The Dark Descent Read online

  The Dark Descent

  William Oday

  Contents

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  Special Thank You!

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

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  Other Works

  Questions or Comments?

  The Goal

  My Life Thus Far

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  Special Thank You!

  Thank you to these intrepid readers who helped create this story!

  Ana Cordoba

  Bonnie Harris

  Chris Dalton

  Daniel Colmenares

  Dave Hess

  Dieter Selhorst

  Don Barnes

  Freddy T

  Jay Moeller

  Julie Jane

  Jonathan Kastoff

  Kathy Goelkel

  Krista Bateman

  Linda Davis

  Mary Margaret Divine

  Patti Holycross

  Shirley Hartnett

  Su Perry

  Tami May

  1

  Hi there!

  This is Will, the guy who wrote the thrilling story you’re about to read. This is an unusual story and probably unlike anything you’ve read. Which is why I wanted to tell you a bit about it before you begin.

  You see, this story began with a dangerously odd thought.

  Why not let readers boss me around and tell me where the story should go next?

  Great idea? Maybe.

  Terrible idea? Maybe.

  Only one way to find out. So I recruited a group of intrepid readers and came up with a plan that worked like this. I would write a story segment that consisted of a few chapters. Each segment would end at a story fork. I would then offer a few choices for what could happen next. There was also the possibility that the group could offer their own option. Whichever option got the most votes was the winner and would drive the story forward to the next story fork.

  Despite having no idea how it would turn out, we all jumped into the deep end. From the writing side, the process was often filled with moments of wild terror and crushing doubt. I had no clue where the story was going at times and was pivoting and adapting to their chosen direction at each story fork.

  But in the end, we made it. Together.

  And I think the story turned out to be a riveting ride. From the feedback given by the participants in the experiment, they too have enjoyed it immensely.

  You are about to read the result of that radical experiment in collaborative storytelling. I’ve even left in the story forks with the choices offered and chosen so you can see how the group helped move the story forward, and perhaps compare their choices with what you might’ve done.

  And if this idea of innovative collaboration intrigues you, I’ve got some great news! The experiment is ongoing. There is more to tell and your voice can add to the story.

  You can join us by going to the Facebook group at the link below.

  www.facebook.com/groups/theodayway

  I hope you enjoy the story. We had a fantastic time creating it!

  – Will

  2

  “Choices are the DNA that determine future growth.”

  - William Oday

  3

  I awoke into darkness with howling sirens stabbing daggers into my ears. Hands clamped over them to muffle the bone-jarring volume. It took a minute to realize the hands were mine.

  The sound vibrated through my head, the pitch sliding up and down in rhythmic agony.

  I looked around, or at least thought I did. It was hard to know for sure because the uniform darkness gave no hint of movement, of difference, of variation.

  There was nothing but the infernal noise.

  A thought struck me.

  Almost a physical blow.

  Was I dead?

  Was it possible to be dead and reflect on the experience?

  Another sound emerged. A thumping beat starting in my chest and echoing in the hollow of my throat.

  Only it wasn’t a sound.

  It was a feeling.

  A heart thrashing in a chest like a madman in a straight jacket.

  I shifted and groaned as lancing pain shot through my shoulder. I froze while the spasm ebbed.

  That settled it.

  I was definitely alive. Not unless corpses felt pain and were susceptible to siren-induced madness.

  And then another thought crashed down. This one harder than the last. Like an avalanche.

  Who was I?

  I tried to think back to anything that came before.

  Weren’t memories supposed to work like a lightbulb?

  You flipped the switch and they lit up in an instant.

  Something flickered at the edges of my awareness. A round face with trusting eyes and a button nose. A child. A girl with rolling black hair that glistened like oil under the sun.

  Who was she?

  A realization bubbled up. I waited, eager with anticipation. But then it popped leaving nothing of substance behind.

  My wandering focus noticed dampness in my right palm. I pulled the hand away from my ear and rubbed sticky fingers together.

  An electric jolt zapped through my jaw.

  The sirens at full volume!

  The sound of the end of the world, forever shrieking higher and lower.

