Moving With The Sun

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  “You’re a combat medic too? Let me guess. You wrote a book about it.”

  Lester responded with a grimace. The big man might not have sustained a life-threatening injury, but it surely hurt like hell. He was right though. The blood oozing through the hole in the khaki shirt was seeping, not pulsing.

  Another bullet zinged overhead.

  “The shooter is in that copse of oak trees in our eleven o-clock position,” Lester said in a calm voice.

  “Yes. I agree. Do you think it’s those two we left tied up this morning?”

  “There’s no way of knowing at this point, but I suspect as much.”

  Fergus reached into the side pocket of his cargo shorts, extracting a cylindrical item covered in a pink plastic wrapper.

  “I prefer Tampax,” Lester said.

  “The generic brand was on sale.” Fergus unwrapped the sterile cotton tampon and plugged it into the bullet hole.

  “What does it say about a man who carries feminine hygiene products in his pockets?”

  “It says I’m a man in touch with my inner goddess.”

  “I need my backpack. You’re a smaller target. Do you think you can bring it to me without getting your tiny self shot?”

  Fergus army-crawled the ten feet to where the backpack lay on the ground. There was a slight dip in the topography at the water line, so a few inches of grassy elevation protected most of his body from the shooter fifty yards away. That didn’t stop the gunman from continuing to take shots, though. Amelia would be furious if he managed to get himself mortally wounded again. Jessie was not available to save him this time.

  “Excellent,” Lester said when Fergus flung the pack his direction.

  The two men lay flat on the ground next to the pond. Fergus imagined what the scene would look like from above. If anyone happened by in a hot air balloon, they would puzzle over what the paltry human and the titanic human could be up to all splayed out like gingerbread men next to a water hazard on a golf course.

  “What’s the plan?” Fergus asked, watching Lester unzip the backpack’s front pocket by touch.

  “I’m going to retrieve my .357 revolver. It is fully chambered. I’ll give you the Glock. It’s smaller and will fit your hand better. You said you were in the military, so I assume you know your way around firearms.”

  “Sadly, I do. This is a symbolic act, you know, Lester. It means you trust me. Perhaps you’ve fallen in love with me a little.”

  “I have spidey sense too. I know whom I can trust and whom I cannot. We’ll wait until our assailant stops shooting, at which point they will assume we’re injured or dead and will then approach. When they get close enough, we will spring up and shoot them.”

  Fergus was on shaky ground. Cthor protocol demanded no humans be harmed or killed by his hand except through self-defense. Escaping a dangerous situation and allowing the participants to work things out themselves was always the preferred action. He may be able to escape on his own, thus avoiding a shoot-out and a potential violation. However, he would not abandon the man lying next to him. Fergus had decided Lester was remarkable. More importantly, he liked the stoic man, and wouldn’t allow harm to come to him if he could stop it.

  “Sounds like a reasonable plan. How will we know when they’re in range?” Fergus said.

  “My hearing is exceptional. I’ll know. Just follow my lead and have patience.”

  “Very well.”

  The minutes ticked by. The drone of the cicadas came in waves, a chittering tide of noise that ebbed and flowed in the air like water. Mosquitos bit them. Flies bit them. Ants bit them. At any moment, Fergus thought, an alligator would emerge from the pond and bite them too. Everything in this state wanted to bite you.

  “Get ready,” Lester whispered finally.

  Fergus gripped the Glock with the proficiency of someone who did, in fact, know his way around firearms.

  “On the count of three. One...two...three!”

  The two men popped up from the ground like pilots ejected from a crashing fighter jet. He would only shoot if he or his friend were in imminent danger. He had confidence in his ability to make the correct split-second decision even under duress.

  Lester’s reflexes were similarly adept. Neither fired a shot at the child approaching through the tall grass. Her movements were predatory, a diminutive lioness stalking prey in the Serengeti.

  She saw them at the same moment they saw her, but her instinct was different. She fired the rifle which was already in position to do business.

