6. New Maine World Order

The next morning, the sun spilled in across the sheets, and he could hear the twitter of songbirds outside as they went about their dawn routines. Todd yawned, stirring in the bed Zack had shown him the night before before leaving for his own.

Fucking birds, Todd thought darkly as one broke out into a particularly twittery song.

To say the bedroom was the nicest he'd ever stayed in would be the understatement of a lifetime. Todd kept noticing new details, new dimensions to the complexity of this level of… what was it… He struggled to find the right term, one that wasn't too heavily wrapped in his own judgments.

Nobody should need this much, though, he thought, looking at all the markings of lavishness that made it so unfamiliar.

He hoped that thought wasn't just disguised jealousy, but struggled to see how it could be anything else. The massive four-poster bed had come complete with more pillows than Todd had ever seen in one place, and it had indeed done its job dutifully, lulling him into a far better sleep than he'd been expecting on his first night in the new house. It certainly beat the couch he'd spent most of his younger years on.

He lay there staring out at the waves for what felt like forever before forcing himself to rise. The windows, gridded with their leaded-glass panes, gave everything outside a bejeweled, fantastical augmentation that he found almost dizzying: it was as though time was being warped just by looking through them. As Todd made to rise, he was seized by the dark realization that the clouds—the stormy, inky clouds that he'd noted collecting far offshore the day prior—had grown in scale. They had drawn nearer. Darker. And although there was some distance yet between him and them, Todd knew with grim and mounting certainty that those clouds were coming for him.

Bingo. The voice quipped.

"Oh come on, give it a rest." Todd moaned.

You should really hear me out…The voice began. But Todd was having none of it.

"La-la-la!" He sang, putting his fingers in his ears and babbling to himself to drown it out.

Fine. Have it your way. Asshole.

And then the silence returned.

Todd had more pressing things eating away at his thoughts this morning than the all-too-familiar voice. Late the night before, in an obscure forum he'd found after endless scrolling the web, he'd finally found a lead on "The New Maine World Order." It was a vague link to an odd property registered to an LLC with the same name.

Apparently, they owned a small compound on an island just north of Portland, not even a day's drive from here. Todd's thoughts circled the mysterious post uneasily now. Those pages had also made vague references to some sort of cult. He'd glossed over most of it, not one for superstitious nonsense, but a few of the reports had sounded genuinely disturbing. Todd had decided to ignore the lot of it—focusing instead on his query: the island.

Zack winkedat Todd chummily as he wandered into the kitchen. Zack was shirtless again, wearing nothing but soccer shorts. He sat on the counter sipping coffee and flipping through some local newspaper. Todd was surprised to find it didn't have a punchy name like Mainely News. A box of maple bars was half-eaten on the counter next to him. He blew him a comical kiss when he entered.

"I made you coffee," Zack nudged an elbow toward a mug opposite him. "I tried to make you eggs, but… well…you know my dirty little secret now." He laughed lightly. Todd took note of the smell of recent burning and was puzzled once more that someone seemingly so competent couldn't do something as simple as cook a couple of eggs without starting a small house fire.

"Thanks for the attempt," Todd said, raising the mug of coffee. "And this," he added, arcing a ginger brow at the plethora of pink kittens playfully dancing and running across the surface of his mug. "And who are these?" Todd asked, spinning the mug around, taking in all the different types of kittens splayed out in dumb poses.

Weirdo!Todd thought amusedly, constantly surprised by how not a bro Zack actually was.

"Cute mug for a cute mug," Zack replied breezily, dangling his long legs as he sipped coffee.

Todd forced himself to focus on the job at hand, and the ten thousand dollars he sorely needed. He'd think about Zack later. The money glittered through his thoughts, tantalizing him with the freedom it could provide. And they only had eight hours before they needed to return the prototype to Viktor.They had work to do. And fast.

"This kitten," Todd said after a bit, taking a seat across from Zack and helping himself to half of a maple bar, "was up late doing some research. I think I know where we're going, but…" Todd took a bite and continued with a full mouth, "Do you have a kayak, by any chance?" He chewed.

"I don't have a kayak." Zack said with dismay, his face falling into a theatric frown. But then he grinned and added, "I do, however, have a jet ski. You're going to love this."

He hopped to the ground and made off towards the home's garage, with Todd in tow.

When Todd sawthe black Wrangler parked in the garage, he knew without asking that it was Zack's. Todd had never been in a car without a roof—let alone without doors—and the open air racing through his hair as they drove along Coastal Route 1 was exhilarating, like so much of this had been. He had felt slightly treacherous leaving Snail behind, but then she didn't have a tow hitch to pull the monstrosity of a jet ski Zack owned: Bitchin'.

