Concealed in the Shadows

by Gabrielle Arrowsmith

  The others file out of the upstairs room slowly, but my dad and I remain. Collectively, we have decided that no other leaders or seeksmen should go into Miles in effort to rescue Evvie or Crewe, who has still not returned. The others have agreed that my father and I are allowed to go in independently if we wish to continue the battle for her. We set a precedent minutes ago that family cannot be denied the right to fight for their loved ones.

  This formalization doesn’t matter much for other seeksmen. Crewe has no family left and Jerus never had one to begin with. As far as I know, Merick is the only seeksmen who has a family here in Sheridan, but they have not been trained as part of our force, so the directive doesn’t apply to them.

  I am now officially part of the battalion. My father could not keep me away for all of his effort. The others brought up good points about how I’ve been giving myself the physical training that they were required to complete. I’ve spent years preparing myself to be the fastest and the strongest that I can be. They also agreed that I’ve had a worthy crash course in combat experience over the last few days. That’s something most of the others never had. Galvesten recounted my precision behind a weapon from the evening that we practiced before Evvie made the jump. Cy would have praised my natural ability even more.

  Cy’s funeral is only a few hours away. We buried Decklin yesterday, but decided to wait on Cy’s to give Crewe one more day to return. We could hold off on the funeral forever and Crewe might never come. At some point, we may have to hold a funeral for him. We might have to assume he met death two nights ago before we even realized he was heading straight for it.

  “What do you think has become of them?” I ask my father.

  “Evvie and Crewe?” he asks.

  “And Jerus too,” I add, although I have no real concern for him.

  “I believe two of them are alive and well. The third, I’m not so sure about.

  Somehow I know that he didn’t answer my question in respective order. Crewe is the soldier that he fears may not be well or may not be alive. I fear the same thing. “Was Crewe or Jerus wounded at all like the others?” I ask.

  “No. Not at all. Something is amiss about the way they fired on us, and I’m still toying with the possible reasoning.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask him.

  “Jerus and I rode on one flank, Crewe and Alix were in the center, and Cy and Decklin were on the other flank. The BOTs came out from all sides, but their fire was all directed to one place.”

  “Toward Cy and Decklin?” It doesn’t make sense to me. Why would they have been aiming at those two noble-hearted, young soldiers?

  “Yes, sort of. More specifically, away from Jerus and me,” my father says. “I’m trying to figure out if it had to do with me or with Jerus.”

  “Why would they avoid firing at either of you?” I ask. Wouldn’t they want to take out Sheridan’s most experienced leaders first? I can’t understand why their aim wasn’t opposite.

  “They can’t use Evvie to blackmail me if I’m dead.”

  “Blackmail?” I wonder out loud. “What do they want from you?”

  He shrugs. “Our town probably, and the others. They want their authority restored. Jerus’ action is what troubles me though. Now I haven’t said anything to Merick yet, so keep this to yourself, Sydney.” He continues without assurance from me that I won’t leak the information. My father trusts me. “I felt Jerus’ arms go up in surrender before we broke the barrier, before a single BOT member came out from their hiding spot.”

  “How did Jerus know they were there?”

  “I don’t know for sure whether he did, and if he did, I don’t know how. They came out from everywhere the instant we crossed into the barrier. Instinctively, all three bikes made a hairpin turn to try to get away. Then the firing began. Jerus jumped off the back of our bike into Miles’ hands. In that instant, I thought maybe he was taking a bullet for me, but it was clear later that we went unscathed while the others were hit.”

  My father’s voice breaks. He doesn’t have to picture the event like I do. He was there. He saw it, and will probably always remember it. He can see the bullets making contact with Cy and Decklin, their faces pale and frozen in shock.

  “Do you think Jerus set you up?”

  “It seems likely.” He tenses. “It’s the only explanation for what happened in there.”

  “Where did the fire come from?” I pry. If the bullets were a difficult memory for my father to relive, the fire will be harder. I know this, but I want to know what happened out there, and he’s talking about it now.

  “I’m not sure. It all happened so fast. I’m not sure if they were hit with heavier artillery or if a bullet hit the gas tank and sparked the explosion. I don’t know how Alix had the presence of mind to pull Cy off the front of the bike. The BOTs weren’t fifty feet away from where we abandoned the destroyed bike and regrouped to ride away with our wounded. They could have finished all of us then, but they didn’t. They watched us. Then they dispersed. I think they wanted us to return defeated and scarred. They wanted their message to reach the rest of our force and Sheridan’s civilians. I’m afraid they won’t have any reason to withhold fire from Crewe if he went asking for it.”

