What Befalls the Children: Book 4 in the Troop of Shadows Series

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  They stood in a glade encircled by birch trees. The whimsical paper-like trunks and shimmering copper leaves seemed at odds with the somber place. No fence designated the funerary grounds, but none was needed. Wooden crosses in various weathered states dotted the sloping hillside — more than a hundred old ones and a couple dozen not-so-old ones. Mounds of fresh soil extended from the base of several plots toward the far side.

  The new area.

  As far as being dead went, you would be hard-pressed to find a lovelier venue.

  “Whitakers have been burying their kinfolk here for generations,” Willadean said in a solemn voice.

  “It’s beautiful. So let’s get back to how I might avoid this place in the future...”

  Willa laughed. “Mama isn’t so bad. Everything she does is for our own good. I don’t mean just me and Harlan. I mean for everyone. But some folks don’t always agree with her definition of good.”

  She plopped down on a section of brown grass, then patted the space beside her. Sunlight spun the straw-colored pigtails into strands of glistening gold.

  “And what happens when those folks don’t agree with her?” he said, sitting beside her.

  “Depends on how loudly they complain.”

  “So the key to extending my lifespan is to agree with Serena Jo, consistently and vehemently.”

  “Vehemently. That’s a good word. I’ll add it to my lexicon.”

  “Expanding lexicons is one of the many services I offer. Willadean,” he said, injecting a serious tone, “What if that motor noise came from bad people? Your mama should know, don’t you think? I won’t tell her, of course, but perhaps you should.”

  “No way. Don’t worry about bad people. We can handle them.”

  “I’ve been out there. I’ve seen bad people doing terrible things.”

  “They won’t get past the perimeter. Trust me.”

  “Didn’t I get past it?”

  “Nope. Pops caught you. You wouldn’t have seen the shot that killed you if Pops had gotten a bad feeling about you. He’s better at reading people than anyone.”

  “So that’s why I was allowed in.”

  “Yes. You’re lucky. If one of the other men had spotted you, you’d probably be planted over there.” She nodded to the far side of the cemetery.

  “Today wasn’t the first time you heard that noise, was it?”

  There was the appraising look again. “I’ll answer if we agree that the blood oath still applies.”

  “Done.”

  “We heard it yesterday. We were on a quest for dryads, sprites, and mushrooms to the north. We went farther than we’ve ever been. I heard that sound and went to the edge of a clearing for a better look. That’s when I saw the drone.”

  Fergus felt a stab of alarm. “Did it spot you?”

  A shake of the pigtails.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “It didn’t hover or try to get closer to me. It just continued on, never deviating from its trajectory.”

  “Another excellent word.”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s good that it didn’t spot you, but the significance of the drone’s presence is equally important. The range of those gadgets is limited. That means there are people with access to technology close by. And in my personal experience, people with access to technology under the current conditions may not bode well for the holler.”

  “Maybe they’re not bad people.”

  “They may not be, but how can we be sure?”

  A shrug of the small shoulders. “Like I said, they wouldn’t get through our perimeter. I know you think we’re hillbillies, but those people you saw with the rifles are pros. There’s a few things Whitakers know how to do really well, and hunting and killing are two of them.”

  Fergus thought for a few moments, while Willadean studied him. She might have been wearing a child-sized lab coat and gazing at an interesting new species of bacterium through her toy microscope.

  “I think we need to know for sure,” he said finally.

  “How will we do that?”

  This wouldn’t be his first dangerous exploratory mission. During the last one, he had ended up locked in a stinky metal box for days.

  “Not we. Me. And I’m not going to tell you. Have you heard the axiom ignorance is bliss?”

  “Yes. Another cliché.”

  “True, but it applies in this situation.”

  “Plausible deniability works better.”

  Fergus grinned. “You’re going to be a Pulitzer prize-winning author someday.”

  “I don’t care about awards. I only care about the storytelling. You’ll keep your word, right? You swore an oath. Our blood mingled. That means that if you break the oath, I’ll know. My blood will tell me.”