Bitchin' was a bright pink 1989 two-stroke two-seater with her name written in atrocious yellow letters across her back. Zack was obsessed with her and had been since he'd picked her up from an estate sale almost a decade ago. Todd was unconvinced of her appeal, personally, but had to admit she was fucking hilarious. Zack hadn't stopped laughing the entire time he'd been attaching Bitchin' to the Jeep, constantly pausing to make sure Todd had really gotten a good look at her.

Zack had introduced her regally, arms outstretched in imperial welcome: "My queen." He'd bellowed. Todd had been unable to stop himself from joining in with the huge jock's laughter then, as he was now.It was infectious.

"It's pretty out here, right?" Zack said, indicating the seaside as they cruised along. They still had the sun with them, in spite of the storm clouds that now dominated the offshore horizon, blackening the periphery of the sky with a massive volume of coal-black foreboding.

"Very," Todd agreed, reaching for a pair of black Rayban sunglasses Zack had left on his dashboard. He was trying to ignore the clouds still and was thankful when the polarized glasses made them harder to notice.

"Hey, want some gas station lobster rolls? They're num-num," Zack said eagerly, making a stupid claw motion with his hand. A sign ahead indicated that, like every gas station they had ever passed together in Maine, this one had:

"FRESH LOBSTER ROLLS!"

"I've never wanted anything more from a gas station," Todd said. And it wasn't fully a lie. "But we have like zero time for that." He made a claw motion back at Zack. "Next time."

"Saaaaaad lobster," Zack said in a lobstery voice, his big hand-claw unhappily snipping at Todd's as they blew by the gas station.

Zack kept on driving—dutifully—occasionally entertaining Todd and occasionally letting the scenery do the entertaining for him until they reached their destination. The rocky coastline streaked past them as they traveled. From time to time, Zack's big hand would find its way to Todd's thigh, and he would gently rub Todd's leg. The contact was a gentle reassurance that Todd hadn't known he'd needed.

And all the while, Zack filled the quiet with the bass of his rhythmic humming, carrying them both forward.

"Muscongus Bay. ARRIVED!" the nav announced.

Muscongus,Todd thought judgmentally. Nothing in Maine was straightforward. The name hideous, much like the smell of the clam flats they'd arrived at.

But the weather held, surprisingly, and as they backed the jet ski into the boat launch, Todd noted the way the shoreline of the bay curved and twisted in either direction, the deep rivers and estuaries ringing the enormous waterway all fingering out toward the blue of the Atlantic. The shield islands that dotted Maine's coastline were visible in a scattered panorama as Todd took in the expansive view. One such island, Quiet's Island, was directly across from them now. It sat low and irresolute against the backdrop of the broader Atlantic and a wall of foreboding clouds.

And that is where we are going, Todd thought darkly. It did look quiet, although the menace of the coming storm looming beyond it was impossible to miss.

"You think we have time to make it there and back before the storm hits?" Zack asked uncertainly, squinting at the clouds.

"I guess we'll find out." Todd said simply, not willing to let the money escape him now.

"Your call." Zack shrugged. "I'll get the jetski ready." He hopped from the car.

Todd found he wasn't much help getting the jet ski into the water. Or doing anything much regarding the jet ski, for that matter. Bitchin' wasn't exactly his speed. And he felt like maybe they weren't off to the best start, as far as inanimate objects went.

She's no Snail, he judged.

But he did enjoy the opportunity to straddle Zack as the two set out across the bay, his arms wrapped around the swimmer's sturdy torso, his legs pinching against Zack's wet quads, feeling the bulge of their outline against his, their calves rubbing against each other wetly as they skipped along the waves. Todd wished he could sit even closer so that he might press his half-hardness into the deep groove between the giant plates of Zack's glutes, but Bitchin's seating setup didn't allow for his shenanigans.

Cockblocked,Todd thought. I knew I couldn't trust her. But his hormones and his jokes weren't enough to distract from the growing disquiet he was beginning to feel as the island drew nearer.

Zack proved to be a good driver, or pilot… boatist… whatever… and despite Bitchin's middling age, she ripped through the water like she had been born for it. They each let out a whoop as they managed to catch a little air gunning into the next series of waves—the pink jetski shot through them one after another like a neon dart. Todd realized all at once that he hadn't stopped smiling since the moment they'd kicked off. His mouth had grown tired from the effort. He held on tight, burying his face into Zack's back, gripping him as they crossed the final mile between shore and island. Hoping against hope that this was all going to work out.

It won't. The voice yelled over the roar of the jetski. But Todd pretended he couldn't hear it.

"I think we need to head toward that point!" Todd yelled, cupping a hand around the other Zack's ear, hoping he could hear him over the whip of the wind.

