Exodus: The Omega Group, #5

By Andrea Domanski

The desire for vengeance has existed since long before Greek gods ruled the realms, but it took the arrival of the modern age for it to be fulfilled.

Myrick Kerr, jovial Omega Group agent and last of the merpeople, hungers for a mission requiring his unique underwater abilities. Too bad all of his assignments are on dry land. When he’s sent to investigate the sudden reappearance of ships lost in the Bermuda Triangle, he gets his wish.

In the depths of the infamous triangle, a wall created eons ago—separating this dimension from a supernatural prison—is failing. Once it’s gone, the evil it was built to contain will escape into the world.

Now, Myrick must defeat a foe that even the gods can’t kill, or mankind will face the same fate his people did—total annihilation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrea Domanski
• Release date: Nov 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781386609599

Book preview

Prologue

January 17, 1949

ARTHUR REDDING GULPED down his third glass of whiskey, ignoring the barely veiled look of distaste from the stewardess. A few hours ago, he’d have succumbed to the guilt those pursed lips induced and dutifully refrained from imbibing any more spirits. But not now.

Another, he ordered. Her smile came a little slower than he thought her training would have dictated but, nonetheless, she scampered off to fulfill her purpose.

When Arthur boarded his initial flight in London, he’d been more excited than a child on Christmas Eve. Dressed in his finest suit, he ran his fingers through his short blond hair to ensure no locks strayed before posing for the boarding photo at the top of the stairs. This would be his first time travelling by airplane, and Arthur intended to enjoy every moment before the responsibilities of his job forced him to focus on less exciting things.

His employers, Tate and Lyle, were sending him to Chile to inspect potential sugar beet suppliers. A good performance on his part would guarantee him a promotion and allow him to purchase that lovely house his wife had her eye on. They were about to start a family, and their flat just wouldn’t do.

Much preparation needed to be done before his scheduled meetings in Chile, but Arthur found himself far too enthralled in the wonders of air travel to focus on anything else. He’d felt like a king being pampered by a beautiful woman while hurtling through the sky. Though the Tudor Mark 4 was not nearly as well appointed as the Boeing models he’d heard so much about, it certainly didn’t lack in any comforts.

His first transatlantic flight had been everything he’d imagined it would be—until the trouble began. Initially he’d assumed the tremors were a natural part of flying. It soon became apparent they were anything but. When the pilot announced that they would need to make an emergency landing in Bermuda due to engine failure, Arthur felt sure his life would soon end.

Although the aircraft eventually made it safely to the ground, he’d all but fallen down the stairs leading from the exit door in his haste to escape the flying death trap. Had he been given the choice, he would happily have stayed on that tiny island for the rest of his life so as to avoid stepping foot on another airplane. But his bosses weren’t interested in any more delays and, as luck would have it, British South American Airlines happened to have another airplane sitting idle at that very airport. Less than five hours after escaping his first doomed flight, he and the twelve other passengers were once again airborne, tempting fate in a way no man should.

Their current aircraft, another Tudor named Star Ariel, could have been the twin to their earlier plane, filling Arthur with an unshakeable sense of déjà vu. His fingers ached from gripping the armrests of his seat every time the engines’ rumble shifted its pitch.  His handkerchief lay across his lap, drenched in the sweat from his brow. The only thing keeping him from hysterics was the whiskey warming his belly and the cigarettes calming his nerves.

Not wanting to wait another second for the small modicum of relief his liquid courage provided, Arthur stood and made his way to the galley. The stewardess, or Star Girl as the airline called them, forced a smile at his approach. She held out a small ashtray for him to stamp out his finished cigarette.

Can I help you, sir? she asked.

My whiskey. Please.

I’m sorry it’s taken me a moment, she said. I’ve been trying to get breakfast ready for the other passengers. It is morning, after all. She poured his drink and placed it in his hand. Perhaps you’d like some tea after this, then.

Arthur’s usual impeccable manners were lost to him, and he simply ignored the woman and stumbled back up the aisle. As he reached his seat, the intercom system dinged, and Arthur’s stomach clenched. The nightmare on his previous flight began with that same seemingly benign sound.

The pilot’s voice played through the small speakers. Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we’ll have a smooth flight today, as the weather is reported clear all the way to Chile. We’ll be making a brief stop in Jamaica to refuel but, for now, just sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight.

