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

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  The tree in which he perched offered a clear view of the three logs where Harlan had seen Lizzy dancing in his dream. He hoped she would reappear tonight, following the subtle trail he’d left for her through the forest. The revolver from Ray’s warehouse pointed toward the fallen-log triangle Harlan had mentioned. The Browning from the U-Haul pressed against the small of his back. His backpack, looped on a nearby branch, held the tear gas and midazolam.

  All he could do was wait.

  Thank goodness for the last cup of coffee Serena Jo had offered before his departure. Between the caffeine and the discomfort of straddling a tree limb, he had no fear of falling asleep. The minutes passed like hours, and still Lizzy didn’t skulk into sight. The scent of wood smoke teased his nose from time to time; he wondered if it came from the village or elsewhere. Had Lizzy found a new location from which to conduct her murder sprees? All the details Harlan had supplied from his dream indicated she had set up some kind of camp here. There was something significant about the three logs and their positioning. He could imagine primitive people in the clearing below, clothed in wolf skins and roasting meat above a fire, their animal-hide teepees scattered nearby.

  A kind of electromagnetic energy seemed to flow through this place; maybe that’s why the children were drawn here. Perhaps a ley line bisected the area. The concept had been disparaged by mainstream science over the last fifty years, but Fergus knew they did, in fact, exist. Hundreds, perhaps thousands circumnavigated the earth, and the places where they crossed resulted in regions with elevated levels of dynamism, boosting the creative and mental performance of any sensitive types within their influence.

  The snapping of a tree branch below propelled him from his thoughts. Alert now, his ears strained for the source of the noise. It emanated from a dense section of forest on the opposite side of his perch. His eyes had adjusted to the gloom, and he held his breath, listening to the crunching of leaves.

  With a sinking sensation, he understood it wasn’t Lizzy who approached. She would never be so noisy.

  When Ray trudged into the clearing, Fergus wasn’t terribly surprised. He admired his new friend for braving the wilderness in search of Lizzy, but Ray was as stealthy as a hippo in heat. An idea dawned on him. If she were nearby, she would hear Ray as easily as Fergus heard him now. Ray may be the choicest bait with which to lure Lizzy into the clearing.

  Fergus watched as Ray shrugged out of his backpack and sat on one of the logs encircling the cold remains of a campfire.

  Surely he wouldn’t be obtuse enough to start a fire.

  A minute later, Ray proved him wrong, muttering to himself as he gathered kindling and placed it inside a rough stone circle. Once enough dry wood was in place to roast a barrel-full of marshmallows, he withdrew a puck-shaped object from his backpack, lit it, and tossed it into the circle.

  Oh for fuck’s sake! If that doesn’t lure Lizzy in, nothing will.

  Between the noise of Ray’s meal preparation, the light of the blaze, and the smell of wood smoke, Fergus expected Lizzy to appear at any moment.

  He wasn’t disappointed. Moments later, a shadow detached itself from the tree-line ten feet away. It was on Ray before Fergus had a chance to react.

  Illuminated by the campfire’s flames, Fergus saw that Lizzy held a syringe to Ray’s throat. A smile stretched widely across her narrow face, exposing all those Cheshire-cat teeth. “Come down out of that tree. Do it now or I’ll inject him.”

  Damn it. She’d discovered his presence in the tree. From his perch, Fergus saw ruthless determination etched in the contours of Lizzy’s face. He placed the revolver in the bag, unhooked it from the tree limb, and dropped it to the ground. He followed, while his mind worked furiously. If Lizzy wanted Ray dead, she would have used one of the firearms from the warehouse.

  He climbed down, remaining in the shadows. “Go ahead, inject him. Midazolam will knock him out, but it won’t kill him,” The Browning automatic still pressed against his lower back. He’d have it out and two shots fired before Lizzy could do anything other than inject Ray.

  “You don’t know how much is in this syringe. And before you do whatever it is you’re thinking about doing, you should know that I have one of the children.”

