Moving With The Sun

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  Deft fingers continued to touch the older man, concentrating on the chest. Then they moved to Harold’s head, covered in gray hair that looked darker now with sweat. The fisherman’s hat lay next to him, like an anxious pet waiting to be reunited with its owner. Tung’s eyes were half-closed as he sent his scythen into Harold’s body. If anybody could find out whether Harold was okay, it would be Tung and his scythen. He was the best at it.

  After several minutes, he removed his hands. She knew it was bad.

  Panic washed over her. “Don’t say it. He’s not dead.”

  “I can’t feel his heart beating, Jessie. Neurons are still firing in his brain, but I think it’s too late. I’m sorry.”

  “I can help!”

  He seemed to think about it, then shook his head.

  “No. I think he’s too far gone. It would be terribly risky.”

  “I helped, Fergus. I can help Harold.”

  “Fergus wasn’t dead, just dying. This is different.”

  “He hasn’t been dead for long, right?”

  “No, just a couple of minutes, perhaps.”

  Jessie’s mouth turned down in a frown. She was concentrating very hard on not being angry with Tung. She took a deep breath to calm herself.

  “I’m going to save him. He’s my friend, and I don’t want to lose another person I love.”

  She watched the effect of her words on Tung’s face. There was hope.

  “We don’t know what will happen, Jessie. We have no idea what langthal will do on someone who has clinically died.”

  “I don’t care. I’m doing it anyway.” She squatted next to Harold’s body.

  Tung didn’t stop her.

  She had memorized everything Amelia taught her when she healed Maddie and then Fergus. She closed her eyes and placed her hands on Harold’s chest.

  “It might be that Harold’s brain has been deprived of oxygen for too long,” Tung said in a soft voice.

  She lifted her hands with a jerk. She remembered a news story her daddy had told her about a man who had been ice fishing and fell into a cold lake. He was rescued, but the rescuers figured he had been under water and not breathing for at least ten minutes. They brought him back to life, but he was never the same again – some parts of his brain didn’t work very well. She thought about Tung’s words. Would Harold be...different? Not as smart? Not as kind and friendly? That would be terrible, to bring her friend back to life only to realize he was no longer the same.

  She shook her head. “I’m going to do this. I won’t lose another person I love. Not if I can help it.”

  She closed her eyes again and went to work.

  Chapter 22 - Anonymous

  Dear Diary,

  Someone was very naughty this evening! I bet you can guess who...

  My heart is still racing from the adrenaline rush. I’ve never poisoned anyone before, and it just might be the most exciting method by which to fulfill my role as Angel of Death. Every part of the oleander is lethal, but it is also bitter-tasting, so I knew the dosage was critical. The very act of inserting the poison onto the targeted plate was a delicate maneuver which anyone might have observed. I didn’t know how fast it would take effect. It was thrilling to watch the drama play out.

  Did someone see me do it? What if I miscalculated the dosage and my victim experienced merely illness instead of death? Would Amelia have an anecdote in her adorable little black bag?

  There’s much about poison that I don’t know. Sadly, it was not an area of self-study before the end came. There was so much to learn, and I hadn’t realized yet what I was. However, my self-education did include horticulture, so I am familiar with the local flora. Florida hosts several varieties of indigenous poisonous plants besides the deadly oleander: foxglove, lantana, wild mushrooms, to name a few.

  But the one I’m most excited to experiment with is ricinus communis. It is a lovely perennial with spiky leaves that look similar to those of the marijuana plant. It produces small seed pods that contain castor beans – not a true bean, but rather a seed from which oil is extracted. Castor oil has many beneficial applications.

  But the seed has a dark twin: ricin, one of the deadliest poisons found in nature.

  How thrilling!

  So while I haven’t abandoned my plans for more straightforward killing, I do intend to have some fun traipsing down this new path.

