Rick Burroughs - Alan Wake

“I’ll be happy to stop whatever is in the lake,” said Breaker. “Stop the Dark Presence and get your wife back, safe and sound. I’ll settle for that.”

Wake nodded.

“You’ll like Alice, Sheriff,” Barry piped up from the jump seat. “She’s really… tough. Not tough hard, but tough good. Like you. She’s not exactly my biggest fan, but I think the two of you would hit it off.”

“I can’t wait to meet her,” said Breaker, gently arcing the helicopter toward the power plant. “See those power cables,” she said, pointing. “That’s the transformer station. I’ll put us down in the area near the river. Plenty of room and it’s away from the lines.”

Wake saw a shadow pass between them and the moon. He peered up at the stars.

“Uh-oh.”

“What?” said Breaker.

“What’s wrong?” said Barry. “Al, something wrong?”

“Not sure,” said Wake. “There’s a… huge flock of ravens circling up ahead.” He pressed his face up against the cockpit, trying to get a better look. “There seem to be more of them joining the flock. Lots of them.”

“You’re worried about birds ?” said Breaker.

“This is bad,” said Barry. “I’ve had a run-in with these ravens before.” He switched on the Christmas lights around his neck. “These birds aren’t like pigeons. They’re not looking for a handout.”

Wake kept watch on the ravens. “He’s right, Sarah. I think you should—”

A mass of ravens swooped down on the helicopter, several of them smacking against the cockpit, Wake jerking back at the sound of their beaks striking the hard plastic.

“ Son of a…” Breaker took the chopper lower, trying to avoid the swarms of birds that came at her from several directions at once. “Hang on!”

Another flock of ravens flew down at them, beating against the cowling, heading directly into the rotors, black feathers shooting everywhere.

The helicopter engine struggled, regained power.

“Bad, bad, very bad,” chanted Barry, fingering the blue and green bulbs around his neck. “I hate birds, I hate birds, I hate birds.”

Wake flipped on the helicopter’s searchlight, disintegrating a mass of ravens headed directly at them, the birds flaring into dust. Ravens attacked from the sides, flapped through the opening in the cockpit, clawing at their hands and faces. Wake beat at them with the flashlight, turned the beam on one tearing at Breaker’s hair as she tried to pilot them out of danger. The raven disintegrated.

Breaker made a hard right turn, hoping to leave the ravens behind with her evasive action, but there were so many of them, hundreds and hundreds of them pouring out of the forest, filling the sky. She pushed the stick of the helicopter full forward, trying to outrun them. She almost made it.

A flock of ravens flew directly into the tail rotor, waves and waves of them. They were torn to pieces, but their bodies clocked the mechanism, slowing the chopper and throwing it out of control.

Breaker wrestled with the controls and Wake hung on tight and Barry cursed and prayed.

The helicopter spun wildly, the skids grazing the treetops before Breaker regained control, but it was too late. She avoided the trees at the base of the dam, but the helicopter landed roughly, the tail snapping off as it rolled over, throwing them hard against their seat belts.

“Is everyone okay?” said Breaker. Wake could see blood trickling down her cheek from a half-dozen spots where the ravens had torn at her with their sharp beaks. Blood stained the collar of her uniform. She ignored the wounds.

“Fine, I’m fine,” said Wake, unbelting his safety harness. “Barry?”

“What’s… what’s the collision deductible on these things?” said Barry.

Wake got out, helped Barry unhook himself, saw him wince as he eased out of the jump seat.

Breaker came around the helicopter. She carried the shotguns and the flashlights.

They moved away from the downed chopper, started walking toward the bright lights of the abandoned power plant.

“You did a good job,” Wake said to Breaker.

“I crashed ,” said Breaker.

“Yeah, but you crashed really well,” said Wake.

Breaker punched him in the arm. It hurt.

“What’s so funny?” said Barry.

Doc sat down heavily. He’d examined Barry and Rose. Barry was already recovering. Rose was another story: she was conscious, but she was barely present, almost delirious, disturbed—“touched in the head,” they used to say. It wasn’t the first time Doc had seen someone in such a state, but it’d been over thirty years. Doc poured himself a stiff drink. He hadn’t forgotten a thing.

“IMPRESSIVE, ISN’T IT?” said Breaker.

Barry yawned. “Wow.”

“Yeah, wow,” said Wake

The three of them stood at the edge of the forest, staring up at the Bright Falls dam, a massive structure that loomed at least 250 feet above them and contained enough concrete to build a small city. The dam was dark, but the power station at its base blazed with light, inside and outside, an oasis in the darkness. The outer walls of the power station were covered with luminous scrawls, warnings against the darkness, exhortations to stay in the light, the words dripping down the concrete surfaces. Cynthia Weaver wasn’t taking any chances, a philosophy that had kept her safe all these years.

Wake looked around, checked the sky too, but saw only stars and the half-moon. They hadn’t seen any ravens since the helicopter crashed, but Wake had learned not to trust the night, no matter how peaceful it looked. They all had now. Crickets sawed away in the underbrush, their mating call rising and falling. Wake wished them luck.

Wake and Breaker set out for the power station, moving quickly in the dim light while Barry lagged behind, complaining about his sore feet and his allergies acting up. As they got closer to the dam, Wake could see huge metal pipes running from under the dam to the power station, the pipes running on concrete supports a few yards above ground. The scale was enormous, and not just the pipes and the dam; everything in Bright Falls seemed larger than life. The pines and cedars that soared hundreds of feet, the ten-story cranes and lumbering earth-moving equipment, the gigantic mining facility with drill bits bigger around than his waist, even the pickaxes and sledgehammers of the Taken seemed meant for a larger world, a bigger reality. Wake was used to skyscrapers, but it was easy to feel small and insignificant here.

Water dripped from some of the metal pipes, ran downhill in muddy rivulets that they trudged through, their boots making sucking sounds with every step. The wind stirred, bending the tops of the trees. An owl hooted in the forest.

“Wait up!” called Barry, splashing through the muck, not wanting to be left behind.

Wake and Breaker stood in front of a large sliding door to the power plant. A symbol had been painted over the doorway, a crude drawing of a torch. Wake had seen the same symbol painted on rocks and trees all around Bright Falls, the paint oddly iridescent, seeming to increase as light shined on it. Wake grabbed the handle of the door, tried to pull it open, leaning into it, but even with Breaker’s help it wouldn’t budge.

“Now, what?” said Barry.

“I don’t—” started Wake.

Creaking and clanking, the door slowly opened without any of them touching it. As they entered the building, a blinding light shined on them through the doorway. Wake threw his hand up to shield his eyes from the floodlights that caught him, and he could see Breaker and Barry doing the same thing.