Alan Wake

“This way,” beckoned Breaker, edging along a nearby storefront. “There’s an alley past the bookstore. We can cut through and get to the helicopter.”

The three of them scuttled down the alley, the wind kicking up newspapers and bits of trash around them. They emerged cautiously from the alley. Most of the storefronts were lit on this street. As they crossed over toward the dim lights of the Oh Deer Diner, the roaring of the Dark Presence started up again, increasing in intensity with every step they took.

A pickup truck with a camper shell on the back hurtled around the corner, the pickup thick with shadows, heading right toward them. Barry stayed in the middle of the street, frozen in place until Wake jerked him toward the diner. The pickup missed them by inches and slammed into a parked car.

The crushed radiator bubbled and steamed, the Taken stepped out of the pickup’s billowing vapor, a muscular man wearing an “I Survived Deerfest” t-shirt and jeans. He hitched himself toward Breaker, his movements jerky, a carpenter’s tool belt slung over one shoulder, a claw hammer in his hand. “Home repairs done… dirt cheap,” he intoned.

“Tom?” Breaker raised the shotgun, pointed it directly at the Taken. “Tom Eagen, you put down the hammer right now.”

“Clogged drains?” The Taken kept coming, hefting the hammer. “Leaky roof?”

“Tom? Listen to me,” ordered Breaker. “Tom!”

The Taken swung at her with the hammer, just missed her as she backed up.

Wake caught the Taken in his flashlight beam and the hammer trembled in its hand as the shadows slid away. He shot it with his shotgun, shot it one-handed, the kickback almost jerking the weapon free.

The Taken dissolved in the blast.

Breaker stared at the spot the Taken had been. “That… that was Tom Eagen. He fixed my front porch not three weeks ago. Lousy carpenter, but—”

“That wasn’t Tom anymore,” Wake said quietly. “Sheriff? Sarah? That wasn’t Tom.”

Breaker nodded. “I know.”

The roaring sound grew louder.

Barry peered into the diner. Rose’s life-size Alan Wake cutout was near the door, backlit by the warm red glow from the soft drink dispensers, and the jukebox. “It… it’s safe in there.” The door to the diner gaped, sprung from the frame, the lock broken. Barry pushed it open as the roaring came closer and went inside. “Come on.”

Breaker and Wake slipped inside the diner after him, crouching down as a dump truck rumbled down the street, four Taken in the back, all of them carrying axes and chainsaws. They peered over the sides of the truck, looking for someone… looking for them.

Wake and Breaker and Barry eased to the floor, watching as the truck slowly drove past.

“Th-they may come back,” whispered Barry.

“What did you mean before?” Breaker said to Wake, lying beside him on the floor.

“When?” said Wake.

“You said, ‘It’s called the Dark Presence. They’re called Taken.’” Breaker’s eyes reflected the red light from the jukebox. “Who named them?”

Wake shifted. Cleared his throat. “I think I did.”

Breaker cocked her head.

“A lot of what’s been happening around Bright Falls… it’s because of me.” Wake pulled the manuscript out of his jacket. He explained his dream, his vision from the farmhouse. He told her everything he knew. He told her how the Dark Presence had stolen Alice, using her to get Wake to write the manuscript of Departure, making him tell a story that would give it more and more power.

“Your writing did all this?” said Breaker.

“He’s a really great writer,” chimed in Barry. “It’s a gift.”

“Barry, you’re my best friend,” said Wake, “but please shut up about my gift.”

“All those people… taken.” Breaker looked at Wake. “Maybe when you get Alice back… maybe you can write things back to the way they were.”

“I don’t know if it works like that,” said Wake.

“What happened to Rose?” said Breaker. “She’s not covered in shadows like Tom Eagen… she’s not a Taken, but she hasn’t been right since we found her at the trailer.”

“What happened to Rose is the same thing that I think happened to Cynthia Weaver,” said Wake. “Rose and Weaver weren’t taken, they were only… touched by the Dark Presence, because it got more for them that way. It needed Rose to lure Barry and me to the trailer. It needed Weaver…” He looked up at the cardboard cutout of himself, a perfect likeness only flat and empty. He shook his head. “The Dark Presence touched me too… after Alice and I arrived in Bright Falls.”

Breaker looked concerned, tightened her grip on the shotgun.

“It’s alright,” said Wake, “I’m still me. For the time being.”

“The Dark Presence… did it touch you during this week you can’t remember?” said Breaker.

“It needed me to write the manuscript, that’s why it kept me alive,” said Wake. “I’m the one it wants. I’m the one who keeps the wheel spinning. The sooner I’m gone, the sooner this town will get back to normal.”

“Get down,” hissed Barry.

The dump truck slowly drove down the street, the plate-glass windows of every storefront that it passed blowing out, glass tinkling through the night.

The three of them covered their heads as the windows of the diner exploded.

Wake peeked his head up, saw the dump trunk continuing down the street. “We should get to the helicopter while we still can.”

“We can go out the back door of the diner,” said Breaker. “The helicopter pad is close.”

They made their way cautiously through the restaurant. Barry lifted the clear plastic container, grabbed a jelly donut.

“Don’t give me that look,” said Barry, chewing with his mouth open. “I haven’t eaten all day. And my blood sugar… oh, forget it.” He took another donut, stuffed it in his pocket, and scooted after them. As he crossed the diner, he slipped on the broken glass scattered across the tile and skated into the jukebox. His flashlight slipped out of his parka, rolled across the floor.

The needle of the jukebox scratched noisily across a record, then caught, the jukebox blazed up, blaring out some old Top 40 hit from years ago.

The dump truck halted in front of the diner.

“Go!” shouted Wake.

“My flashlight…” Barry ran.

Breaker held the back door open for them, raced out after them. “This way,” she pointed. “Another block over. The helicopter pad is on a big vacant lot.”

Wake heard the roaring first, and then trucks screeched up at each end of the street, blocking them from going around. The trucks were so thick with shadows that the darkness leached out, made the night even blacker.

“Go through the general store!” called Breaker, her voice half lost in the storm.

Wake stepped through the broken door of the dark store, guarding the entrance while Barry and Breaker came in after. He could see Taken approaching from the trucks, hefting axes and tire irons. Breaker ran down the center aisle of the store, the counters heaped with model airplane kits and dolls, holiday lights and ornaments, racks of paperback books and an enormous display of souvenir t-shirts.

Wake stared at a portable TV set resting on the counter. The power was out in the store, but he turned it on anyway. The writer in the cabin show was on, Wake’s doppelganger hunched over the typewriter, madly beating the keys.

“The story I’m writing won’t save Alice,” said the voice-over. It wasn’t Wake’s voice, but it was close enough. “It’s a horror story, and it’s going to kill her, and me, and everybody in this town. The darkness will be free, unstoppable.”