Troop of Shadows

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  She stopped five feet away from the fence, looking intently into Steven’s eyes. Was she trying to send him a silent message? What the hell was going on here?

  “Steven, try not to look like somebody just insulted your mother. Nobody is going to take what doesn’t belong to them, right people? That’s not who we are. Civilization may have ended but that doesn’t mean we, the survivors, are no longer civilized.”

  “Fuck that noise, Natalie. My kid is hungry.”

  “So is Brittany, Chuck. That doesn’t make it acceptable to take what rightfully belongs to another person. Are we criminals now? Have we stooped to the same heinous behavior of the very people we loathed in our previous world? Thieving barbarians? That’s not us. Right, Marilyn? We’re better than that, aren’t we, Ed?”

  The scarecrow nodded. The librarian’s eyes narrowed further, but she said nothing.

  “I have an idea. One that I think is a fair and equitable compromise. Let’s talk about it under friendlier conditions than this.” She indicated the shotguns and rifles with a dismissive gesture. “I think a round table is in order. Perhaps you would open up your house for a few of the townspeople — representatives, so to speak — and we can discuss our options, in a calm, nonviolent manner.”

  “And in the meantime my kid starves?” A new speaker...one Steven didn’t recognize.

  “I’m sorry sir, but I don’t know you. Are you new to our town?” Natalie’s cool tone did everything but say the word ‘outsider.’

  Clever girl. Divide and conquer.

  “I’m here now. That’s all that matters.” The man couldn’t weigh more than 130 pounds; his tattered clothes hung on him like laundry pinned to a clothesline. He was in worse shape than most of the locals. Where had he come from? Where had all these strangers come from?

  “Clearly you are. Perhaps I’m overreaching, but I think Liberty residents...the people who lived here before the plague...get first dibs on legislating town business.”

  Goddamn, that’s smart.

  “But never fear, sir, we are kind people, and we will not let anyone go hungry if we can help it. Am I right, Steven?”

  Again, she seemed to be communicating something with her eyes.

  He felt his anger draining away, and the effect of her words on the crowd was evident as they lowered their firearms. Natalie might have saved his life just now.

  He made a decision.

  “Let’s talk about it. Chuck, Ed, Marilyn, Natalie. You’re welcome to come inside. Weapons will be left on the porch. Give me five minutes to turn the fence off, then I’ll open the gate.”

  When he turned away from the subdued gathering toward his house, he almost ran into his son. Jeffrey stood with his feet planted wide and his Springfield rifle cradled expertly in his young arms.

  “You were supposed to stay inside,” he whispered, ushering his son up the driveway to the house.

  “Dad, do you really think I would have just stayed in the house and watched those people shoot you? Seriously, you’re gonna have to realize that the world has changed and I’m not a child.” The delivery was the same matter-of-fact, reasonable-sounding technique Steven used in parenting.

  Despite the circumstances, he smiled. He wasn’t ready to relinquish control just yet though, and at the moment he needed to focus on the parley that was about to take place in his home.

  Damn idiots, he thought, not for the first time. Just how many concessions would he have to make? How much of their food must he give away to keep these people from storming the gates and taking what they wanted?

  He hoped Natalie had some good ideas, because at the moment, he wasn’t coming up with any solutions that didn’t involve an empty root cellar or dead people.

  Chapter 23

  Arizona

  The most direct route would be north on Highway 89, then east on I40 all the way to Oklahoma City. Pablo suspected they would have to detour around Albuquerque if the mass exodus had occurred there like it had in other large cities, as he’d seen on the news before the power went out. He remembered the images of thousands of cars at a dead standstill on the freeways leading out of Houston, Los Angeles, and Boston. Masses of people had tried to run away, but where were they going? Was ‘the country’ some enchanted utopia that would magically provide safety and sustenance? Most likely they were operating on a flight directive from the amygdala, not considering what they would do nor how they would survive once there.