Arthur closed his eyes, trying to take the pilot’s advice. Perhaps he’d been too quick to assume the worst. Planes flew all over the world now, every day, without incident. The fact that his previous flight developed engine troubles virtually guaranteed that this one would be uneventful. Lightning doesn’t strike twice, as they say.

Looking at the other passengers—some engaged in conversation with their travel companions and others lost in a book—caused shame to bloom inside him. He’d been acting like a child. He raised his hand to signal the stewardess and waited for her to approach.

When she reached his seat, he handed her his whiskey glass. I think I’ll take that tea now, miss. Thank you.

Right away, sir. Her smile rang true for the first time since they’d taken off.

The sky outside the small window shone bright blue for as far as Arthur could see. Not a single cloud marred its perfection. The longer he stared at the peaceful view, the more ridiculous he felt. How could he have been so bloody paranoid?

When the stewardess returned, she placed his tea, along with milk and sugar, on the table in front of him. Before she retreated, Arthur gently placed his hand on her arm.

Please allow me to apologize for my behavior. The flush in his cheeks resulted more from embarrassment than whiskey now.

No need to apologize, sir. You had a bit of a difficult night, so I understand. I’m glad you’re feeling better now. Her smile faltered momentarily before falling away completely as she looked past Arthur and out his window.

When he turned to follow her sight line, he saw that the blue of the midmorning sky had been replaced by a heavy grayish mist. I guess there were some clouds after all, he said.

This time it was the stewardess’s turn to forget her manners. She turned abruptly, knocking his tea into his lap, and hurried toward the cockpit. Arthur jumped up when the scalding liquid seeped through to his skin and furiously patted at his trousers with the handkerchief. The burning sensation had dissipated slightly by the time she reached the cockpit, but Arthur stopped short of calling out to her for assistance when she opened the door and briefly unveiled the view out of the plane’s nose cone before closing it again.

They weren’t flying through any regular cloud. The heavy mist, shaped like a tube, wrapped itself around the aircraft, creating a narrow tunnel barely wide enough to fit the wingspan. Arthur waited for the other passengers to react, but they didn’t. Still being seated, the backs of the chairs in front of them must have blocked their view, allowing them to continue in their blissful ignorance—for the time being, at least.

Arthur hurried to the front and knocked on the cockpit door. It opened a crack, just enough for the stewardess to speak through. I’ll be right out.

Let me in, he whispered back. I’ve already seen what you’re trying to hide. Arthur listened to her agitated conversation with the pilots and waited. A moment later the door opened, allowing him to slip though.

Although he’d already caught a glimpse of the odd phenomenon, seeing it from this vantage point shook him. Good Lord. What is that?

Both the pilot and copilot ignored his question. One appeared to be trying to radio for help, while the other tapped the instruments over and over again, as though hitting the equipment would somehow help.

We don’t know. We’ve never seen anything like this, the stewardess said on their behalf. They’ve lost radio contact, and the navigational instruments aren’t working properly.

The aircraft isn’t in any danger, though, the captain chimed in. All mechanical systems are operating as normal. Once we come out the other end of whatever this cloud formation is, we should be just fine.

Arthur felt sure he should be asking questions, but none came to mind. What would one ask under these circumstances? Instead, he studied the formation outside the glass. Although, at first glance, it appeared to be a blanket of mist, on closer inspection, he realized it wasn’t. No variations in color and a complete lack of transparency seemed to suggest something less cloud-like and more solid in nature. That, along with the unnatural uniformity of the entire tunnel, and it became obvious that they were dealing with something previously unheard of.

Did you see that? Arthur asked. He leaned forward, trying to get a better view. I thought I saw a glint of light in the distance. He kept his gaze trained on the spot but didn’t have to wait long for verification. Within moments, another flash appeared, as though someone held a mirror far in front of them, occasionally reflecting an unseen sun’s light.

We must be getting close to the end, the copilot said. He’d obviously meant the end of the tunnel, but his choice of phrasing hung in the air.

It’s getting closer. Arthur instinctively wrapped his arm around the stewardess’s shoulder in a weak attempt at comfort. When she looked up at him with her kind smile, he realized he’d been the one in need of comforting. Shouldn’t you inform the other passengers?

Not yet, the captain answered. We’re in no immediate danger and, until I know more, there’s no reason to worry anyone.