  On a side note, I doubt that many folks will grieve the loss of that insufferable man; he had no friends that I’m aware of. It’s a mystery to me why anyone would choose to be obnoxious. Clever people – especially clever killers – put on a friendly façade. They appear compassionate and cooperative. They’re always ready to lend a helping hand, unlike Howard who never volunteered for any extra work.

  My seemingly beneficent personality is the perfect disguise for a killer who is moving up in the world.

  Chapter 23 – Rosemary

  “We need a fortified location several miles inland. That’s the sticking point of our evacuation plan. We have the boat assignments worked out and the order in which the Colonists will be transported. People go first, then water, then food, then if there’s time, these items.” Rosemary held up a piece of notebook paper. Even in the dim lantern light, everyone at the table could see the details on the handwritten bulleted list.

  Ingrid nodded after perusing it, then said in a kinder voice than she had ever used toward her, “Well done. I appreciate your taking this seriously. It wasn’t easy for me to come forward. My entire life people have been skeptical of my dreams. I’m glad you weren’t, and I’m relieved you didn’t tell everyone else about them.”

  Rosemary smiled at the older woman. She felt they had overcome a barrier that existed between them. She saw respect – perhaps even admiration – in the keen eyes. Being on the receiving end of that, especially when it came from someone as imperious and reticent as Ingrid, felt like the old days when she had used recreational drugs. That high was addictive on several levels. It felt wonderful to be admired, but it also mitigated some of the guilt that she carried...would always carry, like a scarlet letter on her chest that only she could see.

  “Tell me again why this chick is here,” Lucas drawled from where he stood a few feet away, arms crossed, studying the faces at Rosemary’s kitchen table.

  “First, because she is a meteorologist...or close enough. Second, because she was present during the initial discussion of the hurricane dreams. She claims to be psychic, like Ingrid. Also, Tyler believes her familiarity with Tequesta could be useful.”

  “I’ve already interrogated her about the Terminators,” Lucas said, narrowed eyes glued to Zoey. “And Ingrid has lived here forever. She knows the lay of the land. Why the hell do we need her intel?”

  “I’m referring to her detailed knowledge of the area as it applies to an evacuation plan. She has information gained from the group’s raids.”

  The reasoning was a bit of a stretch, and she hoped no one would recognize it as such. She desperately wanted her dubious past to stay buried, which is why she had granted Zoey’s request to be present at the meeting. The young woman had recognized her from a televised mug shot before the plague, and while there had been no direct threat of blackmail, the possibility was always there, nipping at her heels. The thought of living like this for the rest of her life weighed on her. Should she take extreme measures to rid herself of this subtle menace? Unlikely. The last thing she wanted to do was add to her lengthy list of existential transgressions.

  “Zoey, what are your thoughts about where we should go? Storm shelters? High school gymnasiums? What’s easy to get to, unoccupied, and can accommodate our people, preferably with adequate plumbing?” Rosemary said.

  “The bigger question is how are you going to get past the Terminators on your way to safety? They have lookouts, you know. People watching for anyone coming into their territory.”

  “Perhaps we should go north or south of the town?” Ingrid said.

  Rosemary shook
her head. “Think about how rough the water will be and how strong the currents and winds during the onset of a hurricane. The shortest distance from here to the mainland is a half mile, which will be risky to navigate. We can’t make that any longer. Zoey, do you know where these lookouts are positioned? We could send a team to disable them.”

  “Of course.”

  Lucas snorted in disgust. “You’re kidding, right? You’re going to trust this broad? That’s almost as stupid as letting her come to this meeting.”

  “I think that’s enough for tonight, folks,” Rosemary said, ignoring the outburst. “We’ll pick back up next time. Lucas and I still have a lot to discuss...about the other issue.”

  Ingrid, Zoey, and Tyler stood.

  “Ingrid, I’ll walk you home,” Tyler said.

  She waved him off. “No, I have a flashlight, and my house is only a block away. I’ll be fine. Hector is waiting up for me.”

