Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Spoiler-Alert!
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Previously...
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 Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Chapter Sixty
Chapter Sixty-One
Chapter Sixty-Two
Chapter Sixty-Three
Chapter Sixty-Four
What Happens Next?
How To Help
About the Author
FROM AWAY - Series One - Book Five
Copyright © 2017 D. Campbell MacKinlay
Pearlcasting Press - a division of Pearlcasting Productions.
First publication: March 2017
All rights reserved. A work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic or otherwise, without the author’s written consent.
ISBN 978-0-9948359-8-7 (ebook)
dekemackeyjr.com
BOOK ONE - FREE! / BOOK TWO
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For Dr. Lorraine Bliss-Mackey, who
- to her eternal credit - hasn’t killed me yet.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This book would not have been remotely possible without the love, unwavering support and constant encouragement of my partner, Dr. Lorraine Bliss-Mackey. Her understanding and the sacrifices she has been willing to make were nothing less than crucial, and the need to live up to her expectations is the engine driving the entire process.
For putting up with general absenteeism, locked studio doors, shushing, hold-on-a-seconding and my more-or-less constant state of semi-distraction, I thank my long-suffering daughter, Pistachio. When, one day, she reads these books, I hope she thinks they were at least somewhat worth the trouble.
Eternal gratitude to early readers, Carac Allison, Greg Kovacs, John Luciano, Brian Sharp, and Momma Mackey for their insight, enthusiastic support and hawk-eyed typo-catching.
Special thanks to king of the sys-admins, Adrian Stiegler, without whom my online presence would be highly improbable.
PREVIOUSLY...
SYLVIE LESGUETTES stopped a scuba-diving SABOTEUR who was attempting to destroy a pulser tower.
Unable to fix the damaged pulser on his own, the ailing ELECTRICIAN, NORMAN SUDDER adopted MAX HUBERT as his apprentice. Mid-job, Max was set upon by GILLIES - the monstrous sea creatures who once attacked the island - but managed to replace the pulser. Eradicating the gillies and saving MOSSLEY ISLAND from further assault.
At ST. NEOT’S CONVENT, DAWN LESGUETTES and her father, REN were reunited with PAULA FIELDS, now miraculously recovered from life-threatening injuries. While she toured Dawn around the unusual facilities, Ren ran into his own father, who forced him to stand trial for BREAKING THE CIRCLE. Found guilty, Ren was sentenced to: The BELL.
Visiting his mother at THE HOME, TREVOR COATES met GARDNER HENDRICKS, who agreed to help bring down the OLD MEN. Leading him to a sub-basement, Gardner revealed a giant aquarium where a pair of aging gillies were held in captivity and regularly milked for their venom: A defensive neurotoxin more commonly known as GOO.
After losing her other arm to DR. RAMSEY’S sadistic experiments, WANDA LESGUETTES escaped his secret laboratory, causing its utter destruction. Soon caught by SHERIFF SCHILLING she was delivered to MISS PHILIPS at the Home, where her brother-in-law, Trevor could only watch as Wanda was dangled - as a midnight snack - over the gilly tank.
Following his wife through a maze of subterranean caverns, MR. HUNTER finally found the little woman at its center, injured and poisoned by booby traps. Returning to the surface, they encountered DEPUTY NETTY HUBERT, waiting to take them in for questioning after her investigation into the mysterious holes dug around the island revealed the couple to be: ‘Rock-star archaeologists’ searching for pirate treasure buried on the island hundreds of years earlier.
With the help of her grandfather, MARTIN LESGUETTES, Dawn searched old newspapers in the lighthouse attic for a name and date suggested by the WAXES (in lieu of cryptic advice). She found both beneath a photo identical to one she’d seen framed in MOTHER AGATHA’S office. Shocked at the sight of it, Martin came to a realization about Dawn’s origins and suffered a massive heart attack, collapsing in her arms.
Tight-lipped until Sylvie joined the interrogation, the pulser saboteur happily revealed the whereabouts of ROSCOE PLATT. Rushing to his aid, Sylvie found her old friend in severe distress, but was pulled away by Max, just before squirming eels burst out of Roscoe’s distended belly, attacking anyone within reach.
AND NOW...
CHAPTER ONE
After the blackness, he returns.
Blood pumping again. Gasping for air. Chest pierced by the greatest pain he’s ever known. Which is saying something.
She’s there. The girl. What’s her name again? Kneeling next to him. Looking down. Hands braced against his chest. Paused mid-compression.
“Grampy?” Her name for him. His granddaughter. Some sweet, this girl. She bites her lip. Searches his face. Tears flowing freely. “Can you talk to me?”
Of course I can, ya stunned arse.
