Alan Wake

walking through a blast furnace.”

“A blast furnace with zombies,” said Breaker.

“Zombies,” said Barry, plucking at the Christmas lights around his neck. He made his face go blank, stretched out his arms. “Must kill… must eat brains…”

Breaker went silent, gave her attention to the controls of the chopper.

“Too close to home?” said Barry. “I get it.”

“We’re here, that’s all that matters,” said Wake.

Isolated pockets of light littered the dark landscape below: barns with overhead lights, homes with the occupants safe behind closed doors, families tucked in for the night with no idea what was happening in the rest of the town. Ignorance, that was one way to have pleasant dreams. Wake almost envied them. The chopper tracked a car that hurtled down the highway, high beams cutting through the night, before Breaker veered off, steering toward the power plant and Cynthia Weaver.

Barry pulled a half-eaten jelly donut out of his parka, offered it to Breaker first, then Wake. When they laughed at him, he shrugged and started eating it himself. “Got to keep your strength up,” he said, licking his fingers.

“I’ve got a few cans of double espresso and creme under the jump seat,” said Breaker.

“You’re kidding,” said Wake, reaching under the seat. He pulled out three cans. “You weren’t kidding.” He tossed one to Barry, who bobbled it.

“You see, Mr. Alan Wake,” teased Breaker, “we actually have a few touches of civilization in Bright Falls. Canned coffee, running water, even heard some folks have this new-fangled doohickey called satellite TV.”

Wake opened a can for Breaker. “Sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Breaker took the can, took a long swallow, her face wild in the lights of the control panel, hair undone. “That’s better.”

Wake watched her, and then turned away.

They flew in silence for several minutes, fueling up on caffeine, all of them thinking about what had happened in the last few hours, how close they had come to dying. How close Barry and Breaker had come to dying, anyway.

The more he learned about the Dark Presence, the more he doubted it wanted him dead. The darkness needed Wake alive… but it didn’t need him aware. It didn’t need him free. The next time he was touched by the darkness, Wake wouldn’t have a chance to write himself a way out. He would be trapped in Bird Leg Cabin forever, writing whatever the Dark Presence wanted, and there would be nothing he could do about it. Dying might be better.

The terrain got steeper underneath them, rugged outcroppings of rock and scraggly trees. No houses down there, hardly any roads, just a few tents scattered around, flapping in the wind. Wake thought again of the Taken he had encountered in the last few days, hunters and trappers and fishermen, wondered if any of them had set up camp out here. Wondered who was waiting for them back home.

“You like New York City?” said Breaker.

“No place like it,” said Barry.

“Most of the time,” said Wake. “It’s got its dangers and pitfalls like anyplace else.” He could see his reflection in the canopy. He looked tired. Looked like he had lost ten pounds. “It’s easy to lose your way too, just like out here. Easy to forget where you’re supposed to be going.”

“No Taken, though,” said Breaker.

“No… no Taken,” said Wake.

“They say we have mutant albino alligators in the sewers,” said Barry. “Not that I believe it.”

“Mutant alligators?” said Breaker.

“The story goes that a lot of people buy these small pet alligators on vacation in Florida,” said Wake. “They get home and a month later they’ve lost their tan and gotten sick of their scaly souvenirs. So they flush the gators down the toilet.”

“Ker-flush,” said Barry, miming a toilet flush.

Wake glanced back at him. “Anyway, supposedly, the alligators all end up in the sewers where they live happily ever after.”

“I love New York,” said Barry.

“You’ve never been there?” said Wake.

“Nope,” said Breaker.

“You should visit sometime,” said Wake. “Alice and I will show you around.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t know,” said Breaker. “My father was a police officer there until he moved to Bright Falls. He told some pretty wild stories about his time there. I used to tease Dad that he was just like Alex Casey.”

“You’ve read my books?” said Wake.

“Sure,” said Breaker. “You’re a pretty good writer, little heavy on the metaphors. Oh, and you seriously need a technical advisor. You had this one scene where Casey flips the safety off a revolver. Gave my dad and me a good laugh.”

“Everybody’s a critic,” said Wake.

“I’m just giving you a hard time,” said Breaker. “I’m in no hurry to visit New York, though. The way my dad talked, I don’t think he missed it.”

“I can understand that,” said Wake. “This is beautiful country. In daylight, anyway.”

Breaker smiled.

“If they ever make a movie about all this,” said Barry, “who do you think would play me?”

“You have a little jelly on the corner of your mouth,” said Wake. “You might want to wipe that away before your Hollywood close-up.”

Barry snagged the jelly with the tip of his pinky, put it in his mouth.

“Who’s that movie star with the three names?” said Breaker.

“Please, don’t encourage him,” said Wake.

“Phillip Seymour…” said Breaker.

“Phillip Seymour Hoffman?” said Barry. “He’s a good actor, but he’s fat.” He patted his gut. “I’m just husky. I was thinking more like—”

The helicopter hit an air pocket.

“Whoa,” yelped Barry.

The helicopter dropped suddenly, falling almost to the treetops before Breaker got control and regained altitude.

“I… I think I’m going to be sick,” moaned Barry, holding his head in his hands.

“You doing okay, Sarah?” said Wake.

“I’m doing fine,” said Breaker. “Just hang on to something. With all the thermals and the sudden gusts, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

“If you want to set it down someplace safe,” said Wake, “I can—”

She gave him a withering look that was similar to one Alice occasionally shared with him. “I’m just saying that I can make it to the power plant on foot,” said Wake.

Breaker glared at Wake, her mouth tight. “Look, I… I didn’t mean—”

“I am the county sheriff,” said Breaker, glancing at the controls. “I am responsible for the four thousand people who live in these parts. I talk them out of cutting their throats when they lose their jobs, and I stop them from beating on their wives and children because they’re just mean. I pull tourists off the mountain who think their fancy-ass alpine parkas make them invulnerable to avalanches and crevasses.”

“Sarah—”

“I arrest them when they mess up,” gritted Breaker, “and I release them when they sober up. The people around here are my responsibility, and they’re the best people in the world. We keep the peace here, me and a dozen part-time deputies with community college degrees in law enforcement. We keep the peace.” She looked at Wake, her face tattooed with the red lights from the instrument panel. “Until you showed up, anyway.”

The silence was unbroken except for the steady thumping of the engine, and the rotors cutting through the cold night air.