Moving With The Sun

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  The Colonists were safer with him than without him.

  “Where did you send Fergus off to, by the way?”

  “That’s between Fergus and me. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I just now saw a flash of spiky red hair moving around among the sea grapes and mangroves south of where the bridge used to be. I think I see a kayak stashed in the roots at the waterline.”

  Rosemary did a quick mental calculation and decided to explain the secret mission.

  “Infiltration? Jesus, Rose. You looking to get the little guy killed?”

  “We need information. We need to know what their operation is like, how many people they have, and whether they plan to invade.”

  “Right. And if Zoey was an indication of their leadership, I think you can assume he is in some deep shit.”

  “I don’t think we have to assume that,” she snapped.

  “Yes, you do. I just saw some big guy catch him in the foliage. He’s got a gun to his head.”

  “No.”

  “Yep. Here.” He handed her the binoculars.

  She watched as Fergus was forced back up the incline, away from the water and the hidden kayak which would have returned him to safety. His captor was enormous – perhaps two feet taller than Fergus. Rosemary’s stomach turned into a ball of knots when she thought about explaining what she had just seen to Amelia.

  Chapter 31 – Fergus

  “What tipped you off?” Fergus was breathing heavily as he scrambled back up the steep incline. He had been ten yards from freedom at the water’s edge when Lester caught him. Mangrove roots snagged his feet at every turn as he trudged back uphill; the last thing he needed was a sprained ankle when he was about to be interrogated and tortured by a psychopath. Worse than an injury was the look of betrayal on the face of his new friend.

  “Aubrey said she got a vibe when you shook her hand. She gave orders to have you watched.”

  “For such a large fellow, you’re remarkably covert.”

  “I’m disappointed, Fergus. I thought we were friends.”

  “We are friends, Lester. I just wanted to get away for a little while.”

  “You know that’s not how it works. Once you’re accepted into the Terminators, there’s no leaving without permission.”

  “When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way?”

  “I don’t care for musicals. I never understood why breaking into song at random intervals throughout a film made any kind of sense. Where were you going just now? If your motives were innocent, why not tell me? That’s what a friend would have done. Instead, you sneak away when you think no one is looking and make a beeline for a hidden kayak. Where would you have gone, Fergus? Back home to tell your people all the secrets you’ve discovered here?”

  “I have no people. I was all in until the meat freezer, Lester. You must know that crosses a line.”

  “We’ve been over that. I think all the other benefits – the farm, the medicine, the safety in numbers, the cheese – should have compensated for the meat freezer. Friendship should have compensated for the meat freezer. How am I going to explain this to Annabelle? You were just going to abandon her, after everything she’s been through?”

  Fergus did feel remorseful about forsaking the giant and the little girl, but his first loyalties lay on the island to the west.

  Amelia would be furious that he had gotten himself into trouble.

  “I just needed to get away and think about things. I intended to return.” He would stick with the lie until the end. He wondered if Aubrey was the waterboarding type or more of a bamboo-under-the-fingernails lass. He had been tortured before back in the Old Country; he knew he could withstand whatever methods they used, but he didn’t relish the notion.

  “I’m a loner, Lester. I don’t have a home to go back to, nor people to whom I report. There’s no tribe, no rival gang that’s looking to move in on your territory. It’s just me, struggling with whether I wanted to be part of a society that eats people.”

  “And yet when you approached us, you said you were tired of being alone. Wanted to become part of a group.”

  “I had hoped to hook up with non-cannibals.”

  “I told you that’s a temporary solution. Once the livestock is built up, we’ll do away with it. I’m dismayed that an intelligent man like yourself can’t get past a societally imposed taboo and see the practicality of it. Meat is meat. We’ve talked about this before. I tried to prepare you.”

  “You did. I’m sorry I didn’t pay closer attention during our philosophical discussion, although at the time I thought your talking points were hypothetical.”

