The Black

By Neil Mosspark

Five years ago, when the anomaly arrived, it wiped out eight thousand square kilometers of Toronto, taking with it over seven million souls. It remains now as a looming, impervious black dome. 

Dave Thompson, a hard rock miner, was hired as the lead engineer on Tunnel 18. The job is simple: get the crews to dig fast, and dig deep, avoid the lethal energy discharges, and try not to die in a tunnel collapse. 

But now the energy releases are happening more and more frequently, the miners are refusing to dig, and the government is becoming desperate. Making things worse, there's something they're not telling him. 

If Dave can't get the scientists inside, there's little hope for humanity's survival. And time is running out.​

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neil Mosspark
• Release date: Mar 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386749158

Neil Mosspark

I was born in British Columbia, Canada and grew up in the rockies before traveling to see the world. I’ve been writing Science Fiction and Fantasy for more than a decade, but only recently have decided to share my work through eBooks. Currently I have a backlog of novels that I am editing and publishing on various platforms. I write the type of Science Fiction and Fantasy that I enjoy reading. Most of my work takes place in the same ‘universe’ with subtle crossovers that allow fans of my work to pick up on the nuances, while new readers don’t have to play catch up. Please feel free to leave a review, I always love hearing from readers. If you want to chat, you can find me on twitter @NeilMosspark or email [e-mail].   Thanks for reading!

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Dave lifted his ball cap to wipe his pale forehead. The back of his muscular arm was only marginally drier. Overhead, the late morning sun was heating the concrete beneath his feet. A warm gust of wind swept across the concrete of the decommissioned airport runway. The breeze provided minor relief from the humidity. The blades of grass that had long taken hold in the cracks simply fluttered for a moment before settling back down in the almost stagnant air.

He looked toward the cause of the hanging air and scowled. The massive windbreak appeared to be a wall of impermeable darkness, rising more than seventy-five kilometres into the stratosphere and stretching at least 150 kilometres wide. It resembled a wall only when this close. From the air it was easy to see the vastness of the flattened dome shape. Even though the Black was at least a half-hour drive away at highway speeds, it felt like it was right next to him, ready to absorb him and pull him into its darkness.

It had done so to more than six million people a decade ago when it appeared.

Dave reflected for a moment that he was in his twenties when it arrived; he had been visiting Rochester, New York, when the black dome exploded into existence. No one knew what it was or why it was there.

People fled en masse from the area. The borders were closed for months, and if it hadn’t been for friends, he likely would have had no place to stay.

He remembered the early days, panic, end-of-the-world cults, the spike in suicide rates, and worst, the riots. That all had changed when the military had been called in and martial law declared. It had taken him three months to finally get back into Canada, but his own residence had been too close to the Black and was inside the twenty-kilometre quarantine zone.

He had seen the house only once when he was allowed to return to collect his things. It smelled rotten from the food that had been left in the fridge. The only things he had taken were a few suitcases of clothes, tools, and some old photos. There had been nothing else there for him. Nothing else, that was, except a job looking for underground miners.

Months later, Tony, an old friend, had called him up, asking if he still had all of his certifications up to date. Luckily for Dave, he did, and after a few weeks of orientation and security clearances he found himself on a crew, boring through the Canadian bedrock under the Black. He didn’t know why. He had suspicions, but the money was too good to ask questions.

Turning away, he refocused on the task at hand.

In front of him, a folding plastic table was set up and a nearby truck, placarded with explosive signage, sat ready for the Dave’s demonstration. He absently rearranged the tools of his trade on the table. Various explosive devices used in breaking up rock sat before him: shaped charges, detonation cord, and primers arranged in the familiar way a man might lay out his shaving kit each morning. None of these were new to Dave.

He had spent most of his adult life working underground, drilling, blasting and clearing miles of tunnels. What was unfamiliar was the quality of the men arriving for their training session. The group was disembarking from a set of nearby passenger vans and were sauntering slowly toward him. Looking each of them over, he assessed them for some sign of weakness or nervous tic.

The last few tunnels they had worked on had been prone to failure, Dave suspected because too many men were working too quickly for too much money. The contract that each man was hired under stipulated bonuses for distance cleared. Some crews had become so effective at digging that they had disregarded every safety check Dave had ever been taught.

He avoided working with those crews. Although he didn’t sign the men’s paycheques, he felt some obligation to reinforce the skills and training that had been beaten into him long ago. At least the crews he was not in charge of would follow some level of safety.

However, despite all of this, he wished he had picked a time later in the afternoon for the demonstration. Maybe next time he would do this when the sun was hidden behind the black dome that covered most of the Toronto area.

Even though he knew it was circular, it reminded him of the edge of the world. The wall of pure black reflected no light, and therefore no discernible curve. It was as though if you got close enough you would notice nothing beyond it, like a terrifying absence of material. Dave always felt like it was possible, near its edge, to step off the asphalt and fall into an abyss. The thought sent shivers down his spine as agoraphobia seeped in, threatening to pull him into the dark wall that stretched as far as he could see to the north and south.