Todd enjoyed the way Zack's hair smelled slightly of the woods, the way the short dark strands felt both soft and scratchy against the side of his cheek when he pressed his face into Zack's.

"Roger that," Zack saluted, adjusting their course slightly, cutting a line straight toward a gray beach set below a low, stony bluff. From what Todd could see, that was the high point of the densely forested island. When he had looked at a map previously, he'd noted that only the southern half of the miles-long island was occupied, and while this northern half was largely a state park, there was some sort of…something up on that bluff. On Google Earth it had been blurry and out of focus. Whatever was up there, Todd knew, was part of whatever culty bullshit made up the New Maine World Order.

And it wasn't going to stand between him and his reward.

When they finally made landfall thebeach wasn't sandy like Todd had expected, but rather a bed of stones that scraped and scratched at Bitchin' as she threw herself majestically onto the shore.

"Lovely beaches in this part of the world." Todd remarked.

"Hey, be nice to Maine. What has it ever done to you?" Zack teased back.

"Nothing, yet." Todd replied uneasily, looking beyond the bluff at the looming storm.

He winced at the sound of gravel grinding against the jet ski's underbelly. Zack was dragging the old thing up the beach, securing it from the incoming tide.

"Are you expecting that to change in the near future?" Zack asked apprehensively, huffing with strain.

"Not at all. Let's just get this done," Todd reassured. He felt edgy as he glanced at the treeline, briefly imagining that he'd seen the flicker of movement between the trees.

"Your wish is my command." Zack said, joining him now as he scanned the forest for some sort of signage.

But there was nothing. The tree line ran right down to the shore, the pines as tall and indifferent here as they had been everywhere else in the state. He didn't like the idea of bushwhacking, either, but Todd thought he generally knew the direction they needed to head and the island wasn't that big. Besides, they didn't really have time to spend debating things.

Ten thousand dollars.

"Let's head up that way." He said finally, pointing up a steep rise in the bluff.

The hill they'd begun to climb was largely sandy, rocky terrain, and the pines did a good job keeping most of the underbrush to a minimum, so the traverse went relatively smoothly. After some time, the pair crested the third of a series of rises. The trees here had finally begun to thin into increasingly expansive swaths of coastal meadowland.

"Whew." Zack whistled as they crested.

But as Todd made to reply he halted, hearing the faint and distant sound of a chorus of voices. It was quiet at first, halting, but each time he felt certain he'd merely imagined it, it would begin again, the interval and frequency becoming more and more frenzied until it was clearly undeniable: voices.

Zack heard them now, too—the sound reaching them both in a rising crescendo. The chanting seemed to come from just over the next small set of hills, not even a hundred yards beyond them, just past a jagged spine of rimrock. From the sound of it, there must have been at least a few dozen or so different male speakers, each chanting in turn, followed by a collective "HOO-AH!"

Ready to listen to me now? The voice asked, angrier than usual.

"No!" Todd yelled.

"No what?" Zack asked, eyeing him skeptically now. "Todd what have you gotten us into? What is all this?"

The chant erupted again, louder than ever: "Hoo-Ah!"

"Todd!?!" Zack implored. But to his horror, Todd found he couldn't speak, let alone move. He was locked away somehow in his own mind, staring out helplessly from within.

Allow me. The cruel voice taunted. The voice had been with him ever since he'd lost his mother, ever since the bridge. It had appeared the very first time he'd seen the shadows, all those years before. At times, he had felt gripped by it, as though a second version of him yearned to take command of him, to supplant his own personhood. And now it finally had. Todd screamed, but no noise escaped him.

Zack was shaking him violently now, but Todd was helpless to react. He wasn't himself anymore—not really. And Todd watched on, horrified, as the part of him he tried to keep bottled up and locked away took over, speaking on his behalf.

"Let go of me." Todd said flatly.

"Okay…?" Zack replied unsteadily, seemingly taken aback by Todd's sudden change in tone and voice.

Todd felt himself begin to walk toward the sound of the chanting.

"Hey, Todd! What are you doing! Come back!" Zack yelped, following him to the edge of the rimrock.

Todd screamed from within the prison of his mind. But his legs kept him moving forward. Todd could distantly feel Zack grab him from behind, but whatever had taken command of him simply shrugged him off and continued on.

"Wait here." Todd heard himself command.

But Zack raced after him anyway, clearing the hill beside him but stopping dead in his tracks as they were finally confronted with the source of the chanting.

Todd beat furiously against the walls of his consciousness as his body forced him to look on at the terrible vignette in the clearing below.

This is what I've been trying to warn you about. The voice whispered to him.

"Hoo-AH!"

Todd screamed, but no one could hear him.