  None of that matters now, he thought, glancing at Maddie’s fluttering auburn hair. The breeze that came whipping through the Jeep’s windows animated the curls, transforming them into miniature ginger-colored cyclones. The thought of hair tornados made him smile.

  They’d loaded up every last bottle, can, and box from their depleted supplies, but it wasn’t much. In the back of the Jeep, two empty gasoline cans jostled against a dozen plastic Coke bottles filled with water from the stream. A few old blankets and Pablo’s sleeping bag provided a comfortable pallet for Bruno in the back seat and would also be their community bed at night. He glanced at the rearview mirror to see the tongue of his best friend lolling out the side of his grinning mouth. Bruno’s head was thrust through the open window, and all those titillating smells were igniting a firestorm of doggy brain neurons.

  “Gas first, right?”

  Maddie had eased back into her role of logistics manager with the natural effortlessness of a hawk circling a thermal updraft. He’d forgotten how much he’d depended on this talent of hers. If minds were blackboards, his would be covered in an endless, overlapping chalky scrawl of perfectly chosen words, compelling metaphors, and abstract philosophical concepts, while Maddie’s would be a tidy and impeccable array of numbers, algebraic equations, derivatives, and integrals.

  He smiled at this woman he loved. They were driving through Chino Valley in central Arizona, a starkly beautiful mosaic of desert flatland with stunted mesas and cerulean skies for a backdrop. The temperature was in the seventies — normal for October. The sun warmed his soul as well as the arm resting on the window casing. The aroma of hummingbird mint, surprisingly similar to that of Doublemint chewing gum, wafted across his face. All five senses were more fully alive at this moment than they’d ever been in his life.

  Once they’d gotten through the outlying area of Prescott, this section of Highway 89 had been mostly obstacle-free. They would hit I40 just west of Flagstaff and take their chances on it, passing through the eastern part of the state, then all of New Mexico, the Texas Panhandle, and finally to Oklahoma. As far as interstate highways went, surely this would be one of the least congested in the country. There was a whole lot of nothing covering the expanse of real estate between Albuquerque and Amarillo.

  He would miss the desert. He’d grown up here, but the grass was literally greener in the Midwest. If they were to succeed at farming, he figured their odds improved a million percent by leaving Arizona.

  Maddie could have supplied the exact number.

  “There’s a minivan up on the right,” she said, squinting and shading her eyes with a cupped hand.

  “That sounds good. I think they hold about fifteen gallons. Hopefully the tank was full when they...stopped.”

  Pablo’s thoughts turned grim at the thought of what they might find inside. They came to a stop twenty feet behind the late model Toyota Sienna.

  “Will you even consider staying here in the car?” he asked without much hope.

  “Nope. Get your cute ass out there. I have your back.”

  She eased the hunting knife out of its thigh sheath. As he watched, Pablo was mortified to realize he’d become aroused, which was inappropriate and unwelcome under the circumstances. He had a fleeting moment of self-loathing with the realization that a knife-brandishing woman turned him on. He would find a private moment later to explore that little nugget.

  Think about baseball.

  “You okay, Pablo? You look a little peaked.”

  There was an adorable smile playing around the
corners of her mouth. Had she noticed?

  “Yes, I’m fine. Let’s just do this.”

  He reached in the back for the shotgun, and stepped out onto the sun-warmed blacktop. He could feel Maddie’s presence behind him as walked up to the driver’s side and gazed through the filmy window. The desiccated remains of a man sat at the wheel; flesh hung like papier-mâché on the skull, and strips of hooded leather attempted to cover eyeballs that had withered and shrunk into the bony scaffolding.

  The face of death. He would never get used to it even after seeing it dozens, perhaps a hundred times this past year. The passenger seat was empty. Dirt and an after-market tint job obscured the back and rear windows — he couldn’t see anything past the front seat. He walked around to the sliding door.

  “Hold your breath.”

  He grabbed the handle and slid open the door, the metal screeching in the runner from a year’s worth of disuse.