  This time the shot went wide, hitting the water with a robust splat, perhaps killing the imaginary alligator. Before the child could get off another round, Lester was on her.

  He grabbed the barrel of the rifle and tossed it behind him into the water as if it were a plastic toy and not an authentic Remington bolt-action. The child’s hand moved to her leg where a hunting knife, almost as long as the tiny femur, was strapped. Before she could strike at him with it, he caught her wrist and squeezed until the knife fell to the ground.

  “Ouch,” the miniature would-be murderess said, while her second hand snaked over a scrawny shoulder. The next moment, a gleaming machete came close to slicing off Lester’s ear.

  He released the slight wrist and took a step backward, grinning as he studied the machete-wielding child in front of him.

  Fergus looked at the china doll face so at odds with the weapon in the grubby, dimpled hand. His heart sank. This is what the Cthor had wrought with their manipulation of humankind and the world. Such beauty and innocence...

  “Bring it, asshole!” the cherub taunted, brandishing the machete.

  “Little girl, we mean you no harm.”

  “Fuck you,” the moppet replied, then launched herself at the giant. She was whipsnake fast, but Lester was nearly as quick and he possessed mass and muscle to compensate for the minor speed deficit.

  Fergus stood back and observed, his eyes bright with unveiled fascination. Movies were captivating, but the real-life scene playing out before him was more compelling than any cinematic experience.

  Lester soon separated the formidable weapon from the child and held her in a restraining bear hug. He might have been a doting father, but the squirming female Chucky Doll was no adoring daughter. The golden eyes framed by blond corkscrew curls exuded venom. A lesser man would have found them daunting. Lester laughed, that bass-tone, barrel-chested chortle that sounded like it came from some benevolent god on a distant mountain.

  “What is your name, child?”

  “Let me go,” the urchin said, her voice deadly calm.

  “What if I don’t?”

  “I will get loose somehow, capture you, and torture you until you are dead.”

  “Goodness. How can such a sweet little girl say such terrible things?”

  A shrug of the restrained shoulders. “Because that’s life. You have to be a killer to survive.”

  “Not true. Who told you this?”

  “My mother. Now let me go, dickhead.”

  “Tsk tsk. Children shouldn’t use such offensive language. Rule number one: no more naughty words. Are we clear? Say yes with sincerity and I’ll let you go.”

  “Yes,” the child said quickly.

  “Not sincere.”

  A dramatic sigh came from the rosebud mouth.

  “I won’t say any more naughty words.”

  “Also, I want your word of honor that you will not try to hurt or kill me or my friend over there.”

  “The leprechaun? I could take him down in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

  Fergus’s rusty beard twitched at the corners.

  “Do you agree to the terms? No hurting and no killing?”

  “Sure.”

  “More sincerity, please.”

  Another exasperated sigh. “I agree not to hurt or kill you or the leprechaun.”

  Lester released the child. She scampered ten feet away, then turned to face them, small hands on prepubescent hips. She wore an expressio
n of frank curiosity.

  “Are you guys a couple? There’s nothing wrong with that, you know. My mom always said that all forms of love between people were good. Didn’t matter what color they were or if they were two girls or two boys.”

  “Your mother sounds like an enlightened soul,” Fergus said.

  The amber eyes fringed with impossibly long eyelashes slid from Lester to him. He felt the weight of them – they had seen things no child’s eyes should ever see.

  “She’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Lester said. There was a gentleness in his voice Fergus had not heard before. At that moment he realized they would be bringing a new applicant back to the Costco headquarters of the Tequesta Terminators.

  “Hey, you got blood on me.” The child looked down at her filthy dress. It might have been pink at some point in its dubious past, but now it was a grimy brown festooned with giant’s blood. “Did I do that?” she said, gazing wide-eyed at Lester’s chest.

  “You did. And it hurts like the dickens at the moment. The least you can do is tell us your name, seeing as how you shot me.”

