Troop of Shadows

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  The idea annoyed her. She wasn’t about to give up her lug-soled boots just to make a friend happy.

  She aimed the beam behind the cash register. Nothing but more debris there and a few twenty dollar bills scattered about. Funny how what had previously been such an important thing in the world for most people now had no more value than kindling.

  There was a door at the back of the store which probably led to a stockroom. It was unlikely anyone would be back there, but if she and Sam were going to be here for a while selecting and outfitting themselves for their cycling adventure, she needed to make sure. Better to be safe than dead, she thought. Sam’s mixed metaphors might be rubbing off.

  As she reached for the door knob, a foul odor assaulted her nostrils. The hours of grueling Krav Maga training kicked in and almost before she knew what she was doing it, she spun her body around, leading with the Ka-Bar.

  Facing her in the circle of light was a leprechaun.

  Or perhaps a human troll doll.

  His bushy red hair stood straight up from his head like hairy flames. His beard was an exact version of the hair flames, but extended in the opposite direction, sprouting from every inch of his face from the nose down. Dani was so stunned by the sight, her mouth dropped open and her guard slipped.

  That’s when the troll sprang. Before she had time to react, his right hand pinned her knife-wielding wrist against the stockroom door. In his left was the biggest blade she’d ever seen. He didn’t point it at her, just displayed it, like an ugly model on The Price is Right. The compact body was turned sideways, protecting his genitals from the inevitable knee-to-groin move she would have otherwise attempted.

  “I could have killed you before you even knew I was there.”

  His voice was the deep rumble of a Colorado rock slide; words like boulders crashed into each other, then tumbled to the ground with an abrupt heavy thud. It was both mesmerizing and scary as hell, and without a doubt the strangest voice she’d ever heard. Which was only fitting since it belonged to the strangest person she’d ever seen.

  “Duly noted,” she said. Her internal danger-sensing radar was all over the board, refusing to reveal whether this creature meant her harm. An image of the overpass where they had been earlier flashed through her mind. Was this the Kerouac-reading hobo who’d been sleeping under the bridge?

  “Let’s get down to business, girlie. I agree not to kill you and your comrade up there who’s having the love affair with the Pivot Mach 429, and you won’t attempt to kill me. Deal?”

  She nodded. The troll released her wrist, sore from the strength of his grip. The little bastard was strong, and the keen intelligence in those blue eyes, dilated in the gloom of the bike store, told her not to try anything stupid. He would see it coming a mile away.

  “I’m Fergus. Who the fuck are you?” The deep gravelly voice was completely at odds with the man’s stature. He couldn’t be much more than five feet tall. She placed his age at somewhere between thirty and fifty — there was no telling whether he was a youngish troll or a middle-aged troll.

  “I’m Dani. So what the fuck do we do now?”

  With an elegant motion, the man slid his gargantuan blade into a shoulder sheath which extended down his back, then offered a grubby hand.

  “We decide if we’re to be friends or enemies,” he replied. “Or perhaps something in between.”

  “Look, Fergus,” she said shaking the hand while trying not to touch too much of its grimy surface, “We just want to get a couple of bikes and some gear and we’ll be on our way. No trouble, okay?”

  “What way would that be exactly?”

  She could not get a read on this character. Why did he care where the hell they were going?

  “North. We’re going north. Now if you’ll just let me by, we’ll be out of your, um, hair before you know it.”

  She glanced at the bushy flames and wondered how a person could make their hair do that without benefit of gel or hairspray. Judging by the smell, his toiletries might include swamp mud and sewer water.

  Fergus nodded as if ‘north’ explained everything. “I’d like to come with you.”

  He watched her reaction with visible interest. Blue lasers burned into her skull, seeking truth or perhaps just entertainment. She wondered if he was serious or just fucking with her.

  “No can do, Fergus. Sam and I are a duo. We’re not interested in adding a bass act to our world tour.”