  That stopped his hand from inching further.

  “That’s right. I strolled right into the village and snatched up the little darling, practically under everyone’s nose. Prior to my incarceration, I’d been covertly watching their activities. Quite the industrious beehive, they have there. I’d set my sights on the girl, though I’d be hard-pressed to explain why. She struck me as...interesting, I think. The two I strung up in the trees were just for fun. Ray had denied me my pleasures for such a long time, I needed a fix.” She giggled. “I didn’t want to kill the child right away, so I merely absconded with her. I haven’t quite decided what to do with her yet.”

  “You’re bluffing. You couldn’t have snuck in there,” Fergus replied.

  “Even now she’s safely stored in the forest, bound and gagged, in a location you will never be able to find. And here’s the delicious part: if you manage to apprehend me, you’ll kill her. I will never tell you where she is and she will experience a rather painful death of dehydration with a side of hyperthermia.”

  Ray said, “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

  “Yes, you should have. But you’re too kind for your own good.”

  “What do you want?” Fergus asked.

  “I want you both to put these on.” Still holding the needle to Ray’s neck, she reached into a cross-body bag and withdrew two pairs of handcuffs. “Behind your back, of course.”

  Fergus hesitated.

  “You really don’t have a choice,” she added.

  “I think I do.” He needed to buy a few extra seconds. “If we put these on, then what? You string us up in the trees Jesus-style and slit our throats like you did the others? That was impressive, by the way. I’d love to know how you managed to get them up so high, especially the man. He probably weighed two-twenty.”

  “Closer to two-thirty. Now, quit stalling, or Ray will get it in the neck.”

  “So what? He’s nothing to me. One thing I’ve learned the last few years is it’s every man for himself.”

  Before he finished saying the last words, the Browning was in his hand. He fired three shots, aiming for Lizzy’s right shoulder — the one that belonged to the hand that held the syringe. Lizzy moved just in time, ducking down behind Ray. The shots went wide. Firing a fourth time wasn’t an option with Ray being used as a human shield.

  We have ourselves a Mexican standoff, Fergus thought. The next moment, Lizzy’s free hand darted into her bag. A flash of silver streaked above the campfire toward him. Behind it, a contrail of vapor escaped.

  The respirator from the U-Haul lay in the backpack on the forest floor. The last image he saw before closing his eyes was that of Lizzy donning a similar mask and Ray lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, his hand dangerously close to the fire.

  Lizzy clawed at the bag again.

  Fergus held his breath and dove for the pack.

  Seconds later, the respirator was in place, but his vision couldn’t penetrate the tear-gas fog. He dropped to the ground, then fired six bullets in the direction of Lizzy.

  He had no idea if any of them connected.

  He counted half a dozen heartbeats, then crabbed toward the spot where she’d last been. The fog obscured his vision, but he hadn’t lost his bearings. After connecting with the log Ray had been sitting on, Fergus touched the man’s unconscious body on the ground. He moved the limp hand away from the encroaching flames.

  The gas was beginning to disperse now, and the cylinder lying on the ground no longer spewed its noxious vapor. The respirator limited his vision, but he could make out a dark figure to his left, rising from the mist like an apparition. The Browning recoiled five more times as he emptied the clip.

  The next moment, he felt a sharp pinch in his
neck.

  Damn it, he muttered. The world went black.

  Chapter 15

  Ray

  The last thing Ray remembered was the sound of gunfire. His thoughts felt weirdly disconnected, like his brain’s synapses were attempting to fire along neural pathways that had been rerouted to some cerebral No Man’s Land. With every breath, his throat burned. He struggled to lift a hand to rub eyelids that felt glued together with sand.

  The hand didn’t budge. Something held it behind his back. He tried the other hand with the same result. Unpleasant memories of events prior to the blackout didn’t come crashing in. Instead, they flitted toward consciousness in singles or pairs, inaugural blowflies arriving at a fresh corpse. More gathered with every passing moment: Lizzy, the syringe at his neck, the tear gas, the gunshots.