  “It must not have been a kill shot. You’re lucky. I’m really good at shooting. I’m Annabelle, like the lady in the poem. My mom loved Edgar Allen Poe. She read his stories to me at bedtime.”

  “Poe isn’t suitable reading material for children,” Lester said.

  “My mom said Poe was a genius, and I wasn’t interested in One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.”

  “That’s too bad. Dr. Suess was also a genius.”

  “If you say so. I like the scary stuff. Always have.”

  “So Annabelle, how old are you and why did you shoot at us?”

  “I’m nine and a half and I shot at you because you probably have food. I’m pretty hungry and there aren’t as many squirrels as there used to be.”

  “We have food. What would you prefer, peanut butter or Campbell’s Chicken and Stars?”

  “Can I have both?”

  “At the same time?”

  “Yes. Like I said, I’m pretty hungry.”

  “Then the answer is yes. Remember you gave your word not to hurt us, so let’s find a place to set up camp and I’ll heat the soup for you.”

  “I don’t mind if it’s cold.”

  “We’re not animals, Annabelle. We eat our soup warm. Unless it’s gazpacho.”

  “What’s gazpacho?”

  “Oh child, you have much to learn. Fortunately, I’m a patient man and an excellent teacher.”

  “What about my weapons? Is my rifle ruined now that it’s in the water?”

  “Maybe not,” Lester said, wading into the pond and reaching down into the possibly alligator-infested water. He brought forth the firearm like Excalibur emerging from a mystical lake. “We’ll dismantle it and dry it out. Did your mother show you proper firearms maintenance?”

  A shake of the blond curls. “No. There wasn’t time for that before she died. She only showed me how to load it. I figured out on my own how to fire it. I think I have a knack for it. I can get a squirrel from really far away. There’s not much meat on them, though. Takes three or four to fill me up. Can I get my machete and knife too?”

  “Can I trust you not to use them on us?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  This time Fergus believed her.

  “What are your names?” she said, sliding the knife under two pieces of string tied to her leg. The next moment the machete was secure in a sheath made of rags and secured to the tiny back with more of the string.

  “I’m Fergus, and the big guy is Lester.” He extended his hand which the child merely stared at.

  “So are you a couple? You look like you both came out of a storybook. I’ve never seen hair that color. And I’ve never met anyone that tall before.”

  “No, we’re not a couple. Just friends.” Lester smiled. “Let’s make camp and get that soup warming. Then I’d like to hear your story, Annabelle.”

  “Okay. It’s safer this way. Follow me,” she said, sprinting away in the direction of a house.

  “What are we getting ourselves into here?” Fergus said. “She could be leading us into a trap. What if there are a dozen adolescent assassins holed up in there? A real-life Lord of the Flies?”

  “I thought of that. I don’t think so, though. I think this one has been alone. My spidey sense tells me so.”

  “Much is riding on your spidey sense, Lester. I hope you’re right.”

  Chapter 20 – Tyler

  “What’s wrong with you?” Kenny said to Tyler.

  It was late evening and they were taking advantage of the last vestige of sunlight to work on the hail-damaged aquaponics facility. Most of the tilapia survived, but all the vegetation had been ravaged. They would have to wait on Hector’s seeds to sprout before they could transplant them here.

  “Nothing. I’m fine,” Tyler said, not meeting the laser gaze behind the Clark Kent glasses.

  “Liar. I’ve been living with you for months. I know something is wrong. Normally you’re just a sad puppy, but lately you’ve been a petulant teenager.”

  “That’s hilarious coming from you, a smartass nerdy teenager.”

  “But not a petulant one.”

  “True. You’re a lot of things – rude, sarcastic, belligerent – but not petulant.”

  “Are you sure you even know what that means, blondie? It’s kind of a big word.”

  “Yeah, little dude. I’m not the wordsmith you are, but I’m not an idiot.”

  Kenny shrugged. “If you say so. So what’s up with you?”

  He would not be diverted.

  “Nothing. I just have some things on my mind.”

