Troop of Shadows

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  Sixteen hundred miles was also a long way for a person to travel under adverse conditions. But if anyone could do it, Julia could. She was a brainiac with street smarts and more tenacity than anyone he’d ever known.

  If she did make it, how would that affect the situation if he took Natalie and Brittany into their fold? Steven was good at many things, but a keen understanding of social dynamics was not on that list.

  He sighed.

  In that uncanny way he had of sensing his father’s thoughts, Jeffrey asked, “Are you thinking we should let them live here?”

  “I think it’s a bit premature to journey down that path at this point, don’t you?”

  Jeffrey nodded. “Dad, if you and Mrs. Evans got married, that would make Brittany my step sister. That would be weird since I think I like her. I mean not like a sister ‘like’ but like a girlfriend ‘like.’”

  “Wow. You’ve put some thought into this. Yeah, I see your point. I think times have changed though, and there aren’t many people left to sit in judgment of anybody else. I think it would be okay to ‘like’ Brittany, and we could agree not to talk about the step-sister-brother thing. Anyway, I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. They might not even like us back.”

  “No, I think both of them like both of us. I’m sure of it.”

  Jeffrey’s clear blue eyes gazed beyond their fence line, not seeing the dismal landscape of the depleted corn field, but something else. When he spoke again, Steven wondered at what point his son had become so damn grown up.

  “The thing is, we need to be sure they like us for the right reasons. Not just because we have all the good stuff.”

  Chapter 18

  Near Prescott, Arizona

  “You know you’re down to three cans of dog food? And the powdered milk is almost gone.”

  Pablo smiled as he watched Maddie inspect his supplies. Earlier, she had taken a bath in the chilly stream, squealing with delight when he handed her a bottle of jasmine-scented shampoo before trudging down to the water. Her long, strawberry blond hair was almost dry now and even though his clothes were absurdly large on her — the jeans had to be held up with a length of rope tied through the belt loops — she looked as lovely as ever.

  Bone-thin of course, but still beautiful.

  He saw her tackling the math in her head and anticipated her words, if not the exact numbers, before she spoke them. He couldn’t remember a moment in his life when he’d been happier.

  “We have enough food for thirteen days and that’s on a 1200-calorie-per-day diet. I hate to sound like a glutton, but if I’m going to put on some weight to keep warm this winter, I’ll need more than that. I’m afraid we’re going to have to make a supply run.”

  Exposing her to the inherent danger in town was not an option. He’d lost her once; he wouldn’t let it happen again.

  “No, we don’t need to make a supply run. I need to make a supply run.”

  “Well, not to undermine your authority here, Deputy Dawg, but we are a team. If you think I’m going to allow you or anyone else to treat me like a helpless female, or worse, a victim,” she spat the word, “You’ve got another think coming.”

  Pablo was stunned by her vehemence, but his intense desire to protect her could not be so easily overridden by her need to feel independent.

  “Maddie, be reasonable. You’re not strong yet, plus you have a deep cut in your palm. Can you even use that hand?”

  They’d retrieved the ancient revolver and oversized hunting knife from the cretin who’d held her captive. They were the only items of value he’d possessed. She had refused to touch the gun, but she’d found some leather squirreled away in the cabin and fashioned a sheath for the knife, which she kept tied to her thigh.

  “I have two hands. And who killed that creep? You? No. I did that. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I just didn’t know it until now.”

  He sensed that pressing the issue further would only result in angering her, which was the last thing he wanted. Things had just begun to feel almost normal between them again, and he didn’t want to jeopardize that delicate balance. An idea struck him.

  Maybe there was a third option.

  “I understand. But the last time I was in Prescott, things were dreadful.”

  “Yes, I know that. I’ve been there more recently than you.”

  “So perhaps we should rethink going there. Maybe we should try a different place...a different region.”

  “Like where? There aren’t too many options around here.”

  “That’s the point. Maybe we should think bigger...farther out. What about finding a farm somewhere in the Midwest? Plant some crops, round up some cows and pigs that are running amok. Even as we speak, I bet there’s a gang of porcine thugs in Iowa spray-painting bridges and egging houses.”

  She burst out laughing. God, he loved that sound.

  “Yeah, cows can be real jerks too,” she said. “Once I saw a Holstein kill a man just to watch him die.”

  It was Pablo’s turn to laugh.

  “Don’t even get me started on Holsteins. They lure you in with those cute little black and white spots, then they try to sell you life insurance. Once, two of them came to my door and asked if they could talk to me about Jesus. They’re such assholes!”

  As their laughter faded, he said, “So, where will we go, young lady? Got a hankering to see the big sky in Montana?”

  Maddie gave a dramatic shudder. “Oh, heck no. It’s way too cold there. Let’s see...there’s Indiana and Illinois, Missouri. What about Nebraska? It sounds safe, don’t you think?”

  “What about Oklahoma? It’s closer and warmer than those other states, and I’ve always wondered how it would feel when the wind comes sweeping down the plains.”

  “Oklahoma is perfect. When do we leave?”