  I slapped my hand back over my ear and the squish suggested blood. The contact sent another shockwave bouncing through my skull, bringing tears to my blind eyes.

  A foul scent filled the air. My nose wrinkled in disgust. Old sweat long gone rancid. A deep mineral flavor lingered on my tongue.

  I had a brain to observe the physical sensations. A mind to consider them. I was definitely alive.

  So, what was my name?

  How could I not know?

  And then it appeared from the impenetrable shadows of my subconscious. This time, the thought lingered long enough to be captured.

  Scout.

  Right?

  It ha
d a familiar feel like a pair of worn slippers.

  Yes. Scout was my name.

  Excited by the realization, I hurried to the next thought waiting in line.

  Did I have a last name?

  That was normal, right?

  I waited for it to arrive, but nothing more came.

  Bright white lights flickered above and the sirens cut to eery silence.

  Ringing echoed in my head. I kept my ears covered in case it started again.

  The lights above continued to pulse until one snapped brighter and stayed on.

  Through squinted eyes, I peered around. A large wooden desk. Intricate patterns of filigreed detail covered the surface. In the center panel, a proud eagle with spread wings. Letters on a flowing ribbon above its head. Arrows clenched in one claw. A branch covered with leaves and small berries in the other.

  I touched a fingertip to the shield on its chest. Half expecting to pass through like a mirage. Half in awe at how my trembling hand moved at my command.

  It stopped at the hard surface. I ran it along the spine of one spread wing. The golden wood cool to the touch.

  It was real.

  As real as the crimson covering my hand and soaked into what used to be the light blue cuff of a long sleeve shirt.

  I rotated my hand back and forth, observing how the crimson liquid slid and gathered at the lowest point again and again.

  Large drops broke free and splattered onto the plush cream carpet below.

  There was a paper on the carpet. A children’s drawing done in bright crayon colors. A stick figure man with a blue outlined suit that hung from him like clothes on a hanger. Arms splayed out to the sides. One side held hands with a shorter stick figure. A girl with black hair and a round circle face. Both looking forward and smiling.

  A message written in cursive above the figures. Yellow crayon with a smudge showing where a mistake had been fixed and written over.

  I love you, Daddy

  Hannah

  She was the girl I’d remembered. There was a feeling of rightness, but nothing concrete.

  A line of warmth trickled down my neck. I touched it and the fingers came away sticky with blood.

  Why was I bleeding?

  And why so much?

  Furious pounding through an unobtrusive door in the curved wall a dozen feet away. A gold-framed picture lay on the floor in front of it. A portrait of a pale man in a black suit with a black bow tie. A narrow face with wrinkled cheeks and a short beard.

  A second later, the door crashed open and a broad shouldered man rushed in. His dark shoe stomped a hole through the canvas as he entered. He dropped to a knee beside me.

  “Mr. President! Are you okay?”

  4

  His eyes scanned over me with calculated speed before connecting again with my own. “Sir, can you understand me?”

  “What?”

  The word came from nothing and suddenly was.

  I spoke it.

  How exactly, I couldn’t say. It happened in a way that was both natural and not at the same time. Like walking through the front door of your home after an exhausting day at work, but you’ve never met the woman that kisses your lips nor the children that hug your waist.

  Like stepping into another version of yourself.

  The man turned away and raised his wrist to his mouth. “This is Agent Barrow. Scout needs immediate medical attention! I repeat, Scout is injured! We’re—!”

  BOOM!

  A distant explosion shook the room. A jagged lightning crack appeared in the plaster ceiling above. A fog of dust rained down, filling the air.

  I inhaled a breath thick with particulates, and choked as it scraped down my throat.

  Agent Barrow wrapped an arm under mine. “Sir, we have to get you to safety!”

  I stuffed the drawing into my pant’s pocket as he pulled me up. I stumbled forward as he dragged me toward the open door across the room.

  BOOM!

  The tall, narrow windows lining the far wall shattered. A tornado of razor shards exploded into the room as we dove through the doorway and into the hallway beyond.

  The explosion threw us both to the carpet. The agent somehow managed to fall on top of me and yet not crush me. Like a turtle’s shell his body covered and protected mine. In another instant, we were back up and heading down the hall.