  “Maybe Sam should have a say in this, or are you running a benevolent dictatorship?”

  Dani’s mouth opened but nothing came out. She’d always been the one to call the shots. Sometimes Sam disagreed with her decisions, but she was usually able to mollify him, or even manipulate him so he would think his vote carried as much weight as hers. She felt some minor shame when she resorted to this, but she was nothing if not pragmatic. As the brains in the partnership, she knew her way was the smart way. The best way.

  If not always, almost always.

  Then she remembered that Sam had decided for both of them to endure Isaiah’s painful loyalty test. That wouldn’t have been her choice, yet it might have saved their lives. He had understood the danger and their odds of prevailing, while she would have let her arrogance get in the way. If they had fought Isaiah and his lethal band of Mini Mes, they might well be dead now.

  “Fine. We’ll ask him.”

  “Lead on, sister!” The troll stepped aside with a dramatic flourish of a grubby hand.

  She gave him her best dirty look as she walked by, holding her breath as the troll-proximity became more than she could take. This little bastard had one-upped her twice now, but she knew what Sam’s reaction would be: he’d never allow this little shit to come with them.

  ###

  “What the fuck, Sam! Why should Ronald McDonald get to tag along with us? He could be a goddamn serial killer, for all we know!”

  The afternoon sunlight streamed through the open storefront, highlighting the gold in Sam’s hair and showcasing the strangeness of their new acquaintance. In broad daylight, Fergus was almost as odd-looking as she’d first thought, and the now visible crinkles around his eyes confirmed that he was a troll of middle age.

  Sam’s hand stroked the seat of the mountain bike, letting his fingertips admire its contours, as he formulated his response. Dani crossed her arms and tapped her foot as she waited for an answer. His careful thought process always pushed the limits of her patience.

  Finally he spoke. “You’re right. He could be a serial killer, but he’s probably not. If he wanted to kill us, he would have tried to already.”

  “Correction,” Fergus said. “Would have done so already.”

  Dani rolled her eyes.

  “If you say so,” Sam continued, unperturbed by the man’s confidence. “And the thing is, if we decide we trust him, why wouldn’t we want to bring him with us? The more, the happier, right? But mostly, I think we’d be safer with a third person to back us up. Do you think Isaiah is the only bad guy we’re going to run across? I doubt it. I like the idea of having another set of eyes to watch our backs and another set of hands fighting beside us.”

  “We don’t know if we can trust him. We just met him!”

  “Right, but he didn’t hurt you.”

  “Maybe he wants to take our stuff.”

  “Would have already taken your stuff, if that’s what I’d wanted.” The flaming beard twitched.

  Was the little fucker amused?

  The thought incensed her further.

  “This is insane. How many months has it just been you and me? Did we ever get into anything the two of us couldn’t handle?”

  “Almost. We almost didn’t get out of Colleyville last night. That’s what I’m still remembering right now. Think about it — if we’d had Fergus with us then, we could have kicked serious ass with those guys and we wouldn’t have these things carved into our arms.”

  Two bushy red caterpillar eyebrows rose in sudden interest.

  “Oh
, what is this? Who is this Isaiah person? I’m intrigued. Please share.”

  Dani gave him a venomous look which evoked more beard twitching.

  “Damn it, Sam. I’m not happy about this. I’m not happy at all.” She resorted to a classic maneuver which had worked well in the past. He hated to see her upset. It damn near killed him, actually.

  Sam frowned, moved his hand from the bike, and reached for Dani’s. He squeezed it tenderly in both of his, and gave her one of his slow, beautiful smiles.

  “I know you’re not happy about it, but I think it’s the right decision. I think you’ll get over being unhappy sooner than you think. You usually get to make the decisions, right? Maybe you could let me make one this time.”

  Sonofabitch. The little red-haired shit was coming with them.

  “Fine,” she said, a petulant five-year old in time-out. “But first he’s going to take a goddamn bath.”

  She stormed out of the store, having no clue where she was headed, but determined to at least have the last word.

