Fade to Grey (Book 2): Darkness Ascending (20 page)

“
Where do they point
?”

“
Ah, let me try and picture this for you .  . . OK,
on the store, there’s a camera that picks up from the two small outbuildings
over to the road, so it catches the diesel pump as well. There’s another camera
out front pointing straight at the gas pumps, and then the last one catches the
edge of the boat launch, the road out front, and just a sliver of the gas
pumps. You with me so far
?”

“
Yep
.”

“
OK, on my office there’s a camera—the one right
above your head—that faces towards the store. Another one is on the backside of
my office and faces towards the warehouse. The last one is also on the
back—actually just around the corner—and it gets a wedge from where my driveway
cuts off of the marina all the way over to the boat ramp. On a clear day you
can see the horizon over at the campground on that one
.”

“
Any of them have night vision capability
?”

“
All of them, but the range is pretty sucky. On a
dark night without any external light source, you’ll get a clear picture out to
maybe thirty feet. Out to the fifty foot mark, you can see, but it’s pretty
fuzzy. Beyond that it’s black. Normally it’s not a problem since we have the
big mercury vapor lights at the boat launch, as well as other spotlights and
whatnot scattered around the marina. Of course, they ain’t been on for awhile
now, so we’re back to suck central—but none of that matters since there’s no
power
.”

“
OK, thanks
.”

“So much for catching a break,” Eric grumbled.

“Maybe not right now, but there might be a way to
figure out how we can use them later.”

Eric nodded at Sam as he slid past and positioned
himself near a window. Michelle leapfrogged past him and pressed her back
against the wall by the second window. “On two and a half?” she teased.

Eric smiled as he whispered, “One . . . two . . .
three.”

On three he spun and pressed the light flat against
the glass of the window, flooding the inside front room of the office with a
white glow. Michelle’s weapon light added to the illumination—the bright chrome
barrel of the shotgun holding steady less than a foot away from the glass.
Nothing moved. Another few moments of searching through the windows kept their
score at zero.

Eric quietly slid over to the door and tested the
knob. It didn’t move.

“I hope one of you has the key.”

Sam stepped forward, “I do supposedly, although I
don’t know which one it is.”

It turned out to be the first key that Sam tried, and
the door opened silently inward.

“Max, come here,” Eric called out softly.

Max trotted over and paused in the doorway, his head
shifting and bobbing as he peered into the room beyond.

“Let’s go buddy . . . go get ‘em.”

Max’s bushy black tail curled partway over his
haunches as he stepped into the building and moved haltingly past Walter’s
desk. Eric followed quietly, searching left to right with the Colt and
flashlight combination. Michelle trailed five feet behind, and Sam brought up
the rear. The office and restroom were empty, and Max moved through the open
door into the hallway.

Barely ten feet long, the wood paneled length of the
hallway dead ended at an oil painting hung on the wall. The painting depicted a
field of pastel wildflowers, and Eric knew that the artist of the work was
Walter’s oldest daughter, Zoe. The door on the right at the end of the hall led
to the room with Walter’s handmade picnic table. The door opposite it opened
into the old mechanical shop where Walter tinkered with everything from
trolling motors, to large, fuel injected V8 engines from ski boats.

“Left or right?”

“Left,” Sam said from the back.

“OK, right it is,” Eric chuckled back.

“What the hell . . . don’t you trust my Native
American instincts?”

“I’ve seen the bruises all over your face—I’m not sure
if your instincts are functioning at their peak levels.”

Sam directed his flashlight beam at Eric’s feet. “I
don’t suppose your own instincts are going to win you any prizes either,
hopalong,” he remarked with a snicker.

Eric returned the laugh, “Good point . . . Michelle,
pick a door.”

“Right.”

“Brown-noser,” Sam whispered with a sneer.

“Max, let’s go.” Eric softly padded up to the
right-hand door, and with a nod back toward Sam and Michelle, turned the knob.
The room beyond was as he remembered it. A large, roughhewn picnic table sanded
smooth on all the contact points sat on a deep layer of wood chips. In the
corner, a laundry sink was bolted to the wall just below a ceiling mounted heater.
The far wall of the room was made up of a metal garage door. The room was empty
of anything else.

“Watch the hallway for a second,” Eric said as he
walked back to the garage door and tested it.

“This seems pretty secure. I doubt if anything larger
than a rat could get in this way.”

Sam and Michelle nodded, but said nothing as Eric and
Max wormed past them. Pausing at the door to the motor bay to verify they were
all ready took only a second, and then Eric turned the knob. The door opened
with a squeak, and Max immediately began to sound a throaty growl. The growl
mutated into a thick rumble as he bounded into the room and froze—shoulders
locked and head low to the ground.