Seconds passed silently by. The flashes continued at even intervals and the wall of gray surrounding their aircraft remained maddeningly unchanged. In fact, everything seemed to be unchanging. The hum of the engines held an uninterrupted perfect pitch while the plane itself experienced no turbulence. It felt as though they weren’t in motion at all, that the beacon up ahead moved toward them instead of the other way around.

Before he could put voice to his feelings of unease, one blinding flash changed everything.

The once flat-colored mist became mottled in varying shades, some areas appearing almost blue. The engines roared deep and loud, echoing inside the tiny cockpit and requiring Arthur to release the pressure in his ears. Most disconcerting of all were the shadows floating in and out of view behind the gray curtain, some small and some terrifyingly large.

No one spoke. The stewardess, whose name Arthur realized he still didn’t know, reached her arms around his waist and held tight. The dark images swimming in and out of view seemed vaguely familiar, yet he couldn’t quite place them. One by one, blurred objects, missile-like in shape, passed by their tunnel, never crossing through the mist.

One object stayed with them, flying in the same direction as they did, keeping pace just above their heads. The shadow grew in both size and clarity as it presumably closed the distance between them. The outline of a fuselage and wings became clear. Another aircraft must have become caught in the same kind of tunnel. Oddly, knowing others were experiencing the same fear gave Arthur a small amount of comfort.

Until the other plane made an impossibly tight turn to the left while rolling on its side, and Arthur and the crew saw the silhouette of its true form. The two wings they’d seen from below were joined by a third jutting out of its top, and the nose opened wide to devour a smaller shadow crossing its path.

The truth hit Arthur like an anvil. What they’d thought were wings were in fact fins. The shadow they’d been watching didn’t belong to another aircraft—it was a shark. The tube enclosing them had been under water the entire time.

Arthur’s gut clenched as the intercom system dinged one last time.

Chapter 1

Aberdeenshire, Scotland

20 Years ago

COME IN BEFORE SOMEONE sees you, child, she called to him from the beach as he floated far out in the water.

The worry etched on his mother’s face did little to convince young Myrick Kerr to follow her command. He hadn’t been able to set foot in the sea all day, and the last thing he wanted to do was climb out. Besides, when he played in the ocean, he spent all of his time far below the surface. The only creatures that would see him swimming like a fish were the actual fish. No way would some old fisherman spot him.

Please, son. I have your favorite supper waitin’ for you on the table. You don’t want it to get cold, now, do you? Her long wavy hair almost matched the orange color of the sunset.

Myrick’s mouth watered as he imagined the baked cod and eggs his mum always made especially for him, but he still didn’t want to leave the soothing water. Thinking about how much it would hurt to be back on land quickly overrode any appetite he might have worked up while darting through fishing boats on their way home from a long day at sea.

His mother raised her hands to cup her mouth, but dropped them to her sides before calling out to him again. A man Myrick hadn’t seen before closed in on her from the rocky shoreline, and she pulled her tattered sweater tighter across her chest as he approached.

The breeze off the ocean and the sound of waves breaking against the rocks made it impossible for Myrick to hear their conversation, but he could see his mother felt scared. Every time the man stepped closer, she would step back, and she didn’t let her grip on the heavy wool cardigan loosen.

Myrick began swimming toward her, but a strong arm grabbed him from behind, while a large hand clasped over his mouth. He twisted and kicked, trying to bite the hand that stopped him from screaming.

Calm yourself, wee man. It’s me. The whiskers on his father’s chin scraped against Myrick’s cheek as he spoke.

When the vise-like grip loosened, Myrick spun around to make sure the voice did, indeed, belong to his da. He opened his mouth to protest the rough treatment, but held the words inside as his da pressed a webbed finger across his own lips, signaling him to stay quiet.

Follow me, boy.

Without any further explanation, his father dove deep with strokes far more powerful than young Myrick could match. Unlike popular myth, merpeople didn’t sprout tails in the water, just gills and webbing between their fingers and toes. The gills allowed them to breathe underwater, and the webbing allowed them to reach great speeds. Except Myrick’s webbing was that of a young boy. He did his best to keep up as they swam north along the shore but still fell behind. He could just make out his da’s form up ahead, floating under the surface, waiting for him.

They rose together, making their way out of the water and in between two large boulders. His father threw him a towel that he must have left there earlier and waited for Myrick to dry off before using it himself. As soon as his skin dried, the webbing between his fingers and toes disappeared, and the gills on his neck molded back into his skin. Any trace of his being a merman was gone.