  Pablo frowned, feeling anxious suddenly at the thought of leaving his shoddy and pathetic refuge. He wasn’t second guessing their decision, but when he imagined what might be out there beyond the relative safety of his small piece of Arizona desert, his stomach did a somersault.

  Best to power through the angst.

  “Let’s leave in the morning. That will give us the rest of the day to load everything in the Jeep and strategize on the logistics. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds wonderful. But first, there’s something I want to do.”

  She took Pablo’s face between gentle hands and kissed him. It wasn’t the tentative kiss of fondness or friendship — it was the thorough, full-contact, knee-buckling kiss of passion, and it was the first of many.

  Chapter 19

  London

  The sun had just begun to rise over the Thames, its weak rays struggling to pierce the oppressive leaden clouds. Harold suspected the cloud cover had likely saved his life during the harrowing twenty-kilometer trek from his home in Twickenham to St. James Park in London. In his old life as an anthropologist, he’d managed to keep in excellent shape for a man in his fifties — the archaeological dig sites were rarely conveniently located and almost always required plenty of hiking and climbing. In between work, he’d trained at his local gym. However, for the past year, he’d been sequestered in his third-floor flat, doing nothing more strenuous than pulling an occasional book from the top shelf of his study, or opening tins of tuna fish with the labor-intensive manual device.

  The overnight journey had almost done him in. The physical exertion was bad enough, but the two encounters he’d had with groups prowling the streets of Richmond and then again in Kensington had almost proved deadly. Darkness and more than a little luck had kept him from being seen both times. He was surprised that his labored breathing hadn’t given him away when the Kensington group meandered right past the Mini Cooper under which he’d been hiding. He vowed that if he survived the trip home, he would find a way to get regular exercise. If he intended to live, truly live, in this post-apocalyptic world — not just stay holed up in his flat — he didn’t have a choice. Survival of t
he fittest, as they say. Perhaps he should relocate to the country? Eventually, he’d have to grow his own food, a thought to which he’d only given fleeting consideration this past year.

  His mind had been consumed with deciphering the seven Urak tablets.

  He was close, but the digital photographs weren’t sharp enough. He needed to get his hands on the tablets themselves to confirm his outrageous theory; touch the carved symbols with his fingertips, feel the subtle variances which conveyed a level of sophistication previously undiscovered in any ancient cuneiform writings. It didn’t matter that there were so few people left with whom he might share his discovery. It only mattered to him, because if his suspicions proved correct, it would mean the end of humanity had been no accident; had, in fact, been engineered and orchestrated from as long ago as twelve thousand years.

  Perhaps even longer.

  As he’d hoped, his keys to the front door of the five-story building opened the door without a hitch. No alarm sounded, of course, and it appeared that the place had escaped looting. Which made sense, when he thought about it. What sensible person would break into the BISI or the British Academy looking for food? All the Tesco and Sainsbury stores he’d passed along the way appeared thoroughly pillaged. He thought about his meager provisions at home and added another item to his ‘to do if I survive’ list: go grocery shopping.

  A quick reconnoitre of the building revealed it was empty and unscathed. He set up camp near the fireplace at the end of the Academy’s main library. Most of his work would be done next door in the BISI archives, but the flooring there was cold tile. The plush carpeting in the library would do nicely for sleeping if he could round up some blankets and pillows. The Academy offered overnight accommodations, but he hadn’t explored those yet, and he doubted the rooms would provide a way to keep warm without central heat. As much as he hated the thought of sacrificing any of the rich, mahogany furniture, he would have to do so. Vapor, like tiny jet contrails, appeared when he exhaled; the temperature in the place hovered around 0°C according to the antique wall thermometer near the front door.

  The first order of business would be to get some wood burning in the magnificent nineteenth-century fireplace. Now that he was here, the seven Urak tablets almost seemed to call to him — a siren song of possible answers to the questions that had vexed him for months. Still, a frozen anthropologist was not an effective anthropologist. He would get warm, sleep, eat, and then tackle the project.

  Within a week, Harold expected to have the mystery solved and a clearer understanding of the most significant event that had ever occurred in the history of the human race.

  Chapter 20

  Denton, Texas

  Dani and Sam had made good time on Interstate 35 north, after slipping away into the night and leaving Isaiah and his Nazi youth army behind. The freeway was a parking lot of abandoned pickup trucks and SUVs...Texans adored their gas guzzlers as much as their privacy fences and firearms. The smell wasn’t too bad, even though bodies could be seen through most of the windows. She figured enough time had elapsed to allow the smelliest part of the decomposition process to pass. Still, there was no way in hell she intended to open any of those car doors.

  They hadn’t found bicycles so far, and commandeering one of the corpse-free vehicles would have been pointless, unless it could sprout a rotor blade and hover above the gridlock. Once they were through Denton, the highway should open up a bit and perhaps they could find a car which contained viable gasoline and a working battery. In the meantime, she told Sam they would grab a few hours of sleep before searching for bikes. She ignored his disappointment.

  The sun was low in the sky when they woke. The warm October rays were like golden streamers, creeping under the concrete overpass where they’d made camp.

