Awakening: The First Tale of the Trine (Trine Series Book 1)

by D. B. West

We’re all told

  to let it slip away.

  Toe the line,

  You were born to buy.

  We’re more than your bottom line.

  As the song ended the entire building shook with thunderous applause and roars of approval. Katie wiped her sweat damp hair back from her forehead, hooking it over her ear as she looked around the audience. “Thanks everyone!” she said, taking a drink from a nearby water bottle. “Hey, I see a lot of familiar faces out there tonight, and some new ones too. We’re going to take a break for a moment while the Friendzone tunes up for the next song, we’ll be right back!”

  She propped her guitar against her amp, then hopped down from the stage as the crowd of young men parted respectfully for her. She stomped directly over to Chief Dufresne, stopping just out of arms reach. “What the hell are you doing here, Sam?” she demanded.

  “Katie, that’s no way to speak to your daddy,” Chief Dufresne said, spreading his arms. “Give me a hug.”

  Katie jumped back, as a circle formed around the pair. “Are you fucking drunk?” she hissed. “I haven’t seen you in ten years. Ten. Years. You remember? At the courthouse for the child support hearing?”

  Katie watched her father’s face struggle through a range of emotions. “You are drunk, aren’t you? You’d have to be, to show your face to me. You fuck my mom once two decades ago, walk out of her life, and stagger in here looking for hugs. Get the fuck out of here! Get the fuck out of my life! Forget you even fucking know me!”

  Chief Dufresne’s face sagged during the verbal assault, then hardened. “Katie, I’ve made mistakes. Please, you’re my daughter, and I wanted to tell you…”

  “Tell me what, you slimy fucking bastard? That you have cancer? Good, go fucking die. I’m not part of your life, and I. Don’t. Care.”

  Katie turned to walk back to the stage. Chief Dufresne leaped forward, grabbing her left forearm with a victorious grin. The smile faltered as he realized that the skin on her arm was completely covered by the leather straps she was wearing. Before he could shift his grip, Katie stepped to the side, then smashed the heel of her boot into his left knee.

  The Chief’s leg gave out as his kneecap shifted, dropping him down to one knee. Katie jerked her left arm free, then spun, landing a kick on the Chief’s jaw that sent him crashing to the floor. Cheering erupted from the gathered audience, as the bouncer pushed his way through the crowd.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for years. Remember this until the day you finally suck your last filthy breath. You have no daughter.” Katie spit as she took a step back, while Chief Dufresne waved a hand feebly in her direction.

  “Katie, this guy causing you trouble?” the bouncer asked as he pushed his way through the crowd.

  “He used to, Mitch,” Katie replied. “I’m over it. Can you get him out of here?”

  “Gladly. Come on, old man.” Mitch grabbed Chief Dufresne by the arm, jerking him to his feet. “Hell, Katie, I’m gonna put you to work on the stage and at the door, you keep this up.” Mitch chuckled.

  The Chief had a knot forming on the side of his head, but appeared to come to his senses as he was staggered toward the door. “Always the hard way with these humans,” he grimaced.

  “You say something, old man?” Mitch asked, shoving him out the front door.

  “Yes,” the Chief replied, turning back to the bouncer as he straightened his jacket. “Your shoes are on fire.”

  “What the hell are you…OH SHIT!” Mitch screeched as the flames dancing around the laces of his tennis shoes erupted, spreading up his jeans and shirt in a flash before enveloping his hair. Staggering backwards into the club, he crashed into a billboard covered in flyers for upcoming shows, igniting it as well.

  Pulling his shirt up to cover his face, Chief Dufresne concentrated on the flame he had created. Mitch thrashed and rolled in the entryway, screaming and spreading the fire across the carpet just inside. The billboard roared into an inferno, flames licking the ceiling then raging across the interior of the club, spreading across the entire expanse and down the walls in only seconds.

  A tangle of screaming bodies came pouring out of the entrance, sweeping the Chief away from the door as smoke began to obscure the area. Letting the mass of struggling humanity carry him out into the parking lot, he ducked his head and rushed back to his truck. He needed to be away from here before anyone who might recognize him arrived.

