Voices (Whisper Trilogy Book 3) (16 page)

June 10th

It’s done. My first visit to the clearing across the river is behind me, and it was every bit as bad as I’d been told it was. I’m just glad I wasn’t alone. Even so, the three of us who went there could all feel it, although explaining what it felt like is difficult. Mills and Layfield didn’t even try. All I can tell you is that it’s like something crawling around inside your head. You feel dirty, if that makes sense. Mills went up there all full of piss and vinegar, which to be fair to him is all he’s ever been since I’ve known him. Since we came back to camp he’s been quiet. Layfield has gone the other way. He’s trying too hard to show he isn’t afraid, although I don’t think he’s fooling anyone. It’s almost like we’re dead men walking. Each of us waiting our turn to have to go back up there. If it were up to me, we would burn this place to the ground. Unfortunately, we have a job to do. Kimmel says their scientists need us to accompany them up there so they can do their tests. I don’t think whatever is up there is anything science can fix, but as I said earlier, I’m a soldier and I’ll do as I’m told. I’m tired now, and think sleep (if I can get some) will do me the world of good.

June 11th

I dreamed last night, a garbled mess of scenes. I saw a blond-haired man on fire at the base of a huge dead tree. As he stood there, arms agape, it started to rain blood. Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, dead children started to fall, their bodies impacting on the ground with the most explosive sound. I woke up drenched in sweat and twisted around my blankets. How I didn’t scream, I don’t know. I was thinking of asking Mills or Layfield if they had experienced anything similar, but Mills wouldn’t make eye contact with me, and I didn’t see Layfield during breakfast this morning. One interesting snippet I did pick up was about what the scientists we’re babysitting are up to in the clearing. One of the boys overheard Kimmel talking about it. According to Cameron, the scientists are interested in the dirt. That tells me there’s something up there they either want to weaponize or keep out of the reach of others. Either way, I hope they find whatever the hell it is they’re looking for soon so we can leave this place behind. I never imagined I’d be wishing for an uncomplicated warzone to take my mind off a patch of damn dirt in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, I’m depressing myself by writing this and I need to give my report to Kimmel soon. Everyone who goes to the clearing has to report in. Research apparently. Best to get it over with I suppose. God, I hate this place.

June 12th

There was something in the woods last night. We all heard it. It sounded like children crying, or maybe that’s not the right word. It was more like wailing. Mills locked eyes with me across the fire we were sitting around, and we didn’t need to say a word. I looked for Layfield to see if he was also looking in my direction but, like the others, he was staring into the trees, trying to think of anything to explain away the sounds he could hear. For the first time today, I realized just how much I miss my wife. I just want out of here. It’s obvious by now we don’t belong in this place. Worse, we’re not wanted here, and I worry about what might happen if we overstay our welcome.

June 13th

Everyone is tense today. We heard more noises from the trees last night. Like the night before, it sounded like children, although there were other sounds too. Mills told me he thought he heard them call his name. I know that can’t be true because I heard them say mine. What the hell is out there?

June 14th

Layfield is dead. One of the guys found him hanging from a tree just a few feet from the edge of the camp. I thought for sure that would see the end to this stupid assignment, but as is the way with the government, a dead soldier wasn’t about to get in the way of what needed to be done. If anything, activity has increased. People are in and out of the hotel like ants, bringing in lights and equipment. God knows what they’re doing, but whatever it is, we have been frozen out. Even Kimmel seems a little put out by it. He thinks this is his show, but this thing about the hotel being off-limits showed everyone that he has someone up the chain pulling his strings.

Poor Layfield was shoved into a body bag and left in the car park ready for transportation back to the city. For him at least, this ordeal is over. It’s not the most dignified way to go out, but nobody expected people to die up here at all, so this is the best we could do under the circumstances. One of the guys said he’d left some kind of fucked up suicide note in his pocket, although, as it always is with speculation, nobody seems to know what it said.

As I write this, I can see Layfield’s body bag by the edge of the path, and it dawns on me that although we’re trained to handle death, it’s still a shock to see it up close. Speaking of close, it’s getting dark and the tension is starting to ramp up a little. People are wondering if we will get a repeat performance from the forest tonight or not. I’m almost certain that we will. It’s funny, because the more you ty to ignore them, the more sense they start to make. My turn to go on patrol tomorrow. To say I’m not looking forward to it is an understatement. I just hope I can do what I need to.

June 15th

Last night was the worst yet. The noises, as I predicted, were out there again. I’m sure I’m not the only one who thought they were louder, as if each night brings them closer to the camp. What the hell is this place?

June 16th

Really tense in the camp today. Everyone knows what’s going on here but they’re either too proud or too afraid to say anything. I suppose I can’t complain too much, as I’m guilty of the same thing. Last night, someone took Layfield’s body from where it was waiting for pickup. We were sent out into the woods to look for it, but interestingly enough, we weren’t asked to check the clearing. The official word from Kimmel is that animals must have dragged the body into the woods, although nobody believes it. Even the General is starting to look tense and, dare I say it, a little afraid. I keep hearing my name whispered by the trees. Can’t say anything about it though. It’s tense enough already. My turn to patrol the clearing tomorrow. We’re taking a couple of the scientists up there to get more samples. The vibe in the camp is bad. Nobody wants to be here and I suspect a revolt isn’t a million miles away. It’s been dark for a couple of hours now and the voices in the woods have just started. I considered putting my iPod on so that I could get a little sleep, although if I’m honest, not being able to hear them is worse.

