Moving With The Sun

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  “I’ll go with you, Tyler. If you don’t mind,” Fergus said.

  It was the first time the red-haired man had spoken during the impromptu meeting. As with Amelia, Rosemary found herself going to him for advice more and more frequently. He knew a lot of things about a diverse variety of subjects, and she could count on him for a laugh during every conversation.

  Amelia turned to Rosemary. “I’ll go with you, dear. I’d like to be on hand if the young woman needs any kind of medical assistance.” She darted a glance at Lucas.

  Lucas rolled his eyes but remained silent.

  “Very well. Tyler, remind Kenny that the spy business is top secret. Can we trust our little genius to keep his mouth shut?”

  “Yeah. No problem there. But I’ll talk to him again, to put your mind at ease.” Tyler grinned. “Come on, Fergus. Have you ever gone deep-sea fishing? It’ll ruin you for any other sport.”

  “As a consummate lover of women, I find that highly unlikely. However, it sounds vastly more entertaining than shuffleboard or Scrabble. I’m right behind you, captain.”

  Hector and Ingrid left too, heading back to Ingrid’s house and the overseeing of the reverse osmosis system.

  “Amelia, we need to let Lucas do his thing,” Rosemary said after everyone else was gone. “He’s a professional. He conducted countless interrogations during his career.”

  The petite woman scrutinized the former police detective. “Of course, dear. I’ll just stay in the background in case I’m needed.”

  Amelia would not be brushed off so easily.

  “Fine by me,” Lucas said. “It’s not like I’m going to waterboard this chick. Keep quiet, though. Please,” he added after seeing a flash of anger in the keen brown eyes.

  “All right then. Let’s get this over with,” Rosemary said, feeling a wave of fatigue. The morning had started out so nicely: she had perched on a piece of driftwood with a cup of instant coffee while watching a glorious pink-blush sunrise bloom above the Atlantic. Now, though it wasn’t even lunchtime, she had three new problems to worry about: a spy in their midst, an untrustworthy would-be immigrant, and the threat of an invasion from the mainland.

  Her day had gone to hell faster than usual.

  ***

  Rosemary absorbed every nuance of the scene before her. Lucas had positioned the female across the breakfast table from himself, just as she imagined he would have done in the bowels of the New Orleans police headquarters. Sunlight streamed through an open window of the modest bungalow they shared, near-blinding to the woman seated in its path. The interrogator’s trick didn’t seem to bother the suspect, though. Even with zip-tied wrists resting on the table, she seemed composed and relaxed.

  Was the body language insouciance, bravado, or genuine lack of concern for her own well-being? Rosemary couldn’t read her, which in itself was cause for concern. In her old life, she could have written a person’s resume after spending ten minutes with them. This ability ensured success in whatever challenge she undertook, whether it was extorting gullible millionaires or leading a colony of post-pandemic survivors. The suspect sat within an invisible psychic fortress, impervious to Rosemary’s talent. As a result, another demerit was added to a growing list.

  “You’re telling me the Tequesta people – the ‘psychos’ – don’t have any kind of leverage on you? Sounds sloppy,” Lucas said, then took a casual sip of tepid coffee.

  “That’s just what I call them. They have an official name, actually, like a freaking motorcycle gang. They call themselves the Tequesta Terminators. How lame is that?” Zoey gave him the disarming, lopsided smile from earlier. “I think the idea was that a scary name would intimidate outsiders. Maybe that works on some people, but not me. I was in the inner circle within a month after I blew into town. Easy peasy.”

  Rosemary noticed a pinky finger twitch on the wooden surface. She hid her own smile. The female had just revealed a ‘tell.’ She wondered if Lucas had seen it too.

  “These people aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed, but they’re damn good at being bad-asses. They’ve managed to terrify everyone in a hundred-mile radius, stealing their stuff and demanding weekly tributes. The plan is flawed though, thus my decision to get the hell out.”

  “How is it flawed?”