Clouds above hung below the dome, hiding its true height.

His engineering-educated brain reminded him that it had mass and it was solid, but something inside him knew how wrong it was that the Black existed. The physics of it seemed to defy the universe’s laws.

Dave squinted as he turned into the sun to face the gathered men and women. Facing into the light was not helping. Good morning, Dave said. The crowd muttered varying responses based on how much coffee they had consumed.

Retrieving a cylinder from the cardboard box on the table, the mining engineer held it up for the new miners to see. They all crowded in and focused on the device. It was half the diameter of a pop can but about as tall.

Dave could see their eyes inspecting it. Each was a mining or blasting expert from a country comprising the United Nations and took the topic seriously.

You guys might have used the mechanical matches or igniters for detonation cord and explosives. We won’t be using them on this project due to the need for a consistent timer. Here we use a mechanical timer, which is spring-loaded and sets off a percussion cap which fires the det cord. Dave handed it to the nearest man as the translators in the crowd relayed the information.

The ones I’m passing around are demonstration timers. They don’t contain any of the primer or explosive and are safe to play around with. Later on today we will use the actual thing, and everyone will get a chance to be familiar in a live environment before we use them in the tunnels.

A shorter, dark-skinned man raised his hand.

Yes? Dave said.

Señor Thompson, why not use the old timer fuses?

Because the Black affects some of the timers when they are stretched down the tunnel. It has something to do with the energy that it gives off. We tried that originally and it worked well, but the closer we got to the barrier the more it messed with the timer. We had a few accidents with the original charges and decided that for safety we would use this style of timer.

The Mexican man nodded and resumed inspecting the device in his hands.

Despite the fact that it is more consistent and easier to use, the drawback is that it compromises safety, since you are setting it before you attach it to the det cord.

Dave held up another dummy timer and demonstrated its use. To set it you pull out the arming pin and rotate the timer. Once it is set, press the mechanical release on the top and release. If it is running, you should see the orange paint around the edge and hear it ticking. You can even feel it in your hands.

It’s kind of like a wind-up egg timer? an Irish voice from the front row noted.

It works a bit like that, Dave agreed.

Another voice called out from the second row of people. Why can’t we just use an electrical ignition system?

Again, the material of the dome affects the electrical impulse. There are discharges of energy in the tunnel, and we are worried that the static buildup will conduct down the lines and set off the electrical-style igniters. Using a mechanical timer is safer and more reliable, even though it’s a bit more expensive and we can’t reuse them.

Sir, this sounds like a bit of a dumb question, but have you tried to blast through the Black itself? The southern drawl of the man and the high and tight haircut gave him away as an Marine, but the heavy gut denoted that he was no longer in active service.

When the Black appeared a decade ago, they tried a number of methods to break through the field. The only method we found that might work is tunnelling under the leading edge that is in contact with the ground. Since the Black is a large energy field, it is dampened by the bedrock and soil. The hope is that one of our tunnels will get close enough to a softer area near the base.

Dave slid aside the boxes of demonstration timers and plucked a roll of paper from one of the boxes. Unfurling it on the plastic table, he weighed its edges down with the containers and pointed to the blueprint-style map. It indicated the large hundred-kilometre circle that now encompassed downtown Toronto and most of the waterfront of Lake Ontario.

Tunnel 18 is the best attempt so far. In the earlier tunnels, we moved toward the surface to quickly, thinking we had passed through the barrier, but once we moved upward, the field generated on the inside of the tunnel blocking it off; 18 is approximately a kilometre and a half long. The entire length is covered with discharging web made from copper and grounding wires.

Dave could see Tony’s black car pulling up behind the crowd. A work visit from his friend was never a good thing.

Take a break, and we will meet back here in fifteen. There’s coffee and bathrooms over in the hanger, Dave said before turning away to watch the car come to a stop.

The crowd dispersed toward the building and the promise of early morning coffee, and Dave watched Tony step out of the back seat. The man perpetually wore a suit, even when it was a hundred percent humidity and forty degrees, and to see him now with no tie on indicated that there was something going on.

What’s up? Dave asked, reaching out to shake the man’s hand.

I hate to mess with your day, but we’re having problems in the tunnels again.

Problems? I was down there yesterday, and we’re ahead of schedule?

Tony continued motioning him away from the door. The apparitions are back.

They are just energy discharges, Dave stated, shaking his head.

I know, but the lights appeared recently, and now the blast the last crew drilled for isn’t going ‘boom.’ They think it’s the ghosts.

Don’t call them that, Dave said.

Tony stepped back. You need to go down there and get them moving. Time is money, and we need to justify how we are spending the UN money. Do you have any idea how meetings I have with bean counters every week? A stoppage is—

Alright... alright, I’ll go take a look. I’ve got to find someone to finish the orientation for the newest crew first, Dave said, pulling the radio from his belt. He could see the look of apprehension and worry on Tony’s face. It had become the staple appearance lately.

