Rick Burroughs - Alan Wake

Wake stared through the windshield, watching as a metallic-green dragonfly darted past, then hovered over the hood of the pickup, lacy wings shimmering in the light. The dragonfly dipped in the breeze, blown backwards, then veered through the open window. Wake didn’t move, didn’t breathe, watching it as it floated inches from his face, beautiful and alien, the dragonfly’s glittering, faceted eyes fixed on him. Just as suddenly, the dragonfly flew off, wings rustling. Wake shook his head. He imagined a local saying, You don’t see things like that in New York City, mister . It was true. Hard to believe how quickly he had adapted to this new reality, how rapidly the veneer of civilization had peeled away. Wake thought flowers were only found in a florist shop and bugs were for swatting, but here he was watching a dragonfly as though it was a miracle, something that belonged in an art gallery.

Before coming to Bright Falls, he had never been mugged, never fired a gun except on a firing range. Now he fought with a kidnapper beside a raging waterfall, exchanging kicks and punches under the stars. Now creatures cloaked in darkness attacked him with axes and shovels, and he had been grateful to kill them first… even the ones wearing familiar faces, like Rusty.

Come to the great Northwest! Get back to nature! The tourist brochures didn’t mention that the nature you were getting back to was tooth and claw, blood on the floor, kill or be killed.

Wake turned on the radio, hoping to catch some news about last night.

“—is Pat Maine, the ol’ night owl, taking over the morning show, because our regular host, Jimmy Eagan, hasn’t shown up yet. Call the station, Jimmy, let us know where you are. Anyway, folks, I’m continuing our talk with Dr. Nelson.”

“Jimmy’s a rascal, isn’t he?” said the doctor.

“That he is, doc. Now listen, we were talking about life and finding that special someone, that soul mate…”

“Well, you were talking about that, Pat. I was saying I don’t buy it! You’re a romantic, but the idea that there’s that one special person out there for you, and if you miss that chance, it’s gone forever and you’re forever incomplete… I mean, isn’t that depressing? Or, heck, childish, even? There’s plenty of fish in the sea—”

Wake switched off the radio. There might be plenty of fish in the sea for the doctor, but not for Wake. There was only Alice for him.

He checked his watch, got out of the truck and started up the narrow path to the coal mine. It wouldn’t hurt to be early, maybe surprise the kidnapper as he approached.

The sun was hot, nearly directly overhead, and Wake was glad for his sunglasses. His boots kicked up tiny puffs of dust with every step, sent crickets hopping away from him in blurs of brown. He was sweating by the time he got to the top of the slope, his shirt sticking to his back, but he kept his jacket on.

The mining camp was a ghost town, long abandoned, dead for decades. Nothing left but bleached wooden shacks, buildings in various states of disrepair, and a dangerously tilted water tower. A railroad track had run past at one time, but only the ties remained, the steel rails pulled for scrap. A windmill creaked steadily on the edge of the camp.

Wake stopped beside a rusted jalopy whose tires had rotted away. Nothing and nobody home. A couple of derelict railroad cars had been tipped over, whatever coal they had carried long since gone. He walked around, looking for a place to wait for the kidnapper, some place where he could see but not be seen. He kicked over a barrel, watched it roll away, as much to break the oppressive silence as anything else.

The entrance to the mine was at the end of the railway line, a large opening cut into the mountain, edged with heavy wooden beams. He surveyed the camp, tried to imagine it as it had once been, bustling with activity, men digging into the earth, loading up the coal cars.

The best-preserved building had a sign on it that read THE BRIGHT FALLS COAL MINE MUSEUM. Wake walked over to read the fine print.

While there were some earlier residents in the area, the true genesis of the town of Bright Falls came with the founding of the Bright Falls Mining Company and the opening of the mine in 1878. In 1970, a volcanic eruption below Cauldron Lake caused most of the deep mining tunnels to collapse or flood. Thirty-two miners lost their lives and all mining came to a stop. Now many of the remaining buildings are protected as historical landmarks.

Wake started up the stairs of the museum, thinking it would give him the best vantage point to spot the kidnapper, but he stopped halfway up, turned toward the mine entrance. He had definitely heard something coming from the mine shaft. He put his hand in his jacket, gripped the butt of the 9mm as he walked toward the entrance.

“You’re early,” said Wake, slipping the safety off.

No response.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?” said Wake, his footsteps crunching over the gravel. He felt remarkably calm, ready for anything. “Do you have Alice with you?”

“Alan?”

Wake hadn’t been prepared for that. It was Alice’s voice. He tried to speak, but his mouth was dry. It had to be a trap.

“Alan? It’s so dark… so dark in here.”

Her voice sounded… wrong, but it had to be her, the whisper echoing off the walls of the mine, desperate. The sound faded as he stood there in the daylight, just outside the darkness. A trap. Had to be. A trap meant to lure him into the mine. A million places for the kidnapper to hide in there, a million places to wait for him. Wake stayed where he was. Outside in the light, where he had the advantage.

Wake stood there, the 9mm out now. He could still hear her voice saying his name, his name a question, as though she wasn’t sure he was really here. He was listening so hard that his head pounded. He imagined Alice in the dark. Terrified. Alice with her hands bound behind her back as the kidnapper dragged her deeper into the tunnel. Out of reach.

“Alice!” Wake stepped into the mine shaft. “Alice!”

No answer.

It was cool in the mine, much cooler than outside, but much darker. Hand shaking now, he played the searchlight beam across the walls. It didn’t do much good; the raw rock seemed to absorb the light, the uneven floor of the tunnel littered with shards of coal. He nudged a crumpled gum wrapper with the toe of his boot. They hadn’t made that brand of gum in twenty or thirty years. Graffiti on one wall glowed in the light, as though daubed on with phosphorescent paint: DANGER! NO POWER, NO LIGHT. TUNNELS GO TO CAULDRON LAKE.

The tunnel sloped down, as he made his way deeper into the mountain. The walls dripped moisture that pooled on the floor.

“Come on out,” called Wake. “I’ve got the manuscript.”

He waited. Finally heard a sound from deep within the mine, beyond the reach of his light, and the sound tore at his heart, gave him chills. It was the sound of a woman softly sobbing.

Wake followed the sound into the tunnel, following the searchlight, splashing through puddles of oily black water. If the kidnapper was armed, so was Wake. If it was a trap, it didn’t matter. Alice was in there, that was all that mattered.

The tunnel narrowed, slippery now, twisting around, and then slowly widening out into a larger area with several tributary tunnels leading off from it. His headache was worse now, like something sharp and jagged was working itself into his brain. He stood there, the taste of metal in his mouth. An overturned ore cart lay near the entrance to one of the smaller tunnels.

Wake approached the pool of standing water, shined his light over the surface. For a moment he thought he saw… he thought he saw Alice falling away from the light, sinking into the darkness, which was flat-out insane, even he knew that.