by wildbow
It was Jamie who spoke up. “Your father’s war was lost with brute strength. The strength of stitched against men. Your war was won with…”
“Abominations,” the Shepherd said. He turned around, making his way back to his seat. “Yes. How exceptionally well put.”
“I read something like it in a book,” Jamie said, hugging his notebook. “I like books.”
The Shepherd smiled. “I do too.”
“Are you afraid of what war these children might see?” Lacey asked.
“No, Mrs. Lindsey. That is not my greatest fear,” the Shepherd said. “A fear, but not the greatest by far.”
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Father.”
The Shepherd was settling into his chair, mouth opening to respond, when I saw the reaction. A momentary hesitation, while his eyes rested on his cup.
“Yes,” he said, finding his stride again. “It seems I have. I’m sorry. My thoughts are elsewhere. I think we may have to cut this short, it’s about time Mr. Gill and I address the room.”
“It’s okay,” Mary said.
“I’m sorry to dwell on your education, Mary. I spend time worrying about the next generation, and after interacting with your father as much as I did, you’re one of the faces that spring to mind.”
Mary nodded.
“Thank you very much for the cake, Father,” Helen said.
“You’re very welcome,” he said. “You children are welcome any time, to talk about anything. There may even be cake waiting for you when you do.”
“Thank you!” Helen said, smiling.
“Provided you have permission from your teacher or parents to partake,” he said.
Helen’s face fell a little.
“I appreciate you humoring me, I hope I didn’t bore,” he said. We shook our heads. “If anyone asks, I’ll be out in a minute, no less.”
“Father,” I said, right away.
“Yes?”
“You said that your fear wasn’t so much that we’d fight in a war worse than the one you fought in, but you didn’t say what your fear really was.”
“It’s complex and silly,” he said. “It wouldn’t make much sense, trust me. Taken the wrong way, it might even offend.”
“Please?” I asked.
“Please?” Jamie asked, chiming in.
The Shepherd looked surprisingly weary, looking at us, collecting the first of the dishes we’d left behind. He seemed to weigh his options a little.
“Please,” Mary said. “We’re not as dull as you might think.”
He startled a little at that, then gave her an appraising look.
“My greatest concern, Mary Cobourn,” he said, “is that there won’t be an opportunity for you to fight at all.”
Leaving us with that terminal dose of irony, he turned away, collecting the dishes.
From the time he’d returned to his chair to the time he saw us out the door of his homey little office, he hadn’t touched his tea.
Glancing over my shoulder, I could see through the open door as he quickly stacked saucers and gathered the scattered cups we’d left behind. All went to the counter by his little heating plate and kettle, likely to be washed at a later time.
I saw him carry one cup to the same counter, clearly heavier than the others. He unlatched his window, removed something from the top of the window, opened the window and tossed out the contents.
“Lacey,” I said.
She gave me an annoyed look. “Don’t call me like a dog.”
“Find Cecil,” I said. “Gordon or Lillian would work too. Whatever they’ve been up to, we should get caught up.”
“Say please?” she asked.
“Time is really of the essence,” I said. That was apparently enough to send her on her way. To her back, I added, “Fetch.”
She stopped in her tracks, apparently decided it wasn’t worth it, and headed off again.
“You’re a jerk,” Jamie commented.
“He knew,” I said. “The Shepherd. Something tipped him off.”
“I did it right,” Mary said, under her breath.
“Apparently not,” I said. “Plus side is, I think he blames Lacey. He seemed eager to invite us back, but not so much for our teacher.”
Mary looked annoyed, apparently not even hearing what I was saying. “The tea shouldn’t have even been swirling by the time he returned to it. The powder didn’t change the color, I even moved the spoon back.”
“No,” Jamie said.
“No?” Mary asked.
“No. It wasn’t the same when you put it back,” Jamie said. “I’m thinking back, and the spoon was upside down. It was rightside up when you put it back.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mary said. “How would you even tell until you took the spoon out?”
