In a world where darkness is just one of the characters ... I present the first chapter of KAIROS

Barbed wire sucks.

I prick my finger as I separate the strands, lifting one while stepping on another so that I can dip between the two the way the others did. I come away bleeding and with a small rip in my shirt.

It doesn’t matter. Looking across the dark landscape, a thrill races through me. I’ve been itching to come here, though I can’t explain why—it’s not like this is my first dinosaur dig site. There’s no moon tonight, so I don’t think we’ll get caught, but if Mom finds out I’m here she’ll be furious. She runs a tight ship and this site is her restricted-access baby.

I smile to myself. With luck she’ll catch the others—the kids we’re following. It’ll make her mad as hell, so mad that even if she catches me, she won’t have anger to burn.

Beck leads the way, so I ask as loud as I dare, “You know who we’re after, right? Why do you think they snuck in here?”

He slows until he’s alongside me. “My bet is they’re from school.”

I glance at him, trying to make out his espresso-colored eyes and stellar hair, and walk straight into a clump of sagebrush.

He laughs, “You okay?”

“Yeah.” But I feel stupid. It’s our first date. I know him, if sharing a few classes together qualifies as knowing, which is more than I can say for his friends, Cam and Olivia. I just met them an hour ago.

“Kate’s one of them,” Olivia whispers. “She runs like a guy so she’s easy to pick out. They went in that tent.”

“You mean they went in that moth magnet,” Cam corrects. He scrubs his fingers through his hair, and the muscles in his back flex. I stare at him. Weird, how I noticed that, even through his shirt and with the help of only starlight.

“The tent’s called Central,” I say quietly. Central is Mom’s name for her office and lab, no matter where it is. I haven’t been in this Central, but I’d guess it’s her usual set up. From a distance, it looked like a giant lantern floating in the night. Now we’re close enough that its glow helps light the way. The people we’re following went in, but they haven’t come out, and Mom’s red Jeep is parked to one side of the tent. My guess is she’s got them cornered.

An owl hoots as we peek through the tent flaps. No one is there. In fact the place is empty, except for spotlights and a few moths. No tools or racks of tagged specimens. No desks. Just a thick white hatchway door that lies open to reveal a hole in the ground.

We creep into the tent and stand around the hole, looking in. The view gives me butterflies—it’s a long way down to a brightly lit white floor. Power cables snake from under the tent and into the hole to drop alongside a heavy rope ladder.

“You think they went down there?” Olivia asks.

“Who cares?” Cam says. “This is too good to pass up.” He steps onto the ladder and starts down.

“I’m staying here.” Olivia folds her arms across her chest.

“That makes you look-out,” Beck says.

Fear sparks in my chest as I watch him descend. Mom hasn’t said anything about an underground space, but the lack of tools and stuff makes me wonder what she’s up to. So after a few minutes of small talk with Olivia, I follow Beck.

I’ve gone ten steps down the ladder when the hole opens up to a large room about fifty feet high and as big as an arena. I finish my descent slowly, gawking at a vast circular wall paneled in random squares and rectangles from ceiling to floor. Dark doorways mark the perimeter at regular intervals, but other than that, the room is as white as five-star bed sheets. I’ve never seen anything like it.

I step from the ladder and into the center of the room. The floor is cushy underfoot, and there’s a second hatchway nearby. I peer in to see another ladder that leads to another white floor far below, then catch my breath when computer noises rise up, mingled with science chatter. Mom must be down there with her grad students and techs.

I’m about to ask Beck what now when rumbling sounds come from one of the dark doorways. Beck glances toward the noise just as a tall guy bursts from a doorway and into the room, screaming at us to “Get out of the way!” A girl follows after him.

The guy races across the floor, jumps for the ladder and climbs. The girl starts up the ladder, too. More people spill from the dark doorway, all of them shouting and pushing, all of them racing each other for the ladder. Maybe it’s instinct, but I move away from them. I’m still moving when the lights go out.


I’ve never experienced perfect darkness and from the sounds of it, neither has anyone else. The darkness fills with screams. So much fear heightens my senses in a bad way; it’s like listening to the soundtrack of a horror movie. Someone begs for a flashlight.