  Rosemary smiled. This was the first acknowledgment that they were a couple. It was a source of amusement for everyone in the Colony that the two thought their relationship was still secret.

  Tyler turned to Zoey. “Do you need help getting home?” he asked, stiffly. She nodded and flashed him a smile.

  His body language was peculiar tonight. She would question him about it later, alone. Lucas shut the front door after everyone had left, then turned to her.

  “So Tyler and Zoey are banging?” he said.

  “I don’t know. Maybe,” she said.

  “You saw it, right?”

  “I know something was going on with Tyler. Not what, though.”

  “You ready to talk about the murder investigation?”

  “Yes. Please tell me you’ve come up with a strategy.”

  “Yep, but you’re not going to like it.”

  She sighed. “Let me guess. You want to interrogate everyone?”

  “Nope. I want to search their houses.”

  “That’s a huge violation of privacy.”

  “Fuck that. We have a goddamn murderer here, Rose. Jesus Christ, the last thing you should be worried about is civil liberties.”

  She took a deep breath. “You’re right. Is this to be a covert search or a public one?”

  “Covert, of course, which will take some coordination with you. I’ll need people out of their houses while I’m working. That’s where you come in. You’ll figure out how to make sure they’re somewhere other than at home.”

  “How long do you think this will take?”

  “At least two weeks. If it were just me going house to house openly, I could get it done in a couple of days, but I don’t want anyone to have advance knowledge of when their house will be searched.”

  “Don’t you think people will suspect you’re doing exactly what you’re doing?”

  “Yes. That’s why it will take so long. I want them to become complacent. The murder just happened. The killer will be most careful now. Give him a few days to let his guard down. Or hers,” he added.

  “You hope to find the poison? It could be hidden anywhere. Doesn’t have to be in the killer’s house.”

  “It is. Trust me. But not just the poison. I’ll get a vibe when I’m in the right house. It’s a cop thing...kind of hard to explain. I’ll know when I’m in the den of a killer.”

  Chapter 24 – Ingrid

  “I was about to send out a rescue team,” Hector said with a worried smile.

  “I was extra careful on the path.”

  Charming cobblestone footpaths traversed the narrow island from the western edge to the eastern shoreline, providing the residents with easy walking access to the beach. They had been well-maintained before the end came. Now, with normal shifting of the sandy topography, their surface was no longer level. The occasional elevated brick sought to trip an old woman in the dark.

  “Did you solve all the world’s problems at the meeting?” Hector said, shutting and locking the door behind her.

  “No, although Rosemary has the beginnings of a competent evacuation plan. She is rather impressive, I have to admit.”

  “Yes, she is, but...?”

  “But what?”

  “I hear that tone. There is something you are not happy about.”

  “Mmmmm...yes. I’m not happy about Zoey being at what should have been a private meeting of vetted Colonists when we are discussing serious matters regarding our safety. She’s not trustworthy. My gut tells me so.”

  “But she was interrogated by Lucas, was she not?”

  “Yes, yes. So what? She’s a good liar, most likely.”

  “Lucas is skilled in the art of drawing information from people. Besides, tonight was about an evacuation plan, not the murder of Howard, yes?”

  “Yes. I’m sure they were going to discuss that after the rest of us left.”

  “It is a strange coincidence that the killing occurred soon after the young woman’s arrival.”

  Ingrid was surprised by the remark. Hector was not one to gossip. She studied him in the flickering candlelight of a beeswax candle, one of hundreds she had procured before the end. No other candle’s burning properties could compare to that of beeswax, and the scent made her home smell heavenly. She would share her food with the Colonists, but not her precious candles. The golden light softened the sun-wrinkled skin of her lover and reflected in his dark irises, turning them into glowing, bottomless orbs.

  “That’s something I would say, not you.”

  “Perhaps I read your mind,” he said with a grin.

