The Secret: A Thriller

by David Haywood Young

  Some of them seemed barely upright, as if they might fall over any second. Some looked full of energy. Most wore clothing ripped to rags, or were barely dressed at all. I looked closer…one girl, maybe ten years old, was entirely naked. Many of them sported blue paint on their clothes and bodies. Each and every one, regardless of how their bodies swayed or twitched, stepped along precisely in time. Spasmodic jerking, graceful dancing, a couple were spinning as they went and one of them might have been comatose or dead but was being walked along, feet kicked back and forth in perfect rhythm. I wanted to throw up but didn’t dare move.

  Then came the next wave. These were slightly older kids—Robbie’s age, or Rachel’s. Or Felicia’s. I swallowed, hard. And swayed on my feet.

  At the end of the procession came Chief Eisler’s cruiser. But he wasn’t driving it. More kids were pushing it, pulling it, moving it along. The steering wheel had drifted to the left but they didn’t seem to care. It was as if they’d forgotten what it was for. Somehow they just shoved the car back into line, and marched on.

  As they moved out of sight they started a new chant. “WE PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO THE FLAG…”

  I sat down, hard, when they were gone.

  * * *

  “Yes,” Mr. Morrison soothed me, one hand on my left shoulder. “It can be difficult at first.”

  I tried to get my breathing under control, and stared up at him. “At first?”

  “Jacob, Jacob. The young ones are a little enthusiastic, true. But they understand: we must defend our own.”

  I swallowed. “Against…what?”

  “Whom, Jacob. Against whom.” He paused, waiting for acknowledgment. I waved for him to continue. “Against outsiders, dear boy. People who don’t belong here, by reason of race, creed or—not to put too fine a point on it—birth.” He looked into my face, and chuckled. “Relax, boy. Relax. Come by the church tonight—Reverend Bob can explain it to you. It’s simple, really. You’ve missed the noon sermon, but this evening will do as well.”

  I stood awkwardly, moving to the window so he wouldn’t see my face. “Bob Germain?”

  “Why yes, of course. We must pull together, Jacob. These are difficult times.”

  I nodded, still facing away. “Very true,” I said, and tried the only idea I had. “Let me go get my family. They’ll want to hear.”

  “Oh!” Mr. Morrison chuckled. “An excellent notion. We’ll look forward to seeing you. All of you this time, if you please.”

  He opened his door for me, giving a maniacally happy grin, lunacy sparkling from his monocle. “All of you.”

  I nodded and got out of there as smoothly as I could. I wanted to draw my gun but I didn’t want to attract attention.

  Even after he closed the door I tried to walk normally, betraying nothing, as I moved down the street.

  Two doors down I saw a couple of dead bodies lying in somebody’s front yard. One of them seemed to be clutching a skateboard…but it was hard to tell much about who they’d been. Whom.

  So, not a deer or a dog. Still spooked, I kept walking. All those kids had come right by here, and none of them had visibly reacted. Even though the bodies were largely…eaten. By something.

  What in the hell was going on? I had no idea. This morning I’d supposed—as a fall-back plan, if nothing else worked—we could try to drive out of town. Now? I wondered whether we could survive the attempt.

  And where would we go, anyway? Was anywhere at all safe?

  * * *

  I felt better as soon as I got into the woods. Until today I’d thought that, whatever was happening, the threats were external. From sources out of town. Of course, Mr. Morrison still seemed to feel that way…but he and the marching kids were more frightening to me than any number of explosions. Or even fanged monkey-people.

  My knees shook as I staggered through the woods. Fear or exhaustion, I wondered? Did it matter? I got slightly lost—I’ve never had any sense of direction at all—but found a creek and knew where I had to be. Sighing, I sat on a rock. My feet hurt a little, so I took off the custom-made boots I’d ordered via the internet. Expensive, but…anyway, it still felt like a betrayal of my principles to have anything on my feet. But I didn’t want anything to slow me down if I had to run, I hadn’t wanted to attract any more attention than necessary while walking around town, and there was poison ivy out here too.