  “Because residents took off. It’s not like there’s a shortage of real estate now. People living in the area who were barely scraping by decided to haul ass, relocating in the next state over, or wherever else that wasn’t close to the Terminators. So the dumbasses ran off their indentured servants. They got greedy...classic blunder.”

  Lucas gave a slow nod. Suddenly, a blur of tanned skin streaked across the table, ensnaring the twitching finger. He bent it backward, then watched the expression on the face transition from smug to pained.

  “How about the truth now?”

  Rosemary stood by the front door with arms crossed, witnessing the interrogation. She glanced back at Amelia sitting on the sofa, noting the dark eyebrows drawn together.

  “Okay, okay. Damn it, let go.”

  “We may be nice people, but we’re not idiots. Don’t make me hurt you, Zoey, because I will. I won’t hesitate either. I’ll do it before anyone can stop me. You get it?” Lucas lowered his face, leaning forward so he was a handbreadth from the young woman. He pressed the delicate finger another few millimeters.

  Rosemary saw something pass between them. Understanding, perhaps – an unspoken warning sent and received. She didn’t like the situation, but she had to let it play out. The safety of her people depended on getting to the bottom of this.

  “Yes, I get it.” The bravado had vanished. Rosemary saw candor now, perhaps even a willingness to cooperate. So she was surprised by the defiant words that came the next moment. “Now go fuck yourself.”

  The next sound she heard might have been the snapping of a chicken bone.

  Chapter 7 – Tyler

  “You don’t look like someone who has spent a lot of time on a fishing boat,” Tyler said.

  “What, because I have this damn plastic string all in knots?” Fergus replied.

  Tyler could see the man was getting frustrated. It was common for a novice fisherman to be overconfident. Fishing didn’t seem difficult, and in truth, it wasn’t. But he believed you either possessed the gene or you didn’t. The rock stars of the deep-sea fishing world had been born near the ocean and spent every spare moment on the open water. Sun-bleached hair and bronzed skin were hallmark cards for the pros, but there was more to it than just time and experience. The exceptional ones, like Tyler himself, felt a profound connection to the sea and all the creatures gliding beneath her surface.

  “Anyway,” Fergus continued, “this isn’t a fishing boat. Fishing boats look like the one on Forrest Grump.”

  “That was a shrimp boat.”

  “Oh, right. Well, this isn’t anything like what I expected. She’s a real beauty. If she were a woman, I’d call her Michelle Pfeiffer, the most beautiful woman that ever lived.”

  “She is magnificent, isn’t she? I mean, for an older vessel. She’s a 37-foot Tartan Jocale with a self-tacking jib and a 150 percent reacher on the forward fuller. That gives you maximum sail area off the wind...easy to manage short-handed.”

  Tyler laughed at the bewilderment on the small man’s sunburned face.

  “Meaningless sailboat stuff. Dad got her for a wing and a prayer after the stock market crash in ’08. Before her, we had an eighteen-foot Hobie cat. I’ve been sailing my whole life. I think that makes me the luckiest person in the world.”

  Fergus smiled at him; or rather, small even teeth abruptly appeared within the wiry crimson beard, and the blue eyes twinkled. Tyler smiled back.

  “Brokeback Mountain!”

  “Shut up, Kenny,” Tyler said, with a laugh. “Remember our little talk earlier? About the outbursts?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I have a disability, man. I can’t help it,” Kenny said, using his own voice for once. The quick mind was
focused on the task at hand: catching more fish than anyone else on the boat. The mimicking stopped when the kid was distracted, and glimpses of the former innocence were visible instead of the usual sardonic expression. Seeing those glimpses made Tyler happy and sad at the same time.

  No kid should have to go through what Kenny had.

  Tyler noticed Fergus eyeballing the youngster, and realized what was about to happen. The little fellow wouldn’t be the first one to try to one-up the Colony’s resident genius.

  The weather was perfect; winds streamed out of the south at ten knots and the sky was cloudless. He breathed in the salt air and waited for the inevitable entertainment.

  “Brokeback Mountain, eh? What the heck do you know about movies like that? You’re what, eleven? I bet your acorns haven’t even dropped.”