  “Ah, I see how it works now. No oath-breaking. I promise.”

  ***

  “I hope I’m not imposing,” Fergus said to Skeeter after supper. They were heading back to the old man’s shanty, where Fergus had been bunking since his arrival.

  “No trouble. I don’t mind having company, even though you are an odd little feller.”

  “Uh, thank you?” Fergus grinned. “It’s also easier to keep an eye on me if I’m sleeping on your floor.”

  Skeeter grinned but didn’t respond. He withdrew the ever-present matches and lit the porch lamp. It was a nightly ritual, and he seemed to take comfort in the process. Fergus liked to stand on the rickety porch and watch the lanterns in the village twinkle to life. Skeeter sidled up next to him. They stood for a while in companionable silence.

  “A bit airish again tonight,” the old man offered. “It’ll be a sad day when them matches is all gone,” he added, gazing at the lantern.

  Fergus knew airish was holler-speak for chilly. He had learned many new words and phrases during the past few days. Usually he could extract their meaning from the context, but sigoggling, gaint, and boomer had required further explanation.

  “Indeed.”

  “Somethin’ on yer mind?”

  “Yes, but nothing I can share with the class.”

  Skeeter pondered that for a few heartbeats, then said, “Willa made you swear an oath, didn’t she.”

  “How did you know?”

  “That’s what she does. You can’t break it or she’ll know.”

  “She said the same thing. The two of you are quite close, aren’t you?”

  Skeeter nodded. “Ain’t just a family thing, neither. She’s special, that one.”

  “I agree. Like her mother.”

  Skeeter shook his head, a gesture identical to Willadean’s this afternoon. “Both special, but different.”

  “Yes, I can see that. Serena Jo is a force of nature.”

  “So is Willa. I wouldn’t go up against either of ‘em.”

  “Frankly, neither would I. Let me ask you something, Skeeter. If I left the village, what would happen to me?”

  “Willa told you ‘bout the perimeter?”

  “She did.”

  “There’s your answer. You’d best not step outside of it without authorization unless you want to end up in the cemetery.”

  Fergus had figured out early on that Skeeter’s hillbilly talk ebbed and flowed. He still didn’t know why.

  “What if I do so out of concern for your people?”

  “That might change things a bit.”

  “You know everything that goes on here, yes?”

  “’Bout as much as anyone, I reckon.”

  “You know the area as well? I mean beyond the holler?”

  “I reckon so. Like I told ya when I met ya, I never been out of the holler, but that don’t mean I ain’t seen pictures and maps. She called some of ‘em Google aerial images. Serena Jo brought a lot of stuff with her besides matches when she came home from Knoxville.”

  “Do you know of any buildings in the area? Say within a five-mile radius?”

  “Don’t know about buildings, but there’s Tremont to the north.”

  �
��How far away is it?”

  “Farther than five miles.”

  “Anything to the south of Tremont?”

  Skeeter pondered the question. “Seems like I remember seeing some of them storage buildings, the commercial type. A big grouping of ‘em.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “What about it makes sense?”

  “I can’t tell you. Your granddaughter will know I broke the oath.”

  Skeeter nodded. “Did she see something? Don’t answer with words. I don’t need ‘em.”

  Fergus stood mute and motionless. He didn’t even transmit via his scythen. That seemed like oath-breaking too.

  “Got it.” The old man said with a sigh a minute later.

  “Got what?”

  “An idear of what she saw. Some kind of flying camera thing.”

  Fergus pretended to be shocked. “How did you know that?”

  “Can’t explain it. Don’t ask me about it anymore, neither. So you reckon you’ll sneak out of the holler and go investigate those buildings? You think it came from there?”

  He couldn’t say Willa had told him she had been adventuring to the north. He probably didn’t need to.

  Fergus nodded.

  “It’s times like these I miss my pipe,” the old man said, shifting against the porch railing. “There’s something halcyon about pondering life while puffing on a baccy pipe.”