  “Now I know how homeless people feel,” she muttered. In fact, there were remnants of past occupants near the spot they now occupied: a pile of ratty clothing, a half-empty bottle of something yellow that probably wasn’t Mountain Dew, and a well-worn copy of Kerouac’s On the Road.

  “Ah. Our hobo had excellent taste in literature.”

  Sam followed her gaze, a troubled expression marring his sleepy face.

  “I’m not much of a reader, myself. I never understood people who’d rather read a book than be outside doing stuff.”

  Dani studied him for a moment, before experiencing a flash of insight. She had wondered before if perhaps Sam had been in remedial classes growing up, but she’d never asked him about it.

  “Do you have trouble reading? Do the words get mixed up and you can’t understand what they mean?”

  His smile was beautiful.

  “Yes! That’s it exactly! I know what the letters are, of course, and I know the meaning of the words, but when I try to read a sentence, it just doesn’t make any sense.”

  She looked at her friend with affection, thinking about the struggle his childhood must have been with a learning disability.

  “You know what? I don’t think everyone is supposed to be a good reader. Some people are meant to kick ass in other areas, like you with your martial arts. Seriously, dude, you’re like a blond Bruce Lee.”

  “Aw, thanks,” he said, crimson flooding his cheeks above the sparse beard. “Can we look for bikes now? We would make much better time riding than walking. I think it would be fun too.”

  This, of course, was the real reason Sam wanted to get to Kansas via bicycle. The little boy inside had never grown up. He was typical in that respect; she saw most men as taller, burlier, hairier versions of their little boy former selves. It was a complete mystery why men were the dominant sex in the world.

  Perhaps that would change now that society had been reset, courtesy of Chicxulub.

  “Yep, that’s a great idea. Maybe once we’re through the worst of the traffic, we can find a truck that still runs and we can carry the bicycles in the back of the bed. Then we’d make even better time.”

  Sam’s face clouded, but he nodded.

  They helped each other shrug into the heavy backpacks, keeping the straps from touching the still-painful arm wounds, and stepped out into golden sunshine. Gargantuan sheep-like clouds lazed across a backdrop of blue topaz. Dani had never lived anywhere else, but she couldn’t imagine there was a place with a prettier sky than this one. She knew she’d made the right decision to leave their fortified home in the ‘burbs, despite how exposed and vulnerable she felt now.

  Juxtaposed with the unease was a sense of lightness and freedom that she had never experienced. At first, she’d felt sickened by walking away from the bulk of her stockpiled goods — all the food she’d bought before the end or pilfered afterward, and all the books from which she’d acquired so much information. But perhaps it was time to put that knowledge to the test and do it somewhere they could make a new life. She assumed Sam would pick Kansas because he’d mentioned the Wizard of Oz on more than one occasion. It also happened to be her preferred destination as well. What she hadn’t shared with him was her reason for wanting to go there. She didn’t know much about her birth mother, but her parents had told her that the woman had lived in Lawrence and that she’d been a young college student who, thankfully for them, had chosen adoption over abortion — not the option she herself would have selected. Of course she didn’t expect to run across her (she imagined fighting over the last jar of pickles in a looted Kroger with an older version of herself), but Kansas had felt right somehow.

  She hoped it would be far enough away from Isaiah.

  They trudged along the service road of I35 just south of the college town of Denton. The outskirts of the city were a retail Mecca of strip shopping and fast food dining. They’d yet to see another living person since their adventure in Colleyville the night before, and she was still adjusting to the sight of so much death. Most people had stayed home to die, but a good percentage had tried to escape the disease by fleeing the city.

  Which of course made no sense to anyone who’d paid attention to what the
CDC had said — and not said — in their press conferences. Chicxulub had not been viral nor bacterial. It wasn’t the Bubonic Plague, and it wasn’t the H1N1 bird flu. It wasn’t contagious, so why try to flee populated areas when you couldn’t get the disease from another person anyway? After her parents had succumbed, Dani had known her best bet was to stay put in the relative safety of her home and wait out the inevitable unraveling of society.

  She was probably alive today as a result of that decision.

  They passed a Pet Smart, a Dollar General, a Subway, and a dozen other stores before they came to Sprockets Bicycle Shop.

  Sam’s smile was glorious.

  Like most of the other businesses, the glass storefront had been busted out. In silent unison, they retrieved their knives and held them at the ready. Not for the first time, she contemplated trying to track down some weapons that carried a bigger punch. In close proximity she and Sam were deadly, but you couldn’t roundhouse kick a person who was standing twenty feet away firing bullets at you.

  She flipped on her mini flashlight, illuminating the interior as they stepped through the broken glass. Several racks of bicycles and a floor littered with boxes, air pumps, and some alien looking helmets, was all she could see. No humans, living or dead, were visible.

  Sam was already gazing at one of the mountain bikes with the expression of a nerdy boy on a date with the head cheerleader.

  “I’ll give you two some privacy while I check out the rest of the store.”

  He gave her a distracted nod.

  She made her way to the back, past circular racks of bike clothes and stacks of shoeboxes.

  Good grief...you have to wear special shoes for these things?