  This encounter had not gone as well as he had hoped, but fortunately this area was what the humans called a ‘target rich environment.’ He had already felt another drain in the aether, somewhere to the east. Joining the flow of traffic rushing away from the blazing tavern, he focused his senses on the powerful signal. As he pulled away, he paused only briefly to yank the vehicle’s onboard GPS unit and tracking device from the dash, tossing it into the street.

  …

  Back in his cell at the FBI’s headquarters, Zion’s face was grim. He had not foreseen the Dufresne’s father-daughter relationship causing such a problem, but he was confident that his new friends would provide him another opportunity to bring her into the fold very soon.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Friday, August 3rd, 06:32 EST.

  President Christopher Clark, Washington D.C.

  President Clark was sitting in the annex to the Situation Room, sipping coffee as he reviewed the reports from yesterday’s recovery efforts. “At least the money we’ve sunk into FEMA is paying some dividends,” he sighed, glancing over at Scott. “Have you slept at all?”

  “No sir. Unfortunately, we’ve had other reports coming in from Director Spencer, in addition to the updates on the recovery efforts. There have been a number of troubling developments in the area around Greensboro overnight.”

  “All right, tell me about them,” the President ordered.

  “The joint chiefs of staff are already reviewing the information as well, and will be sending their recommendations shortly. First, a renowned surgeon named Dr. Franklin Roman, who was on site assisting the wounded yesterday, died last night. Initial reports indicate that it was likely of natural causes, but an autopsy will be conducted immediately due to his presence at ground zero. We will keep you updated on any findings regarding his passing.”

  “Next,” Scott continued “Director Spencer reports that his agents were able to secure a variety of surveillance and cell phone footage showing that one of the first responders to the hospital explosion, a local fire chief named Samuel Dufresne, was involved in a fatal fire soon after leaving the disaster area last night.”

  “He was killed in a fire? That’s unfortunate but…” President Clark trailed off as Scott raised a hand.

  “No sir, I’m sorry, let me clarify,” Scott said. “I’ve compiled the footage that the FBI team recovered for your review. Chief Dufresne appears to have left the disaster area after his unit assisted in the recovery efforts yesterday, then gone to a local nightclub in the Greensboro area. While there, reports indicate he was in a confrontation with a woman identified as his biological daughter, Katie Dufresne. The Chief was escorted out of the nightclub, and then appears to have set fire to the building. After the blaze was contained, it was found that over a dozen people were killed, and several dozen others were treated for injuries.”

  “Have the police found out why he would do such a thing? Was this some sort of domestic issue, or….?” President Clark asked, aghast.

  “Sir, Chief Dufresne has not yet been apprehended. A manhunt is underway, but at this time his whereabouts are unknown. We have no idea what may be motivating him.” Passing the President a tablet, Scott continued. “Now this is where it gets truly strange.”

  The President raised an eyebrow as he took the tablet. Reviewing the report, he said, “So the daughter, this Katie Dufresne, she survived the fire?”

  “She did sir, though the medical personnel treating her are at a loss as to explain how. After the blaze was extinguished, she was found in the rubble amongst the charred remains o
f other victims. She was unconscious, presumably from smoke inhalation, and was taken to a local trauma unit for evaluation.”

  “It’s a miracle…and I don’t believe in miracles,” President Clark said. “Do we have any idea how she survived?”

  “Her family was interviewed at the hospital. When the subject was found, she had no clothing, and no hair…anywhere. Additionally, her finger and toe nails had been burned down to the nail bed. The plate, the dead portion, was incinerated. The family assured the doctors that when they last saw the subject, she did in fact have hair, leading the medical team to believe that the flames consumed all of her non-living tissue, while the rest…”

  “They think that her living tissue is fire proof?” President Clark asked incredulously. “Did they test it themselves?”