  Lester prodded him from behind, not ungently. They walked on the blacktop highway now which led to the Costco warehouse.

  “I have to take you to Aubrey.”

  “I know.”

  “She’ll have you whipped, at the very least. Or she may do it herself.”

  “I assumed that. She’s a psychopath, you know.”

  “Yes, but she is a sensible psychopath. Both she and her sister are self-aware. You saw their books? They restrain that part of their psyche that prompts them to do monstrous things. Instead, they channel those...impulses...into organization and productivity. When we started, there were ten of us, half-starved and half-crazy. Now there are forty-seven highly skilled, fully fed people who have found a modicum of happiness in this post-apocalyptic world. I think that’s admirable.”

  “I suppose you’re right. But at some point they will do the unspeakable because that is their nature. They have no conscience, no empathy. What if Annabelle were to cross them?”

  “I’ve thought about that. I hope I never have to choose between the sisters and the child. Perhaps if the day comes when their liabilities outweigh their usefulness, I will dispose of them. But in the meantime, they serve a purpose. Remember our conversation?”

  “About the good man who will do harm in the future?”

  “We are still in the part of the story where the man is doing good deeds for the benefit of many.”

  “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

  “Or the one. You’re a fan of either Star Trek or Dickens. Probably both. Damn it, Fergus, it will break my heart to see you tortured.”

  Fergus’s beard twitched.

  ***

  “You read my mind when we shook hands?” Fergus said to the woman who was wearing an expression of intense pleasure. The anticipation of torturing him was practically orgasmic, it seemed.

  “It’s not mind reading. My sister and I have that twin thing. We’re often aware of each other’s thoughts when we’re not together. It’s similar to that, but with other people when we touch them. It doesn’t happen with everyone, and it’s not precise. It’s more like a vibe. You know?”

  “Yes, I know about vibes. I’m having one now. It’s telling me you intend to cause me a world of pain.”

  A throaty chuckle. Under different circumstances, he would have found it captivating.

  “Tell me the truth and I won’t hurt you. Much.”

  “I have been telling you the truth. I know you want to believe I’m a devilishly handsome double agent, but I’m sorry to say I’m not nearly so interesting. I’m just an ill-fated wanderer who managed to get himself inducted into a group of people who eat other people.”

  “Meat is meat. Why such a hang-up about it? We’re not killing them to get their meat, we’re just utilizing what’s been made available.”

  He sighed. “Yes, I’ve heard all this before. I guess I’m just a cannibal bigot.”

  “Very funny.” She stood, then walked around the desk, stopping in front of him. He forced himself to look up at the exquisite face and not ahead at the equally exquisite eye-level breasts; he did not want to further antagonize the psychopath standing a hands-width away. He summoned every ounce of intellectual strength he possessed to erect a mental barrier between his thoughts and the woman placing her hands upon his chest. He felt a tingling se
nsation when she touched his sweat-stained shirt; it intensified when she released the top button and brushed her fingertips against his skin. He closed his eyes, sensing the tentative, probing scythen of a neophyte. She had raw talent, but it was untrained, undeveloped...an infant wriggling in its crib yowling that it was hungry without knowing how to ask for a bottle.

  She frowned, removing her hands from his chest. “Well, it’s a damn shame. I think you would have fit in here.”

  “I still can. Perhaps we can forget about this little faux pas? In the future, I promise I won’t question from whence come the meaty chunks in the Sunday stew.”

  “It’s too late for that. You broke the rules, you pay the price. If I let you get away with an attempted escape without suffering any consequence, what sort of example would that set for everyone else? People will think they can just come and go as they please.”

  “What’s so terrible about that?”

  An unlovely snort. “That’s not how we operate here. This works,” she said with a gesture indicating everything outside the air-conditioned office, “because of tight discipline. That’s why we’re more successful than all those other losers out there.”

  “I see. So what’s to be my punishment? Paper cuts and lemon juice? Bikini wax? Skinny jeans?”

