Chapter 6.

It was twilight when Derek Crogan reached Dunluce Castle. He parked and walked to the entrance. Silhouetted against the darkening sky, he swiftly climbed over the gate like a thirty-year-old. That illusion faded as he jumped down on the other side and stumbled forward to one knee, a hand pressing his back. The slow rise to his feet correctly suggested an older man, still sturdy but inevitably feeling his years.

A light, warm breeze, heavy with the scents of sea and summer, blew across the ruins. Crogan filled his lungs, struggling to clear his head and slow his pounding heart. He already knew what he would see, but he needed absolute proof.

Although he had not visited in more than three decades, the memories were precise in every detail. The sky now, as before, was a magnificent dark blue. Wispy gray clouds blurred the horizon, embers of the setting sun projecting flares of orange and red.

It was a truly spectacular evening, the heavens obviously unaware of the gravity of the situation.

Stopping just short of the access bridge to the main castle ruins, he felt apprehensive. For the first time that day, or more accurately, the first time in many years, he was unsure. Since leaving home that morning, his actions had been reflex, driven by instinct. Now, on the eve of mobilization, he felt exposed to growing uncertainty about things that he had always held as absolute. He was alone and without a plan. He had driven all day formulating a plan that, in the end, had amounted to no more than the belief that he would succeed. He knew the Black Ash was gone. Soon he would see for himself. Then what? What could he do to save humanity?

Midway across the access bridge, he stopped and quickly identified the markers— a large rock on the left and a smaller one farther down. He triangulated along the side of the cliff to a green, grassy slope above a narrow rocky beach. Straining his eyes, he found the spot and saw the mound of excavated earth.

A flash of fear exploded through his body. His prior assuredness of what he would see did not ease the shock of certainty. He gripped the damp rail and lowered his chin to his chest in prayer. Minutes passed before he turned and started back to the car, fear slowly giving way to a renewed confidence that came from surrender to his mission rather than from a plan to succeed. He understood that faith would be more important than strategy, that the will to succeed would be more important than the means.

On his way back to Portrush, he stopped at a petrol station. Inside he found a payphone and dialed a number from memory. After the first ring, a woman answered in a soft English accent.

"Hello."

"Kate, it's Derek."

After a pause, she spoke, her voice low. "What did you find?"

"I was up at Dunluce. Both have been taken."

"Oh my god!" Kate said in a whisper. "Do you think they’ve been separated?"

"I don’t know. I’m going to stay here and watch for signs. Things may turn bad quickly. You need to stay away."

The line went dead for a moment as they both lost themselves in fears for the future.

"Derek, take care of yourself, " Kate said. "Remember, you’re a farmer from Westport, not Superman."

"Don't worry; I have my cape in the car."

"My prayers are with you."

"Thank you. I’ll call soon."