  “Ouch,” Fergus said, as both men watched her stomp down the sidewalk.

  “You’ll get used to that,” Sam replied. His adoration for the young woman was as obvious as an ‘I HEART DANI’ tattoo on his bicep would have been. “She’s a great girl, but she really likes to have her own way.”

  “I get that, Sam. I get that.” Fergus smiled for the first time as he studied the young man’s face, reading all the gentleness and decency that could be seen there.

  Chapter 21

  Palo Alto, California

  Julia stood in the kitchen of her ransacked house. If she’d been the weepy type, she’d have resorted to an extended, self-indulgent snotty cry at the sight of her once-beautiful home. The walls in most of the house were covered with spray painted messages from a long dead would-be philosopher: WE DESERVE WHAT WE GOT! PEOPLE SUCK! GOD IS CLEANSING THE WORLD OF THE EVIL MEN DO! And her favorite, prominently displayed above her lovely marble fireplace: CHICXU-LUBED HUMANITY RIGHT UP THE ASS!

  She appreciated a well-executed off-color pun, but less so when rendered in red spray paint on the walls of her home.

  She was surprised that her reaction wasn’t more visceral. She’d lived here with Stan for more than a decade, and while as with any marriage, there’d been plenty of hard times, it had mostly been a wonderful life in this house shared with a remarkable man.

  Perhaps the twelve months spent sequestered in her lab had taken the edge off her grief. A house was just a house, and she still had all those wonderful memories locked away. Nobody, not even the spray paint-wielding philosopher who’d desecrated her home, could ever take them away from her.

  Although the human feces in the corner of the entryway did piss her off. Why crap on a floor? If the toilets weren’t working, take it outside, for crying out loud.

  She shook her head. Hell, maybe the painter was right. Maybe they did have it coming.

  She navigated through the debris scattered on the kitchen floor; cooking utensils, pots and pans, electric gadgets that would be useless now, and the worst, her DeLonghi espresso maker which had provided many hours of decadent pleasure in the form of steaming cups of French roast. God, she would gladly trade sexual favors for a double shot latte. She’d been drinking instant swill for months.

  She stepped through the laundry room off the kitchen and out into the attached garage. She was surprised to see that Stan’s black Mercedes S550 was still there on his side of the garage, covered in a fine layer of dust but otherwise untouched. Food was a more pressing priority than luxury cars, it would seem. She gazed up at the ceiling and breathed a sigh of relief. It was intact. The aluminum ladder was still in place hanging on a hook next to where the rest of Stan’s tools used to be. Most of them were gone now, but she didn’t care. All she needed was the ladder and the drywall saw she’d bought a year ago for just this purpose. One of the last chores before her self-banishment to the lab had been to stash her remaining provisions in the attic above her garage. The idea to have a local handyman drywall over the opening had been Steven’s, of course. At the time she’d thought it was overkill, but now she realized it had probably saved her life. Sure, there would be food out there, but how dangerous would it be to leave the relative safety of her vehicle to find it?

  There would be more than enough freeze dried meal packets, canned tuna for Brains, and bottled water to get them to Kansas, with plenty to spare.

  It took her a good hour to finish the task. Sawing through all that drywall had been harder than she’d expected. She finally made it through and pulled down the attic door, exposing the attached fold-out stairs. She clicked on the flashlight and climbed up. The beam illuminated plastic storage containers in a circle of light; dusty but otherwise untouched. If an angelic choir had spontaneously accompanied the sight of those bins, she wouldn’t have been surprised. It was better than finding the Holy fucking Grail.

  Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food that wasn’t stale saltines and near-rancid peanut butter, but there was no time for eating now. She needed to hurry her ass up and get back to the grouchy feline in the car. There’d been so much bumpy off-roading required to get around all the dead cars filled with dead bodies on the way from the university to her home in Palo Alto, that she’d been forced to stick Brains in his cage. He’d tolerated it...barely. The expression of intense kitty loathing he’d given her had made her laugh out loud.

