What Befalls the Children: Book 4 in the Troop of Shadows Series
Page 5
He shuddered at the memory, forcing his mind back to the present as he ran. Was she ill? Was she even now suffocating on her own vomit? He was surprised to realize the notion bothered him. He despised every moment of interaction with the creature, but she was his responsibility. His burden. His job was to take care of her, even though doing so extracted a hefty chunk from his peace of mind. This had been his life ever since spotting her on the drone footage, sitting next to a body in the middle of a highway near the commercial storage facility where he lived. At the time, he had assumed the body was a friend or traveling companion. He didn’t realize until later that he’d brought a killer into his home. The body was another of Lizzy’s victims.
When he came to an abrupt stop outside her cell, the bowl of oatmeal dropped to the floor. Lizzy lay in a pool of blood, rendered oily black in the low light. Her hair splayed out from her head like the branches of a dead oak tree. His gaze darted to her chest, waiting for movement. After his own had expanded five times, hers finally did as well.
Her eyes fluttered open, then traveled down to a pale wrist. A ragged incision there served as the wellspring for Lizzy’s river of blood.
“What have you done?”
“This is not a life, Ray,” came the faint reply. “We can’t take the captivity any longer.”
He scanned the visible parts of the cell, looking for any signs of a trap. Everything appeared in order except for the woman lying on the floor, her arm seeming to float on the surface of a miniature Black Sea.
He twisted the twelve thumbscrews that secured the small opening to her cell, then reached inside, his sleeve trailing through the blood on its way to Lizzy’s wrist. With careful fingers, he encircled the slender forearm and pulled it through the opening. He surveyed the damaged flesh, his mind already working through the next few minutes. A first-aid kit sat on a shelf in his quarters. Butterfly strips would be adequate for the incision that bisected the wrist. She’d cut across the wrist instead of along the length of the forearm.
A rookie mistake for anyone genuinely seeking to end their life. Whatever Lizzy was, she was no neophyte when it came to matters of death.
“How did you do it, Lizzy?” he said. He would not reveal that he had spotted her ploy. “What did you use?”
“A plastic knife. Now go away and leave us alone.”
“That must have hurt. I’m going to get the first-aid kit. I’ll clean you up as best I can through the hatch. But I’m not removing you from your room.”
“We don’t care what you do. We’re dying anyway.”
“You might. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” He watched her face for a response. None was forthcoming.
“I’ll be right back.”
He placed the arm back inside the cell. It would take six minutes to get to his quarters and return with the medical supplies. He briefly entertained the idea of leaving the hatch open, but decided on caution, taking the extra time to secure all twelve screws.
When he returned, she was sitting up, wearing the smile that always filled him with dread.
“You seem to be coming around,” he said.
“We were hoping you would remove the fence for us.”
“Right. I’m not stupid, Lizzy. I know what you’re capable of.”
Musical laughter. “You can’t blame us for trying.”
He opened the hatch, gesturing for the wounded arm.
“Leave the strips on for a week,” he said a few minutes later. “Here are some extra paper towels to clean up your floor, and a bottle of peroxide. Pour some on your wrist several times a day. Watch for red streaks. If it gets infected, I have antibiotics.”
“What about our breakfast?” she said, the green-rimmed pupils glanced toward the spilled oatmeal.
He reached into his satchel, and handed a silver package through the hatch.
“Pop-Tarts? I thought they were for special desserts.”
“They were handy. You’re welcome.”
She accepted the package and watched him close the hatch. He mouthed the number for each thumbscrew as he secured it. Counting all twelve helped relieve anxiety.
“Interesting. We remember when you first found us. You said you had spotted us from the drone. You gave us Pop-Tarts then too.” She studied him with naked fascination, a crossroads demon waiting to see if its human counterpart would scribble a signature beside the X.
After cleaning up the oatmeal, he walked away. Her vocal tentacles reached him just as he rounded the corner.
“Have fun flying today. Maybe we’ll have company soon.”
He stopped, moving forward only when the laughter began.
***
The Freefly drone returned from dropping off its cargo at the glade, but instead of sending the Phantom out right away, he decided to wait. He didn’t want to spook the kids with too much aerial surveillance. He had attached a note to the bundle:
I AM A FRIEND. I HAVE PLENTY OF FOOD. LEAVE ONE BIG ROCK IN THE CENTER OF THE CLEARING IF YOU’RE OK. LEAVE TWO BIG ROCKS IF YOU NEED MORE FOOD.
He hoped they could read. Chicxulub happened three years ago. Surely these kids had been in school prior to that. Life in Appalachia may have been behind the times, but children had attended school even throughout the poorest areas.
A timer dinged on his iPhone. He couldn’t call or text anyone on the thing, but the notes and reminder features were still useful. It also told him the correct time and date. He had realized long ago that in order to survive the current madness, he had to retain some normalcy from his old life.
It was time to take Lizzy her dinner. He would provide something special tonight. Not that she deserved it, but after her stunt earlier, he had been thinking about her existence as a well-fed inmate. If their roles were reversed, he would have lost his mind before now. But Lizzy had lost hers long before her incarceration in the employees’ break room.
