Troop of Shadows

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

Another scream pierced the night. This time, he got a better sense of the direction from which it had emanated. It sounded two hundred yards to the south, this side of the stream.

  “Damn it! That was not a fox.”

  Bruno growled, fully awake now.

  It would be several hours before there was even a blush of pink in the eastern sky.

  The next moment he stepped into the dilapidated cabin, grabbed two bottles of water, a granola bar, and a handful of shotgun shells, stuffing everything into the pockets of his jacket. He hesitated for a second, then reached for the Maglight, which he’d been using sparingly since the last of his D cells were in it. Replacements must be obtained in town, and he’d been putting the trip off. Starlight sufficed to illuminate his way, but he might have need of the flashlight later.

  “Let’s do it.”

  The German shepherd stayed close as they trudged over the rocky terrain, skirting mounds of cacti and trampling scrub brush, on as direct a path toward the source of the scream as Pablo could estimate. An unnatural hush blanketed the night, unnerving him and ratcheting his anxiety to a degree not felt since leaving Prescott. Nature seemed to be pausing, holding its breath for an event it knew was about to unfold.

  He stopped, signaling for Bruno to stop as well. No longer violated by the muffled noises of dog and human, the eerie desert silence was complete. He waited.

  A stifled whimper floated out of the gloom fifty yards ahead.

  Pablo ran now. Something about the voice was familiar. His mind raced as he sprinted through the night, heedless of ankle-twisting rocks and spiny needles that could draw blood.

  Could it be? How was it even possible?

  “Hold it right there.” A man’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Not another fucking step or I’ll slit this bitch’s throat.”

  Pablo flipped on the Maglite. In the sudden brightness stood a bearded man and a woman who crouched at his feet. The man clutched her long, rust-colored hair in one hand and pressed a hunting knife against her slender neck.

  No, no, no. It can’t be.

  The man jerked the woman by her hair, forcing her to lift her face into the light.

  Although it was swollen, dirty, and smeared with blood, he still recognized Maddie’s lovely face.

  He had seen her die months ago...

  Chapter 10

  Colleyville, Texas

  Dani slipped the Ka-bar out of its sheath at the same moment Sam flicked open his switchblade. In the clear night air the unmistakable metallic sound of a bullet being chambered came from the vicinity of the dark figures walking toward them.

  “Never bring a knife to a showdown,” Sam whispered.

  “Good evening!” The man’s voice was deep and rich, but his face, along with the other four, remained shadowed.

  “Stop right there,” Dani said. “We’d prefer not to Ginsu anybody tonight.”

  Laughter resonated in the darkness, all honey and baritone. The five figures came to a halt.

  “Duly noted. Andrew, please stow your weapon. The rest of you as well. We don’t want to offend our new friends.”

  “But they have knives!” Andrew’s stutter was the cracking voice of a post-pubescent boy.

  “Clearly they would, but if we mind our manners, we need not worry. Am I correct in my assessment, young lady?”

  Even after such a brief exchange, Dani recognized an intellectual kindred spirit. She hoped she wouldn’t have to kill the owner of the melodious voice.

  “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

  “I see. Might we have a chat with you and your partner? The five of us and the two of you? No tricks. You have my word as a man of honor.”

  Dani understood the underlying message. Yes, she and Sam were outnumbered and outgunned. Should they take their chances and see what these people wanted, or assume the worst and attack now?

  She knew it was illogical, but something told her the man would keep his word. She and her friend were a formidable team, but you can’t outrun a bullet. She made the decision.

  “Fine. You have five minutes. Come closer where I can see you, but not so close that I can smell what you ate for dinner.”

  The rich laughter continued as the shadowy group stopped ten feet from the patio table. Sam flipped on a Rayovac lantern, flooding the strangers in unnatural light and illuminating their faces.