  The sight of two dead children and the pungent, vomit-inducing odor of human decomposition assaulted his senses.

  “Maddie, don’t come over here,” he said, fighting the gag reflex that usually accompanied these events.

  “Too late,” she said from behind him.

  “Don’t look, please.” His breakfast of Bush’s baked beans threatened to make a return appearance.

  “Go throw up, if you need to. It’s okay. Then you can get the gas going.”

  She gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze, then guided him away from the van. “I’ll finish here.”

  “Are y-y-you sure?”

  They stood on the asphalt shoulder as he gulped in fresh air. Breakfast beans and bile surged in the back of his throat.

  He was going to puke.

  “It’s okay, Pablo. This kind of stuff doesn’t bother me like it used to. I’ve been through worse.”

  The adorable Maddie from moments ago had been replaced with a grim, steely-eyed stranger. Pablo would likely never know the horrors she had been subjected to these past months, which might be for the best for both of them.

  “I’ll get the cans and the hose. Fingers crossed the guy had just filled up,” he said through clenched teeth.

  He began to gather the gas-pilfering supplies. After another minute of focused swallowing, he won the vomit battle and got started on the siphoning while Maddie investigated the Toyota’s interior. Bruno sat sentinel nearby with his huge shepherd ears alert for trouble, guarding his humans while they conducted their strange activities.

  He could hear her rooting around in the back as he drained the minivan’s tank, which was more than half full. If it hadn’t gone bad, this venture would be a home run.

  Maddie hopped out of the side door. Her somber expression had changed to one that made him think of a canary-satiated cat. She held an enormous patchwork hippie bag which appeared loaded down, but with what, he could only guess.

  “Looks like you scored, young lady.”

  “I did indeed. How’d we do on gas?”

  “Almost ten gallons. I’ll put some in the Jeep now and see how it does. If the engine doesn’t sputter, I’ll assume it’s still good. I would sell my grandmother’s soul for a Tic-Tac right about now.”

  Gasoline tasted only slightly less revolting than vomit. He thought about digging out his toothbrush and the last half-used tube of Crest, but decided to gargle and brush at the next stop. He wanted to get away from the minivan and its depressing cargo.

  Fifteen minutes later, they were back in the Jeep and headed north on Highway 89 again. Maddie had been in one of her quiet, introspective moods ever since finding the children. He kept silent, letting her work through what was on her mind. He was beginning to suspect Maddie was made of sterner stuff than he.

  Finally, a few miles farther, past a dilapidated roadside tamale stand and a Del Taco that had probably been vacant long before Chicxulub, she spoke.

  “Those little girls didn’t die of the plague.”

  “What? Why do you think that?”

  “There were bullet holes in the back of their heads. Dad must have killed them before succumbing to the disease himself.”

  “Why would anyone do that? How could a father kill his children?”

  “Well, first of all, we’re assuming they were his children, but I think that’s a reasonable conclusion based on what I found. Secondly, I think it was because he loved them. It was the ultimate kindness, the ultimate sacrifice, and it must have taken incredible courage.” She gazed at the desert landscape.

  Pablo was dumbfounded.

  “He shot his children in the back of the head because he loved them? Because he was being kind?”

  “Yes. Think about it. He was sick. He knew he was going to die. He’s on a desolate stretch of highway with two little girls that are healthy but helpless. They were no more than four or five years old. What’s going to happen to them when he’s dead? Let’s see. First they freak out because they just saw their dad die. Then when night comes, they have the option to sleep in the car with a corpse or sleep outside with the coyotes and wolves. Can you imagine their terror? If they make the smart choice and stay in the van, what happens when they go through all the food and water? I doubt they would have lasted a week with the provisions they had. A loving father would have thought all that through.

  “If I’d been in that situation, I’d have done the same thing.”

  He didn’t know what to say. The matter-of-fact way she discussed this gruesome subject shocked him. This was a more hardened version of the woman he’d left for dead in the parking lot of that Walgreens; a memory which evoked an image as unwelcome as the one where Maddie shot children in the head.

