The airport wasn't quite as dead as I had thought it would be, pardon the pun. It had been taken over by an organisation dressed in black futuristic looking uniforms, wearing black visors. They looked like something from a science fiction movie. The guns they were holding looked high tech and they were guarding black barriers that crackled with blue energy. I asked politely if I might pass through, but they refused my entrance. I tried asking questions about Beaumont and the island but they refused to answer them as well. I could see black helicopters behind them, some of them taking to the air.

I hoped they were here to help the survivors evacuate.

A quick call to Richard disabused me of that notion. The people in black were from a company called the "Orochi Group", a major multinational corporation that operates within the Secret World. They are major innovators in science and technology, most of the tech we use in the field (like my phone) was developed by them. They were here for research purposes only, and I was under strict orders to leave them to their work.

Over the next few days, I found myself chasing dead end after dead end. It wasn't so much that I was looking for a needle in a haystack, it was more like looking for a needle in a pile of needles. Everything on the island seemingly had links to the Illuminati and the occult.

I spent ages in the tunnels under the little church, and while there were whole libraries and storage areas with ancient artefacts underneath it, there was no sign of Beaumont, the sword or the 'lock' he was looking for.

There was a haunted theme park on the island, complete with haunted rides and gruesome history of a bogeyman luring visiting children to their deaths. I spent almost a whole day trying to figure out what had happened there, what was still happening there I should say, because the place was practically oozing anima.

And while I managed to banish the Bogeyman for good, with top hat, cane, spindly legs and all, it was another dead end.

I came across a motel with a gate directly to hell in it, demons pouring out and milling around the parking lot. Even the zombies were running away from them. I managed to deal with them too, but it didn't bring me closer to my goal.

There were pools of Filth bubbling up in places as well, corrupting the environment, and the animals and people who came near it. Even the zombies were corrupted by the Filth.

Slowly I began to understand where all those walking dead were coming from. There were mass graves from witch hunts long in the past, the nearby bonfire still glowing with ghostly blue flames. There were the miners who were left to suffocate after the local mine collapsed, only the be dug up years later and buried in a mass grave, their bodies now shuffling around with their still pickaxe in hand. Early Illuminati cultists had performed ritual human sacrifices, their victims' bodies disposed of in the woods.

I found evidence of a serial killer, who had been preying on tourists a decade or two ago. A farmer, who had butchered and killed his farmhands, in that order.

It was as if every horror book written in the last century had been reenacted on this island in one way or another.

I also did begin to understand why Richard wanted me to stop working in the late afternoon because the job was exhausting. Physically, mentally and emotionally. Channelling anima is tiring in its own way, and while my Bee provided me with the energy to run and fight all day, I was glad to go home for the night. I worried a lot that Beaumont would find what he was looking for while I was gone, or while I was chasing yet another dead end, but he seemed to have exactly the same problem I had: there was so much happening on the island, so many possible places where these archives of his could be, that he hadn't found what he was looking for either.

And then I had a lucky break. A few days ago, near the town, I met a kid named Danny Dufresne. He had survived the siren call and was now camping out at the local skateboard park. He was a fairly normal teenage boy, who liked video games and comic books. Danny was more than a little bit excited when he met me:

"Guess I come across pretty hyped up about all this? It's not that I'm enjoying it, you know, I'm not one of those Norwegian black metal guys. I don't, like, get off on death. But it feels like all my life I've been waiting for this to happen. I've read the books, watched the movies, played the games…

Now, this is happening, it's really happening, the zombie apocalypse! And people are freaking out, so I can really do something. I can help make things okay again! Well, not like you, this is like your day job. Saving the world and stuff? Putting your life on the line and the needs of others before your own? Right? Right?"

His enthusiasm was infectious.

"You could work on your outfit a bit, though. I'm just saying. It's a bit weak for a superhero. I could, like, show you some sketches after we've gotten through this? I'm thinking mask, black leather, no cape. Capes are so out this year."

Danny has never stopped sending me his outfit designs by the way. I get one every few weeks, but skintight black leather isn't really my thing. Not out in the field, anyway.

"How's having superpowers working out for you? My friend Carter has some real horror novel stuff going on, it's pretty wild. Like, any girl can give you a drop-dead look, only she could probably do it for real." Danny said, his eyes shining.