  Twenty minutes later, there were two large bins of food, a first aid kit, and three cases of bottled water stacked in the back seat of the Land Rover. It was a tight fit squeezed next to the lab equipment and research notebooks; the gas cans took up the cargo space in the back.

  They were loaded down, but they were in good shape. Better than she’d dared hope they would be.

  She buckled her seatbelt, smiled at the caged Brains next to her who responded with a menacing growl, and turned the key in the ignition.

  Nothing happened.

  “Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

  She banged her head on the steering wheel in frustration, took a deep breath and tried again.

  Still nothing.

  Had she left the headlights on while she’d been in the house? She checked the setting which was indeed set to ON rather than AUTO, and pressed her head against the wheel again. In the late morning sun, she hadn’t noticed their beams reflecting on the garage door when she’d pulled up in her driveway.

  What the hell would she do now? All that preparation and planning to have it all foiled before she’d even covered one of the sixteen hundred miles to Steven’s house.

  She thought of her little brother and how disappointed he would be by this rookie mistake.

  She took another deep breath. What would Steven do? An image of colorful rubber bracelets flitted through her mind. Julia didn’t believe in deities or put stock in religious dogma, but she had faith in her brother.

  “Okay, Brains, we have to think like Steven. There should be jumper cables in Stan’s trunk, but unless the battery still works after a year, they’re useless. Gotta give it a shot though.”

  She fished her car keys out of her bag, which also contained a set for the Mercedes. Back in the garage, she pulled the release cord for the overhead door and lifted it manually. It screeched like a room full of howler monkeys. She winced, feeling an urge to hurry as she considered the ears that might have heard the noise.

  She located the cables, then slid into the driver’s seat of the Mercedes. Suddenly tears were streaming down her face, catching her by surprise.

  The leather upholstery still smelled of Stan’s cologne.

  “There’s no time for this! Get a grip!”

  She brushed the tears away with an impatient swipe of her hand and forced herself to focus, taking deep, quivery breaths. After a full two minutes of working through the sudden onset of grief, she pressed a damp index finger against the start button.

  Not even a hiccup from the engine.

  S
he slammed a frustrated fist against the steering wheel. At that moment, a scuffling sound came from the street. She scrambled out of the car then stopped short at the garage opening, not knowing what the hell she should do next.

  Standing in the road just past her driveway was a young man. His blond, shoulder-length hair was caked with filth. Blood stains were splattered across the front of his denim jacket, and his right arm was in a makeshift bandana sling. When he spoke, his voice was almost childlike.

  “Is your car dead?”

  Julia had no idea what to do. He was the first living human she’d seen in months. Something, some instinct told her to remain calm and to keep her gestures slow and casual.

  Don’t spook this guy.

  “Yes, unfortunately. Not sure what I’m going to do now. I was an idiot and left the headlights on without the car running.”

  “Yeah, my mom did that once when I was little. Is it an automatic or standard?”

  It was the voice of a grown man but with the inflection and cadence of a child. Her research gave her an insight into what she might be dealing with. She imagined herself as a trainer working with a skittish mare.

  “It’s a standard. Is that a good thing?”

  “Yes. You can do the rolling start with a standard. It doesn’t work on automatics though. At least, that’s what our neighbor Mr. Cheney told us.”

  She felt a spark of excitement.

  “How does the rolling start work? Can you tell me?”

  The young man tilted his head back, studying the overcast sky. Julia glanced upward too, seeing only clouds. Acid churned with stale saltines in her stomach.

  He was still gazing skyward when he spoke again. “You can see me, right?”

  She was at a loss.

  “Of course, I can see you. You’re right there in the street.”

  The man nodded.

  “Okay, then I can tell you how to get your car started. I like to be helpful when I can. My mom always told me I should help others as long as it’s not against the law.”

  “Your mother sounds like a wonderful woman.”