Rick Burroughs - Alan Wake

“You hope so?”

“I’d rather they were holed up with a broken leg than the alternative.”

“Those Taken guys?”

Wake nodded.

Barry sneezed.

“Bless you,” said Wake.

“This place is trying to kill me.” Barry noisily blew his nose. “I got such a migraine you wouldn’t believe.” He rubbed his temples. “I bet there’s mold in here, spores, poison ivy, God knows what.”

“Take care of yourself.” Wake started to leave, the wood floor creaking with every step. “Make sure you keep the door locked and the lights on.”

Barry picked up his red parka from the sofa. “Not so fast, kemosabe, I’ve decided to come with you.”

“You’re staying here.”

“What? Now you’re telling me where I can go and can’t go?” blustered Barry. “I’m not scared of the woods, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“ You scared of the woods? Heaven forbid.”

“I’m not ,” insisted Barry. “I ride subways , pal, any time of the day or night. I get off at stops where the cops have to travel in pairs. I eat pushcart hotdogs, foot-longs too, with sauerkraut and piccalilli. I’m not scared of anything.”

“You’re a braver man than I am, but I need you to stay here,” Wake said quietly. “The kidnapper said if he saw anyone else with me that he’d kill Alice. Besides, if something happens to me… if I don’t come back, I need you to call Sheriff Breaker and tell her what happened.”

“I’m not going to have to make any call.” Barry hugged him. “You’ll bring Alice back, I know you will.”

“Does this mean we’re going steady or something?”

Barry let his hand go. “Real funny.” He pulled out his keys. “Here, take the car.”

“I’ll be going through the woods. Only way to get to Lovers’ Peak.”

Barry put the keys back in his pocket. “You go on your little nature hike, wiseguy, I’ll be fine. Alone . Here’s Barry, alone in the woods, stuck in a dusty old cabin straight from a horror movie. With a toilet that doesn’t work all that well, by the way.”

Wake opened the door. Flicked on the flashlight to make sure it worked. “See you later. Remember what I said about keeping all the lights on.”

“Sure, Al, I’ll hold down the fort until you come back,” called Barry, flipping on more lights. “Or until I get sliced and diced by some guy with a chainsaw. There’s editors in New York who’d get a big laugh out of that! Barry Wheeler puree. That’d make their day!”

Wake heard Barry lock the door behind him as he stepped down from the porch. He glanced back at the lights inside, then headed off into the darkness.

Sheriff Sarah Breaker trusted her gut, and her gut said that FBI Agent Nightingale was an asshole. He felt wrong, and it wasn’t just the smell of stale booze. It was the way he flashed his badge, pulling rank, and the look in his eyes when he wanted answers. Where was Alan Wake? What was this about a car crash? Where was his wife? And most importantly, why did she let Wake go? He wouldn’t answer her questions. “Federal business” was all he would say.

WAKE SAW THE dim lights of the Visitor Center through the trees as he walked up the path from the cabin. He glanced at his watch. The path to Lovers’ Peak was at the end of the nature trail that started behind the Visitor Center; he still had plenty of time before he met with the kidnapper. Ravens cawed in the darkness, and he felt a sharp pain lance through his head, as though the birds were screeching inside his skull. Then the ground started rolling under him, a tremor at first, building until it was so powerful that Wake had to hang on to a tree to stay upright, hanging on so tightly that his cheek was scraped raw. The lights at the Visitor Center flickered, and then went dark.

His phone rang. “H-hello?”

“Al!” Barry’s voice crackled from the phone. “Did… feel that?”

“Yeah,” said Wake, still dizzy, feeling like he had to throw up. “Stay where you are.”

“What?” shouted Barry. “…can’t hear… breaking up.”

“I said…” The phone went dead. Wake was tempted to go back to the cabin, not wanting to risk being in the woods when the next quake hit, or an aftershock. Then the screaming began from the Visitor Center, and Wake knew he couldn’t go back. He ran toward the sound, kicking up gravel in his haste. Wake had his revolver out, his flashlight too.

The road opened out to a scene of total destruction. A wrecked car rolled slowly down the road, car alarm blaring. Rusty’s Jeep had crashed into the front of Visitor Center, slamming halfway through one window, hood crumpled, the engine still racing. Downed power cables swayed over the parking lot, sparks arcing in the night. The ELDERWOOD NATIONAL PARK VISITOR CENTER sign was splintered, hanging at an angle. The phone booth out front seemed to have exploded, the receiver embedded into the side of the building. The screams were weaker now, more of a whimper coming from inside.

Wake followed the beam of the flashlight, walked slowly into the Visitor Center, feet crunching on broken glass with every step. He checked behind him, kept moving. The skull of Buck-Toothed Charlie, the mastodon skeleton on display in the lobby, had fallen free of the rest of him, the gigantic curved tusks gleaming in the dim light. The map stand had been upended, shelves knocked down. Souvenirs and postcards lay scattered everywhere. The air inside stank of rotten meat, as though something had drowned and after being picked over by crabs and other scuttling things, had finally washed ashore.

“Hello!” shouted Wake. “Anybody here?”

“H-help,” someone called from farther inside. “Please…”

Wake moved closer. There . A man sat against the windows along the back wall of the café, his head slumped forward. Wake hurried toward him, shining the flashlight on the man’s face.

The man held up one hand, shielding his eyes from the light. Blood was splashed across the windows behind him, more blood soaking his green uniform. His fingers twitched toward the pistol that lay beside him. “Mr. W-Wake?”

“Rusty?” Wake bent down beside the park ranger. The stain on Rusty’s jacket was growing, spreading out. “What happened?”

“The whole place started shaking…” Rusty held his midsection with both hands, blood oozing between the fingers. “I thought it was an earthquake, but then… then my car started up with no one in it. What… what’s going on, Mr. Wake?”

Wake tried his phone again. No signal. “Where’s the first-aid kit?”

“This logger came at me with an ax,” wailed Rusty, his broken leg twisted under him at an impossible angle. “He just started swinging. I shot him, Mr. Wake. First time I ever used my gun in the line of duty… but it didn’t do any good.” His lower lip trembled. “How can that be?”

Wake heard movement outside, shined his flashlight through the windows. There was nobody there. Just the darkness. That was enough.

“What good’s a gun when they won’t die?” Rusty pulled a piece of paper out of his jacket, held it out. The manuscript page was soggy with blood. “I don’t understand, Mr. Wake. Everything that happened… it’s just the way it was on this page I found.”

Wake flattened out the manuscript page, the type smeared from the blood, but Rusty’s name was clear.

Rusty did his best, but… Taken… unfazed by… The Taken’s ax sheared… ranger screamed .

“I’m afraid… afraid the logger’s coming back, Mr. Wake.”