June 17th

Early morning entry today as I’m heading out to the clearing in an hour and I have new information to share. Last night was the worst since we arrived. I don’t think these things like us being here. The noise was awful, and even hunkered down in my bunk, I could hear some of the guys losing it. Some screamed. Others cried. I even heard someone praying. It’s obvious by now whatever exists here is evil. There is no use in denying that anymore. This, I suppose, is what being a soldier all is about. The TV ads and the posters asking you to sign up don’t mention we’re expendable, or that we might have to face things like this. Kimmel has set up armed command posts around the perimeter of the hotel, which is laughable, a token gesture at best. Everyone knows this thing can’t be brought down with bullets. Can’t blame Kimmel too much though, I think as a lifelong military man, guns have always been his go-to response. It’s time for my patrol and I can feel the nausea lingering in the back of my throat. With luck I’ll be back in one piece so I can pen another update. Writing this diary has helped me to handle this situation. I wonder how many of the others are doing something similar. Anyhow, enough of that shit. I’m just delaying the inevitable. It’s patrol time.

Second entry today. Needed to write. Clearing atmosphere worst yet. I threw up twice. One of the scientists bludgeoned his colleague to death with a fancy bit of equipment they were using to take measurements. We tried to stop him but the voices were just too loud. I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve started to listen to them. What the hell is happening?

June 18th

All patrols to the clearing are on hold due to what happened with the scientists. I’m glad as it gives me more time to listen to the voices in the trees. Some of the things they are saying make sense. I overheard Kimmel on the radio (phones don’t seem to work here) to one of his higher-ups asking to abort the project. He said the best thing to do would be to shut down and quarantine the entire town. Can’t argue really. The fact he’s so concerned has got me thinking about what to do with this journal. One thing is for sure, I can’t let anyone see it. This stuff is top secret no doubt, and the last thing I want is to be explaining myself in a military prison. I hope I can sleep tonight without the nightmares plaguing me.

June 19th

Shadows on the walls of my tent shaped like tiny hands. I can’t handle this anymore. Listening to the voices helps. They make a lot of sense when you give them a chance
.

June 20th

Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku Gogoku. I fucking hate that word. It’s all I hear. All I think about. I sometimes want to scream. Worse are the times when I want to laugh, because I know it will sound as broken and splintered as my mind feels.

June 21st

Kimmel thinks he’s so clever. Thinks we don’t know what he’s up to. He deserves to suffer for bringing this upon us. The voices told me. It’s all his fault. Him and his scientists, digging in the ground to get to whatever is underneath. He thinks his secrets are safe, but they hear it all and they tell me. It’s almost dark now, but I don’t fear those sounds, those disembodied wails and phantom hands. Not anymore. Now I see why they are so mad. It’s Kimmel. All because of Kimmel and his stupid idea for bringing us up here. Tomorrow will be the day it all changes. Tomorrow is the day I put things right.

June 22nd

My turn to guard the perimeter tonight, but I have something else in mind. The clearing is off limits, yet the voices tell me I need to go up there to learn the secret of why they are here. Screw Kimmel and his rules. I’ll do things my way from here on in. There is one small issue, and that is this journal. I don’t want anyone to find it, and at the same time I refuse to destroy it as it might prove useful for others if something should ever happen to me. I could hide it in the forest, god knows it’s dense enough, but I wonder if it would last the test of time or rot into dust. I don’t think I’d like that. It doesn’t seem right. Either way, I’m late for the briefing. I wouldn’t have bothered going but I need to make sure everything appears as normal as possible. I’ll give some thought to the dilemma about this journal and update later as to my decision.

Just about to head out, but have decided what to do with this journal. The night is close, and already those voices hide in the wind. Strange that just a few days ago they filled me with such fear, but now they sing me the sweetest of songs. I will admit to being a little nervous about heading up to the clearing tonight. If I’m caught I’ll be court-martialed for sure, and yet I can’t quite seem to resist the lure of what the voices tell me I might find up there. I have decided, in light of my pending possible arrest, to seal this journal in plastic and bury it. If all goes well tonight, I will of course return and this will be just another entry to add to the others. If, on the other hand, this happens to be the final entry, and whoever is reading this found the journal buried in shallow earth and wrapped in plastic, you should assume that I either got caught disobeying orders, or something worse happened to me up there in the clearing. Either way, I will do my best to get back and update later as to what the voices said. Until then, it’s time to put this journal in the dirt until I return.

Petrov looked through the remaining pages, hoping to see a continuation of the journal, but was greeted with blank pages.

“That’s all there is” Kimmel said. He had put away the lighter and reverted to hiding his eyes behind his sunglasses, leaving him as unreadable as when Petrov first arrived.

“Where did you find this?” Petrov asked, his throat dry and itchy. He badly wanted some water, something to help rinse away the irritation.

“At the temporary camp up there at the hotel. That’s as good an illustration as any of what that place does.”

“What happened to him, the man who wrote this?”

Kimmel shrugged. “We don’t know. He just… disappeared. Left all of his belongings in his tent. We found the diary by chance when we were packing his stuff away. It was barely buried under the topsoil.”

“What do you mean he disappeared? Where the hell did he go?”

“People disappear all the time, you of all people know that,” Kimmel said, his face impossible to read.

“So why show me this? What were you hoping to achieve?”

“I hoped it might make you cautious, even though I know it won’t deter you from chasing him up there.”

“I think we’ll be fine. We have good men on this.”

“I’m sure you do. Just do me a favor.”

“What’s that, General?”

“Don’t have your men waiting up there for him. That place… it’s not good for people.”

“Even the town? I was under the impression it was just the clearing and hotel that were bad news.”

“That whole place is bad,” Kimmel replied, almost sighing the words. “Whatever’s up there is spreading. We closed it off for a reason.”