Put this shirt on, boy. And these sneakers. We need to make it look like we were out for a stroll. Do you understand?

Myrick nodded before tilting his head all the way back to look into his father’s eyes. He only stood as tall as his da’s chest now, but when he grew up, he felt sure he’d be just as big and strong.

Good lad. His father ruffled Myrick’s shaggy hair. Now, let’s go get us some of your mum’s delicious supper before she gives it away to the stray pups.

MYRICK HUNCHED OVER his plate, making sure to mop up every last morsel of his mum’s meal with his last piece of bread. She’d made sure to keep everything piping hot and hadn’t even given them a bit of bother about being late. As he finished his last bite, he leaned back in his chair and cringed at the pain the movement caused.

Why does it have to hurt so much?

You already know the answer to that. Your body is made to be in the water. His mum stacked the dirty dishes in the sink. Your ligaments and cartilage stiffen up when you’re on dry land. You’ll get used to it soon, I promise.

It’ll get easier as you get older, son. His da pushed himself up from the table, pausing to rotate his neck and stretch his joints before taking his dishes to the kitchen. Another fine supper, my love. He swept Myrick’s mum up in his arms and twirled her like she was a ballerina. She laughed and swatted at him, smiling wide and shrieking when he almost knocked over an empty chair.

Myrick liked the way his parents played, except when he tried to watch television and couldn’t hear it over their banter and giggles. Otherwise it was okay. He’d seen a lot of the people in the village, and they never looked as happy as his parents did.

A knock at their front door interrupted his parents’ fun. I’ll get it, love, his da said.

When he opened the door, the man Myrick had seen speaking to his mum on the shore earlier stood there, hat in hand. Evening. Sorry to show up unannounced like this. I just wanted to see if I could talk to you all together. You know, as a family.

Myrick’s mum threw her dishtowel in the sink and strode over to stand next to his da. We’ve already told you that we’re just plain folk here. Please leave us alone.

I understand that you’re private people. The man’s hand pressed against the door so it couldn’t be closed. But this opportunity could change your life. Maubri Communications has very deep pockets, if you get what I’m saying.

I think my wife has already given you our answer. Myrick’s da placed his hand on the man’s chest, shoving him backward as he spoke. There’s nothing for you here. As soon as the man was clear, Myrick’s da closed and locked the door.

His mother wrapped her fist in the collar of her worn sweater, her eyes glistening with new tears. It was a look Myrick had seen on her several times recently. She still smiled every time she glanced his way, but he knew she was doing it for him. He’d caught her a few times staring out the window and crying, but as soon as she saw him, her smile would instantly appear. At first he thought he’d done something to upset her—maybe she’d found out about all the times he sneaked off to go exploring. After today, though, he didn’t think that anymore.

Who was that man you were talking to, Mum? he asked

Mr. McBride? Oh, he’s just a man from the city that I had a wee bit of business with. She held her smile, but her eyes showed that she didn’t mean it.

Myrick raised his chin and pulled back his shoulders, trying to strike an imposing stance. You’re fibbing, Mum. You always say that we have to fib to other people, but we never fib to each other.

She let out a breath and took a seat next to him. When his father did the same, Myrick knew something bad was happening.

Mr. McBride is searching for proof of merpeople, his mum explained. He makes films for television and, somehow, he’s gotten it into his thick skull that he’ll find you here. He’s approached your da and me a few times already.

We could be on the tele? Myrick bubbled with excitement. He’d heard about how much money television stars made and couldn’t wait to become famous.

No, child. His mum cupped his cheek in her soft hand. We can never let that happen.

You remember what I told you about my family? his da asked.

Myrick slowly nodded, the memory squashing his enthusiasm immediately. They died.

His da had told him the story more times than he could remember. They’d been part of a huge clan of merpeople that went back a thousand years. They had their very own village far away from regular people and, according to his da, they had everything they needed.

But then one of the clan got careless and swam too close to a popular fishing hole, and a bunch of regular people saw him. When he returned to his village and told the clan what happened, Da said that they were all really scared. They’d never let anyone find out their secret before and were worried about what people might do.

Three days passed before one of the fishermen came to visit them. He said he just wanted to let everyone know that they wouldn’t tell anyone about what they’d seen. He told them they just wanted to be friends. The whole clan had gathered to meet the man and,