  Four of them were in their teens, she guessed, but tall and muscular for their ages as their black, sleeveless shirts revealed — the result of being conditioned to survive days such as these, no doubt. Two girls and two boys of various ethnicities, all wearing the grim expressions of adulthood thrust upon them too soon. Dani’s eyes were drawn to the man with the resonant voice; his smile was warm and seemingly genuine in a face of polished ebony. The eyes exuded a keen intelligence as she expected they would, and his close-cropped hair was dusted with white. Forties perhaps? Certainly no more than fifty. His arms were more heavily muscled than the youths’ and he was as fit physically as she suspected he was intellectually.

  “Close enough,” she said, not bothering to sheath her knife. “Now, what brings you to our humble abode? Don’t lie because Sam here can sniff out bullshit from a mile away. It’s a knack he has. Comes in pretty handy too.”

  “How delightful. And such a useful talent. Perhaps some introductions first though? I find it preferable to converse when I know with whom I’m speaking. I’ll go first. My name is Isaiah. Last names no longer seem relevant, so just Isaiah. As you heard, this young man to my right is Andrew.” An elegant gesture indicated the boy with the cracking voice. “To my left here are Malik, Amy, and Daniel. All well-behaved young people, I assure you. And who might I have the pleasure of addressing?”

  Dani felt the heat of Isaiah’s focus, as defined and intense as a laser sighted on her forehead. She gazed into obsidian eyes and saw something in their depths...felt like she was staring into an infernal pit. She knew with instant clarity that the man in front of her, despite his impeccable manners and flowery words, was the most lethal human being she’d ever encountered. If she didn’t handle the situation flawlessly, she and Sam were dead.

  “I’m Dani. What can we do for you, Isaiah? Are you here to see a man about a horse? If so, you’ve come to the wrong place. We’re on hoof these days just like everybody else, but not the four legged kind.”

  She smiled, mustering all the charm a nerdy girl could manage. She sensed Sam next to her on heightened alert.

  “Well, Dani, I have a proposition for you, one that will be beneficial to all involved parties. Shall I proceed?”

  “I have the feeling that if I said no, you would proceed regardless.”

  “Perhaps, but let’s assume for both our sakes that you said yes.” He flashed another smile which might have lost a measure of its previous warmth.

  Dani decided to dial down the smart ass. She offered a polite, differential nod. “Please continue.”

  Her sudden courtesy seemed to mollify him, which told her much about the personality behind the dazzling smile and honeyed voice.

  “Very well.” He swiveled a wrought-iron chair away from the table and sat down, a relaxed general surrounded by trusted soldiers.

  “It occurred to me some time ago that civilization will need to be rebuilt from the ground up. The old ways of doing business are over. Democracies never last...history has shown us this over and over. Now give me an empire and I’ll show you a system of government with some longevity! The Byzantine Empire, the Empire of Japan, the Ottoman Empire, and of course, the Romans. The Romans were brilliant people. Clever, industrious, and wonderfully effective in maintaining order. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “The Carthaginians, Parthians, and Gauls might take issue with you on that.” She regretted the words the second they flew from her mouth.

  He frowned, studying her with more intensity than before. The next moment the smile was back, like the sun erupting through a cloud.

  “Well, what would you expect fr
om a bunch of conquered Frenchmen?” The laughter was genuine; he was pleased with his cleverness.

  Lovely. A classic narcissistic sociopath with delusions of grandeur. We are surely in some deep shit.

  She risked a covert glance at Sam, who studied Isaiah like a ferret contemplating a cobra.

  “Point taken.” Her smile was friendly and benign.

  “Excellent! Let me continue. As I said, civilization is over, and that tiny fraction of mankind that still remains is a seething, chaotic miasma of violence and villainy, frenzy and fury, turbulence and tumult.”

  Knavery and knivery!

  She almost said the words out loud, but caught herself in time. This guy was the worst kind of insufferable douche bag — the kind who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else in the room.