I shiver and rub my arms. Where is Beck?

I’m about to call for him when something touches me. My fear explodes and I freak out, flailing and shouting at nothing and everything. It takes a while to pull myself together and even then, my heart pounds like it wants to run.

“Calm down.” I yell it as much to myself as to the others. Whatever happened, Olivia is up there and she’ll get help.

If I could find the ladder, I could climb up and get help myself. I know how my mother runs a site. There’s a back-up lab, somewhere, and it’s got an emergency communication system. I open my eyes wide, searching for a hint of the ladder, but the black is so complete that I don’t even see shapes. I stretch my arms and turn around without blinking. I take a few steps forward, then stop. On a scale of one to ten the darkness is like, fifteen.

It’s possible that the hatchway closed. If that happened, it might have damaged the power cables or even disconnected them from the generators. I heard whipping sounds, come to think about it, just after the lights went. Then for a second the floor shook—what else but the cables could have hit with such force? But the power cables ran alongside the ladder. If they fell, did they bring the ladder down with them?

A girl shrieks, “My phone’s dead,” and I jump at the shrill edge in her voice. I’d forgotten about my phone. Rustling noises tell me I’m not the only one digging into a pocket.

I press the home button with shaking fingers. It doesn’t light. I tap it. Nothing happens. I thump it against my thigh as someone crashes into me. My phone slips from my grasp.

A husky voice asks, “Kate?”

“No.” I crouch and feel around for my phone. I can’t find it.

The guy shuffles on, shouting, “Hey, Kate? Where are you?”

I breathe in the darkness, filling my lungs. I shouldn’t be here for a lot of reasons. And this dig is restricted, which is unusual. Now I wish I knew why.

A voice calls, “Maya?”

I stand and turn toward my name. “Beck?” It’s weird how I can’t picture him. Dark hair, dark eyes—but the details aren’t there. I walk a few steps in the direction of his voice, trip over something and fall.

A guy screams, “Get off me, man.” He punches my leg.

I back away mumbling, “Sorry.” I think he’s crying.

“Maya!” Beck sounds scared or irritated or maybe both.

“Over here.” I sound the way I feel—impatient and annoyed.

Beck calls again, “Maya? Maya!”

“Beck. Over here.” I inch forward and step on something hard. When it doesn’t slap me I bend down and touch a twist of cable. I stand with a shiver of panic. I think we’re trapped.

I breathe in gulps, willing myself to stay calm. This place is constructed and constructed means the doorways along the wall lead somewhere, maybe even out. Not that I see any of it at the moment. I hold my hand in front of my face. It’s like I don’t exist.

“Maya?”

“Here, Beck.” I wave. Like it will do any good.

I sigh with relief when we find each other. Beck says, “It’ll be okay.” He touches me and I flinch, but I let him wrap his arms around my waist and pull my back to his chest. He smells like campfire smoke and sweat. “Until we know what’s going on,” he says, “stay still.”

There’s caution in his voice, but before I can question it, clicking noises echo in the black. Beck’s body tenses while people whisper, “What’s that?” The clicking grows louder, the sound wheeling over us like gulls over water.
Someone shouts, “Hey, Cam. That you clicking?”

“I’m not a clicker,” Cam says into the void.

Fear tingles my scalp. “If it isn’t one of us clicking, then what is it?”

“Hard to know,” Beck says.

We call out to each other and crowd together.

“It followed us,” a girl says in a trembling, squeaky voice. “It’s here.”

“What followed us?” Cam sounds curious more than anything.

Beck whispers, “Shhhh.” Everyone quiets.

The clicking continues—sometimes loud, sometimes soft. It must be an animal or maybe a bird. What if it sees by sonar? What if it’s fast? If it’s a giant bat I’ll freak. I hate bats.

Someone screeches and someone else shouts, “Don’t DO that.” The air stinks of breathy fear. I catch a whiff of something bad and gasp. Someone smells like road-kill.

“Did anyone see it?” a girl whispers. “Does anyone know what it is?”

“Define it,” Cam says.

“Someone stinks,” a guy complains.