  Red wiry eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  “I learned it from Willa. That girl’s got the best words. Serena Jo says there ain’t room for a baccy field. Gotta use all the nearby fertile soil for food.”

  “That’s a shame. I occasionally enjoy a smoke as well.”

  “Back to the problem. If you’re asking for my advice, you should go to Serena Jo. Lay it out for her as best you can without breaking the oath — I’ll back ya up — and go from there. It ain’t worth getting caught in the perimeter and ending up in the cemetery. She’s intimidating, but she’s reasonable. You can win her over with logic every time.”

  “Very well.”

  “She should have put the kids to bed by now. This would be a good time.”

  Fergus nodded, then stepped off the porch. It was full dark and the twinkling lanterns were flickering out one by one. Kerosene was a rationed commodity and used sparingly. According to Skeeter, when it was gone, they would resort to rendered animal fat. Fergus had lived in a world lit by primitive methods. The village wouldn’t smell so pleasant when they burned fat for fuel.

  When Fergus reached Serena Jo’s house — not the largest or nicest in the village — he found her leaning against a porch railing just like her father moments earlier. Her lantern still glowed. Its illumination kept the night at bay while airbrushing the angular face into a softer version of its daytime counterpart. The leader of Whitaker Holler looked more approachable now than she ever had.

  He would not be lulled by the lantern’s visual alchemy.

  “Were you expecting someone?” Fergus said, keeping his voice low.

  “No. What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to have a word with you, in private.” He gestured toward the children inside.

  She nodded, unhooked the lantern, and stepped off the porch. “This way.”

  She navigated the darkened village as gracefully as Willadean had the forest earlier. But this wraith was taller, shapelier, and boasted an impressive cleavage and legs that seemed almost as long as he was tall.

  “Mmmm...”

  “Did you say something?” she said from a few feet ahead.

  “No, no. Just thinking about baseball.”

  She stopped at the same flat rock he had shared with Willadean earlier that day, then sat on its surface, arms folded, sneakers extended. The dark forest presented an ominous backdrop; the lantern’s glow transformed her face into still yet another version. Fergus imagined Maleficent horns extending from the fair head.

  “What’s on your mind?” she said. Her owlish eyes never seemed to blink.

  “I have concerns about outsiders in the vicinity.”

  “Why?”

  This would be the tricky part. “You know how your father gets gut feelings about people?”

  The eyes narrowed. She nodded.

  “I get them too. And they’re almost always right. My gut tells me there’s something to the north that needs to be investigated. I’m offering my services.”

  “Why would you put yourself in danger?”

  “In a short time, I’ve become rather attached to this place and its people. I don’t want anyone or anything to harm either. Pockets of humanity like this will bring us back from the brink of extinction. You’re doing everything right here. You should be proud of all you’ve accomplished.”

  “I don’t respond well to flattery.”

  “It’s true, though.”

  “How do I know you aren’t planning to escape and take our secrets with you? Maybe you’re a spy, sent here to discover what we have, so your group can raid us later.”

  Fergus snorted. He wished he could say that was the first time he had been accused of such.

  “I’m no spy. I think you realize that. Your father said to tell you he has my back. We both know what that means.”

  A well-shaped eyebrow arched. Mental gymnastics were being performed between the silken braids.

  Finally she spoke. “The no-leave rule is non-negotiable. I told you that when you first arrived.”

  “I realize that, but these are extenuating circumstances.”

  “So you would have me believe.”

  “Your father believes me.”

  “While I credit Pops with a kind of backwoods sixth sense, I credit my intellect more. The answer is no. Besides, we can take care of ourselves just fine.”

  “With a few old shotguns and rifles? What if there’s an army amassing to the north?”

  “There’s not. We would know.”

  “How would you know?”

  She gave him one of Willadean’s appraising looks. “Do you think you’ve seen everything we have or are capable of? Do you think I would blindly trust a stranger just because Pops said he was okay? You underestimate me. It’s usually not wise to do so. The matter is closed, Fergus. Good night.”