  Never mind. I dangled my left foot in a pool of water. It felt so good I did the same with my other foot.

  Less than a quarter of a mile from here sat Great-Granddad’s old stock tank. Basically a pond he’d dug out with a tractor, and the creek kept it full. Generations of teenagers had used it as a swimming hole.

  A feeling I’d been fighting off rose to the fore. I couldn’t wrap my head around it, but—this place was my home. The town, yes, but especially the woods. It felt safe even now. What kind of perverted sense did that make? People were dying by the thousands—millions?—out in the world, my family was in danger right here, and somehow…I had trouble worrying about it. Was whatever had happened to Mr. Morrison—and those kids—happening to me too?

  If so I couldn’t do anything about it just then, could I? I stank, though. And the swimming hole was pretty close. I could stop and clean myself up a little before I went on. So I forged on, still barefoot, walking in the creek more often than not, with my pants rolled up to my knees.

  The pond water was cool, and its surface significantly less scummy than it could sometimes become, which was nice. I took off my clothes and splashed around a little. This place had always been able to calm me down. An inner voice screamed at me that I needed to get back to my family—but I told myself that was just panic. Free-floating anxiety. Yes, I needed to get back. But I also needed to think, and figure out what to do next, if I could, without a bunch of people talking at once.

  I found a seat on some stones next to the pond that had been arranged into a sort of chair, and tried to relax. I supposed generations of bored kids had done the same. Anyway, the chair had been there since before I was born. It was usually a throne in the games we’d played.

  Whatever was going on, it had started—here in Henge, at least—at the prison. Somehow it spread to the town, and maybe beyond. What was it? Some sort of virus? The news articles I’d seen summarized seemed to be talking about a gas attack, and whether that was true or not there might be danger from radiation, depending on what caused the EMP and on how the prison had been destroyed.

  But…I sat up suddenly.

  Fact: Somebody had blown up at least one water tower, which had cut off supply to a bunch of houses. Including Rose’s, and she’d seemed fine. Bruised, heart-sore, but sane.

  Fact: There had been a warning at Walmart about algae in Lake Henge. Lakes, I noted, generally had water in them. And the water table had been dropping in our area for decades, so the city’s supply came mostly from the lake these days.

  Not much to build a theory on, but…the kids I’d seen playing in hydrant-spray during my run that same day, the day of the storm…were they some of the same kids I’d seen marching today? The city had apparently been decontaminating its water supply by opening up hydrants. Had the kids played in…whatever was causing this?

  Or had something traveled from the prison, to the town, via our water lines? Was my family still sane because—of all the ridiculous ways to be saved—we didn’t trust the municipal water, and ran it through two kinds of filter before we drank it?

  Thoroughly alarmed, I stared at the pond. But that was surface water. Of course, so was the lake….

  Had I just contaminated myself?

  Whatever feeling I’d had of safety, or belonging to this place, had fled screaming into the trees. I got dressed, shoes included, and set off toward the old basement at a trot.

  * * *

  Crash!

  I stopped running and ducked, tripping myself and ending up flat on my face in a pile of leaves. A man-sized shape had just burst from a clump of bushes and jumped over m
y head. From the ground, I twisted and stared up at it—ragged clothes, bestial face.

  It grinned at me from a lower limb of an ancient live oak and hooted over its shoulder. I saw scraps of a recent bloody meal dangling from its fangs, and I froze. Another hoot came from off to my left, and a deer leapt from its cover behind a bush not ten feet from me. With more hooting, Fang-Boy and his companion bounded after it.

  My God. I’d thought I was safer in the woods?

  But they hadn’t attacked me. I’d had the sense they were playing. Whether with me, the deer, or both…wasn’t clear. And the fact that they’d been enjoying themselves didn’t make me less likely to be eaten. If they ate people.

  Whatever; they weren’t vegetarians. And one of them had taken Susie.

  I was shaking again, but I forced myself to change direction and wander for a while, stopping often to listen as I went. I was not going to willingly lead the hunters—or anyone else—back to the basement.