  “You see my point, yes? We need organization. We need rules. We need consequences. Anarchy has prevailed for months now and it’s time to rein it all in. Someone needs to take charge and corral all that energy into productive, constructive behavior.”

  “Someone like yourself?” She struck the tone of a polite student with a raised hand and the correct answer on her lips.

  “I can think of no one better.” Isaiah’s smile was exuberant, charismatic, and utterly insane.

  Chapter 11

  San Francisco

  Logan had been heading south for two days now with only eight miles to show for his efforts. Traveling at night was safer but it also took him longer to navigate the roads and highways in the dark, which were clogged with the abandoned cars of people trying to run away from the collapse of their world. Where were they all going in such a hurry? Maybe they thought they could outrun the sickness or that it hadn’t spread to the country. Logan had known better. He’d watched the CBS Evening News every night for as long as he could remember, and Scott Pelley told him the disease was in all four corners of the world. Even little black children in African villages were dying, so why would the residents of San Francisco think they’d be better off in Mexico or Arizona? He had yet to figure this out, and the cars blocking the roads were a big nuisance.

  He stopped at daybreak in Little Hollywood Park about a half mile from the 101. He had good memories of the times his mother brought him here when he was little. They’d lived on the next block over for a while — before the neighbors began complaining about him and she decided it was time to move again. There was more rust than paint on the merry-go-round, and the slide would take a chunk out of the backside of any child reckless enough to brave its serpentine length of uneven steel plates. But Logan felt good here, so he planned to spend the daylight hours dozing and resting under the bleachers next to the basketball court.

  He’d scavenged a package of Twinkies, some pretzels, and a bottle of Sprite from a looted convenience store. Everything was picked over now, and he thought he might soon have to start eating the things that he killed. The idea wasn’t appealing; he didn’t kill to survive after all. He killed because it felt good and also because the Bad Thoughts told him it was part of the Grand Design. He wasn’t sure what that meant but the ‘whys’ of things didn’t bother him too much. He loved this new freedom where he could just be himself and do all the things his mother had always called ‘unacceptable behavior.’

  He removed the cellophane and took a huge bite, sitting cross-legged on the asphalt as the early morning sun filtered through the aluminum benches in glowing strips, warming his skin and illuminating the filthiness of his jeans. He hadn’t thought about new clothes until now, as he gazed at the stains and accumulated grime from many days of wear. He sniffed under his arms and realized he smelled terrible. Mother would never have allowed him to go so long without a bath, but he didn’t mind the smell. The Levi’s may need to be replaced though. They were getting stiff and uncomfortable from all the dirt and dried blood. Maybe he would go shopping tonight.

  He marveled at the spongy lightness of the cake and then the burst of creamy sweetness. His mother had never let him have Twinkies because she said that sugar always got him ‘wound up.’ He was a little angry at her now for denying him this delicious pleasure for so long. He would put Twinkies on his list along with the new pants. And more bullets. Definitely more bullets...he was down to three boxes.

  Movement on the playground caught his attention. A fluffy cat emerged from some shrubs; its grayish fur matted and as dirty as his jeans. Logan smiled as he put the remainder of the Twinkie back in its wrapper and reached for his 9mm, which was lined up on the blacktop next to his other firearms. It had been a tough decision selecting which of his weapons to bring on the journey. If he’d brought them all, he wouldn’t be able to carry his backpack and the other supplies he needed. But because the Ruger had proven to be reliable, had yet to jam, and felt good in his hand, it had made the cut. He remembered the clerk trying to push him into buying a Glock, but the other gun sang to him, even before he’d fired it at the range the first time. The Sig Sauer tactical rifle and the Colt revolver could wait for now — something in his head told him the animal preferred the Ruger and if he could honor the desires of his victims, which he received telepathically, he would do so. It just seemed right.

  He released the safety and targeted the feline fifty yards away. He exhaled half the air in his lungs and clutched the pistol in a classic two-fisted grip. Ever so slowly he’d begun to squeeze the trigger, when a small girl sprang from the bushes.