  We ran through a stately conference room that contained a long table surrounded by empty leather chairs. Then through a series of hallways and into another larger room.

  An overturned podium lay on its side at the front. Facing it were several rows of theater style seating. A black camera with a gray barreled lens attached was pinched between the cushions of one of the collapsed seats.

  We passed through several more rooms. The evidence of people was strewn everywhere. Papers and folders scattered across tabletops and the floor. A half-filled cup of coffee with wisps of steam curling up into the air. Someone’s security badge lost or forgotten. A blue high-heeled shoe on its side. An open briefcase. Its contents scattered over the pale carpet.

  But there were no people.

  No bodies.

  It was like walking onto the stage of a play and everything had been meticulously placed for the upcoming scene. But the crew and actors were all gone like they’d abandoned the performance.

  We entered a wide hall and a gust of chill wind blew through, making the hairs on my arms stand on end.

  I glanced right and my mouth hung open.

  The front half of the building was gone. Huge chunks of masonry littered the floor. Exposed pipes, splintered lumber, bent and sheared metal beams—the open sores of the two stories above.

  Outside, white pillars in various stages of destruction lined an arched patio. They resembled the ancient ruins of Rome. Two were cut stumps. Another couple were shorn in half and crumbling away as I watched. Another couple stood tall. A section of roof arching between them all that remained to hint at what had been before.

  “Stop!” someone yelled.

  Agent Barrow dove behind an upturned desk with me pushed down in front. He drew a pistol. “Stay down! I’ll handle it!”

  I nodded with eyes wide and mind numbed by the sights, the sounds, the situation.

  “Mr. President!” the other voice shouted. “This is Agent McKenzie. The man you’re with isn’t who you think he is!”

  Agent Barrow peeked around the corner, fired off several shots, and then ducked back behind cover. “Don’t listen to him! He’s trying to trick you!” He scanned the room and pointed. “When I say go, you run for that hallway. I’ll cover you. Okay?”

  I spotted the exit and nodded.

  “Mr. President!” the other voice called. “You’ll die if you go with that man! Please listen to me!”

  “Go!” Agent Barrow said.

  I hesitated. I had no idea who to believe.

  “Go! Now!” He rolled out of cover and snapped off several shots.

  Crouching low, I sprinted toward the hallway.

  BOOM!

  The ground shook, knocking me to the floor.

  My eyes squinted open to the world standing sideways. I raised my head and righted the orientation.

  The other man stood with his shoe pressing down on Agent Barrow’s chest and a pistol pointing at his head.

  Two flashes of bright light and blood splattered onto the carpet.

  The man spun around, ran over and knelt next to me. “Mr. President, are you okay?” His hands patted over me, searching for wounds.

  The scan ended at my head. He turned it and pressed his lips together in a tight, flat line. “Sir, you’re injured. We need to get you below to the infirmary. There’s a trauma team waiting.”

  He pulled me to my feet as I studied his face.

  Why couldn’t I remember it?

  Who was this man? And who was Agent Barrow?

  And what about what Barrow had said?

  That Agent McKenzie was trying to trick me?

  Shouting fro
m somewhere nearby echoed into the room.

  “We have to go now, sir!”

  I needed a minute to think.

  A minute to figure out what was happening and who I could trust.

  “Now, sir! We don’t have a second to lose!”

  He started to push me forward.

  I went with the movement, to give my response space, time, and inertia.

  I grabbed his wrist and rotated into the move, pulling him forward and off balance. My hips dug under his as my pulling and his falling worked toward the same end.

  He catapulted head over heels and crashed to the floor. The hand holding the pistol wheeled around and slammed into the floor, knocking the gun free.

  It bounced a couple of feet away and settled on the carpet.

  The impact stunned him for a second.

  No more though as he was already turning to right himself.

  But it was long enough.

  I dove for the pistol, grabbed it, and rolled sideways into a shooting position with one knee down and the other foot out for balance.

  The pistol up and the muzzle centered on his chest as he stood. “Don’t move!” I yelled.