  Besides. I’d made a promise to what was left of Tim’s family. I couldn’t go back to them yet.

  I had to check my house for a note from Susie.

  Chapter Seven

  Peering from under a bush, again, I saw no movement near the Conways’ house. Again. I sighed and worked my way around to their backyard, then stepped out of the brush and walked up to their porch. Then I crept around to check out my house across the street.

  But this wasn’t to be a repeat of my uneventful earlier visit after all: I could see bodies in my front yard.

  I stood by the Conways’ house for a long time, watching up and down the street. Nothing seemed to be happening. Eventually I started walking across the street.

  I recognized one of the bodies when I got closer—it was the scraggly-haired new neighbor who’d watched so intently as we unpacked the truck. There was another guy lying in the grass, but I couldn’t see enough of his face to identify the body. If I’d even known him.

  There was a strange pickup in my driveway, facing out and with the tailgate down. It had some tools, a wide-screen television, and a bicycle in its bed. All of which were mine.

  I was focused on the house, watching to see whether anyone—or anything—was going to jump out at me. And at the same time I tried to listen for an attack from the rear.

  But…seriously? They came to rob my house, with everything that was going on, and they took the damned TV?

  * * *

  I knocked on the wall beside my already-open front door. “Hello? Anybody in there?”

  Nothing. Silence.

  I didn’t want to, but I went inside. A lot of stuff was trashed, and somebody had taken a dump in the middle of our kitchen floor. I moved quickly, .45 in hand, but didn’t find any people inside.

  But the note Tim had left for Susie, asking her to let us know where she was…was gone. Did that mean the idiots out front had stolen it too? Or had she come in, found it, and been as leery of writing down her hiding place as we’d been of revealing ours? I couldn’t even guess.

  I searched the house carefully for the note we’d left, but found nothing. While I was there, I tried to turn on the water at our kitchen sink. Nothing.

  Outside, I found a 12-gauge Winchester shotgun but no ammunition in the idiots’ truck. Climbing back out of it, I knew what I needed to do. First I went into our backyard shed and spilled a little of the gas we kept for mowing the lawn on my fingers, and then I rubbed it under my nose.

  Back out front, I squatted next to the bodies. I didn’t want to do this. But I really needed to know whether they had the note.

  They didn’t actually smell too terrible yet. The gasoline was probably a case of the cure being worse than the disease. But when I moved Scraggly’s arm so I could check his pockets I nearly threw up. Not that I’d eaten anything today—bad planning there, maybe, but just at the moment it was okay to have an empty stomach.

  Focus, Ash. Never mind the self-distraction. I emptied his pockets, and found nothing. I moved the body around to make sure the note wasn’t underneath, and then eyed Scraggly’s buddy with disfavor.

  That one was much worse. On the bright side, some of his pockets had been ripped open already. On the other, some important parts of him were shredded or missing…parts he’d certainly have wanted to keep handy if he’d been alive. I gritted my teeth and poked through what was left.

  Eventually I sat back. All I’d found for my trouble was a rusty Ruger .357 revolver and three rounds of ammunition. The gun probably hadn’t been fired recently—I sniffed it and couldn’t be sure, but there was no used brass in its cylinder. So, whatever had torn these two idiots apart hadn’t given them time to shoot.

  Or maybe they’d had time but hadn’t used it. I figured there was no way to know. Given that they were out to steal a television, and had taken the time to crap on my kitchen floor, I probably wasn’t going to be able to figure out their logic.

  Anyway, I didn’t find the note with either of them.

  Still carrying my .45 in my right hand, I set off into the woods, awkwardly using my left to both hold the revolver and lean the shotgun over my shoulder. This had…well, it hadn’t been the worst day of my life. That was when Mom and Dad died.

  But it was up there. I wanted my family.

  * * *

  I met Tim near the basement just before dark. He was carrying a shotgun too. I peered at him curiously.

  “What’s up?” I asked. I wanted to yell at him for leaving our shelter—but I’d been gone myself all day.

