Angel Dark

By G. Ernest Smith

Samira Task learned the truth about life at an early age. The world was full of self-obsessed manipulative people who only wanted to use and abuse you, and if you weren't one of the privileged people, you were nothing.

Her mother and father were both gone and she had been unjustly sentenced to the Klein Juvenile Facility. She soon discovered evil men were using the facility to victimize young girls, and now at the tender age of fifteen she was going to pay the price. Three thugs had beaten her almost to death and had dragged her broken bloody body out to the Mojave desert to finish the job and put her in the ground. But something happened. Something miraculous.
Samira awakened in a hospital emergency room with no memory of what had happened to her. She suddenly had a voice in her head and strange new abilities. The police wanted to talk to her because the thugs who had abducted her were all dead and brutally disfigured. Did she have a guardian angel?

Meanwhile, the Air Force is missing artifacts from a top secret project called Dark Star. Where are they? And what would happen if they fell into the wrong hands?

• Language: English
• Publisher: G. Ernest Smith
• Release date: Sep 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463124710

G. Ernest Smith

G. Ernest Smith is a retired Space Shuttle launch team member who lives near Cape Canaveral, Florida with his wife, Mary Beth. He has a son, Brandon, and a daughter, Mona, a brother, Jeff, and a sister, Gwen, who all live in California.He enjoys sailing, Harley Davidsons, fishing, writing, Miatas and eating (not necessarily in that order). He has been a contributing writer for Cycle World and Florida Touch and Go magazines.He is a graduate of Rollins College and the Florida Institute of Technology and holds a Masters degree in Computer Science.

Book preview

Angel Dark

by G. Ernest Smith

Table of Contents

Angel Dark

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilog

Acknowledgements

Notes from the Author

About the Author

Other Books by G. Ernest Smith

Angel Dark

What is your name, Oh Angel Dark,

and should I fear to know thee?

Why have you come, fierce guardian,

to what aim do you bend me?

From star unknown, Oh Angel Dark,

you've traveled far to find

me in my perfect prison

uncaring and unkind.

Do you choose, Oh Angel Dark,

the battles you must fight

or do you simply strike down all

who will oppose your might.

When fire is quenched, Oh Angel Dark,

with reaper at my door,

I'll leave this sad and lonely life

and I will fight no more.

Chapter 1

Somewhere over the Mojave Desert

Lieutenant Steve Lent was a proud man. He was one of only five men who could fly the X-92, Pharoah. There were only three of them in existence. Ghost ships designed by Dustin Defense Industries with only one mission in mind — spying. It looked just like a normal turboprop when viewed from below with two swept back wings and a tail assembly, but it bristled with antennae and sensors to detect every kind of RF, thermal and acoustic signature. It had forty eight high definition cameras and recording devices. The Pharoah did not have to fly beneath radar when it penetrated a country's airspace because it returned no radar image. It didn't have to avoid populated areas at night for fear of being heard because its muffled turboprop engine was very quiet and its six-bladed prop whispered through the air. People in nearby homes thought it was one of those sporty little motorcycles when it passed by.

But Steve Lent knew this was no ordinary mission. The tension back at the base was different. He could sense it in the general's demeanor. He was as tightly wound as a hungry cat watching a mouse hole. His face had those worry lines he had right before JSOC went into some African country on a rescue mission using a new countermeasure. And there was something in his voice when he said matter of national security.

And Steve didn't like the way he was ordered to fly dark as if he were in country. It was the dead of night and he was to fly with no navigation lights, no squawk code, not even his terrain avoidance system. His pilot sense told him this was dangerous. It might be okay in a backwater third world country, but this was southern California. There was plenty of air traffic here although he would be away from the commercial routes. He wondered briefly what he could be carrying that was so secret.

He was to fly to the Sandstorm Site — one of those black sites in the desert — and deliver the package to a man named Palmer, no one else. He'd be expecting him. Sandstorm was one of those secret sites that had only a few huts, a warehouse and a small landing strip. But that was all the casual observer was meant to see — just the tip of the iceberg. He had been there once and there was a huge underground complex — like an ant warren — that stretched for half mile in every direction and populated by nerdy looking scientists and programmers.

He looked out his cockpit window. It was blacker than charred licorice. He switched on the night vision and the cockpit windows winked and then displayed the terrain below with a phosphorescent green cast. Steve knew a lot of things, but he had no idea how these windows were able to show the ground to him with no light at all outside. He also had no idea he had only forty three seconds more to live.

When the end came, he was thinking about Julia and whether he could get out of meeting her mom and dad tomorrow night. It was very sudden. He felt no pain. He was only aware of the catastrophe for a millisecond, then he ceased to exist.

There weren't many people on the ground at night in the desert, but those who were saw a small blossom of fire overhead and seconds later heard a distant crack of thunder.

Edwards Air Force Base, California

Research and Engineering Command

General Earl Goldman was in his quarters trying to sleep when his phone chirped. It was his red phone. The encrypted one. Goldman, he said.

It was his aide Sheila Marx on the other end. Sir, there's been a problem.

