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

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  “Where’d you get this?” he demanded.

  Instead of answering, she flicked out the blade of her new pocket knife, then fixed him with a steely gaze. It was a pivotal moment. He was an adult family member. By all rights, he could tell her to stuff her blood oath where the sun didn’t shine and demand to know the answer anyway. It wasn’t much of a gamble, though. Pops was in many ways a kid at heart. He knew that kind of behavior would get him kicked out of their club.

  The gamble paid off. He extended a hand toward her, palm up. A half-dozen tiny white scars would soon welcome a new sibling.

  After it was done, she told him the whole story: seeing the drone the first time; finding the clearing in the forest beyond the perimeter where food shipments were dropped; hiding the mac and cheese and devouring the Pop-Tarts; and finally, she explained the reason she’d asked him to cover for Fergus.

  “You kids been busy, ain’t ya?” he said.

  Harlan signed, Sorry we didn’t bring any back to share. Willa said we couldn’t.

  Pops nodded. “’Course you couldn’t. Your mama would be on you like a duck on a June bug.”

  “Like stink on shit,” Cricket replied with a solemn expression.

  “Yep. I understand, kids. But you have to agree right now to stay in the village until I say different. No argument. From anyone,” he added with an uncharacteristic ferocity while skewering Willa with a glare.

  Three heads nodded in unison.

  “All right. Let’s get home. I got a lot of thinkin’ to do.”

  ***

  Later that night, Willa lay in bed, contemplating her situation. Tomorrow was Monday, which meant Mister Fergus better get back before morning or Serena Jo would find out he was missing. The last place she wanted Mister Fergus to end up was six feet under in the newest section of Whitaker Holler cemetery. He was more fun than all the other adults except for Pops. His arrival at their village had been...fortuitous.

  She smiled to herself in the dark. The best way to improve one’s vocabulary wasn’t to write with new words, but to first think with them and then to speak them. Writing them came naturally after that, and thus sounded more natural to the reader.

  Just as she found herself dozing off, a loud knock on the front door of the cabin startled her wide awake. Her ears pricked up, straining to hear the conversation between Serena Jo and the late-night caller. She recognized the male voice right away.

  “He’s gone. Just flat-out disappeared,” Otis said.

  “Calm down, Otis, and tell me exactly what happened,” Serena Jo replied.

  “Everett went to take a leak. We was in the northwest quadrant. He only stepped a few feet away. He was so close, I could hear his piss splashing on the leaves.”

  Willa noticed his voice catching in his throat. Was he crying? The notion of a grown man weeping fascinated her. She had never seen it happen except in movies and on TV. Back when they still had movies and TV.

  “Then what happened? Be precise,” Mama demanded.

  “I kept expecting to hear him coming up behind me again, but after a couple of minutes of waiting, I turned around to see what he was up to. Thought maybe he needed to take a...I mean, go number two.”

  It was a testament to Otis that despite his dismay, he still attempted to adhere to the no-cussing mandate. Or perhaps it was a testament to Serena Jo.

  “He was just gone. Flat-out disappeared, like I said. I looked around for two hours. We need a search party.”

  Willa crawled out from under her covers and crept toward the open bedroom door to hear better. Harlan was right behind her.

  “We’ll initiate the emergency protocol.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll go wake the others.”

  The front door closed.

  “I know you two are out of bed,” Mama’s voice came from the kitchen. The lantern there flickered to life. “Come on out.”

  She sat at their rickety table where she was lacing up the hiking boots she used only for critical excursions beyond the village. Per her directive, their family was careful about using many of the items they’d brought from Knoxville, like waterproof boots, drawing paper, duct tape, and the antibiotics only Mama knew were loaded in the U-Haul. Those things couldn’t be replaced when they were gone or worn out. She must think this was serious business to be putting on her good boots.

  “You’re going out, too?” Willa asked, suddenly worried about what might be lurking in the woods. It was bad that Everett had gone missing, she supposed, but it was much worse for her mama to be venturing out into a menacing situation. The problem was, Willa couldn’t reveal why it might be more menacing than usual.