“We hear yoouuu...”
“I know, Lizzy. You always do. Your hearing must be exceptional.”
When he reached her cell, everything seemed normal again. She was always pale, but after losing a half-pint of blood earlier, she’d had the appearance of a corpse. Now she merely looked like the remorseless psychopath he knew her to be.
“Oh, my. You must not be too angry with us. You brought our favorite.”
“Do you really have a favorite?”
“Of course. We love Turkey Delight because it reminds us of our childhood.”
Lizzy had never shared anything about her life other than gruesome details of the people she had murdered. She loved to talk about them. Without being told, she faced the opposite wall, hands pressing against the concrete. Her head pivoted so she could watch him with her peripheral vision.
“I thought you could use the extra calories,” he said, loosening the screws. He reached through the hatch, placing her meal on the floor. Scrawled on the beige-colored cafeteria tray with a Sharpie: TUESDAY DINNER.
“How was the flying today?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, he replaced the hatch and began securing the thumb screws. One, two, three...
“It would make us less unhappy if we could have a conversation every now and then.”
“That hasn’t gone well for me in the past.”
“We promise not to talk about our conquests. We want to hear about the world outside.”
He stood, forcing himself to look at the side of her exposed face. His gaze traveled down to the bandaged wrist.
“Autumn has arrived,” he said finally. “The leaves are turning. It’s quite lovely.”
She sighed. “Tell us about the colors. Describe them in detail, please.”
“Russet brown, burnished copper, amber and yellow-gold.”
“Did you see animals?”
“Yes. Mostly deer. A spectacular twelve-point buck.”
“Bambi’s daddy!”
He almost smiled.
“What about people?” she said in her sly tone; the miniscule change in inflection would
be easily missed by untrained ears.
“No people.”
She turned to face him through the mesh now that the hatch was secure. “You’re lying.”
He shook his head, forcing himself to maintain eye contact. He didn’t blink. “Nope. Why would I lie?”
“We don’t know. Perhaps you don’t want us to know that there are still people out there.”
“Of course there are people. Just not around here.”
“Maybe not in this storage-building complex, but there must be people in the surrounding forested area. They’ll be living off animals now that modern food is mostly gone.”
“Do you know what the mortality rate of the pandemic was?”
“No. The news reporters wouldn’t tell us while television still worked. Do you know?”
“Yes. It was over ninety-nine percent. And yet with so few people left in the world, you felt compelled to murder everyone you came into contact with.”
The corner of her mouth twitched.
“Those seventeen people you killed had beaten incredible odds,” he continued. “They survived a plague that most didn’t. In that way, if not in others, they were special. They deserved a chance to make a life in this new world, but you denied them that.”
She shrugged. “We can’t help what we are, Ray. If you hadn’t discovered our trophies, you wouldn’t have known, and we would be blissfully cohabitating in this splendid place, instead of being subjected to your cruel torture. How long do you think we can remain locked up? We’ll die of boredom, if not blood loss.”
“That wouldn’t be so terrible.” He instantly regretted the words. It was never a good idea to lower himself to her level.
“There’s that mean streak we knew lurked beneath the George Clooney exterior.”
“Flattery doesn’t work on me, Lizzy.”
“You like to think that you’re not like us, but you are. Everyone is, on some level. People are born killers, whether they indulge those instincts or not. We know you would love nothing more than to poison us and be done with the burden. But you won’t, because you’re a coward.”
“And therein lies the difference between me and a monster like you.”
He turned to leave.
“Nice chatting with you, Ray. We’ll see you in the morning.”
The laughter’s tentacles didn’t reach his ears this time. He had slipped on headphones and listened to John Denver all the way back to his quarters. He sang to Rocky Mountain High and Calypso while heating his dinner in the microwave. John Denver tunes soothed him like no other music could. His mother had been an avid fan, so he grew up listening to all the old songs. After Lizzy came into his life, he had found himself ignoring the other artists in his music library and listening exclusively to the older albums: Aerie, Windsong, and his favorite, Live at the Apollo Theater. Hearing the cheers and applause of the audience made him feel less alone.
Once the beef stew was gone, he decided to indulge in some of the Four Roses bourbon he kept in the bottom desk drawer. Two fingers, no more. A person with anxiety issues like his could become addicted to the stuff. He had no desire to add battle alcohol addiction to his chores list, and with Lizzy nearby, he had to remain clear-headed and vigilant.
The amber liquid heated his belly nicely while he watched again the Freefly’s footage from earlier in the day. After dusting off, the drone had failed to catch any images of the children. He would send the Phantom out in the morning to see if the food was still there. He found his hopes rising that it would be gone, replaced by two large rocks.
Chapter 6
Willadean
“What do you reckon is in there?” Cricket stage-whispered to Willadean and Harlan.
The three stood just inside the tree line, scrutinizing the small, plastic-wrapped pallet at the center of the sunlit meadow.
What treasures could it hold? Gold doubloons? Ropes of pearls? Gem-encrusted tiaras? Not that actual treasure mattered these days, but it would be fun to play with.