A harsh voice yells, “Shut up.” Beck grips me until I can barely breathe.

“We all heard it,” a trembling, squeaky voice offers. “Back in the hall—”

“I said shut up! You guys are gonna get us killed.”

I whisper, “That’s Lance Monson, right?” I recognize his voice. He’s a total jerk, but does he know what’s out there?

Another guy says, “So Lance, you think that’s what happened to Dustin? ‘Cause man. Like, you know I think he bit it.”

“Who’s Dustin?” I ask.

The clicking intensifies. A girl whispers, “We don’t know Dustin’s dead—”

“Shut the freakin’ hell up or I’ll shut you up myself.”

Even the clicking quiets. Then a moist jet of air tickles my ear. I freeze as the darkness sniffs me with reeking breath. My eyes open wide, burning to see. “Wh … wha—?”

Beck exhales, “Shhhhh,” as he lets go of me.

Prickly fur or whiskers touch my cheek. My skin crawls hot then cold. “What is that?” I whisper.

Beck doesn’t answer. I whirl around, grabbing at nothing. “Beck? Beck? Where are you?” He was right behind me.

A girl yells, “I can’t take this.” She sounds hysterical.

Something slams into me and I punch it with everything I’ve got. But a warm hand catches my wrist. A quiet voice says, “Maya. Stop.” Beck pulls me into a full body hug. I breathe in his smoky smell and cough until I cry.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s just me.” He hunches forward and buries his face in my hair. He’s shaking everywhere.

“Where were you?” I wrap my arms around him. “What happened?”

“Shhhh.”

The thing clicks again, but I can tell by the sound that it’s moved away from Beck and me. A girl calls, “Anna? Come back.”

“No! I want to go home.”

Beck’s body tenses. He whispers to himself, “Shit.”

Anna. Do I know her? Her voice isn’t familiar, but that doesn’t mean much. Except for Beck, Cam and Lance, I don’t recognize any of the voices.

Anna yells, “I can’t do this. I can’t just stand around in the dark and wait.” She stifles a shriek. “I want out of here.”

Beck groans. Then he fills his lungs with air, lifts his face to the dark and calls, “Anna.”

Lance shouts, “Shut the hell up, B.”

“You shut the hell up.” Beck gulps. “Anna. You shouldn’t be away from the group. Stay where you are. Just—stand still. We’ll find you.”

“I can’t, B. I can’t just stand around and wait. You know I hate the dark.” Anna’s voice sounds small and far away. She cries, “I hate being alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Beck says. “Please Anna. We’re all right here. I’m right here. Just—be still. Be quiet.”

“No. I want my mom. I’m scared. B … I’m so … I’m so sorry.” Anna sobs, “I have to find the way out.”

I don’t hear movement but it, whatever it is, moves. I feel it in the floor, which seems insane. I feel the thing’s weight—it’s heavy—and I think it’s big. But I don’t know what it is.

Anna’s crying stops. We crush in on each other in breathless silence. Then Anna screams and screams and screams.

A grinding crack splits the dark, followed by a gurgling choke. I try to bolt but Beck’s hold is too strong, so I cover my ears.

Beck wraps himself around me. “Don’t move.” he whispers.

“But she needs help—”

“It’s too late for that.” He forces my face against his shoulder.

The darkness pulses with grunting, with Anna’s cries. Beck’s body wracks with silent, heaving sobs. “Oh God, Anna. I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Anna calls out, “Mama,” in a pitiful, broken voice and my stomach turns. “Please,” she begs. “Just make it … stop.”

The floor trembles with a heavy thud. Anna gasps, then she’s silent. My knees buckle. Beck struggles to hold me up but I can’t find the strength to stand. Together we drop to the floor.

I breathe in shallow bursts, tortured by guilt because I’m glad it’s quiet. It seems gone, whatever it is. There’s no clicking. No sensation of movement in the floor. And there’s a breeze now, a hint of wind overhead.
I look up into the black.

Air drifts to meet me, cooling my face. A flash of light blurs through my tears. Someone shouts, “Up there.”

“Wait,” Beck whispers.

I cling to him, shaking. The darkness floods with pale green light.