  “Sharing is caring. Tell me all about your troubles, bro. I’m here for you.”

  “There’s stuff I don’t want to talk about. Just like you not wanting to talk about what happened on the way down here from Brooklyn.”

  Tyler saw the familiar mask slide over Kenny’s face. He had yet to get him to open up about the months after Chicxulub before the teenager had arrived at the Colony, hungry and traumatized.

  “Check and mate,” Kenny said after a few seconds. “I guess some things are best left buried in the past.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “But something tells me your past isn’t buried very deep. I think there’s a skeleton hand clawing its way out of a shallow grave even now.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  “No, I’m not. It’s okay that you don’t want to talk about it, but don’t act like I’m making shit up. Just know that I know something is amiss. You can tell me or not tell me, but don’t deny that the roller coaster in Tyler World is sliding off its tracks.”

  Tyler didn’t answer.

  Kenny sighed dramatically. “So that Zoey chick. There’s some sexy vanilla, am I right?”

  “She’s very pretty, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Very pretty? Please. That gina is country pie.”

  “Talk in English, little dude. I don’t speak ghetto slang.”

  “She’s about the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  “Yes, she is.” He could feel the intelligent eyes on him, but wouldn’t look up from the work he was doing on one of the troughs. Fish glided inches below the water’s surface; he never tired of watching them swim. When problems weighed him down, he would come to the aquaponics farm. It was almost as good as his old salt water tank filled with angelfish. The tilapia weren’t as colorful, but in their own way they were lovely too.

  “That’s all you’re gonna say?” Kenny said.

  “What do you want me to say? Yes, she’s pretty.”

  “You should hit that.”

  “Don’t be vulgar.”

  “How does that make me vulgar? All I’m saying is the two best-looking people on the island should hook up. Maybe squirt out some glorious bambinos.”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter. We have stuff to deal with that’s m
ore important than hooking up.”

  “True dat. We’ll all be starving to death before much longer.”

  “Not if Hector gets the new crop going. And there’s an entire ocean of food out there, you know.”

  “Yeah, but I’m getting burned out on seafood.”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “At least Charlotte will be cooking tonight. She may be dentally-challenged, but that redneck is a goddamn culinary genius.”

  “Language,” Tyler said, distracted now.

  The sun was beginning its daily descent into the turquoise water; the luminous half-orb floated at the edge of the horizon. It was time to head over to the Love Shack for the emergency meeting Rosemary had called. When Tyler thought about being in the company of Zoey, a tight knot of anxiety blossomed in the pit of his stomach.

  ***

  “Yes, Howard, I realize a direct hit from a hurricane is rare, but we have to consider the possibility. After the hail storm, we can’t dismiss the notion of an even more destructive weather event,” Rosemary said.

  Tyler sat at the back next to Kenny. Charlotte and her helpers had served a delicious meal of jambalaya made with rice, Spam, and some freshly-caught fish. Now it was time for Rosemary to get to the point of the meeting. He tried to keep his eyes from gravitating to the redhead sitting next to Amelia at the front. The warm, flickering light of the torches made her face even lovelier, if that were possible.

  “An evacuation plan seems extreme,” Howard said. “These houses are made to withstand hurricanes.” He always sat up front near Rosemary, as if being close to the Colony leader would elevate his own status within the community.

  Tyler liked almost everyone he encountered, but he could not warm up to Howard. The middle-aged man was an insufferable blowhard; there was a shiftiness about him too...a cagey cast to his eyes. He always placed his own interests above those of the colony, and he never volunteered for any extra work beyond his job of maintaining the boat engines. He had been a marine mechanic in his old life, which made him an asset, despite his disagreeable personality.

  “How is creating a few protocols extreme?” Tension was evident in Rosemary’s jawline.

  “I imagine you’ll want to do drills...practice your little evacuation procedures. That’s a lot of effort for something that probably won’t even be needed. It’s not only a waste of fuel, but also a waste of our time and energy, which is better spent getting food and making sure we’re safe.”