  He watched her glide away. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or think about baseball.

  Chapter 5

  Ray

  Ray thrummed his fingers on his desk while he watched the drone footage for the twentieth time. He hadn’t noticed the kids as he live-streamed, but he caught sight of them on the playback. Before the end of the world happened, drone technology had evolved to include FPV — first person view — which didn’t require Wi-Fi or cellular. The drone and the controller utilized direct channels to communicate, and since GPS satellites still orbited the planet, his drones would always be able to find their way home. At least until those orbits deteriorated and the satellites crashed to earth, but he didn’t expect that to happen for at least twenty years. Maybe a hundred.

  He used an iPad to watch footage from the memory card. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have seen the children.

  There were survivors out there in the Smoky Mountain National Park. Seeing them was one of the few moments of pure joy he had experienced since Chicxulub. But that joy soon evaporated, crystalizing into something that felt more familiar. Anxiety. What should he do now? The video revealed two children, likely pre-pubescent. The camera had been recording and live-streaming in 1080 HD, not 4K, so the clarity on the memory card’s playback was less than perfect. He couldn’t tell if they were starving.

  Ray knew the mortality rate of the disease: higher than ninety-nine percent. The odds that an entire community or even a family unit would have survived was next to impossible. Any organized groups out there would have banded together post-pandemic. Had the parents of these children survived? If not, had other adults adopted them? Or were they scavenging on their own?

  He had flown the Phantom back to the same location the follo
wing day, set on 4K Ultra High Def this time. It captured images of deer, elk, and a well-fed black bear. But no people. That’s when the seed of an idea began to germinate.

  The Phantom DJI 4 was excellent at maneuverability and boasted one of the best cameras available, but its payload was a meager half-kilo. Before the end, the drone market had been red-hot. The government had recognized the inherent usefulness of cargo drones for emergency situations when large vehicles and heavy equipment couldn’t get to the people who needed life-saving supplies.

  The Freefly ALTA UAV price tag was ten times that of the Phantom, but it could haul a fifteen-pound payload. In one trip, it could carry ten MREs to the clearing where he had spotted the children. He planned to load it up, send it out, and drop off its cargo.

  Surely the children had heard the drone’s motors. Surely they had recognized what the sound was. Even backwoods Appalachian people must have known about the technology before. If they were curious, they would return to the location where they had been two days earlier to see what was to be seen. Wasn’t it the nature of children to be curious?

  It was eight in the morning. He would take Lizzy her breakfast, tend to the spreadsheet, then dispatch the Freefly loaded with not just calorie-laden MREs but some treats as well. The Strategic National Stockpile near Tremont contained two hundred pounds of Pop-Tarts. Strawberry wasn’t his personal favorite — he was more of a brown-sugar-cinnamon guy — but the shelf-life of the fruity breakfast pastry was impressive compared to other ready-to-eat baked goods. He and Lizzy hadn’t made a dent in them.

  When he turned the corner of her corridor, he realized he was actually whistling to himself. Normally, Lizzy would begin talking to him at this point, her voice echoing off plastic-wrapped pallets, bouncing down from the cavernous ceiling, then extending an unwelcome, invisible tentacle to his ears.

  Today there was no sound except that of his own footsteps.

  He double-timed it the remaining yards, his mind scanning a list of possible scenarios. Had she escaped? Would he see the mesh fencing ripped off the cinderblock walls? Impossible. She was brilliant, but not superhuman. And she hadn’t overslept once during the eight months Ray had been bringing her breakfast. In fact, no matter what time of day he checked on her, she was always awake. A few weeks ago, something had propelled him out of a dreamless sleep at 3:33 in the morning. His first thought was of Lizzy. When he arrived at her cell, she had been standing there waiting for him. His stockinged feet had made no sound on the concrete floor, but somehow she knew to expect him. Rather than speaking, she’d given him her trademark smile. A smile that belonged in a Henry Fuseli painting.