  Kenny snorted, working the 150-pound test line like a professional angler. “I’m fourteen, and I bet you’re an expert on hairy gonads. Does the carpet match the drapes, Fergus? The color of your hair does not fall into the visible light spectrum. I’m guessing L’Oreal’s Scarlet Harlot No. P67.”

  Fergus’s beard twitched furiously. “I’ll have you know the magnificence before you is one hundred percent natural from head to toe. I’ve had no enhancements of any kind...no hair color, no Botox injections, and no penis enlargements. That last one would be superfluous. I didn’t even wear braces on my pearly whites as an adolescent.”

  “Hmmm...your adolescence. When was that? The Mesozoic Era?”

  Tyler saw a flash of something on the older man’s face, then it was gone. Had Kenny gotten a rise out of him?

  “You’re an interesting little crayon gobbler, Kenny. I think I’ll let you live. For now.” Fergus’s tone was convivial, and the beard still twitched.

  Kenny snorted again, but was too distracted with the fish on his line to respond.

  Tyler felt relieved. He very much wanted these two to get along. In a short time, they had become some of his favorite people in the colony. He wanted them to be friends.

  “Looks like you got a mack, little dude. Maybe a fifteen-pounder by the look of your line.”

  “A mack?” Fergus asked.

  “Yeah. Mackeral tuna. Decent eating, although a yellow fin would be better. We’d have to go farther out for that monster.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” Fergus said. “Can the Celestial Seas aka the Michelle Pfeifer handle going farther out?”

  “Oh yeah. We could sail around the world in this baby. And the weather is perfect. You guys up for going out to the dark blue?”

  Kenny replied with a “Whoop!” The other two deck hands, newcomers to the colony but experienced sailors who were also identical twins, gave the same response.

  “Okay, boys. Let’s bring home a few hundred pounds of sushi!”

  At that moment, Tyler felt a modicum of genuine happiness for the first time since the plague. Memories of the loved ones he had lost and other, more recent problems were banished from thought. He felt the normal exhilaration he always felt when sailing, and also something else – a tentative sense of well-being.

  He knew it wouldn’t last, though. It never did.

  Chapter 8 – Amelia

  “Rosemary, can you run to my condo and grab my other medical bag? It’s the one with the finger splints. I didn’t think I’d be needing them,” Amelia said with a venomous glance at Lucas.

  “Sure. Lucas, come with me. The suspect is secure, and I think you need to take a breather.”

  She watched them leave then directed her attention back to the young woman who was tied to a La-Z-Boy in the small living room of Rosemary’s bungalow. Zoey studied her in return. If she were in pain, as she should be, she didn’t show it.

  “That didn’t go well,” Amelia said.

  “What would you expect from a Neanderthal? Such crude tactics. I doubt he was any good at detective work.” The auburn hair was dry now and it framed a heart-shaped face that could have graced the cover of a romance novel. She might have been one of the loveliest women Amelia had ever seen, and she had seen many in her very long life.

  “How did you know he was a police detective?”

  Zoey gave her an indulgent smile. “Come now. We both know it’s obvious. I’m sure Rosemary knew it too the first time she laid eyes on him. We three are members of a rather exclusive club, yes?”

  “What club would that be?”

  “You know. I can tell you’re a highly advanced creature, just like me. Just like Rosemary, and a few others I’ve run into since the end of the world.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I believe you’re right. Although Lucas isn’t the simple brute you’ve decided he is. Don’t underestimate him.”

  Zoey continued, eyes narrowed now, “There are a lot of exceptionally intelligent people these days. More on average than there were before. Don’t you agree? But there are others too that, despite their intriguing talents, are nut jobs. I find the situation fascinating. How fortunate to be alive during this most exciting phase of human evolution. If there are any anthropologists still kicking, I bet they’re having a field day.”

  Amelia only blinked in response.

  “So what’s to be done with me?”

  “I’m not sure. It’ll probably be put to a vote.”

  “I’m not buying the business of sending me off in a kayak with some dried fish. That was a pretty good bluff, though. I think she meant it on some level.”