The concern in her voice brought him awake. Goldman rubbed the grit from his eyes. What kind of problem?

Dark Star never made it to the Summit lab facility, sir.

What? What happened to it? He ran a veined hand through his salt and pepper hair.

We don't know, sir. Only that the courier never arrived. Palmer waited for two hours at the strip but...wait... There were voices.

Do we have any idea what might have happened?

Wait...I've just been handed a bulletin from the FAA. There was some kind of crash during the night about two hundred miles northwest of Sandstorm. Could be our courier, sir.

Shit! shouted Goldman. This is just fucking great! He took a deep breath and released it slowly. Was he carrying all three artifacts?

Yes, sir.

This is just great. We've lost something so secret we don't even have an idea of what it is we've lost. He put his phone on speaker, got up and began getting dressed. Get my car and driver. I've got to go see Able and Jenkins. And Marx, get me Admiral White at the Pentagon and Palmer at Sandstorm. We need to set up a teleconference immediately.

Palmer is on his way in, sir. He'll be here around nine.

Good.

Klein Juvenile Facility

Toneray, California

Samira carefully closed the door to her closet, turned on the overhead light and sat down on the carpeted floor. This was the only place she could get any kind of privacy in this horrible place. She didn't mind the smell of sweaty shoes and soil.

Samira had learned the truth about life at fifteen. The world was a cold and uncaring place filled with self obsessed people and if you weren't one of the privileged, you weren't much.

At thirteen she became interested in boys and wanted them to notice her. But they didn't. She had a useless milky looking left eye and angry acne scarring on both cheeks which seemed to get angrier every day.

And when she went to her mother for solace, her mother said 'Looks aren't everything' and 'It's what's on the inside that counts.' These words were meant to comfort but only confirmed what she already knew. She would never be one of those girls. Pretty and stylish. Always wearing the best clothes. The kind that boys flocked to and people sought out to join groups and take selfies with. Popular. That's okay. She didn't need the phony people. She had her little brother Matt, her momma and her best friend Megan, who lived in the double wide next door.

Her father had left the picture a long time ago, simply disappearing without a word. She had nothing to remember him by except an Oakland Raiders ball cap and the corner of a wooden end table where he had absent mindedly carved his initials with his hunting knife, a testament to his disregard for anyone else's things. Samira had cried for days and argued bitterly with her mother accusing her of driving daddy away. She had inherited more than her father's fiery red hair. She had his temper too and it often flared around momma.

Momma had struggled to provide for them. Cleaning houses and taking in laundry. Samira had watched as the effort of scratching out a living, worrying about their future and drinking slowly took a toll on her. Her spirit began to wane, and the sparkle gradually left her eyes and gave way to a hollowness, and her pallid face began to sag. Although a bright student, Samira had to quit school at fourteen to help momma with Matt and to earn extra money collecting stuff to recycle. She became irritated with her mother about money and some of her mother's men friends who came over and made passes at her. There were a lot of slammed doors and heavy silences.

Samira became very resourceful, finding a bakery that threw out stale bread, and also a pantry for the needy that featured overripe produce and sometimes canned goods, flour and sugar. They didn't eat lavishly, but they didn't starve. There were many creative things they could do with the stale bread — bread pudding, Potters pie, French toast, croutons. Five months after her fourteenth birthday, momma's old Ford Escort quit running. Fuel pump, speculated momma. It didn't really matter what it was. They didn't have the money to get it fixed, so they had to walk everywhere after that. Life seemed to be all struggle and pain and very unfair, thought Samira. Shouldn't some good come with the bad? It seemed like it should get easier after a while.

But it got worse. Momma got run down by a hit and run driver one day when she was walking home from the store with a bag of groceries. A witness said he thought the driver had been texting. She passed away three days later, never regaining consciousness. Samira and Matt were fifteen and twelve and had to go live with a foster family.

They liked living in a big house with their foster family at first. The mother and father were kind and seemed very caring. When her foster father, a big jolly man, started showing her special attention, Samira was at first flattered. She'd never gotten that kind of attention before. But when she realized what he wanted, she was horrified. She couldn't fight him off. He was too big, too strong. She wanted to tell his wife but he cautioned her against it and threatened her. She had to submit to his lustful thrusting night after night. The sound of his grunting and the sour smell of him nauseated her and sent her into a deep depression. She wanted to die. She thought about ending it all, but that would leave her little brother all alone with these people. He was her responsibility now.

She caught him leering at Matt one day in the same perverted way he'd leered at her. She recognized the predatory behavior immediately and could almost see his depraved thoughts. Depression became rage! She'd had enough. That night while he laid on top of her, she rammed a steak knife into his belly and rolled him off her. She gathered up her little brother and they ran, but with no place to go and no money or plan, they were quickly apprehended at the ShopMart in downtown Toneray. Their foster father survived the knife attack and had pressed charges saying he had done nothing more than provide a good nurturing environment for Samira and Matt. Her rape story was not believed, and she was sentenced by an uncaring judge and an overworked case worker to the Klein Juvenile Facility. She was to remain there until she turned eighteen at which time her case would be reevaluated, whatever that meant.

