclothes.
“Quick!” screeched Corvine, his glasses askew. “There’s been a breach! Come quick!”
Benton threw on his pants and followed Corvine out into the lobby, where everyone was gathered amidst the flashing, red lights, huddled together in confusion. Armed soldiers were there, too, guiding them into the recreation room. Albrecht was nowhere in sight.
“This way,” said Corvine, motioning him past the others. “It’s the laboratory. There’s been an accident.”
“What happened?” Benton asked.
Corvine rapt with fear. “One of the studies escaped from its cage. We have to find it before it does any more harm—”
“What do you mean any more harm?” questioned Benton warily.
Corvine didn’t answer. He swiped his keycard across the keypad near the entrance and led him outside, where the island was swarming with armed guards. The entire island was lit up with spotlights. A helicopter droned from above, searching the rocky shores and nearby water. They were looking for something—
“This way,” said Corvine. “Follow me. Quickly!”
Corvine led him past a compound where they kept all their livestock. Benton couldn’t believe his eyes: Cattle, dozens of them, laid slaughtered all over the ground, covered in deep gashes and missing chunks of flesh, like something had bit right through muscle and bone. Benton put a hand over his nose and mouth to filter out the stench. The smell was overwhelming, like a butcher shop. What the hell could do something like this? he wondered as he followed Corvine past a cow with its bottom jaw ripped off. On second thought, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
Corvine led him over to a steel door. “Watch my back,” he said as he punched in a code. The door hissed as the lock released, and like magic, the door slid open. A large metal ramp led down into a laboratory that looked like it had been obliterated—broken glass, torn papers, broken equipment, shattered to pieces, littered the floor. And that wasn’t the only thing: The twins, Adam and Eve, dressed in their matching hospital gowns, stood behind a clear partition, locked in some sort of cell, and what was stranger still, all four, clear walls were covered in deep gashes, like whatever had killed the cows was trying to get to th
e children.
“It’s bulletproof and unbreakable,” said Corvine of the children’s cell after Benton pointed out the obvious. “Dr Albrecht uses nothing but the best. Every precaution must be taken when it comes to her children.”
He led him over to a vent, where a busted lid sat crumbled on the floor. “There,” he said, pointing to the duct. “It got in through there.”
Benton used a chair as a stool and shone the flashlight inside the vent, claw marks and dents marked the shaft.
“Nothing,” he told Corvine as he hopped down from the chair. “Whatever it is, it’s gone now.”
“I need you to stay here in case it comes back,” Corvine instructed. “The children must be protected at all costs. I have to find Dr Albrecht. I assume you’ll be fine here on your own?”
Benton asked, “And what if it does comes back?”
“Adam and Eve are the only ones that matter,” said Corvine. “Kill it if you have to, by any means possible. Just don’t let it hurt the children.”
“Exactly what am I protecting them from?” said Benton, but Corvine was already rushing up the ramp and disappeared without so much as a glance back. The old man was panicked. He’d never seen him so upset.
He moved closer to the children’s cell, ready for anything. Or so he tried to tell himself. He brushed his fingers along one wall and felt the scratch marks; it was deeper than his fingers—
“Where’s Conner?” asked a tiny voice.
He looked down and saw the children standing there, staring at him.
Again, the girl asked, “What happened to Conner?”
It was the first time either one of them had spoken to him directly. Normally, they weren’t allowed to. Conner? The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. It took him several minutes before he remembered: Conner was the one who he replaced, the dead man’s job he had taken. He only knew because he had attended the soldier’s funeral.
Benton attempted his best at a smile and said, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. He took a vacation. Somewhere nice.”
The little girl frowned as her brother looked on, as still as a statue. She said, “They killed him, didn’t they? They killed him because he knew too much . . .”
Benton’s smile faded. What a strange thing for a little girl to say?
“What makes you think that?” he said. Conner died because he got sick. General Harper had told him so. But the little girl, Eve, so sweet and tender, only shrugged. Her shaved head made her look eerily like her placid brother.
“It’s just what they do,” the little girl said, meekly. “It’ll happen to you, too. You’ll see.”
Benton’s eyebrows creased. “What? Kill me?” he said. “They’re going to kill me?”
The girl shook her head. “No,” she murmured. “Everyone. They’re going to kill everyone—”
Just then, Corvine came bursting through the door with Dr Albrecht. She must have slept in her clothes, thought Benton. She was already decked in her lab coat, looking primped and primed as usual, not a raven-colored hair out of place. Immediately, the children grew rigid in her presence and slunk away, retreating to the back of their bulletproof cage. Albrecht came rushing over, scolding Corvine for leaving Benton alone with the children. He was shocked. It was the first time he was seeing this side of Albrecht, who always seemed so reserved and calm. Benton was ordered to return to his room, where he stayed for the rest of the night. After a lengthy and sleepless night, Albrecht came to him in the morning and apologized for her rude behavior, blaming it on the stress of losing one of her extraordinary studies. When Benton asked what the ‘study’ was, just like Corvine, she refused to answer the question other than say it was a ‘tragedy in the eyes of science.’