  “How do you know she didn’t?”

  “Because I’m a threat, and she’s smart. She can’t allow me to leave. There would be no stopping me from paddling south of the island, then right back up the Intracoastal to Tequesta. It would be difficult, but not impossible. No, she has to either kill me, keep me a prisoner indefinitely, or become convinced that I will stay because I genuinely want to. For that last part to happen, she must believe that those psychos don’t have any leverage on me.”

  “But they do.”

  “Nothing I can’t deal with.”

  “Why not just tell all this to Lucas before he broke your finger? Here, let me see it. I imagine it’s quite painful by now.”

  A shrug of the slender shoulders. “Because I hate macho douchebags like that guy. Rosemary would have been smarter to question me herself, but she’s following her own protocols, put into place for the purpose of making people feel important...that their opinion matters. You and I both know Rosemary is queen bee. She can pretend it’s a democracy – and probably everyone believes it – but nothing happens here that she doesn’t orchestrate or manipulate in some way, including any would-be votes.”

  Amelia didn’t respond. Instead, she gently grasped the injured hand, leaning in to get a closer look. When her fingers touched the pale skin, she felt an electrical jolt. The images picked up by her scythen through the physical contact were confusing and disorienting, unlike any she had experienced with other survivors. Surprise escalated further when she saw that the broken pinky was neither swollen nor bruised, and the slightly askew angle was straightening of its own accord right before her eyes.

  ***

  “We can’t let them hurt her or banish her,” Amelia said to Fergus the moment he walked through the front door of their condo. He was more sunburned than when he had left, and he wore a huge grin.

  “And we can’t let her go back to Tequesta,” she added.

  “Hello, darling. I had the most fabulous afternoon. Sailing is thrilling. And who would have thought I could enjoy the company of men so much? It’s not as entertaining as being with women, of course, or you specifically, although today came close.”

  He tried to pull her into his arms, but she gave him a gentle push.

  “Not now, love. We have a situation.”

  “What is it? Colony politics?”

  “There’s always that, but this is different. Zoey, the swimming intruder from this morning, is gifted.”

  “Everyone is gifted these days,” he replied, serious now after her scythen had telegraphed a
deep unease.

  “She has langthal.”

  As with scythen, there was no translation for the word. It conveyed an ability to self-heal, or in extraordinarily rare cases, the ability to heal others. The dynamic force of langthal abided in the DNA of a handful of humans, inert, until it was stirred to life by injury, disease, or the touch of an afflicted person.

  “Indeed? Strong, is it?”

  “Yes, from what I can tell. I watched her broken finger mend itself before my eyes.”

  Fergus plopped down on a sofa that had been upholstered with sunny yellow fabric. It made his sunburn and hair appear even redder by contrast.

  “You’re right about keeping her safe, then. We’ll have to conduct the tests covertly. It won’t be easy if she’s a captive.”

  Amelia nodded, distracted, and then noticed his appearance. “I should see if she can alleviate your sunburn. You do realize that skin cancer isn’t a myth.”

  “The Cthor can fix me up if it comes to that.”

  She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Perhaps as a test, I could see if Zoey can heal Kenny’s Tourette’s.”

  Fergus chuckled. “That wouldn’t be an effective test. He’s faking it, you know.”

  “I should have known. During one of his outbursts he called me a salacious squaw.”

  “I assume you touched the female? What did your scythen reveal?”

  Amelia shook her head. “That’s the other thing. Her output is so imprecise and confusing, I couldn’t get a clear picture of what’s going on inside that exceptional brain.”

  “So she’s brilliant in addition to the langthal?”

  “Yes. We have much to discover about that one. We may have a recruit on our hands. In which case, you’ll have to be the one to harvest her. I know that’s not your usual objective while above ground, but it can’t be avoided. There are no others like us in the vicinity, and I’m no longer welcome back home. No, no, I don’t want to hear it. I’m quite happy here. Which raises another point: this is my home now – will likely remain my home for the rest of my life. If that young woman has nefarious intentions toward this Colony and its people, we have to put a stop to them.”