  She didn’t seem to expect a response, which was fortunate, since Pablo couldn’t speak with the lump in his throat.

  Chapter 24

  Texas

  “Guess Sam was right about that ‘another set of eyes and hands’ thing.”

  In addition to being the oddest-looking person Dani had ever seen, Fergus was also the most annoying. As the three unlikely companions hunkered down behind the checkout counter of a Chevron mini mart in North Texas, Dani was thankful that at least he’d changed into some reasonably clean clothes and a stench-free army jacket, after taking a sponge bath with the baby wipes she’d brought along for personal hygiene. Judging by the profound powder-fresh smell, he’d used the entire container. He must have washed the hairy flames in the sink of the bike store bathroom because they were wet, droopy, and less pungent now.

  A bullet zinged off the cigarette cage a few inches above their heads. The gang of Mad Max wannabes had run them into the mini mart shortly after they’d pedaled away from the bike store. They hadn’t had time to go on a firearms quest, so for the second time in twenty-four hours, she and Sam had committed the post-apocalyptic-world faux pas of bringing knives to a gun fight. She had no idea how they would get out of this one.

  “Yeah, well, you don’t seem to be doing much for us at the moment. Perhaps you could put that dazzling intellect to work and figure a way out of this. Or maybe you could wriggle your nose, tap your heels together, and leprechaun-magic us the hell out of here.”

  “Words hurt, Dani. You cut me, I bleed.”

  The twitching red beard belied the dramatically sorrowful expression. For some reason, this infuriated her even more. She excelled at acerbic repartee, and if she didn’t piss off the targeted victim, she wasn’t doing her job. She would have to try harder, just as soon as they got out of their current life-threatening predicament.

  “We could make a run for it out the back,” Sam offered without much enthusiasm.

  “Good chance they have the back covered too. How many did you count?”

  Fergus’s one redeeming quality was the way he spoke to Sam; the deference in the gravelly voice was unmistakable, and anyone who respected her friend was someone she could tolerate. For a while.

  “I think four at least...maybe five.”

  “Yes, that’s what I saw too. Dani, what are your thoughts?
Do you think we should try our luck through the back door?”

  She tried to suspend her irritation while pondering their options. Another bullet ricocheted off the cash register.

  “No, I imagine even those mouth-breathers out there would think to cover the back door. A distraction of some sort? Too bad Chevron didn’t stock Molotov cocktail kits next to the Cheetos. I bet they would have been big sellers.”

  “A distraction!” Fergus exclaimed with a vigorous clap. “Excellent idea!”

  Dani hated that she felt a tiny surge of pride. What did she care if the little troll was impressed by her?

  “Something tells me these dudes have more brawn than brain,” he continued. “Why don’t I scurry over to the other side of the store where those windows are, break out a little opening in the glass and fling some sort of incendiary device as far away from us as I can fling it. Thoughts? Suggestions?”

  “I think that’s a brilliant idea. Now just cross your arms, bob your head, and make an Acme dynamite stick magically appear in your hands.”

  He nodded, beard twitching, and opened one side of his worn army jacket and revealing two hand grenades tucked into an interior elastic band. The grenades, as well as the coat, could have been circa WWII.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Where the hell did you get those? The clearance table at Bombs-R-Us? Do they even still work?”

  “That’s something we’re about to find out. Do we agree this is the best course of action?”

  Sam nodded.

  “What about you, Joan Rivers?”

  “Yes, we’re agreed. You toss the grenade, we wait for the big KAPOW, watch these hooligans scatter, grab our bikes, and make a run for it. Does that sound about right?”

  “Very good. A kiss for luck, then?”

  The blue eyes sparkled in the hairy face.

  Dani couldn’t help smiling. “Get the fuck outta here.”

  “Getting the fuck outta here. If they don’t have a sniper in their ranks who decides to target my lovely head, I’ll meet you by the door.”