“They were nice spoons, maybe with marks on the underside of the handles,” I said. “Something you said at the beginning tipped him off. I think he took it to mean she’d been brainwashed or the Academy had its hooks in her. He took a sudden interest in your welfare. While getting into a protective mindset, he got into a defensive one too. Got a bit more cautious. Prey instinct, maybe. Probably not, but maybe.”
“Sensing something wrong from clues he didn’t even consciously take in,” Helen said.
I nodded. “If I had to guess, he’s been especially wary ever since the war ended. He had coins or something stacked in a certain order above every door or window he doesn’t tend to leave open. Stones left at the base of the door, so he knows if it’s been opened. Everything in a place, to the point where he knows if anything’s been tampered with.”
“Why?” Mary asked.
“Because he’s paranoid, and rightly so,” I said.
“The war he fought in had parasites,” Jamie said. “The worst ones paralyzed a man, left him screaming so the Crown soldiers could collect them and turn them into stitched. Or just left them to scream themselves raw and die from exposure. I can’t blame him for being careful with his tea.”
“Those weren’t the worst ones,” Helen murmured. “I’ve seen some of the ones people don’t talk about without clearance.”
“Lovely,” I said. “But we’re getting off topic. Our concern is the Shepherd.”
“He didn’t have much to say about what he had planned,” Jamie said.
“No,” I said. “But we did get a good chance to study him as a person, and we have a sense about his motivations now. That bit at the end.”
“Assuming you think he’s genuine,” Mary said.
“I do,” I said. I thought for a second. “Are we sure this guy isn’t an experiment?”
“Why?” Jamie asked.
“Because, ugh. He’s better at manipulating groups than any of us. I’d say I’m better at him at one-on-one stuff, but he did throw me off with that one line.”
“That was funny,” Jamie said. I elbowed him.
“He’s sharp, too,” I said.
“When Ibott gives me lessons,” Helen said. “He sometimes warns me not to underestimate people. Humans did some amazing things over the years. Geniuses pop up now and again, people with exceptional natural ability, or those with talent.”
“He’s just an incredible person?” Mary asked. “One in a million?”
“I respect him,” I said. “I’m a little spooked at the idea of what he might do if we let him keep this up.”
“You respect him, but you want to stop him?” Mary asked.
“I respected you,” I said. “I still do, all the more.”
That cut that argument short. It seemed to stun her a little, put her on her heels.
I was learning little tidbits about Mary, and one was that she didn’t like to fail. This was where we differed. She valued the execution, while I liked getting a reaction out of people, even if it was in an indirect way, through some lesson I’d given Jamie. When her execution wasn’t enough, she got cranky. Same as I did, when I failed to budge people. Rick being first and foremost among them.
/> “You did good,” I told her, taking her hand. “Problem is, he did better. We underestimated him. I thought he set things up so that the people around him were all perfectly arranged, a chess board with every piece trapped. But he does it with his environment too.”
Lacey was coming back with Cecil and Lillian.
“What do we do?” Mary asked.
The others reached us. Gordon was absent.
“What did I miss?” Cecil asked.
I ignored him. I asked Lillian, “Where’s Gordon?”
“On the roof. He said to wave, and he’d make an entrance.”
I took a look around. The building was only two stories high, but it had been expanded, like the Shepherd had said.
On the roof, yet able to see us if we waved?
My eye fell on one of the stained glass windows.
Good old Gordon. He’d remembered what I’d said.
Taking the chess board and making an opponent’s move for him.
“Did he take anything?” I asked. “Ask for supplies?”
“Soap and a scalpel,” Lillian said.
I had no idea what Gordon was doing with soap and a scalpel, but I was so excited at the prospect of finding out that I could barely sit still. I grinned.
“Let’s let Gordon enjoy the spotlight,” I said. “This plays well into what I was thinking.”
“And what were you thinking?” Jamie asked.