  “The family was unwilling to allow such tests,” Scott said. “You mentioned the word ‘miracle,’ which they have been using liberally. The subject was being treated for inhalation injuries and exhaustion. At the time of this report, she was still unconscious. Director Spencer, as you can see in his brief, had a variety of concerns. In order to address those, once he was able to verify that the subject was medically stable, he had her moved.”

  “That’s a good idea, for her security and that of the hospital. We don’t need any more incidents at medical facilities while we sort this out. What is Director Spencer planning?”

  “As you know, the FBI headquarters in Greensboro is across the street from the county’s jail. They share an underground access tunnel, allowing them to use the solitary holding cells, laboratories, and medical facilities. The aliens in custody are being held there, and Director Spencer is having Ms. Dufresne transferred there for observation and testing.”

  “How did the family respond to this?” the President asked.

  “Not well, at first. Once it was explained that this transfer was for her safety the mother acquiesced. I spoke with Director Spencer earlier, and we are treating the subject as though she is in protective custody. Guards have been assigned to her, and he assured me that she will be given excellent care. Once she is able, we will see if she is agreeable to some testing so we can try to figure out how she survived, and what this means in light of our current…predicament.”

  “What do you think, Scott? Did Director Spencer give you any other feedback, or any other information on how this all ties together? It has to be related to the appearance of these creatures yesterday.”

  “The Director agrees, and as you suggested yesterday, he has expanded the quarantine zone around the hospital while the rescue efforts are ongoing. General Hubbard is now on-site as well, coordinating the National Guard. More troops are being brought in hourly, and we should have several thousand soldiers and their hardware in the area by noon today.” Scott pulled up the disposition of the inbound forces for the President to review.

  “How are the locals taking it? Surely they’ve noticed such a large military presence amassing. Are they asking questions?” President Clark asked.

  “The local population has been incredibly supportive, and is quite pleased by the influx of soldiers. We’ve explained that they are there to provide relief assistance and prevent looting in the area,” Scott said.

  “Looting? Has there been a problem with that?”

  “No, actually the civilian population has been incredibly well-behaved. In order to help justify such a large military presence some civil unrest was manufactured. Nothing dramatic,” Scott said as the President scowled. “Just a few bricks thrown through windows, things like that, for the evening news’ reels.”

  “I despise those kinds of tactics,” President Clark snarled. “I’ll talk to the Pentagon about this later. For now, find this fire chief, and have Director Spencer keep us updated on the status of this Dufresne woman. And have the Director get more information from these damned aliens! Not this pseudo-religious swill about souls and aether they’ve been spewing, but some concrete facts about what the hell they are doing here! I’m not concerned with this garbage about a threat from some nebulous ‘Abbadon’ race. We need to know what the three that are here right now intend, and why everything is going to hell around them!”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Friday, August 3rd 07:35 EST.

  Delmont Jeffries, Greensboro, N.C.

  “You want some coffee?” Delmont offered the agent sitting on his couch. He couldn’t remember the name of the fellow, or his partner outside, who had taken over watch once Donaldson and Stanley brought him home last night.

  “Yes, please,” the agent responded. Noticing that Delmont was fully dressed in khakis, shirt, and tie, he inquired, “Were you planning on going into work today?”

  “Of course,” Delmont replied. “I missed yesterday with all this insanity, and in my line of work, every day you miss leaves a mess that takes a week to clean up. If I miss today too…” he shook his head dolefully. “Well, trust me, it wouldn’t be pretty. I’m not real fond of the work, but it pays the bills.”

  Delmont poured a tall mug of coffee, then let it sit on the counter while he dug his aspirin out of the cabinet. The doctor told him to take one a day for his blood pressure, but most mornings he needed two for his head. He had cracked the wax on a fresh bottle of Makers Mark last night after he got home, and taken the bottle to bed with him. The headache it gave him was a small price to pay for the peace it brought to his dreams. He shook two pills into his hand, then tossed them into his mouth, biting down on them so the bitter burst would help clear his morning fog. Taking a swallow of his coffee, he said, “So you boys going to drive me to work today and keep an eye on me?”