The Klein facility had a reputation for housing rough tattooed girls nobody wanted. She was warned when she entered the facility to not make waves. Go along with the program and do her time and everything would go fine. But Samira did not like this place, especially the ill-tempered administrator, Big Emma. She yelled, pushed and slapped Samira whenever she was displeased with anything, and Samira had had just about enough of it. The fires of rage were smoldering inside her once again, but she knew a steak knife would not solve this problem. She decided to try something else.

She needed to talk to momma. She knew momma was up above somewhere looking down on her. She really missed momma. She missed the way momma would hold her and kiss her forehead, smelling slightly of Scotch, while she poured her heart out. Like the time when she had a birthday party and only her best friend Megan showed up for it. Or the time someone at school had given her a black eye patch with the jolly roger painted on it. She started wearing sunglasses a lot after that so no one would notice her bad eye. Momma would rub her feet on cold nights to warm them up, and on special occasions momma brought her nice little dresses and tops or stylish shoes. She was not sure where they'd come from, but she didn't ask a lot of questions. She missed her little brother too. She missed Mattie's impish face and his taunts about her being ugly or stupid. He made her laugh. She missed how he always followed her around and wanted to do whatever she was doing: washing dishes, raking the yard, hunting for recyclables. She would love to see his smiling squinty-eyed face again. If she did, she would give him the biggest hug.

She removed the small silver crucifix from its black velvet bag. She held it up to her good eye to see it better, then laid it down on the carpeted floor of the closet. She had given up talking to Jesus. He didn't seem to care what she was going through. She needed to talk to momma. She was sure momma was up above looking down on her. She crossed herself and began.

I'm sorry, momma, for all I put you through. I was not always a good daughter to you. Please, forgive me. I was disrespectful and stubborn and full of attitude at times. Believe me when I say I miss you so much. She fished a tissue out of her pocket and wiped at her eyes. You were always loving and did the best you could for me and Matty. Please look after Mattie where ever he is because I can't do it now that I'm in this hell hole. She sniffed and wiped at her nose. If you're up there listening to me, remember I love you. I'll always carry you in my heart and...

The door suddenly flew open. Loafing again? It was Big Emma in a floral print dress. A woman so immense she looked like a flower garden blocking the doorway. Her small pig like eyes blazed in her fat splotchy face.

I'm not loafing, said Samira bitterly. Besides, I did two loads of wash and pulled weeds for three hours this morning.

Emma seized Samira by the hand and yanked her to her feet. Full of sas, aren'cha? What's this? She snatched up the silver crucifix.

Hey! That's mine.

Likely to cause trouble. All the girls will want one. I'd better keep it.

No, she cried. My momma gave that to me. She swiped at the crucifix but Emma held it out of reach. "Give me that, you hateful troll! It's mine!"

Emma slapped her so hard, it spun her around and sent her stumbling. You better learn some respect, girl.

Samira began to weep. Why are you so mean?

Emma looked thoughtful. "I dunno. Maybe it's because you filed a complaint against me. What good did it do? Huh? She drew back and delivered a powerful blow to the belly. Pain exploded in Samira's stomach and she fell to the floor. Get down to the kitchen and help Maria with lunch." Samira suppressed a scream as Emma stomped on her right hand as she walked out.

She had to hold tightly to the handrail with her left as she descended the staircase. She didn't trust her balance or her damaged right hand. It felt as if someone had come down on it with a hammer, and her head was pounding and she needed a painkiller, but the staff was told not to trust any of the residents with pills, so they kept painkillers under lock and key. She winced when she reached up and felt the puffy cheek where Big Emma had clocked her.

Her roommate, Squeak, met her at the bottom of the stairs. Squeak was small, had dark curly hair the color of old oak, was nervous and given to facial tics. She had a high pitched voice in the same register as some cartoon characters, which was why people called her squeak. She had a little delicate face adorned with silver rings — left nostril and eyebrow — and twitched her nose sometimes when she laughed. What happened to you? She laid a hand gently on Samira's swollen cheek.

Do you have to even ask? Samira tightened her mouth to keep from sobbing. Emma found out it was me who filed the complaint about physical abuse.

Oh no, said Squeak. Look, Sam, you're still kinda new here. You gotta learn to go along with the program and stay away from her.

I can't stay away from her in this place. She'll always find me. And my counselor says to report any more physical abuse.

Your counselor doesn't know. Kids who snitch tend to disappear. Emma says they run away, but I think something bad happens to them. Remember, you're only here until you turn eighteen.

That's more than two years away.

Three years for me.

Samira's shoulders slumped. Funny, I used to look forward to turning sixteen, so I could get my driver's license. But I know in this place I'll never even get close to a car.

Someone laughed in the kitchen and Squeak looked toward the door. She doesn't bother me much, but she's got it in for you. Just do whatever she wants no matter how you hate it.

Samira dried her eyes and Squeak noticed her swollen purple