of clothing that hung from a low hanging branch.
It only took him a couple of minutes to circumnavigate the Quonset Hut and reach the robe and mask Seneca had left behind. Seneca had even provided him a magnetic card that would open the door the two thugs were guarding. What he hadn't left him, however, was any means of defense. Edward would be walking right into the lions' den without any way to protect himself if the situation demanded it, but he had no other choice.
“Here goes nothing,” he said under his breath as he emerged from the jungle. The two guards tensed and pointed their weapons at him. They relaxed when they saw the familiar mask and robe, marking him as one of their brethren. Edward nodded to both men, strolled up to the door, and used the key to unlock it, trying to remain cool on the outside while secretly sweating bullets underneath his robe. Thankfully, the locking mechanism beeped and released, allowing him access to the Quonset hut. He quickly stepped inside before something could happen to give away his true identity. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but what he saw made him gasp in surprise.
The Four Horsemen, as he had come to think of them, had discarded their robes in favor of white scrubs. Not straying too far out of character, the scientists’ lab coats were color-coded as well. Pestilence was busy studying something under a microscope. Famine and War were staring at computers and typing feverishly. Death, meanwhile, was twirling a black feather between his thumb and forefinger and gazing intently at a topographical map of the island.
After what he and the others had seen in the basement of that house on Archibald Street, Edward had imagined blood sacrifices or dark rituals might be the sort of thing this group was into, not science done in the confines of a makeshift laboratory. And yet here they were performing tests, calculations, and experiments without the first pagan idol in sight.
None of them took notice of Edward because they were too preoccupied with their tasks. A thick section of tinted glass separated the laboratory from the barracks. The dark glass helped shield his movements as he observed them.
He looked around carefully, searching for weapons, food, anything that might be helpful. But there was nothing. Just the scientists on one side of the glass and two parallel rows of cots and foot lockers on his side of the glass. Why had Seneca led him here? There had to be something in this place that would provide answers.
He looked at his surroundings, taking care not to draw their attention. He noticed the map that Death was studying. A circle had been drawn around a series of caves, and the word “Morningstar” had been written in red beside it. A cursory glance of the lab showed several test tubes with Morningstar written on them as well.
Morningstar? What could that possibly refer to?
After a few more minutes of fruitless snooping, Edward was about to give up and head back out when he heard a commotion behind the glass. The temperature inside the building dropped by twenty degrees, and there was a noticeable shift in atmospheric pressure. Although it was a strange thought to have, Edward couldn't help feeling like he was stuck inside a storm shelter in the midst of a tornado. The air had that heaviness about it, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. The laboratory was inexplicably darker than it had been moments before. Yet none of the lights had been turned off. Rather, they seemed more muted now, as if something had sucked the brightness out of the room. The lights flickered erratically, and the glass partition rattled in its frame. The horsemen chattered to each other fearfully, searching for the source of the disturbance as some of the equipment on their tablets vibrated, skittered, and fell, shattering into thousands of shards of broken glass.
A bare bulb
It only took him a couple of minutes to circumnavigate the Quonset Hut and reach the robe and mask Seneca had left behind. Seneca had even provided him a magnetic card that would open the door the two thugs were guarding. What he hadn't left him, however, was any means of defense. Edward would be walking right into the lions' den without any way to protect himself if the situation demanded it, but he had no other choice.
“Here goes nothing,” he said under his breath as he emerged from the jungle. The two guards tensed and pointed their weapons at him. They relaxed when they saw the familiar mask and robe, marking him as one of their brethren. Edward nodded to both men, strolled up to the door, and used the key to unlock it, trying to remain cool on the outside while secretly sweating bullets underneath his robe. Thankfully, the locking mechanism beeped and released, allowing him access to the Quonset hut. He quickly stepped inside before something could happen to give away his true identity. He wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but what he saw made him gasp in surprise.
The Four Horsemen, as he had come to think of them, had discarded their robes in favor of white scrubs. Not straying too far out of character, the scientists’ lab coats were color-coded as well. Pestilence was busy studying something under a microscope. Famine and War were staring at computers and typing feverishly. Death, meanwhile, was twirling a black feather between his thumb and forefinger and gazing intently at a topographical map of the island.
After what he and the others had seen in the basement of that house on Archibald Street, Edward had imagined blood sacrifices or dark rituals might be the sort of thing this group was into, not science done in the confines of a makeshift laboratory. And yet here they were performing tests, calculations, and experiments without the first pagan idol in sight.
None of them took notice of Edward because they were too preoccupied with their tasks. A thick section of tinted glass separated the laboratory from the barracks. The dark glass helped shield his movements as he observed them.
He looked around carefully, searching for weapons, food, anything that might be helpful. But there was nothing. Just the scientists on one side of the glass and two parallel rows of cots and foot lockers on his side of the glass. Why had Seneca led him here? There had to be something in this place that would provide answers.
He looked at his surroundings, taking care not to draw their attention. He noticed the map that Death was studying. A circle had been drawn around a series of caves, and the word “Morningstar” had been written in red beside it. A cursory glance of the lab showed several test tubes with Morningstar written on them as well.
Morningstar? What could that possibly refer to?
After a few more minutes of fruitless snooping, Edward was about to give up and head back out when he heard a commotion behind the glass. The temperature inside the building dropped by twenty degrees, and there was a noticeable shift in atmospheric pressure. Although it was a strange thought to have, Edward couldn't help feeling like he was stuck inside a storm shelter in the midst of a tornado. The air had that heaviness about it, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. The laboratory was inexplicably darker than it had been moments before. Yet none of the lights had been turned off. Rather, they seemed more muted now, as if something had sucked the brightness out of the room. The lights flickered erratically, and the glass partition rattled in its frame. The horsemen chattered to each other fearfully, searching for the source of the disturbance as some of the equipment on their tablets vibrated, skittered, and fell, shattering into thousands of shards of broken glass.
A bare bulb
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