  He lowered the gun and watched her. He thought she looked about the same age as one from his third grade class.

  She was after the cat.

  “Linus, come back here!” Her voice was musical, like the delicate notes of the wind chimes his mother always hung on the back porch of whatever house they moved to.

  “Linus, now! I mean it!”

  Her dress was yellow, her sneakers were bright blue, and her hair was carrot orange; she belonged in a cartoon, so vibrant were her colors. He was transfixed. His mouth went slack with concentration as he watched her graceful, pixie-like movements. The cat ignored her and continued ambling toward the other side of the playground. The girl’s eyes darted about, as if she sensed someone watching her, but he knew she wouldn’t spot him in the shadows of the bleachers. Her gaze slid over him without registering his presence. It was always strange when this happened. He had begun to suspect he’d acquired the talent of invisibility during these last few months.

  “Linus, it’s not safe!” She was getting exasperated now, reluctant to go much farther from the concealing shrubs.

  The cat stopped and swiveled its whiskered face directly toward Logan. The scruffy ears pressed against its head and a low, threatening sound came from its throat.

  He’d already figured out that his invisibility didn’t work on cats, so he wasn’t surprised by the sudden hissing when it came. Cats really liked to hiss.

  The Ruger pivoted from the furry head to the head with the carrot-colored hair. He pulled the trigger and watched in fascination as a hole appeared above the right eye and below the orange fringe. The pixie girl folded to the ground as her legs turned to rubber, just like the Coyote did when the Road Runner knocked him over the head with a giant Acme hammer. Two seconds later, the next bullet blew off the top of the cat’s head.

  Logan beamed. Those guys at the shooting range were right. He was very good at this.

  He trudged over to the bodies and gaped at the cartoon girl’s wide open eyes, which perfectly matched the blue of her sneakers. He wondered if she’d planned that or if it was just one of those ‘happy accidents’ his mom had always talked about. He glanced over at the dead cat, forgetting the blue eyes and matching shoes.

  He had a new project this morning: he was going to skin that cat and see if there really was more than one way to get it done.

  Chapter 12

  Liberty, Kansas

  Steven and Jeffrey had dug a rectangular hole in the ground on the other side of their back fence line. The sun hung close to the flat Midwest horizon, creating a spectacular light show as
its rays navigated the cumulus clouds. Sunsets didn’t get much better than this, Steven thought, marveling at the infinite shades of pink, lavender, and orange water-coloring the western sky.

  He watched his son, who was sweating almost as much as he was from the exertion of carrying the dead men and digging their shallow grave. They laid the bodies face down in the three-foot deep hole and began shoveling the soil on top of them.

  “You did well. I’m sorry you had to take a life, but I’m proud that you did it. It was him or us. You know that, right?”

  “Of course.” Jeffrey seemed surprised that such an obvious fact would require voicing.

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “I feel fine, Dad. Look, let’s not make a big deal out of this. They were bad guys. They wanted to take our stuff and kill us in the process. End of story.”

  Steven paused with his foot propped on the shovel blade, studying his son for any signs of emotional trauma. He saw nothing other than casual acceptance.

  He sighed. “Okay, I won’t harp on it, but it was a big deal even though it was justified. I don’t ever want you to forget that. Taking a human life is about as big a deal as it gets. You did the right thing...we did the right thing, but it should never be taken lightly just because it was necessary for our survival. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yeah, I do. I don’t take it lightly. Those guys are dead and we made them that way. We’re responsible for that. Where are they now? Did their souls fly out of their bodies and go down to hell or up to heaven? Do places like that even exist? When we killed them, was that it for them? Lights out forever? Or will they be born again in another place and time? We don’t know and we can’t know until it happens to us. And we made those guys find that out today, whatever that is. All we can do in the meantime is just keep on living in the present. Do the best we can do and treat people as kindly as they deserve to be treated.