After that, Benton stopped asking questions and things seemed to return to normal, but then several weeks later, he got a visit—
“General Harper.” Benton shook his hand as his superior stepped down from the aircraft, ducking from the sweeping blades of the chopper. He was dressed in his hunter green uniform and cap. It was a rare sight, thought Benton. The General never visited in person. But the grimace on his face, told him it wasn’t good.
Once they were alone in Benton’s room, the General tossed a newspaper at him. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, Captain,” he growled. “This is why you’re here! To keep this stuff from happening!”
Benton unwrinkled the paper and read it: ‘Montauk Monster! Mysterious Creature Washes Ashore!’ Below it was a picture of some kind of creature; it looked like a mutated dog, bloated from drifting in the ocean, missing tufts of fur and strips of flesh, eaten away by fish. Its eyes were black and beady, its muzzle rotten to the bone, its teeth sharp and jagged. Benton stared at it. He didn’t understand what this had to do with him—
“Now I have to explain to my superiors why they shouldn’t hang me out to dry,” the General barked. “They trusted me to pick the right man for the job and I picked you. You have any idea what’s at jeopardy? If the public were to find out about Operation Blackout before its due time, we’d both be screwed—”
“Wait a second,” Benton said, “What does this have to do with Operation Blackout?”
The General’s lips tightened; he had said too much.
He softened his tone and said, “Let’s just hope I can convince them to keep you around. We fought many battles together, Captain, and you’ve never let me down. It’s imperative that I have someone here I can trust, but more importantly, it’s imperative I have someone here who can get the job done.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “Tell me, Captain, is that man still you?”
Benton looked down at the newspaper article and the gruesome thing plastered in the picture. Could this have been the thing they were looking for? he wondered of the night the island was searched. Could this be Operation Blackout? He thought of the little girl, Eve, and her warning, “Everyone. They’re going to kill everyone . . .”
Benton looked up from the newspaper, his jaw set in stone. “Of course, sir. Absolutely, I am.”
And just as he hoped, General Harper bought every single word of it.
Chapter Five
The Neon Plant, a small juice bar up on level nine, was packed, just about every table was crowded, including the bar that extended from one wall to the next, with a massive showcase of the most disgusting beverages one could imagine, including a wide range of vegetables from their hydro-farms, beets, carrots, kale, dandelions and radishes, anything you could blend in a mixer was there. Music—the same oldies they had played since the day Karma was a baby—pumped through tiny speakers along the ceiling. She hovered over her milkshake, a green concoction that smelled like lemon grass and pepper, staring at the table.
“Hello?” Varra waved a hand in front of her face. “Earth to Karma? Are you listening to me?”
Karma poked her head up, finding Varra glaring at her from across the table. The Neon Plant was just about the only place they could go to hang out, besides the pool or the theater. But there was only so many times she could watch the same movies over and over again. What could she say? There wasn’t much freedom when you lived in a fifteen level silo.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “What were you saying?”
Varra took a gulp of her carrot juice. “Seriously, Karma. Are you alright? You haven’t been yourself all day. I feel like I’ve been talking to a wall.”
“Just a lot on my mind, is all,” she said.
Varra gave her a funny look, but then softened. “Is it your pops?”
It had only been a few days since his passing, and as much as she missed him, it wasn’t his death that had her head in the clouds. Ever since she read his journal, she couldn’t get it out of her mind. And that wasn’t the only thing—
“Let me ask you something,” said Karma. She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. “You ever hear of something called Operation Blackout?”
“Operation what?” A smile beamed across Varra’s face. “What is that, a new ga
me or something?”
Karma waited for a group of kids to pass, carrying a board game over to one of the tables. Once they were out of earshot, she went on.
“What about a Captain Benton?” she asked. “You ever hear of him?”
Varra shook her head, her face twisted in quandary. “Should I have?”
Karma wrapped her fingers around her drink. She hadn’t touched it since they sat down. “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “I think I may be going crazy.”
Varra got up from her seat and scooted next to her. “Talk to me,” she said, throwing an arm around her friend. “You know you can tell me anything.”
After much debate, Karma decided to confess something she hadn’t told anyone, not even her mother.
“I found this journal,” she whispered. “I think it belonged to my grandfather, but it was under a different name. It had all these things, these stories, talking about the island and the twins and this crazy scientist, Dr Albrecht. I think . . . it’s about the Black. I think it was deliberate.”
“What do you mean deliberate?” questioned Varra.
Karma looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening and said, “What do you know about the Black?”
Varra looked at her like she was crazy. Everyone knew about the Black, and there wasn’t a soul in the silo that didn’t blame it for humanity’s downfall. Sixty years ago, when the Black reared its ugly head, is when the silos were built, to house them from the virus and protect them from those who became infected. Flesh Rotters, is what they called them. And though she’d never seen one in person, living her entire life inside the stuffy walls of the Nest, she heard many stories from those who had. Inhuman, was one of the words she heard most often to describe the mutated creatures that wandered the Dead World. Monstrous. Bestial. Things from your worst nightmares. Several years ago, she once overheard a watchman confessing to killing one. He didn’t even know it was human until it was dead.
“I don’t understand what you’re asking me,” said Varra. She looked at her like she had three heads. Maybe she did. That or she was losing it.
The Black (The Black Trilogy Book 1) Page 3