"But she's not like that at all! She won't even kill plants. I've given up on asking her to. For someone with powers, Carter is totally normal. She does get worked about the weirdest things, like me going out alone… but she's not the only one. " Danny sighed.

"Sheriff Bannerman wants me back at the station by curfew. Like being out past dinnertime is a big deal when the dead walk the earth? I may not be able to shoot fire or melt faces or, you know, jump my own height. But I'm a good runner. I've read all the right comics, and I'm, like, great with wires and motors and microchips and stuff. I figure every superhero needs a brilliant inventor."

Danny had been using a model aeroplane with a camera attached to it to survey the island, but it had gotten stuck in a tree. I had recovered it for him and had given him my phone number. I wasn't happy with him being all by himself but there was no persuading him to go to the sheriff's station and the zombies seemed to avoid the area around the skateboard park for some reason. So I had given him my number and told him to call me if there was an emergency and I'd come running. Quite literally.

I had also described Beaumont to Danny and asked him to give me a call right away if he did manage to catch a glimpse of the sorcerer.

"Hey Sorcha, I saw him! That cult leader guy!" Danny sounded breathless with excitement, "He went into the basement of a house near the motel. I'll text you the address, if you're quick he might still be there. He hasn't come out yet!"

Yes! Finally! I called Richard to let him know I had a breakthrough and began running.

I cautiously entered the basement, not certain what to expect. Whatever I had been expecting, it wasn't this. The basement looked like an opulent study, with heavy oaken bookcases lining the walls, and Persian rugs on the floor. Fancy! Glass display cases with ancient artefacts were tastefully displayed around the room. In the middle of the back wall was a large wooden door, with indents on both sides. From the look of things, the artefacts in the display cases would fit right into them. I carefully picked up each artefact, hoping I wouldn't drop them and put them in the right place, fitting perfectly. The door opened.

A dark tunnel led from the basement to another area. Beaumont was standing at the other side of it. In the dim light, I just caught a glimpse of his green tunic and his greasy dark hair. With a snap of his fingers, he cast a spell, caving in the tunnel and summoning a monstrous back hound with red glowing eyes at the same time.

I threw everything I had at it, but I was barely making a dent, nothing seemed to hurt it much. I got really scared for the first time, as it leapt at me, its slavering jaws dripping with liquid fire. I braced myself, this was going to hurt me more than it was going to hurt him!

Suddenly multiple fireballs flew past me from behind me, larger and far more powerful than I was able to cast. The hellhound howled in pain and vanished in smoke back to where it came from.

A handsome Native American man stood behind me, holding up a device that looked part magical, part technological.

"God damn. Oh, you're lucky Boone's been keeping tabs on you, and that I got here when I did," he said. He was a friend of Boone then, the troubleshooter I had met on my first day.

"Don't go hunting lions with pea shooters. Know your prey." he admonished me.

"I've been waiting for something to happen out here. It's been in the earth, in the air. It's why Boone and me came out here even before the fog.

There's power on Solomon Island, the kind that spreads... Filth. And it's waking up.

My friend Jack is fond of saying he's seen the worst of what this world has to offer. But he's dead wrong. That was just the beginning.

I always knew worse things were heading our way, and now they've arrived.

The man you're chasing carries something powerful, and potentially dangerous."

He reached out his hand and pulled me up.

"I'll do what I can to help, though I lack your particular talents. Hell, it took me 30 years of looking to learn how to cast a simple spell. Nope, I get too close to that artefact, it's a bad deal all around.

I hear the whispers even now, and I don't have your natural defences.

I'm afraid of what it might do to me, of what it might make me do to all of you."

I brushed off my clothes, trying not to look too embarrassed. Why were these troubleshooters always around for the embarrassing moments, and never the ones when I was actually being awesome?

"I've been doing some digging. As far as I can tell, this relic is what brought the fog here, or at least what controls it.

Whoever wields it holds the fate of Solomon Island in their hands.

I can't tell you where that tunnel leads but the Illuminati dug and dug deep when they ruled this island. It's a network that stretches from Kingsmouth in the east to the Academy in the west.

I don't know where exactly this tunnel leads, but it's somewhere west of here."

I thanked John Wolf, because that was his name as I learned later, and started making my way to Kingsmouth Academy.