  “Yes. Pops is part of the emergency protocol, so you two will be on your own for a few hours. Can I count on you to behave yourselves?”

  Harlan nodded. Willa nodded more slowly. She watched Mama reach for a holstered Smith & Wesson she kept on top of the kitchen cabinet. After slipping on the canvas belt, she checked the slots where the extra clips were stored. Everything was in place. All the firearms in the village received a thorough cleaning every month and ammunition levels were checked weekly. Not only every gun, but every bullet in Whitaker Holler was accounted for, and if used, updated as such in Serena Jo’s inventory binder.

  That binder was practically the Bible in their house.

  “You two go back to bed and stay there. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Willa replied.

  Once the front door was closed, Willa turned to her brother. “I sure hope Mister Fergus made it back.”

  Chapter 10

  Fergus

  Fergus had just finished washing his face and had slipped into the clean pajamas Skeeter left out for him, when a knock sounded at the cabin’s door. The old man’s gentle snores came to a sudden halt.

  Serena Jo didn’t wait her father to open the door. Fergus felt her eyes appraise him in the light of a lantern she held aloft.

  “You don’t look sick to me,” she said.

  “I’m better now. You should have seen me twenty-four hours ago. I took diarrhea to an entirely new level, and my projectile vomiting set a land-speed record.”

  “Hmmm,” she said, then turned to her father who scrambled out of bed.

  “What’s wrong?” Skeeter’s eyes squinted in the lamplight.

  “Everett’s gone missing. He was on patrol with Otis in the northwest quadrant. I’m initiating the emergency protocol. Are you up for it?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute.”

  “You can come with me,” she said, her expression softening as she watched the old man slip into his patched overalls and shrugged on a heavy flannel jacket.

  “Emergency protocol?” Fergus asked.

  “Yes. If you weren’t sick, you’d be going too. I don’t smell vomit or diarrhea in here, so I assume you did all that in the privies.” Her disconcerting gaze focused on him as Skeeter laced up his boots.

  “Indeed. About this emergency protocol...what does it entail?”

  “It’s a bit like circling the wagons. One Scout is assigned to each search party. Each search party is comprised of three people. We’re spread a bit thin because at least a dozen others who can shoot remain in the village to protect the children. The search parties are each assigned a sector. We can cover more ground that way. Once you’ve fully earned my trust in regard to our operations here, you’ll be assigned a squad and a firearm. Until then, you’ll stay in the village.”

  The revolver Ray had gifted him earlier that morning was hidden under a floorboard in Skeeter’s cabin. Visions of Lizzy skulking about in the forest and abducting the muscle-bound Everett made Fergus slightly nauseated. Perhaps that helped sell the cover story of his illness.

  “There is something you can do, though,” she continued.

  “Anything.”

  “Check on my kids. They’re supposed to be in bed, but I’m not naïve. Willadean will want to sneak out and insert herself into the unfolding drama.” When Serena Jo spoke abou
t her daughter, all the sharp angles of her face softened, and a love that was paradoxically fierce and gentle revealed itself.

  If mama grizzlies appeared in human form, they would look exactly like Whitaker Holler’s leader.

  “Of course,” he replied. “It would be my pleasure.”

  She nodded, then turned to leave. Fergus tapped Skeeter lightly on the shoulder as the old man headed toward the door.

  “Be extra careful, Skeeter. The woods are dangerous. More so now than yesterday.” He spoke the words in a low key, barely a whisper.

  Skeeter winked. “Yep. I know,” he said, then followed his daughter into the night.

  It had happened. It always seemed to happen these days. The thought of harm coming to the old man, the children, or their stoic mother summoned twisting knots in his stomach. He’d come to Tennessee to study Chicxulub’s survivors and perhaps find new recruits for Cthor-Vangt. He was doing that, yes, but he was also becoming emotionally invested. In a very short period of time, he had become attached to these folks.

  He sighed, then pulled his jacket over the pajamas and trotted into the night.