Of course she knew the contents didn’t include actual pirate booty, but that didn’t dampen the excitement of finding the package in the location where they’d seen the drone before. Nothing this thrilling had happened since her arrival at the holler. And since the three children had slinked past the secured perimeter, it would be their secret. Serena Jo nor her henchmen would know about it.
“I have no idea, but I’m going to find out,” she said. “You two stay here.” She reached for her knife and flicked out the blood-oath blade as she approached the small pallet. Her eyes darted in all directions, seeking would-be assailants, either human, animal, or something else entirely. This northern section of the woods exuded a preternatural aura. There may be trolls or evil fairies living nearby.
When she reached the pallet, a handwritten note taped to the top caught her eye. The words felt a bit anti-climactic. She had been hoping for fairy-speak or perhaps some kind of mysterious code she could decipher.
The blade made quick work of the plastic, then flicked across the tape sealing the cardboard flaps. Holding her breath, she flipped them open. No pirate treasure filled the box. Instead, was a king’s ransom in Pop-Tarts, as well as some metallic pouches bearing labels: Meatloaf with Gravy, Beef Teriyaki, and the one that really got her attention, Macaroni and Cheese.
She hadn’t eaten the beloved food since Knoxville.
She signaled for Harlan to help carry the bounty into the forest. Once they had scrambled back to the safety of the trees, the two boys dug through the box while Willadean read the note again. She pondered the words, as well as possible outcomes of responding to it.
“Willa, I ain’t never eaten Pop-Tarts,” Cricket said in an awestruck voice. “It says these are strawberry. I bet they’re good.”
Poor little hillbilly. In the three years she’d been here, she’d never had an actual conversation with Cricket’s father. Willa hated clichés, but the man could best be described as the village idiot. Or maybe the village drunk. Or the village drunken idiot. It was a miracle Cricket was as normal as he was, considering the absence of any meaningful parenting. If the man wasn’t lounging on his front porch completely inebriated, he was off wandering in the woods, leaving Cricket to fend for himself. What kind of monster denied a kid Pop-Tarts when they were easily found in any grocery store before Chicksy?
Cricket tore into one of the bright blue boxes and withdrew a foil-wrapped pouch.
“Let me see it first,” she said. “It might be poisoned.”
“Why would it be poisoned? Whoever left this box is trying to help. It says on the note that he’s a friend.”
Willadean rolled her eyes. “You’re so gullible. It looks okay, though. The wrapping is intact.”
Cricket tore it open and began wolfing down bites of frosted pastry before anyone could stop him. Willadean and Harlan stood nearby, arms crossed, watching and waiting for any visible effects of poison.
Minutes passed.
Harlan signed: I think it’s okay. Willadean nodded in agreement.
For the next fifteen minutes, the three gorged on Pop-Tarts. Nothing this delicious had been included in the cargo of the U-Haul truck Mama had loaded up before leaving Knoxville. They would definitely keep their drone-flying benefactor a secret. Few Pop-Tarts still existed in the world, so the value of the box’s contents far outweighed doubloons or pearls. She began searching for two large rocks.
“What are you thinking, Willa?” asked Cricket, his perpetually dirty face smeared with crumbs and red jelly.
“I’m going to leave the rocks. I’ll leave a note, too...the next time. I didn’t bring any paper with me today.”
“What’re you gonna say in the note?”
“I haven’t decided. I’m definitely going to ask for sweets, though. If this guy has Pop-Tarts and mac and cheese, I bet he has candy too.”
Cricket’s brown eyes widened to saucer-like proportions at the notion of candy. The next moment, the corners of his mouth turned down.
Willa paused in her rock quest to gaze with narrowed eyes at her friend. “Mama won’t find out. I won’t tell her. Harlan won’t tell her. You swore a blood oath, Cricket. If you break it, you will die within a week. That’s how blood oaths work.”
“I ain’t gonna tell, but she could still find out. Your grandpappy knows things he shouldn’t be able to. He might already know about the Pop-Tarts. He might be telling her right now!”
“Calm your tits, Cricket. Pops is true-blue. He would never betray me.”
Harlan tapped her shoulder, then signed: He might if he thought we were in danger.
She shrugged. “Can’t be helped.”
It was Harlan’s turn to shrug. He would be on board with whatever Willa proposed.
“Cricket, help me with these rocks. Let’s pull some of these weeds so the rocks can be seen from the sky.”
For the next twenty minutes, they cleared the tall weeds from a section of the meadow the size of a carnival carousel. Nothing flew overhead during the task except a red-tailed hawk and a couple of sparrows. Afterward, it was time to find a place to stash the remaining food. Willa’s stomach was too full of Pop-Tarts to eat the mac and cheese at the moment.
“If we had shovels, we could dig a hole and cover it up,” said Cricket.
“But we don’t, so we’ll stash it in these bushes for now.” She pushed aside a few spiny holly branches, revealing a void within the greenery that would serve nicely.
“What’ll keep the critters from getting into it?” Cricket said after the food had been stored. He may not be a genius, but he had lived in the holler since he was born. He knew about scavengers — weasels, badgers, coons...they would all want to get at the treasure.