  The handcuffs.

  He forced his crusty eyelids apart. Daylight greeted him, as did cold air and stiff muscles. The rough bark of a pine tree pressed against his back; he could tell it was pine because its shed needles cushioned his rump, keeping the moisture from soaking into his pants.

  “About time,” a deep voice said from a few feet away.

  His neck felt like his head had been soldered to it, but he managed to twist it enough to see Fergus in a similar state.

  There was a blowfly banquet at the corpse now.

  “I can tell by the look on your face that your memory is coming back. It took me a few minutes too,” Fergus said.

  “Where is she?” his voice came out raspy. Talking hurt more than breathing. Tear gas will do that.

  “I have no idea. She was gone when I woke up about a half-hour ago.”

  “The child...” Ray said.

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” The determination in his voice was unmistakable, and the expression on the normally sanguine face would have intimidated anyone with an ounce of sense.

  It was not the face of an innocuous music teacher.

  “How do we get out of these?” Ray asked.

  “Fortunately for both of us, I have some experience with handcuffs.”

  “Learned during your professorial days?” Ray said, injecting a healthy measure of sarcasm while watching his companion squirm and wriggle.

  Fergus chuckled. “Hardly. The origin of that particular skill set is more boudoir in nature.”

  Ray nodded, then turned away and vomited. His neck was too stiff to wipe his mouth with a shoulder. “This sucks.”

  “Indeed. Nausea is a side effect of the drug, but I’m wondering if there’s something else going on with you,” Fergus replied, thrashing about as he talked. “Not much of a woodsman, are you?”

  “Never claimed to be.”

  “And yet, here you are, out beating the bushes for Lizzy, I assume?”

  Ray nodded.

  “That’s admirable.”

  “She’s my responsibility.”

  “Not sure I agree.”

  “It’s my fault she escaped. What’s she been up to?” Ray asked with a grimace.

  “You really don’t want to know, but I’ll tell you anyway.

  Fergus detailed the grisly deaths of the two victims.

  Ray wasn’t surprised. “I knew it would be like this. After you left, I read her journal. Stephen King would be impressed by its horrific prose.”

  “Interesting. Do you have fresh insight into our Lizzy? Anything you can share may be helpful in her capture.”

  Ray sighed. “She’s as bad as I thought. The main thing I realized was that she’s not insane, as she wanted me to believe during her incarceration. The multiple personality business...that was just for show.”

  “So she’s just your run-of-the-mill psychopath?”

  “I guess. I haven’t rubbed elbows with many psychopaths. As far as I know.”

  “You’ll be pleased to know that the village is on full lockdown, and people are out looking for her. It’s not just you and me.”

  “That’s good. I certainly hope she’s caught before she kills anyone else.”

  “Someone will catch her, Ray. Sooner than later, too.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Because serial killers don’t stop killing. They’re not capable of stopping, so it becomes a numbers game.”

  “That’s not particularly reassuring.”

  Fergus shrugged. “The odds are in our favor now. We’ve unmasked her. There’s nowhere for her to hide, metaphorically. She’ll eventually slip up. She’s an impressive creature, but she’s still human.”

  “I read her journal. I disagree.”

  Ray leaned his head back against the tree trunk, trying to ignore the sour taste in his mouth. Nothing would be gained from revealing his mental health issues, yet something about Fergus seemed to invite candor.

  Ray had been in the forest for several days, miserable, cold, barely able to sleep, and now he was handcuffed and trussed to a tree. Lizzy had used bungee cord, looped around his waist and hooked behind the trunk — a simple, fast, and effective way to bind someone who couldn’t use his hands.

  “I have agoraphobia.”

  “Ah. That explains a lot.”

  Ray waited for the tone he usually heard when he shared the intensely personal information. Most people had no patience with silly phobias that made no sense to them. The fear of being outside was not something the average mentally healthy individual could wrap his brain around. But ‘the tone’ was nowhere to be found in Fergus’s voice.