  Just as I thought, my father believes Jerus is the seeksmen that is alive and well. Jerus, a spy and a traitor. My sister is also alive and well but only because she is collateral. My father believes Evvie will live in exchange for the freedom of Sheridan’s remaining two hundred forty-seven people now that we’re down Evvie, two departed seeksmen, and Crewe Davids.

  “Dad, I understand that you’re unable to save Evvie’s life if it will mean harm to Sheridan and the other refugee towns. This is truly another world out here, and I do believe in its preservation, but I can’t let anything bad happen to her. She won’t stay well if we don’t act as they want us to.”

  “I know. Sydney, my heart was broken when I found out everything that I put you through by not coming for you and your mother. After you told me, I decided that I would never let a single tragedy befall my daughter again. That’s why I couldn’t let you go with us on the last mission, and why I’m not going to allow it now.”

  “You can’t stop me,” I protest. “I mean, we all just decided—”

  “Forget the precedent,” he interjects. “I’m not ordering this as the captain—I’m begging it as your father. Don’t make me suffer failing you anymore than I already have. I will go for her, Sydney. I excused myself from going after you and your mother for all of those years because I didn’t know of anything bad happening to you. That was foolish of me, and I know better now. You’re right, Evvie won’t remain unharmed long if we don’t act. I won’t repeat the same mistake with Evvie that I made with you. I still have the chance to be a good father to her and to try to make some gains with you by protecting you both.”

  “You don’t need to protect me,” I tell him. “I have been on my own forever, and that hasn’t changed just because I’ve learned that you’re alive. Evvie is my only world like I am yours. I can’t fail her either, you see? You do need to go, but I need to go with you.”

  “I am begging you for the chance to save you both. I am asking you to trust me, to trust that there is hope left in your world too. Let me do this, Sydney. Let me try to save both of my girls. Your sister won’t be the same without you. You want what’s best for her, but don’t you see that you’re it? She needs you, Sydney. You have to let me go alone.”

  My father makes a strong point. What will life be like for Evvie without me here? She’ll mourn my death and be guilt-ridden by the loss of lives in her name. I wouldn’t be here to tell her that it’s not her fault. She’ll be the symbol of walking agony in Sheridan. She’ll be ruined to lose me just as I would be ruined to lose her. My father is right. I have to let someone else do my job this time. I have to trust that he’ll protect her.

  “Okay,” I agree. “I’ll stay.” My father is surprised by my decision, but he’s glad of it
.

  “I’ll go tomorrow morning. I want to make sure that you stay safe tonight.” I agree to this. Even if I did feel safe alone there, I would not want to sleep in the little house that Evvie had begun arranging for us without her. I’ve felt secure with my father, and have even afforded a few hours of sleep.

  “Dad? Can you show me where Decklin lived and maybe the Davids too?” I wish I could do these things alone, but I know that my father doesn’t plan to leave my side until tomorrow morning.

  We walk together toward the other hub of Sheridan, where the citizens have settled back into their normal routines at the school, hospital, and in their homes. Interestingly, we talk about my mother. He paints a beautiful picture of the woman she was. I wish I had known her the way he did. I wish her life hadn’t caved the way it did. She may have been like Crewe and Cy’s mother underneath all of her troubles. She may have deeply loved Evvie and me, but didn’t know how to effectively protect us from the truths that haunted her.

  When we arrive at Decklin’s home, my father allows me to go in alone. He sits down on the cement step and pulls a slip of paper and an ink pen from a pocket inside of his jacket. I wonder if my father always wears his camouflage, which is genuine army wear unlike the hunting gear that many of the others wear. I like that he wears it. The people of Sheridan need a constant symbol of capable protection.

  There is a busy-bodied woman inside the house when I enter. She is clattering things in the open kitchen. I plan to just scoot by, but she turns and sees me.

  “Oh, hello there,” she says. “Are you looking for something?”

  “I’m Sydney Harter,” I begin to explain.

  “I know,” she says. “I was in the hospital a couple of nights ago when you came for Della.”

  “Oh,” I say. Her tone makes me feel guilty all over again for the way that I frightened the children that the adults were trying to keep calm and asleep. “Decklin wanted me to have something of his.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ve already packed a few boxes, but you’re welcome to anything you like.” I wonder who this woman was to Decklin. Most of the Sheridan inhabitants are without biological families, but they seem to form little family units anyhow. This woman wouldn’t be old enough to be Decklin’s real mother, but it seems she may have taken on a motherly role to him.

  “He said I could find what I’m looking for in his bedroom.”

  “Second door on the right,” she tells me. “Take as long as you need. I’ll just be packing up in here.” She smiles weakly and gets back to her packing. I feel her sorrow. She has also lost someone close to her.