But no words come. Instead: A strangled moan. Drooling, to add to the indignity. What’s happening? He tries to roll to one side. To rise. Nothing works as it should. The left half of him doesn’t respond at all.
“Don’t try to get up. It’s okay. Please.” She drops her weight on him. Not amounting to much. Enough to hold him in place. Keep him from hurting himself. She’d saved him. This girl from away. Who’d entered their lives when all hope had departed. After Aaron...
He shudders. Remembering: His grandson is gone. And this girl... That’s when she’d arrived. Not a replacement. No consolation prize, just... More. More life when life seemed to have concluded.
She sits back on her haunches. Grabs a phone from the floor. Continues a conversation he hadn’t known was underway. “He’s-- he’s awake. But he’s not saying anything. Like, he can’t. His mouth’s moving, but...” She examines his face. “Yeah, everything’s kind of drooping to one--” She sniffles. Nods. “Okay, I’ll try.” She leans forward. “Grampy? Do you know where we are?”
He sees the ceiling come into focus behind her: Wooden rafters. A bare hanging bulb. Surrounding them: Piles. Papers. Boxes. Merryweather’s various collections of ephemera. Of course he knows where they are: The attic. But what are they doing there?
He grimaces. She’d been searching through the past. Looking for something. From so long ago it shouldn’t matter anymore. But it does. What is it? What had she been looking for? He vaguely remembers a newspaper clipping. Not its significance.
More questions from the girl. Her words becoming fuzzy. Anything she wants, he wants her to have. But right now - whatever she’s asking - it’s simply beyond his ability to grant. As far from his grasp as her name.
Her face fills his vision, now. Reflecting a distant memory. Originating long before she existed. Back when that face had belonged to someone else, he’s sure of it. The fog hangs heavy in his mind, until a small flash clears it away: Light glinting on a silver charm. Hanging from a chain around the girl’s neck.
And all at once, the image comes to him: A face in a window. In a dying town. Her face. Still so pretty. So human, when everyone around her had changed. Become something... Other. And Michael had asked: Didn’t that mean she must be okay? That the plague had somehow passed her by? Shouldn’t we save her? Remove her from this wicked place?
No, he’d replied. It couldn’t be risked. Not without endangering the whole island.
Just like that: Sentencing her to share the fate of her town. That poor, innocent girl peering out her window. He’d hated himself for it. But not as much as he’d feared what had overtaken Adderpool.
And now, she’s returned. Here she is: Looking down at him in the form of his granddaughter. That same face... Absolutely identical. Skipping over decades to reappear. Wearing the same charm on the same chain.
His aching heart races. As it had when the revelation collapsed him in the first place. Dropping him to that very attic floor. When all at once, he’d realized: He’d lost a battle he hadn’t even known he was fighting. One set in motion a half-century earlier. When he’d believed the war was won. Thinking the enemy defeated, but in reality? They’d just gone into hiding. How many moves ahead had they planned in order to make this happen? How could anyone hope to fight an enemy who thought in terms of generations? What else had they been weaving while they’d appeared to be wiped out?
The girl is shouting now. At him. Into the phone. He doesn’t understand. Hasn’t the strength left to struggle. Maybe it’s for the best. He’d taken his shot. Done what he could. No small amount. He’d beaten back the enemy. Won the island an era of peace. And if that was now over?
The girl dissolves into darkness as he lets his eyes close. Content to never see another sunrise.
Ah! That’s her name: Dawn. His sweet granddaughter. Whose coming had renewed his hope. And quite possibly doomed them all.
CHAPTER TWO
Leaping over fallen comrades, Max drags Sylvie along the beach. Gripping her wrist tightly. Forcing her to run. Away from Roscoe and Burl. Her life-long friends. Their bodies now flopped ingloriously across one another. What remains of them.
On all sides, people drop as the worm creatures attack. Flailing as the things burrow into their bodies. Tear up their insides. Burst free from their ruined corpses in order to speed after their next target: Whoever is closest.
The lucky few who ran first are already out of reach. On the staircase. Racing up the cliff wall. Toward the lighthouse above. Banking on the worms’ inability to follow vertically. But given how quickly the creatures propel themselves with those thin whipping tails? It might not be surprising to see one take flight.
The man they call Fat Antoine is six steps up when he gets hit. Two of the two-foot long monsters tunnel into his backside. Shrieking, all three hundred and fifteen pounds goes down. Grabbing wildly at his rear. The thrashing bulk of him blocking the narrow steps. Cutting off the escape route entirely.
“Shit!” Max turns away from the staircase. Yanks Sylvie in a new direction. Aiming for the only other option: The boathouse.
“Max!” Norman stands in the doorway. Beckoning. “Get yer starn in gear! They’re nearly upon ye!”