  “You’re familiar with it?”

  “Oh yes. I’ve known a few people who suffered from it. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

  “It’s been a struggle my entire life. I took medicine for it...before. But I ran out a year ago, then realized I no longer needed it. Not in the warehouse, at least.”

  “Going up on the roof to fly your drones didn’t seem to bother you.”

  Ray nodded. “The difference is, when I’m up on the roof, there’s really no chance that I’ll have to go beyond the building. Beyond what’s familiar and safe. I had to condition myself to it at first. And there was some discomfort in the beginning, but watching the drone footage is worth it.”

  “I see. It took a lot of courage to venture out here to hunt Lizzy.”

  “Yes,” he said simply. Anyone who didn’t suffer from agoraphobia would never understand just how much.

  Fergus nodded, done with the subject. “On to our pressing and somewhat dire situation. In my jacket pocket is a handcuff key. I must get this cord off so I can stand up.”

  “You carry a handcuff key with you?”

  The twinkle had returned to the blue eyes. “I’m a man who likes to be prepared.”

  “I think there’s a lot more to you than what you’ve told me,” Ray said, then felt a pinch in his neck.

  As he began to lose consciousness, he heard Fergus say, “Damn it. So close.”

  ***

  When Ray awoke the second time, the shadows had lengthened. It was late afternoon. He must have been unconscious for most of the day. He didn’t feel as loopy this time; perhaps Lizzy had used less sedative. His limbs were stiffer though, so twisting his neck toward Fergus took some determination.

  His friend was gone.

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “Tsk, tsk,” came a familiar voice from behind.

  “What did you do with him?” he demanded, trying to exude a ferocity he didn’t feel. His mouth was so dry he could barely get the words out.

  “I took him elsewhere. Away from you. Away from us,” she said from behind, but closer now. “We need to get you to a more suitable location. What I have planned requires privacy.”

  “Water. Please,” he said. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the wetness in his crotch. It was especially aggravating that Lizzy would likely notice the smell of his urine.

  When he opened his eyes, she stood in front of him, wearing the trademark grin. In the daylight, he was able to see her clearly, unlike the night before. She looked healthy. The chil
ly temperature, or perhaps the exertion of dragging Fergus off somewhere, had brought a flush to her normal pallor. He wouldn’t have imagined the woods to be a comfortable habitat for someone like Lizzy, but after reading her journal, he knew she was capable of rustic living. She’d grown up in Appalachia, after all.

  “All in good time. I’m going to remove the cord now, and then you may stand up. The handcuffs remain. You’ll be stiff and sore, so go slowly.”

  “Water first.” It was a pivotal moment. He understood that he must exert some of his old authority over her or all would be lost.

  The black hair, pulled back in a girlish ponytail, bobbed to one side while she considered his request. The grin had thankfully vanished. Without speaking, she reached into the omnipresent cross-body bag and withdrew a Yeti thermos. He recognized it from the warehouse; it was one he had designated as hers from the first week of her captivity. It had frequently held water, sometimes coffee, and occasionally hot chocolate — when he’d felt especially guilty about her captivity.

  He tried not to picture all those Lizzy germs as he took greedy sips of cool water. “Thank you,” he said.

  “It’s the least I can do. As far as prison wardens go, you weren’t too bad.”

  “I had to restrain you. Surely you realize that.”

  “I’m not sure that I agree, but we’ll shelve that conversation for another time. Stand, please.”

  He did, but not without discomfort. During his time in the warehouse, he’d exercised daily, but even the fittest of individuals would feel near-crippled after being handcuffed and tied to a tree in forty-five-degree temperatures for hours.

  “Now, walk in front of me. We’re going that way.” The ponytail dipped as Lizzy indicted a northerly direction.

  “Where are you taking me? Is Fergus okay? What about the child?”

  “So many questions.” The sly tone was back. He felt something hard poke his shoulder blade. Probably the SIG Sauer she’d taken from the warehouse.