Muscles tensed in preparation for conflict, Eric leapt
after Max and spun in a quick half circle—shocking the room into brilliance as
he searched for the source of Max’s growl. The long rectangular partition
occupied almost the same square footage as the rooms with the picnic table and
Walter’s desk combined. An assortment of pulleys, hoists and stands were in
use, suspending outboard motors at varying heights across the area. To Eric’s
eyes, it looked like a surreal underwater snapshot of old, world war one ship
mines floating on cables that descended into the depths. The smell of oil,
grease, and gasoline was present. And shit. Michelle and Sam came in behind
him—guns pointed and lights blazing—but they found nothing except the faint
odor. A thorough search confirmed the room was empty, and also revealed that
the garage door entrance was so loose in its tracks that the door itself could
be moved almost eighteen inches. They located some lengths of chain and load
binders, and sealed the door shut.

“It was in here.”

“Well that should keep it from getting back in.”

“One place left to look,” Eric said.

“Yeah, save the worst for last,” Michelle whispered
harshly.

“Why? . . . What do you mean ‘the worst?’” Sam asked.

“I take it you haven’t been inside the warehouse?”

“Not yet.”

“There’s a lot of places to hide in there. It has
three levels of boat racks on the long walls. They use a forklift with extended
. . . uh, ‘forks’ I guess, to lift the boats and slide them in the rack. If we
have to search every boat in there, we’ll be there all night,” Eric answered.

“I take it you have a plan?”

“It’s more of an idea, but it’s going to depend on
what we find inside.”

Sam looked down at his watch, “It’s a little after
9:00 PM, so whatever we’re gonna do, let’s do it.”

Eric reflexively gazed at his still bare wrist,
grimacing with the reminder that he was still ‘watchless.’

“Let’s go.”

They backtracked through the hallway into Walter’s
office, pausing momentarily as Eric opened the ancient green Frigidaire.

“We have diet soda—generic. Regular soda in about
twenty different flavors—also generic. Dr. Pepper—not generic and reserved
exclusively for the brave lunatic walking point with his dog . . . and we have
beer . . . not the cheap stuff either. In any event, no matter what you pick,
it’s all warm . . . well, room temperature anyhow.”

“It’s probably about forty five degrees outside, and
not much warmer in here,” Michelle commented.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that,” Eric said,
“remind me to bring it up later.”

“Any water in there?” Sam asked

“Water? Why? Are you planning on taking a bath?”

“Smart ass . . . bottled water to drink,” Sam
answered.

“You drink that stuff?” Eric chuckled as he continued,
“Water should only be used for three things—to fish in, to fill a hot tub with,
and to make Dr. Pepper and beer with.”

“Which probably explains why you stink almost as bad
as those things do,” Sam rebutted with a grin.

“Holy crap,” Michelle exclaimed, “what are you
guys—back in third grade?”

“Sorry ma’am,” Eric whined, “me and Sammy, we was just
foolin’ around. Please don’t send us to the office.”

“Besides,” Sam echoed in a juvenile voice, “he started
it.”

Michelle stood there, rolling her eyes as Eric and Sam
ruptured with barely restrained laughter. After a moment as a spectator, it
became too much and Michelle joined them in the mirth.

When things settled down, they finished their drinks
and rechecked their weapons. Eric switched out the batteries on the shotgun
mounted Quark, and then locked eyes with Sam and Michelle. “Thanks, I needed
that.”

“We all did,” Sam replied, still grinning.

“Weapons hot and safeties off?” Eric asked.

Michelle nodded and Sam said, “Loaded for bear.”

“Let’s get this over with.”

They left the office, locking it behind them as they
moved out to the gravel lot. Another scan with their flashlights showed no
change that they could tell, and a brief radio contact with Thompson also came
up clear. With Max again walking point, Eric, Michelle, and Sam moved into a
triangle formation and followed. The long, rectangular metal building stretched
both up and away in the darkness of the cool night, and a short look skyward
confirmed that the hazy cloud cover had finally developed enough momentum to
conceal the stars.

They crept down the wide pathway between the boat
warehouse and Walter’s office, finally halting about fifty feet away from the
huge sliding door. Max continued to pace slowly as Eric keyed his radio.

“
Thompson, you got your eyes on us?”

Two bright flashes from the roofline of the store
accompanied his response. “
I see you
.”

“
We’re getting ready to go in the warehouse
.”

Max halted and cocked his head toward the warehouse,
and then looked back toward Eric before trotting toward the large door.

“Max . . . wait.”

“
10-4, I’ll keep a watch for anything that comes
out that ain’t you
.”

Max’s giant black head swayed back and forth as he
froze his feet in place. His ears stood stiff and upright, shifting faintly
from side to side as he stared at the metal door.

Walter’s voice cut over, “
You need to be careful
where you aim inside the warehouse. Same problem as before . . . understand
?”

Eric watched as Max’s ears shifted and jerked with
unusual speed. Max turned again to face Eric and gave an excited whine, pawing briefly
at the gravel before turning back to face the warehouse.