“Right now? Lacey, get close to the altar. Everyone else? Spread out. The Reverend is going to want to assert control, keep everything in position. But as Mary demonstrated, he’s not so good if he’s kept on the defensive. Spread the word that there are riots happening elsewhere.”
“I can do that,” Cecil said.
“No,” I said. “You have the most important job.”
“Important?”
“Run to the nearest telephone, as fast as you can,” I told him. “Get word to the Academy. Tell them there’s a riot happening here.”
“This is not the clean and tidy Hayle wanted,” Jamie reminded me.
“It will be,” I said. “Trust me.”
“Gordon didn’t trust you,” Jamie said.
“I think he and I are on the same page here,” I said.
Everyone moved to their assigned spots. Locations and positions.
Reverend Mauer had set up his own board. Now we were setting up ours.
I gave Cecil a few minutes, watched each of the others.
The Shepherd and Gill were talking, and Gill made his way to the stage.
I saw the Shepherd looking over the crowd. He saw me.
I gave him a wave.
Two seconds passed. I supposed Gordon needed a running start.
He came crashing through the stained glass window behind the altar, head over heels, clearing a good distance. The landing was violent, clipping the edge of the stage.
The marks on his arms and body, scalpel-carved, looked like the gouges of claws. He was covered in a mucus-like slime. Soap.
Lacey was the one at his side. She helped him sit up.
He found his breath.
“The things are attacking!” he screamed.
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Cat out of the Bag 2.8
As situations went, it was chaos. People flocked closer to Gordon and fled to the edges of the room. There were shouts, cries of fear, conflicting orders.
Gordon was a good-looking guy, if I looked past the minor details of rips, tears, blood and the goop he’d smeared on himself. Tall, broad shouldered, muscular. He was good at whatever he set his mind to, a step behind me in assessing people, a step behind Jamie in memory, and he had a lot of other talents besides. More than any one of us, he had everything it took to thrive if separated from the group. The lynchpin that would hold us together. Girls liked him, guys respected him.
And this, that he got to be at the center of this chaos, the stone that set the ripples in motion, this was what made me jealous of him for the first time.
That he got to lie there and bleed while we had to do the work, pshh. Salt in the wound.
My eye was on the Shepherd.
To his credit, he didn’t miss a beat. He was already moving as fast as he was able, toward Gordon. As people shouted and argued, some turning toward the door, he properly shouted for the first time that I’d heard.
“Stay inside where it’s safe!” he shouted.
Heads turned, the chaos settled a fraction. People who were heading for the door slowed or stopped.
“No!” Gordon shouted, twisting, turning. He struggled against Lacey’s grip, as well as the grip of two men who’d jumped to his side, and in the process, he made momentary eye contact with me. He maintained it as he shouted, “No!”
When I was sure he could see, and that the Shepherd didn’t have line of sight, I gestured. Ring, middle, and index fingers flicked upward twice.
“It’s going to kill us all!” Gordon screamed, thrashing as Lacey tried to hold him down, steadily ratcheting up the intensity. “It’s going to kill us! It’s going to kill us! It’s going to kill us!”
This was a balancing act. We didn’t want disaster, riots, or madness. We wanted the situation to be almost unmanageable, with emphasis on the word ‘almost‘.
“Gill!” the Shepherd called out. “Through my office to my room. I have four guns. Two pistols in the desk, rifle by the bed, the third—”
“—Shotgun, in the cabinet, will do,” our would-be mayor said. He recruited two people with a gesture.
The Shepherd approached Gordon, but turned to a group by the door. “Terry, Hews, Arthur, I know you’ve done the gardening work for me. You know where the stuff is stored. Pole-saws, pitchforks, chopping knife. Anything that can be used as weapons. Don’t go—”
“We’re going to die!” Gordon screamed. “Please, please, God!”
“—Outside!” the Shepherd had to raise his voice to be heard. “Go through the back, the shed has two doors!”
Clear, sensible directions, giving the people here something to rally to. Weapons gave them back a kind of power. Taking the group that was closest to bolting it and empowering them.