  ***

  “Holy cow, Mister Fergus. That woman sounds scary as hell.”

  Fergus gave Willadean a wry grin. “Child, you have no idea. Now that I’ve told you all this, do you agree to put aside the blood oath and tell your mother what we know? This has become larger than us. If Lizzy abducted Everett, she could do it again, and the next time it might be someone we like.”

  The manner in which the impressive young brain struggled with the dilemma was revealed through a series of shifting facial expressions. Harlan sat next to his sister in the warm glow of the candlelit kitchen, watching her mental process.

  Fergus watched him watch her. The boy remained a mystery, but an occasional blip on Fergus’s scythen always registered in his presence. The signal was nothing like Willadean’s, whose output was a steady, frenetic jumble of unharnessed intellect. The boy’s felt nebulous, deep and profound — the faint music of a faraway didgeridoo.

  Fergus had already conducted a thorough check to make sure the cabin was secure. The long knife he carried in his boot pressed reassuringly against his skin. Lizzy may be out there. She could evade Serena Jo’s perimeter guards and slink into the village like a malignant fog. When he touched her hand back at the warehouse, he’d glimpsed the nightmare of Lizzy’s true essence.

  These people had no idea what they were dealing with.

  “No can do, Mister Fergus,” Willa said finally. “Tipping off Mama will bring an end to all our fun. I agree to stay out of the woods for a few days, but I don’t agree to spilling our guts. She’d never let us out of her sight if she knew about that woman.”

  “You’ve put me in a difficult situation,” Fergus replied. Of course he would do whatever necessary to keep the family out of danger, even if it meant breaking a promise. But perhaps there was another option. One he wouldn’t share with the precocious, intimidating child before him.

  “Can’t break a blood oath,” she said. “If you do, you’ll be dead from the curse in a week. And if the curse doesn’t get you, Mama will, when we tell her you weren’t really sick and that you left the holler and went exploring on your own. Either way, it won’t end well for you. So I guess it’s just a matter of whether you’d prefer to die of a curse or die at Mama’s hands.”

  Fergus struggled to keep from grinning. He could easily imagine this miniature pirate prodding him with a tiny sword, prompting him to step off a weathered wooden plank and into the chilling embrace of an inky black sea.

  “Very well,” he said. “I won’t break the oath, but I’m not going to sit idly by and let something terrible happen.”

  “What will you do?” she demanded.

  “I guess that’s for me to know and you to find out, Anne Bonny.”

  “Why did you call me that?”

  “Do you recognize the name?”

  “It sounds familiar. Is she a fictional character or a historical figure?”

  “The latter.”

  Harlan began signing. Willa watched the flying fingers as understanding dawned on her freckled face.

  “Oh, you think I’m a pirate lady. I like that!”

  “I don’t know about the lady part, but I definitely see a bloodthirsty streak in you.”

  Willa snorted. “That’s not such a bad thing. You need to be a little bloodthirsty in this day and age. Right, Harlan?”

  The boy nodded solemnly.

  “I suppose you have a point,” Fergus replied. “At any rate, pirate gentlemen and pirate ladies need their rest. Off to bed, both of you. The school bell will ring early tomorrow. I expect two pairs of bright eyes and a couple of bushy tails when I see you in class.”

  “You’re staying here tonight?” Willa asked.

  “Yes. Your mother didn’t specifically ask me to, but she doesn’t know what could be lurking nearby.”

  “Would you like a pillow? We have an extra one.”

  “No, thank you. I won’t be sleeping. I take my babysitting responsibilities seriously. Besides, I can’t turn my back on you savages for a second. I might wake up dead.”

  “True. Good night, Mister Fergus. See you in the morning.”

  When the woodland sprite-pirate lady kissed his cheek just above the beard before scampering back to bed, he felt that familiar hitch in his chest. The one he experienced when he became deeply involved in his work.

  Too deeply.