Dave queried the safety station at the entrance to the tunnel and confirmed that things had stopped. Sometimes just telling the crews he was coming down got them moving, but from what he was hearing, everyone was done for the day.

Let me drive you down, Tony offered.

Sure, let me tell the guys we’re heading out.

Dave strode across the aging concrete of the airport ramp and spoke to the nearest man before returning. Tony stood alternating between crossed arms and running his hands through his well-groomed hair.

On his way back Dave looked up at his monolithic nemesis as it hovered above them.

Not going to make this easy, are you, he muttered.

Ten minutes later he was in the back of the black car sitting next to Tony as they were carried through the abandoned downtown core toward the tunnel.

They say that you guys find homeless people living in here, scavenging, Dave asked, tapping on the glass of the window.

It’s true. The soldiers and police have to clear out the buildings almost weekly.

Why not leave them alone? I mean, they get a warm place to sleep, and there’s no one to bother?

It’s not that simple. They are inside the quarantine zone, and those apartments, and buildings are still owned by someone. It’s still someone’s property.

Dave nodded, understanding his friend’s point.

Dave, we’ve been looking over the numbers and think we are really close this time.

We better be. I would say we are about five hundred metres past the field.

That’s why this is so important.

I know it is.

I mean it’s important not to have any mistakes, Tony stated, brushing his hair back. Dave noticed that the normally well-kept man was unshaven.

Seriously, I get it. What’s going on?

We’re running out of time... We need this to work, and work now. Tunnel 18 is the furthest along. When 17 collapsed, it was almost the end of this. If you hadn’t pushed 18 as far and as fast as we have over the last few years, we would be ruined.

What’s going on? Stop bullshitting me, Dave asked calmly. You’re giving me the same party line as everyone else, and I’m getting sick of it.

You just have to know that we need to get this done. I really wish I could tell you more, but I can’t. Tony’s hand sat on his lap and pointed to the two men in black suits sitting in the front seats. One of the men was looking at Dave in the rear-view mirror through dark sunglasses.

I get it. Super-secret crap. Aliens, pyramids, dragons... I don’t care what’s inside. I’ll get you guys there. If you’re so worried, why not give me the go-ahead to start moving upward. We’re in the bedrock right now, and it’s making the digging slow. I think we should be starting to move upward and breach the surface—

No. No, don’t start doing that — 17 and 12 were about the same distance when they collapsed. We need to keep moving forward but faster. I need you to get us past the field... yesterday.

The two men sat in silence. Dave’s eyes flicked to the window as they breached the line of shade cast by the hundred-kilometre dome. He could see the empty streets devoid of cars and people. Ground-floor windows were boarded up, most in pristine condition as though it had happened yesterday.

The vehicle slowed to a crawl, weaving through concrete blocks laid out before the one-kilometre checkpoint. Dave could see that it was staffed by a handful of blue-helmeted UN soldiers, and the moment they saw the vehicle ID, they waved the car through without stopping. 

Dave considered how security was lax, unlike when the Black first appeared. You wouldn’t have been able to look at the black dome without someone catching you on a drone or video feed. Everyone had considered it a terrorist threat or a weapon used by another country. Even now, five years later after its spontaneous blanketing of the city, the attitude that it was not going away had led to apathy. No one cared about it anymore. People were even petitioning to move back into the shade of the orb. The property had been devalued and was almost worthless. It was impossible to sell, and Dave doubted that the government would let anyone within the fifty-kilometre quarantine zone.

Even the religious pilgrimage crowds that congregated on the southwest side of it near the waterfront had diminished, replaced by tourists who now stood at the edge and did clever things with their cameras and hands to make it appear smaller. Occasionally a busload of cult followers would try to get past the checkpoints, but the outer fifteen-foot-tall concrete wall, topped with razor wire, kept most of them at bay.

Dave didn’t know what the Black was and frankly had no guess as to how it got there. Like everyone else, he oscillated between government conspiracy theory and alien invasion. Neither seemed plausible five years later as it sat there like a black lump. For all he knew it was solid all the way through, and no matter how far he dug, they would never break through.

Still a kilometre from the dome’s wall, the car dove down the concrete ramp toward the entrance. It was wide enough to accommodate two-way traffic, but the worker buses had already departed the job site, which meant no one was getting paid today and no digging was happening.

It took him a moment to adjust to the dark, and the lights of the car led the way. A few workers were here in their blue overalls and yellow hats, tending to the sump pumps that kept Lake Ontario from flooding the tunnel.

One of his foremen eyed the car as it rolled to a stop. Dave could see the man mentally doing gymnastics, trying to concoct a reasonable explanation for why people had stopped work.

Dave and Tony both stepped out of the black car and walked toward the foreman. Dave’s hand extended toward