To their backs, as they crossed the church, he said, “We’re counting on you!”
Turning them into heroes.
Gordon twisted, screaming, “Get off me, let me go! It’s going to get me, they’re going to get me!”
I was able to see Gordon, in the midst of pulling ineffectually at Lacey’s grasp, an intentional sort of ineffectual, give her two taps on the side. The universal signal for release. It was discreet, subtle as such things went, in an area where most wouldn’t be looking, and those who didn’t know he was acting might not realize it was an intentional double-tap.
She let up on her grip of him, and he chose that same moment to pull free, still thrashing, playing out a mindless panic.
In the doing, he threw one fist out, and he socked the Shepherd one, right in the jaw.
No! I screamed in my mind, while forcing my expression to match the crowd around me, which was aghast in a completely different way. No, no, why!?
Why does he get to do this part?
It was, as maneuvers went, a pretty damn good one, I had to admit that much. I wasn’t even sure I would have done better, in his shoes. My acting would have beat his, probably, I could have chosen my words better, but I couldn’t have delivered a hit like he did. Even if I’d gone for the Shepherd’s balls, I wasn’t sure I would have hurt him quite as much.
It was something Gordon was good at. When he hit someone, even at almost half the size and body weight he could achieve one day, it hurt. It wasn’t just the punch. It was the fact that his hand was already messy with his own blood, and now the Shepherd was bloodied, his face a reminder of the danger. He wiped his cheek with a handkerchief, but there was still a smear.
The second part of it was that he’d hit the Shepherd in the mouth, and it hadn’t been a tap, either. Gordon was stronger than most.
A
s if time had slowed down, I could see the Shepherd scooting back a bit, eyes opened wide, moving his jaw as if to test how functional it was. For a man who relied so much on his words, it had to hurt on a complete other level.
I would never say that Gordon was anything but a genius. A genius that was now being pinned down by three grown men, with Lacey close by.
“Stay—” The Shepherd started. He winced a little, then managed to say, not to Gordon but to the room, “Stay calm. We cannot panic!”
“Please, please!” Gordon said. He was winding down, struggling less, perhaps sensing that he’d used up all the leeway and influence he’d been afforded, or he was saving his strength and his words for when he could have more impact.
He twisted around, looking my way once again.
I glanced around the room. I’d situated myself just to one side of the central aisle, standing on one of the pews, so that I had a view of everyone. Jamie, Lillian, Helen, and Mary were all at different points at the perimeter of the room. Gordon and the Shepherd were just beside the altar, in plain view of everyone.
I offered him the same gesture as before. An ‘up’ twitch of the fingers.
The way I saw it, if he couldn’t meet the request and up the tension again, then I got to be smug. If he did have it in him, then we could potentially solidify our hold on the situation before the people came back with the weapons.
I figured there was a three out of ten chance I’d get to be smug. Gordon was too good at thinking clearly through moments of crisis.
“Please,” Gordon said, in an agonized way that might have broken more sensitive hearts in the room. It sounded like he was giving up. “Please. They’re going to come after us. We’re all going to die if we don’t do something.”
“They?” the Shepherd asked. The room was almost silent, every set of ears listening. “A moment ago you said ‘it’.”
“Yes,” Gordon said. “I think it’s a mother? And it has babies.”
Gill and his buddies re-entered the room, carrying their guns.
Gordon was able to intuit that that arrival meant we needed just a little bit more of a push to leave the Shepherd with a little bit less in the way of control. He added, in a hollow, breathy voice, “Lots of babies.”
It was all I could do to avoid grinning. We’d dealt with threats that bred, on two separate occasions. The Fishing Man, so named because of a mispronunciation of ‘fission’, had been bad, though the problem had ultimately corrected itself. The Wise Rats had been worse, another all-hands-on-deck situation, though it had been far tidier, confined to one laboratory building. It had taken three weeks to clean up the mess.