  “It’s tailored to the individual. That’s what makes our punishment system such an effective deterrent.”

  Fergus felt a stab of alarm.

  “I’ve been talking to Lester to get a better handle on you. He says you’re quite the Chatty Cathy. Says it would be hell for you to be isolated for any length of time. When you walk out of this room, you’re going into another very small one. It’s called The Box.”

  “The Box? That’s unfortunate. I’ve always rather liked boxes up to now. You make this one sound as if you should be twirling a Snidely Whiplash mustache when you say the word.”

  “You won’t like it, but it will take a while for you to realize how much you don’t like it. After several days, you’ll wish I had just whipped you and gotten it over with. Pity about that. I was looking forward to watching you bleed. It’s been a while since I’ve given a good whipping.” There was nothing attractive about the predatory smile on the flawless face.

  “Take him to The Box, Lester. I’m bored.”

  Lester prodded him through the doorway and out into the warehouse.

  Annabelle stood a few feet from the identical guards. “What happened? Is she going to kill him?”

  “No. He’s going into isolation.”

  “Fergus, why were you running away from us?”

  “I’m sorry, love. In hindsight, I wish I hadn’t. After a few days they’ll let me out and we can pick up where we left off with the Little House books. In the meantime, I’m sure Lester will be happy to read to you.”

  “I don’t need someone to read to me. I can read myself, you know. I just like the way your voice sounds during the parts where Charles Ingalls is talking. It reminds me of my grandpa.”

  This was one of the drawbacks of being above ground and involved with people. Sometimes you let them down.

  “You have me to thank for this, you know,” Lester said as they walked down one of the cavernous aisles. “Aubrey wanted to flay you with the metal-tipped whip she keeps in her desk drawer. The last person she used it on developed an infection from his wounds and died. Law-breakers don’t get Cephalexin.”

  “I guess I should express my gratitude, then.

  “You better do it now because after several days you won’t be in the mood.”

  “The Box is that bad?”

  “It’s...disagreeable. I’m sorry, Fergus. Maybe if you’re still sane when you’re released, we can be friends again. Through here.” He opened an innocuous-looking door.

  Just enough light from the warehouse filtered in to reveal a tiny space that had been larger at some point – a small breakroom or janitorial closet. Metal sheeting on all sides now formed a cube. In one corner sat a bucket; the roll of toilet paper on the floor next to it indicated its purpose. In another corner was a case of bottled water and three boxes of Ritz crackers. There was nothing else – no cot, no pillow, no light source. The stench was prodigious. He wondered if the bucket had been emptied since the last occupant.

  “Lester, this is going to suck balls.”

  “Mind the naughty words, please.”

  “Sorry, child.”

  Annabelle darted forward and kissed his cheek above the wiry beard.

  “I’ll miss you, Fergus. Please don’t go crazy while you’re in there.”

  “I shall do my best.” He stepped inside.

  His last glimpse of the world before darkness consumed him was of a giant man and a curly-haired adolescent wearing matching mournful expressions.

  The door closed and then locked with the solid thump of a deadbolt. He sat in an absence of light more complete than anything he had ever experienced.

  ***

  An unknown amount of time passed. It might have been hours or days. Probably only hours because he hadn’t had to use the bucket yet. He was thinking about the pat-down Lester had given him before they reported to Aubrey. He smiled in the dark when he thought of the utility knife in the pocket of his cargo shorts. Lester’s deft fingers had moved past it, which told him their friendship was still very much two-sided. It wasn’t possible that he had overlooked it, and Fergus pondered the implications of the intentional oversight; he had plenty of time to do so at the moment.