  “My talents must be rubbing off on you. It’s true, though. Very suspicious, in my opinion. And it’s damned inconvenient to keep the house all closed up. It feels like an oven in here.”

  “I have opened all the windows upstairs. It’s cooler than down here. I agree, though. Knowing there is a murderer in our midst has brought a dark cloud to paradise. We can only hope the person is soon caught. I wonder what Lucas plans to do?”

  “He’ll probably want to torture everyone to force a confession.”

  “He is not so bad. I think you are harsh in your judgment of the man.”

  “I doubt that. He may be good at security but he is a heavy-handed brute. I have no idea what Rosemary sees in him. He’s not a gentleman, like you.”

  Hector smiled. “Should we retire, my darling? There are things I would like to say to you that require soft sheets and cool night breezes.”

  “I do believe you’re trying to seduce me.” She wrapped her arm around the proffered elbow as they climbed the stairs.

  “Do you blame me? I am in the presence of the most dazzling woman on the island. It is only natural to want to bed such a magnificent creature.”

  Ingrid snorted. “Perhaps I was thirty years ago. Now, say all that to me in French.”

  He spoke to her in several languages as they made their way to the bedroom.

  ***

  Ingrid dreamed. She knew it wasn’t reality, but her heart raced within the dream as well as in the darkened bedroom where she lay sleeping. Her legs pumped as she sprinted down the cobblestone path toward the beach. In the bedroom, still-shapely legs twitched between luxurious sheets – a greyhound chasing a rabbit. On the path, the killer was behind her. She heard muffled footfalls in time with her own. She knew she must get to the beach for some reason; safety was there rather than at home. It was baffling, but she didn’t have time to analyze it. She must escape. She hazarded a quick glance back. The figure, cloaked in night gloom, was gaining on her. Starlight reflected off a curved metal blade. What was the English word for that object? In German, it was eine sichel. She struggled to remember the translation. Oh yes. A sickle, the weapon of choice for the Grim Reaper.

  Hurry up, old woman!

  She ran faster. Faster than she ever thought possible. Others now darted beside her, trying to escape as well. She couldn’t see who they were, but she knew they were Colonists. If she could only see their faces, she might discover the identity of the killer through the process of elimination –
everyone who ran with her was innocent.

  The dream logic made perfect sense.

  She vaulted from the cobblestones toward the sandy beach. She had made it!

  The killer caught her heel in mid-leap. She felt a cold vice-like grip on her foot, then her ankle, then her calf. It pulled her back onto the path just as she was about to reach safety in the sand.

  She sobbed, in the dream and in her bed, as she was sliced open from sternum to pelvis. She watched her organs – intestines and kidneys and liver – spill onto the stones in a stream of blood painted inky black by the moonlight. There was so much of it; a river gushed from her body. As she lay dying, she reached up to push aside the hood covering the face of the killer...

  ***

  “Darling, wake up,” Hector was saying. He squeezed her shoulder, brushing her hair off her forehead.

  She awoke. Pulling herself back into reality felt like dragging herself out of a tar pit. She was tangled up in the bed linens, panting as if she had just run a mile.

  “Was it the hurricane?”

  A shudder went through her body. She took a deep, ragged breath, trying to slow her racing heart.

  These dreams may kill me one day.

  “No. Not the hurricane.”

  “Then what was it?” he asked, his voice full of concern.

  “I don’t remember,” she lied.

  Chapter 25 – Fergus

  “Would you like to come back with us?” Lester said to the precocious child. “You’ll be safe there.”

  They sat in overstuffed leather chairs next to a fireplace in what was once the spacious home library of someone who could afford such extravagances. It was dank and dusty and smelled of rodents, dead and living, as well as their urine and feces, stale and fresh. Embers still glowed from the small fire they had made to heat Annabelle’s Chicken and Stars soup.

  Lester was right; civilized people heated their soup. The viscous, salty concoction was less revolting that way.