  I slide the Bible out from Decklin’s neatly kept bed. It has a red leather covering and gold edging around the thin pages. I begin to flip through the marked pages, searching on the side for a label indicating Isaiah. I like how the pages flop heavily together as I flip them, and the antiquated aroma that results from the action. It’s been a long time since I’ve opened a real book.

  A few months ago, Evvie brought over a printed yearbook that Merideth had ordered for her, complete with a picture and electronic autographed stamp that each student in her class section had created. She brought the book along on her overnight. I picked it up to look at it, but she decided we should look through the online yearbook on the media screen, that way we would be able to hear the music and voiceovers, see the animations that accompanied each student’s seal, and watch the video portion. The book was garbage in comparison with what the online yearbook held. Even then, Evvie was disappointed when she remembered that my old media screen didn’t have three-dimensional projection capabilities.

  I like having this book in my hands. My voice can’t command that the book find for me what I’m looking for, and that’s okay. I enjoy having to search for the section that I need among the folded corners and ribbons that mark Decklin’s favorite verses.

  A green ribbon marks chapter forty-nine of the book of the prophet Isaiah. It reads:

  Listen to me, oh coastlands;

  hear this, you distant nations:

  Before I was born, the Lord called me;

  from my mother’s womb, he gave me my name.

  He made me a sharp-edged sword,

  and concealed me in the shadow of his arm;

  he made me into a polished arrow,

  and in his quiver he hid me.

  You are my servant, He said to me,

  through whom I will display my glory.

  Though I thought I had toiled to no purpose;

  that I had spent my strength in vain,

  Yet what is to come is in the Lord’s hands,

  and my reward is with my God.

  For now the Lord has spoken,

  who formed me in the womb to be his servant

  that Jacob may be brought back to him

  and Israel gathered to him,

  For I am glorious in the sight of the Lord,

  and God is now my strength.

  It is too little, he says, for you to be my servant

  to raise up the tribes of Jacob

  and bring back those of Israel I have kept.

  I will also make you a light to the nations,

  that you may bring my salvation to the ends of the earth.

  Thank you, Decklin. He has passed onto me his inspiration to persevere through this battle to end the oppression of humanity inside the counties. He has found God’s ancient words to hold as much relevance to today’s struggle as it carried when it was written about Jacob and Israel. The only trouble is that we do not have a Jacob. I don’t believe our leader will raise the other refugee towns to face the counties. We do not have faith that we can win—God with us or not.

  I decide to take Decklin’s Bible with me. He wanted me to have it. The woman is no longer in the kitchen. As I exit, I find her outside speaking with my father.

  “Sydney, this is Gwen,” my father introduces. “She works at the laundromat. I’m going to have you start working there tomorrow.”

  “But what about your trip?” I ask him, being careful to code my question in front of this woman. He can’t expect me to be away from Merick, who will have the other cell phone to communicate with him. How can I do anything but wait while my father faces the lethal BOTs to try and save my sister?

  “You’re leaving us?” the woman asks. The question isn’t casual. She was there in the hospital when I rushed Della along, telling her that people were dying. She’s been packing up the belongings of one of the deceased for whom she cared deeply. Like any of the people of Sheridan, she is scared to have the captain go.

  “Everything will be fine. Sheridan is safe,” my father assures her. “Sydney, I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone. Working might help you remove yourself from some of the worry.”

  “He’s right; it does help,” Gwen says. Of course it helps her worries, but we’ve kept from her where my father is really going. The caliber of my apprehension can’t just be forgotten. “Plus, I could use the help.”

  My father decides to invite Gwen to join us for lunch. We go back to our place to stuff two towels into a backpack that my father wears. Each of us carries a box filled with Decklin’s belongings back toward town. Gwen is going to wash up all the items, clothing and otherwise, and return them to the storehouse by the lot. All of his personal things will be divided among random members of the community who have need for something he used to own.

  We decide to eat in the restaurant above where Sheridan’s militia meets. That’s what I’ve decided to call our force now. Seeksmen is not fitting, as seeking has been halted until further notice, and many members of our force were never seeksmen. The word army also doesn’t fit a crew as small as ours. Militia is the best fit. We are a tiny band of soldiers. Now short the former members who have passed away, we are not even a battalion.

  I find the restaurant uncomfortable and eerie. I have never seen it besides in the nighttime and early morning hours when it has been empty and despairing. Also, I’m repeatedly
catching people staring at me. Everyone here knows each other, but no one knows me. I’m the outsider. Upon our homecoming, these citizens stopped in their tracks to greet and welcome my sister and me. Now, no one approaches me to introduce themselves.