  A niggling sensation scratched at his brain. It was what he had been dreading. He would have to pull off the performance of a lifetime to keep Amelia’s scythen from discovering that something was amiss.

  ~~~

  Amelia: Are you there?

  Fergus: Yes, love. How are things in the Colony?

  Amelia: Never mind that. What’s wrong?

  Fergus: Nothing is wrong. I’m lying on my bunk reading Gaiman’s American Gods for the tenth time. All is well here. I expect to be home in a few days. I still need to discover a timeline for when the Terminators will invade the Colony. That’s my prime directive, you know.

  Amelia: I’m picking up on something else. Are you in distress?

  Fergus: Not at all. Perhaps some other person’s distress is bleeding into our communication.

  Amelia: Hmmm. Perhaps.

  Fergus: Has the murderer been apprehended?

  Amelia: Not yet. I think Lucas may be closing in, though.

  Fergus: And what of the impending tempest? Is Ingrid still having the visions?

  Amelia: Yes. We just discussed them. They’re getting more frequent and more precise. She says the island will suffer a direct hit, which of course we cannot survive. Rosemary is wise to coordinate an evacuation plan. However, I have an even better idea. One that will circumvent the destruction of our home and all the progress we’ve accomplished these past months.

  Fergus: Indeed?

  Amelia: I’m going to contact Tung. He is above ground with Jessie and a British fellow named Harold who was harvested at the same time as Jessie.

  Fergus: Interesting. And what will you say to Tung?

  Amelia: I’m going to have him ask the Cthor to deflect the hurricane.

  Fergus: Why would they? You’re persona non grata in Cthor-Vangt these days.

  Amelia: That doesn’t mean I’m not still doing their work. We have several exceptional people here who may well be candidates for recruitment. We won’t have time to vet them before the storm arrives.

  Fergus: Clever! Are there truly several or are you fudging a bit?

  Amelia: I’ve done more laying on of hands the last few days than a faith-healing preacher. People must think I’ve lost my mind. I haven’t seen evidence of strong scythen or langthal, yet, but I know Zoey had some self-healing ability at the very least. I watched her broken finger straighten itself before my eyes. Perhaps her sister Aubrey has it too.

  Fergus: Aubrey does have a modicum of scythen, but I’m not sure how robust it is,
and I’ve seen no langthal from her. At any rate, Zoey is bobbing about somewhere in the Atlantic and they’re both monsters, which makes them rejects for Cthor-Vangt.

  Amelia: Yes, but the sisters prove there is a concentration of extraordinary people here...even more so than in Liberty, Kansas. And that will be my strategy. I just have to convince Tung to convince the Cthor to mitigate what would be a catastrophic storm. It won’t be easy. He’s such a by-the-book person.

  Fergus: He is that. Maybe you could get Jessie to help. Have you made contact with her?

  Amelia: Not yet. Her scythen still isn’t up to speed. Perhaps I will try again.

  Fergus: Excellent idea. When do you plan to do this?

  Amelia: Soon. I want to examine a few more people. The more candidates we have, the better.

  Fergus: Agreed. Good luck, my dear.

  Amelia: Thank you. Good night, my love.

  ~~~

  The connection was gone. He had caught himself just before he sent the thought, Oh, it’s night, is it? For the first time in his life, he had lied to Amelia. He knew when the Terminators planned to invade – Lester had mentioned it the second evening in Tent Town while sitting around a communal fire pit. But he couldn’t tell Amelia just yet. Otherwise, she would expect him to promptly return to the Colony, and he was not in a position to do so.

  He blew out an explosive breath of air in self-disgust, then instantly regretted having to refill his lungs with the putrid oxygen. Lester underestimated him. He would not go insane in The Box, although he would be uncomfortable during his time here. He would put the hours to good use, and he would not think about the cheese just a few aisles away. The Box served as a sensory deprivation tank. He wasn’t floating in warm water, but he pretended to be to achieve the same effect. The result was a significant improvement of his scythen, similar to a blind person’s enhanced auditory and tactile abilities.

  He would send it out and see what was to be seen. In this way, he would stay sane. Only his body was imprisoned.

  His mind was free to go wherever it fancied.