  “Yes, sir,” the agent replied. “We will take you to your office, where Agents Donaldson and Stanley will return for day duty. We will be back tonight, and continue rotating until…well, until all of this clears up.”

  “Sounds good. I want to thank you and your partner again for all of this. I have seen some crazy things in my life, but this just beats the hell out of me. I’m going to try to keep on moving forward as normally as I can, and if any more of this alien rigmarole comes up, well, I’m just going to let you gentlemen deal with all that for me. Sound good to you?”

  “We’ll make sure of it, sir. We’ll be there while you go about your day, always within shouting distance. I’ll let the team know the plan, and when you’re ready, come on out and I’ll walk you to the car.” After filling up two of Delmont’s travel mugs, the agent stepped outside and shut the door to his apartment.

  Unplugging his cell phone from its charger, Delmont noticed that he had a text from his wife Sandra. They had been separated for almost a year, and most of their communication centered around their daughter, Kayla. The text read, “Please let us know you’re ok this morning. We’re both worried about you.”

  Delmont typed in a quick reply. “I’m fine, on my way to work. Tell Kayla I’ll call tonight.” The wording of Sandy’s text filled him with a warm optimism. He wanted his family back more than anything, but Sandy had made it clear that he needed to get help with his “issues.” She believed that medicines and therapy could help him keep out the guilt and the memories that waited for him in the darkness. He knew the truth. There was no hiding from the things he had done, and the bodies he had left behind. No amount of talking would calm those restless dead, and pharmaceutical companies didn’t make a pill for a damaged soul.

  “The devil does, though,” Delmont said quietly, looking at the bottle of whiskey on his night stand. The bottle left him impotent and ill as a hornet, but it brought him peace for a few hours at a time.

  Once he was sure he had everything, Delmont locked up his apartment and went down to meet the agents at their black Lincoln Navigator. It was identical to the one he had been brought home in last night, inside and out. “You boys know where my office is at?” Delmont asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the driver replied. “The law office at the corner of Greene Street?”

  “That’s it. It’s a big old three story b
uilding, you can’t miss it,” Delmont said, settling comfortably into the back seat. “Just drop me off out front. You said the other boys would be coming to meet us over there and keep watch out, then bring me home tonight?”

  “Yes, sir” the driver replied.

  Realizing these fellows weren’t long on conversation, Delmont lapsed into silence. The agent in the passenger seat turned on the radio after a few minutes, dialing in a classic rock station. “House of the Rising Sun” by the Animals set a somber tone as they pulled up to his office building.

  Delmont waved to the agents as he slammed the door of the SUV, then looked forlornly at the drab brick building which housed the law firm where he was employed. “This is my house of the rising sun,” he mumbled as he waved his key-fob over the scanner, causing the bolts in the door to retract. “The only time I see the goddamned sun is when I’m coming into this hellhole. My days are spent in sin and misery. And we’ve ruined the lives of many a poor boy, haven’t we?” he whispered, as he spotted one of the attorneys pulling into the lot in his Porsche.

  Delmont hustled up the back stairs, the fastest way to get to what he considered this building’s finest feature. In the back breakroom, management, in a fit of almost unheard of generosity, had seen fit to spring for a Keurig. He filled a cup of French vanilla, and soon after settled into his windowless interior office to review all of the messages that had accumulated in his absence yesterday.

  “Only twenty-six voicemails after missing a day?” he mumbled in surprise, pressing the delete button repeatedly on his phone. “Mrs. Brinlow must be taking her Ambien finally. Usually that lady can’t go a night without at least a dozen messages.”

  Perking up, he logged into his computer and was pleasantly surprised by the outpouring of support in his co-workers e-mails. Usually all of the legal assistants were completely autonomous, and required little interaction with one another. Putting the incredible events he had been a part of yesterday out of his mind, he settled in to focus on the routine business at hand. The familiarity of his job as a paralegal helped calm his troubled mind. It always had, and was one of the main reasons he stayed in this role, as he absolutely despised the narcissism and entitlement of the clients.