  I’m a plague to be feared. I’ve brought terror to their town, to their children. If that’s not the reason their eyes avoid me when I glance at any of the ones who stare, it’s because they pity my burden and my losses. Evvie’s not even dead, as far as I believe, but already I’m a symbol of misery.

  After lunch, we all get cleaned up for Cy’s funeral. It turns out that a lot of others have the same idea. The showers are crowded and the nearby streets are bustling as people come to this side of town to prepare to say goodbye to a son of Sheridan.

  My father and I walk among many others toward the church that connects the two sides of the town. Children and teachers were released from school at noon today due to the heroic big brother they lost, the dashing young soldier from whom they all felt honored to receive a smiling high-five. I can’t imagine anyone will stay behind while Cy Davids is being remembered, except for the person who knew him best, his brother Crewe.

  Once the town seems assembled and comfortable at the graveside service, my father leaves my side and walks to the other side of Cy’s casket to face us. He pulls the paper I saw earlier from the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He takes a deep breath and looks up at the devoted crowd before him.

  “I spent a good portion of time yesterday trying to figure out how to begin Cy’s eulogy. How do you speak to a mass of people about a son you dearly loved, who had a better heart than anyone you knew? Often times these things begin with a statement like: If you knew Cy Davids like I did. But the problem with that statement is that I already know that you did. Every one of you knew Cy like I knew him because that was Cy. There were no such things as strangers to him, and all of you gathered here to honor and remember him today are testaments to that.”

  “I want to tell you all a story about the day that I met Cy. He was twelve years old then and had been living in the orphanage in Miles County. He had lost his father, a firefighter, to a heroic act that saved the lives of many. For the next year while he mourned his father’s death, he watched his mother become increasingly helpless to the cancer that spread in her. During the time that Cy was in the orphanage, he was abused on a regular basis by a boy older than him and Crewe.”

  “I didn’t believe those things could be true when Crewe told it to me soon after their escape. I doubted it because the day that I met Cy…” my father pauses to regain his composure, “he was a little kid made up of smiles. Now tell me, what could someone who has gone through such torture possibly have to smile about?”

  “During the car ride back to Sheridan, the boisterous twelve-year old asked me what I was searching for in the woods around Miles. When I told him that I was searching for my daughter, the scrawny, pure-hearted boy told me that he would help me find her. Cy Davids kept that promise, and even then simply finding her was not enough. With his genuine charm, he carved a channel into the hardened heart of my daughter, who faced her own demons through childhood. He brought my daughter back to me, and taught her to smile again.”

  The lump in my throat makes it impossible to swallow. I did not know all the hardship Cy had experienced as a young boy. My father is right to tell this account to illustrate what a miraculous soul he had to be the person he was despite his past. The captain had saved Cy from his nightmare, and so he would be forever loyal to him, beginning as a small child and extending to the day that he died for us.

  “Two days ago, Cy was the first one to volunteer to go after my daughter, who he had known for only a day. She was the closest thing to a stranger that Cy had known, and he willingly gave his life for her. That’s the man that Cy Davids was. He was a hero and a man his father would have been unbelievably proud of. I know I was.”

  “I’m going to ask two things of all of us here today; two things that I think Cy would ask us to do. Firstly, he would ask us to pray for two people. One is my youngest daughter, Evvie. I know that even in death, he would still feel an obligation to send protection to her. The other is his beloved brother, Crewe. Let’s pray that he makes it home to us safely, and is able to take steps to cope with the absence of the best presence in his life.”

  “The second thing I believe Cy would want is for us to keep alive the exceptional humanity that resided in him. Abide by the rule he lived by. Never let any person stay a stranger. Find a reason to smile and to be good to each other. There is nothing too depressing, too overwhelming, to turn your smile over to. Keep it alive. Keep the spirit of Cy Davids alive in your hearts and in your actions.”

  My father unfolds an American flag that sits atop the casket. He smoothes it and beholds the stars and stripes that Cy and the people of Sheridan still believe in. He salutes the casket in a militaristic manner. I notice that a few others throughout the crowd do the same.

  After the casket is lowered, my father scoops a shovel full of dirt from the place where Cy now lies. He says a few inaudible words, and lets the dirt fall from the blade. My father hands the shovel to me and walks away from the gathering. I thank Cy one last time and place my scoop of earth next to my father’s, over Cy’s heart. I pass the shovel to Rico, who has come up next. Galvesten and Merick take a step forward. Others begin shuffling through the waiting citizens. Rico releases his dirt, and walks on like my father did. This is the tradition for saying goodbye in Sheridan. I wish Crewe were here to take part in it.