Max beelines across the deep sand. Racing toward the weather-beaten building. All but throwing Sylvie ahead of him. Inside, he pivots. Slams the door shut. Throws himself against it for good measure. Jarred by smaller impacts as the worms collide with the other side. Scraping and scratching. Trying their darnedest to get in.
Panting, Max looks to the Electrician. “Just how close were they?”
Norman points to the floor. “Y’can see it fer yerself, b’y.”
There - in its last autonomic moments - it bites at the air: The first three inches of one of the creatures. Bisected by the door. Reduced to a ring of gnashing razor teeth on a short stem.
Max looks to Sylvie. “These are new, right? Because no one ever said anything about--”
“They’re new.” Sylvie watches the thing writhe. Then, moves away. To the window.
Outside: The sand is littered with bodies. Her friends. Co-workers. Roscoe. Burl. Even a few Old Men. At least eight victims she can make out clearly. It had seemed like more. She clenches her jaw. No time for feelings. Later, she’ll mourn. Hard and deep. For now: Danger remains imminent.
Behind Max, the door rattles. The creatures not giving up on getting in. He keeps his back against it. Legs braced. Looking to his fellow inmates: “What do you see out there? More of those things?”
“No...” Sylvie scans the beach. Waves lap the shore. Clouds cross the sky. Nothing else seems to be moving at all. Not that the worms’ pearlescent skin would stand out against the nearly white sands. “Wait... The bodies...”
Norman joins her. Squints out the window.
All across the beach, the corpses have begun to move. Chests expanding. Contracting. A ragged imitation of life. Almost like breathing at first. Becoming a fluttering vibration. “Lard tunderin’. It’s like St. Vitus dance out there.”
Max chokes at the thought. “They’re not still alive, are they?”
Sylvie shakes her head. “It’s the worms. Moving inside them.”
Norman tries to make sense of it. “They took down whatever was movin’. ’Til there wasn’t anythin’ left. Now, the lil’ fockers’re finishin’ what meals they begun.”
Sylvie tears herself away from the grisly sight. “Is it all of them, you think?”
“Not quite.” Max pats the door. “We’ve got at least three party-crashers, here.”
“Other than those...” She puzzles it through. “Is this what they do? They don’t just attack and move on. They go back... Eat their fill, first?”
“Why? What’re ye thinkin’?”
“I’m thinking: This might be our last chance, before they spread across the island.” Suddenly, Sylvie has decided. “Fire.” She crosses the boathouse. “We’ve got flamethrowers in the arsenal, right?” She turns on the radio. Lifts the receiver.
Norman catches her hand. Holds it in place. “Stay the course, ducky. Those folks out there have families. How’re they gonna feel, havin’ naught left to bury?”
“Better than they will with those things eating their way through their intestines, I’d bet.” She wrenches her hand away. “Besides, what’ll be left when those things get done with ‘em? Already, we’re not looking at any open caskets out there, Norman.”
The older man wants to a
rgue. Can’t.
“We’ve got to cut them off. Here and now. While there’s still a chance.” She selects the tower frequency. “Boathouse to Tower One. This is Sylvie, over.” She turns back to Norman. “Besides, we’re going to need a story for the gen-pop, aren’t we? Fire’s as good an explanation as any.”
“The pulser...” Max is looking at the floor. Intense. “Norman... Can we get it running?”
The electrician looks to the mangled machine sitting open-faced on his worktable. “Hard to say fer certain. Prob’ly. But why?”
“Because...” At his feet, what’s left of their decapitated intruder has decomposed into wet jelly. Quickly liquifying. “These worm things. It seems like they work like the fish things.” He looks up. Smiling grimly. “So maybe they’ll die like them, too.”
CHAPTER THREE
As yet, neither have spoken.
In identical rooms. Enclosed by featureless brick walls.
He leans forward. Elbows on the metal table.
She leans back. Slumped against the metal chair
Each wears a disinterested expression. Both stare into space.
On their respective tables: Bottled waters - unopened. Power bars - uneaten. Blue ballpoint pens lain across fresh yellow pads - ignored. Despite requests, neither have written down any personal info. Nor their stories.
They simply wait.
~
Netty sips her coffee. Watches.
Closed-circuit feeds. Black and white monitors. One for each interrogation room. Mr. and Mrs. Hunter kept separate.
“Sure take the remaining silent seriously, don’t they?” Deputy Chartrain stands in the doorway.
“That they do.” Netty sighs. Empties her mug. “Keep an eye a sec while I refuel.”
“Why? You expecting one of ‘em to break into song?” Chartrain backs out. Allows Netty to exit before taking her place in the tight observation room. Closer quarters than either room being observed. One window, at least. Facing a narrow alley.
FROM AWAY ~ BOOK FIVE Page 1