In the Gulf of Mexico, Clive sits quietly at night.
He isn’t tense. Not alert.
He just watches the darkened sky stretch endlessly above the ocean.
Stars are faint, scattered, barely visible through the night haze.
The water below mirrors the darkness, calm and silent.
He breathes slowly, letting the night surround him.
No movement. No disturbance.
Just him… the vast sky… and the quiet ocean.
CHAPTER - 10: ARRIVAL IN INDIA
One month later.
7:00 a.m.
The Arabian Sea breathes under a pale morning sky. The sun has risen, but it hangs low — muted, diffused behind a thin veil of mist. The light is soft, almost deceptive. Calm on the surface. Restless underneath.
The ship moves steadily forward, slicing through water that glows dull silver.
Thirty days.
Thirty nights of distance stretching like an unanswered question.
Now, the end of that distance approaches.
Far ahead, the coastline of India begins to take shape — faint structures emerging through haze. The port of Mandvi stands waiting, cranes frozen against the sky like silent witnesses.
The engines vibrate beneath steel floors.
The air smells of salt… and arrival.
The month is ending.
And the morning feels too quiet for something that has taken this long to reach.
The ship stands still at the port of Mandvi.
No workers.
No voices.
No movement.
The world feels stripped of people.
Morning light spreads across the empty dock, pale and indifferent. Buildings stare blankly. The sea barely moves, as if exhausted.
Clive stands at the top of the gangway.
No bag.
No luggage.
Nothing in his hands.
Just himself.
Carlos leans against the railing above,
watching him.
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Silence stretches.
CLIVE
(looking up)
“So… you’re not coming?”
Carlos’ reply comes without hesitation.
CARLOS
“No. I’m not coming. I want to stay on the ship.”
The words fall heavy in the empty air.
Clive nods once.
No anger. No surprise.
CLIVE
“Alright. I’m going to Bhuj. Goodbye.”
Carlos raises his hand slowly — a quiet farewell.
Clive turns.
He walks down the metal stairs. Each step echoes too loudly in the hollow port.
He reaches the dock.
For a moment, he just stands there.
Alone.
Then he steps forward.
Leaving the ship behind.
The ship does not move.
After a while.
Clive walks through Mandvi.
The city lies almost empty — streets wide, buildings standing like hollow shells under the pale morning sun. Dust drifts lazily in the air. Windows are dark, doors shut. The faint scent of salt and earth hangs everywhere.
His steps are casual, but measured. Each movement is deliberate. Hands swing loosely, but his eyes scan — taking in every shadow, every silent alley, every shape of the streets.
Clive is moving with intent. The city is a path, not a pause. Every step brings him closer to Bhuj, closer to something waiting at the end of the road.
No rush. No hesitation. Just controlled forward motion, a quiet force threading through the empty streets.
The road to Bhuj stretches ahead, long, silent, and certain.
And Clive keeps moving.
Meanwhile, in Bhuj.
Zoon moves along the road with calm precision. Fear does not touch him. He is fully present, aware, in control of every step.
His goggles adjust automatically, lenses scanning, mapping the surroundings. A school comes into view. He stops, analyzing the building. Quiet. Empty. Waiting.
Without hesitation, he moves toward it. Each step measured, deliberate. Shadows stretch around him, but he does not notice.
He reaches the entrance and slips inside.
The interior is silent. Dust motes float in shafts of morning light cutting through high windows.
The space feels hollow, almost alive.
Zoon scans the ground, observing every surface, every corner. Then he moves toward the stairs, ascending with focused certainty.
He is inside Zavier School of Bhuj now.
Meanwhile, in China.
He drives along the Indian–Chinese border.
The landscape flashes past — jagged mountains, winding roads, stretches of emptiness. The car moves with relentless speed, tires gripping asphalt, engine humming a low, urgent growl.
He is alone. No passenger. No escort. Just him.
Yet purpose anchors him. Every movement, every heartbeat, is tied to it: to protect. To act. To not fail.
The car doesn’t stop. It doesn’t pause. It tears through the roads of China, taking the curves like a predator, swift and controlled. Dust rises behind, scattering in the wind.
Meanwhile, in Shillong.
A tornado, born in the Bay of Bengal and racing toward Bangladesh, slams into Meghalaya. Winds roar like beasts, bending trees, ripping through empty streets. Rain lashes sideways, and the sky churns in angry gray.
Azad and Muskan stand alone, trapped in the storm. The world outside is chaos.
Muskan’s shoulders slump. Disappointment and fear press into her posture. She stares at the fury outside, silent.
Azad remains calm. Steady. Eyes forward, unshaken by the wind or the rain.
Neither speaks. Neither moves more than necessary. The storm howls, but inside their small shelter, time stretches and stills.
The tornado rages, but Azad’s quiet presence holds — a tether in the storm. Muskan notices it, barely, without a word.
Meanwhile, Clive is still traveling.
The road stretches ahead, empty, quiet. Dust swirls faintly with each step he takes. Then, up ahead, a car catches his eye. The door is open.
Clive slows, approaching carefully. Step by step. Nothing rushed. His eyes scan every detail, every shadow.
He stops at the car, inspecting it. The key sits in the ignition. The engine is silent. The vehicle waits, patient.
Without hesitation, Clive slides into the driver’s seat. His fingers brush the key. A turn. The engine growls to life.
He shifts smoothly, wheels gripping the road. The car moves.
And Clive drives onward. Toward Bhuj.
10:00 a.m.
Clive is in Bhuj now.
The sun’s rays pierce through the morning haze, stretching long fingers across empty roads and silent buildings. Dust glimmers faintly in the light.
He leaves the car and moves through the city. Phone in hand, eyes scanning every corner, every shadow. Nothing distracts him.
Clive searches, intent and relentless. He is looking for something that scars beings.
“Where… where was it is,” Clive said.
He doesn’t stop. Footstep after deliberate footstep, he keeps walking, moving forward through Bhuj — calm, focused, and unrelenting.
After a while.
Clive walks along the road, eyes sharp. Up ahead, Zavier School comes into view.
For a moment, he hesitates, the building looming silently. But the hesitation lasts only a heartbeat. Purpose guides him forward.
He steps toward it, calm, deliberate. The world feels quiet around him, as if holding its breath.
The door opens beneath his hand, and he enters the school.
Inside, the ground stretches ahead — empty, silent. Clive scans it quickly, noting its lines, its shadows.
He moves forward, every step measured. The school feels like more than walls; it feels like shelter.
His gaze shifts upward. The stairs call. He walks toward them, climbing with steady, controlled pace.
But…
A group of prisoners appears on the road ahead.
They move steadily toward the open school.
Clive climbs the stairs with measured steps.
He reaches the second floor and steps onto the landing.
The prisoners reach the school and pause for a moment at the entrance.
Then their eyes catch movement above.
Clive is on the second floor.
Without hesitation, they begin moving toward the stairs, their steps echoing softly in the empty building.
Clive’s footsteps echo softly on the second floor.
Below, the prisoners climb. First the stairs to the first floor, then onward toward the second. Step by step, they move steadily, silent but purposeful.
They reach the second floor.
One prisoner glances to the left.
He sees Clive.
He moves toward him.
Behind, the others notice Clive too. They follow, walking toward him, shadows converging.
Clive hears a sound from behind. A faint scrape of footsteps.
He turns his head slowly.
“What?!”
Shock spreads across his face, raw and unmistakable. His eyes widen, his jaw tightens — the moment freezes him.
— — — — TO BE CONTINUED — — — —
THE END IS NEAR
CHAPTER - 11: ESCAPE
Written & Created by
DARK_Novels_