  He glanced at the gingham-check fabric covering the window pane and the blackness beyond, then withdrew the knife from one boot and a whetstone from the other. It would be a long night coming on the heels of an arduous day. He would spend the hours sharpening the blade to a razor’s edge. In the process, he would refine his plan to keep loved ones safe from what may well be the most dangerous human being he’d encountered during his colorful, harrowing, prolonged life.

  ***

  “Between you and me, Otis, I think your brother might have been abducted by a witch.”

  Class had been dismissed, and Fergus was making his way through the village the next morning, walking next to the brother of the perimeter guard who’d gone missing the night before.

  Otis shot him a disgusted look.

  “That was a bad joke. I’m sorry. But,” Fergus lowered his voice, “I do think there’s something in the woods that is more dangerous than our...leadership...may realize.”

  “What do you know?” Otis replied, instantly attentive.

  This was the tricky part. Fergus had to tell a lie, and if Otis possessed even a smattering of scythen, he may well sniff it out. “I encountered a woman on my travels, before arriving at your quaint hamlet. She was the epitome of evil. She reeked of brimstone and insanity.”

  “What do I care about some evil bitch?” Otis replied, annoyance and fatigue punctuating his words.

  “I think she may be lurking in the forest. Stalking people. I think she may have taken your brother.”

  Otis gave a dismissive grunt. “If you’re dumb enough to think Everett could be overpowered by some broad, you shouldn’t be teachin’ those kids.” The dark head gestured toward the schoolhouse as they walked.

  “Misogyny aside, if the woman were clever enough to compensate for the physical disparity, and if she captured your brother, I shudder to ponder the gamut of torture she is inflicting on him.”

  Otis stopped, put his hands on his hips, and turned slowly to face Fergus. The hostility and grief on his face made Fergus take a step backward.

  “Listen, you little fuck-wad. I don’t know what you’re up to or what asses you kissed to get yourself in so fast around here, but I don’t like it. And I don’t like you.” The last word was emphasized with a forceful finger-poke to Fergus’s chest.

  “Does it matter whether you like me or not? Believe me, I’m not losing sleep over your lack of affection. The issue isn’t me. It’s getting your brother back, if he’s even still alive.”

&nbs
p; Before Otis could punch him in the face, Fergus ducked, skirted around the larger man, and drew his knife. He pressed the tip against the threadbare fabric of Otis’s shirt, just above the right kidney and just hard enough to get the man’s attention.

  Otis didn’t move.

  Perhaps he wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

  “Now it’s your turn to listen to me, you gap-toothed cretin. I don’t give a rat’s ass about your brother, but I do care about a few of these people, and I’d rather nobody else went missing. Get me outside the perimeter to the area where he vanished, and I’ll do the rest.”

  Otis swiveled his head, peering back at him. Fergus could see interest in the dark eyes.

  “You some kind of tracker?”

  “You could call me that,” Fergus replied, sliding the knife back into his boot. “Special Ops. Afghanistan.”

  Otis turned to face him, grinning. “Why the hell didn’t you say so sooner?”

  “I don’t like to brag. Do we have a deal? Serena Jo hasn’t given me permission to stray beyond the village proper. Our excursion will have to entail subterfuge.”

  “You sure do like to use them big words, don’t ya? Yeah. We got a deal. Meet me by the cabbage field. North corner. You know where it is?”

  “Yes, one of the more humbling duties during my tenure here has included fertilizing said cabbage field. What time?”

  “One hour,” Otis replied, glancing up at leaden, oppressive skies. “Better bring some rain gear.” He strode off in the direction of the privies.

  Fergus blew out a relieved breath.

  ***

  “This is the spot,” Otis said several hours later.

  Light rain had begun falling, making the terrain more treacherous than normal. Fergus was thankful for the waterproof poncho. It was almost as effective at keeping him dry as the camouflage hunting jacket and pants Otis had donned before leaving the village. These rural folk could smell rain far better than urban dwellers.

  They stood in a thicket known as the northwest quadrant. The journey from the village had been uneventful, with Otis whistling every now and then per security protocol. Those whistles kept a person from getting shot.