  “Watching for Susie, just in case,” he answered. “Where’s—”

  “Tim,” I interrupted. “Did you go back into my house?”

  He blinked at me, surprised. “No. I thought you were going to. Why? Was there a note?”

  “Um. Let’s get inside. I have a lot to tell you, but I might as well just do it the once.”

  Tim stuck out his arm, fingers splayed and twitching, and glared at me. I blinked in surprise. “Damnit Ash—do you know anything about my wife?”

  “Oh shit,” I said, flustered, and started babbling. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I didn’t realize what I…no. I don’t. All I know is the note you left is gone.” His face lit up, and I hated to keep talking, but I did it anyway. “The place was robbed, Tim. I found the guys who did it. Or at least a couple of the guys who did it. Something killed them in my front yard. So, the note’s gone but a bunch of stuff happened over there today. Sorry, man, I just don’t know what it means.”

  Tim blew air out of his mouth. “Okay. I’ll just…hope, I guess. I don’t know what else to do. But, Ash, where’s your kid? Is he okay? Did you leave him back there?”

  I stopped moving. Stared at my friend. “I haven’t seen him.”

  “But. Rebecca said he left with you. This morning. He didn’t?”

  “No.” Oh God. For all I knew Robbie was marching with those kids I’d seen, or lying dead somewhere. Or about to walk up to me and say hi.

  But I could think of only one reason he’d have taken off on his own. “Let’s get inside,” I said.

  Tim started to say something, took a look at my face, and shut up. Nodded slowly. Followed me.

  * * *

  I stared at the basement door. Telling my wife her son was missing was going to be the hardest thing I’d ever done. But maybe doing it in the basement would be worse—for everybody—than doing it out here. A little elbow room, a little psychological distance…it might help.

  Sure it would.

  “Tim?” I asked quietly. “Could you get Rebecca to come out, without telling her what’s up?”

  “Sure, man. Uh—wait over there, okay?” he asked, waving me to where people inside wouldn’t be able to see me when the door opened.

  I watched as he called Rebecca’s name and lifted the door. Just before it hid his face, he looked directly at me—and I could see that, in spite of his own loss, this was hitting him pretty hard. I nodded to him, and waited.

  Then Rebecca came out, looked around, and saw m
e. She gave me a grin, tired but relieved and game. Until it faded, as she looked for Robbie.

  “I don’t know anything,” I told her right away. I’d been thinking about what to say first, and that was the best I could come up with. I didn’t want her to think I was about to say he was…dead…but I didn’t want her to think he was right behind me either.

  “I don’t know where he is,” I said, starting again. “I haven’t seen him. He came out after me this morning? And you thought he’d joined me?”

  Her face, normally cheerful and always before stronger than anything life could throw at her, crumpled as she sank to the ground. I walked over and knelt beside her. “It’s bad out there, hon,” I said. “Really bad, and all over. But we’re going to find him. No matter what it takes. We’ll find Robbie.”

  She nodded and I thought she was about to speak. But instead she leaned forward, put her face to the ground, and made a keening sound. A soft wail, a sound I heard as utter failure.

  I wanted to do the same thing. For her sake, for Robbie, for myself. But I had to stay alert, with my .45 in my hand.

  Okay, I’d been wrong. This was worse than what happened to Mom and Dad.

  And the day wasn’t over. I wasn’t looking forward to the next part.

  * * *

  Rebecca insisted on bringing us all inside to hear my story. I didn’t like the idea, but I wasn’t going to argue with her.

  After being outside all day…I couldn’t decide whether the basement was dank and oppressive or a sanctuary. Some of both, I guessed.

  We gathered in the larger room—why hadn’t we brought a table, and some sort of chairs?—and I decided to hold off talking about Robbie for a little while. Instead I told them what I’d learned. It took a while, and the girls seemed to lose interest early on. Natural for Abby at nine, maybe. But Rachel and Felicia? I figured they had their own reasons to distance themselves from the rest of us just now.