Troop of Shadows

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  “Do I get a vote, Dad?”

  “You sure as hell do. You’re working as hard as everyone else. Harder than most. You’ve earned it.”

  He regretted his words the next moment when he considered their talk earlier about helping those in need. His mind skipped forward to what a rescue operation would look like, and beyond to the recruitment of his sharp shooting son for the mission. A part of him wished he could take Jeffrey back to their house with the electric fence and the well-stocked cellar, tend only to their needs, and leave this quagmire behind. But even though he could be content to live as a hermit, it would be no life for his son.

  “Get the word out,” Steven said to those who remained. “Tomorrow morning we’re going to vote on more than a rescue mission. We’re going to make a lot of other decisions too. Every one of us, not just a board of four or five people.” He smiled to himself at the thought of Natalie’s face when she discovered he’d circumvented her assumed authority. If there was to be a feud between the two of them, better to have it out in the open.

  He had a lot of work to do on the greenhouse today, then he would pull an all-nighter getting his notes together for tomorrow’s town meeting. If he couldn’t live with his head in the sand, he would at least play a major role in designing and building the sandbox.

  ###

  The next day dawned clear and mild but soon turned overcast. The wind picked up as the townspeople gathered in the square again. Noses lifted to the sudden breeze, detecting the rain that was close behind. Longtime residents of the Midwest knew what that could mean even in October, so the meeting was relocated to the interior of the courthouse, where a variety of hastily lit candles created a warm, inviting atmosphere in one of the courtrooms.

  Fifty pungent bodies squeezed onto the wooden benches. Steven decided he would browse his Encyclopedia of Country Living — no self-respecting prepper would be without a copy — for a homemade antiperspirant recipe as soon as there was time.

  Natalie glided to the front, positioning herself between the tables at which opposing legal counsels would have pleaded their cases, and where all eyes would be focused on her. But this wasn’t a trial. There were no lawyers or judges, and Steven was determined that everyone would feel equal.

  He raised his voice, “I think we should move the benches around so they form a circle. Like the Knights of the Round Table.” He hoped his smile was self-deprecating, not just awkward and goofy, as it felt to him. Public speaking had never been his forte, but if he were going to be instrumental in the creation of this new community, he would do it in a way that made sense to him. He’d stayed up all night, making lists and scribbling half-formed ideas, but he’d also spent some time considering the personalities of the people he knew and how best to interact with them.

  Natalie would be his biggest problem. He sensed she had an agenda, but he could only speculate on the details. Even though he was late to the party — people had been surviving without him for the last year — his largess of food and medicine had bought him a bit of deference. He intended to exploit it for the greater good.

  “I’d like to emphasize that just because a few of us came up with the concept of the cooperative greenhouse and some other ideas, it doesn’t mean that anyone’s opinion carries more weight than anyone else’s.” He glanced at Natalie, who arched a delicate eyebrow. “Having said that, some people are better suited for certain tasks than others. We’ll need to vote on positions such as construction foreman,” he nodded in Ed’s direction, “Head gardener,” a nod at Lisa who sat next to Ed with a foot of bench space in between, “And so on. The way I see it, getting seeds in the ground is our number one priority, which means it’s crucial to get the greenhouse built quickly. Our water situation is tolerable for now but will need to be improved. I have some thoughts on windmill-generated electricity, which will help with the water supply to our crops in the short term and can be expanded upon later. But in the meantime we’ll have to truck in water from the lake.” He stopped for a moment to catch his breath and take measure of the crowd.

  So far, so good.

  He was relieved to see that the general mood seemed upbeat and friendly. During the night, he’d imagined all kinds of scenarios in which his taking charge would be met with hostility, anger, or worse.

  “I know there have been some waterborne illnesses in the past, so I’m happy to assist anyone who would like to build a gravity-fed water filtration system for their personal use.”

  A number of hands went up.

  “Winter is right around the corner, and we’ll need to make sure everyone stays warm. We need a group of volunteers to locate, chop, and deliver wood to all those who can’t get it for themselves.”

  His gaze found Marilyn, who had been assigned the task of taking notes from the meeting. She jotted down names on a notepad as several men and two women volunteered for the fuel crew, as it would be called.

  “What about people that don’t have fireplaces?” The question came from an older man Steven didn’t recognize.

  “There are plenty of houses in town that do and which are no longer...occupied. I suggest moving.”

  “I’m no squatter. I’ve lived in my house for thirty years. Lost my wife to the plague in that house. Raised two sons and a daughter in that house. You’re suggesting that I just abandon it now and move into some stranger’s house just because they’re dead and they have a fireplace?”

  “How did you manage in your house last winter?”

  Atmos Energy had kept the natural gas running until too many employees stopped coming to work. Heating oil systems weren’t common in Kansas, so once the power had gone out and the gas stopped flowing in December, people must have gotten very cold.

  “I insulated the hell out of it and wore a lot of sweaters,” the man replied, unsmiling.

  Steven sighed. “I understand the inclination to cling to the past, but this is about survival, and if you want to stay warm, I encourage you to find a house with a fireplace. It’s a free country though, so do what you want.”

  He appreciated the irony of those last words and the easy manner in which they had fallen unthinkingly out of his mouth; but this was not the appropriate time to get bogged down in a discussion of whether there was still a United States of America and if it were, in fact, free. Other matters were far more pressing.

  “Let’s move along, shall we? We’ve touched on the most important issues: food, water, and warmth,” he counted three of his fingers. “Next comes illness and other medical concerns. I understand there’s a nurse practitioner here?” He’d learned of the woman at the impromptu meeting at his house two days earlier but had yet to meet her. She had helped with some injuries and sickness the past year. Several people had described her as ‘peculiar.’

  All heads swiveled toward the courtroom door where a woman stood. Steven hadn’t noticed her until that moment.

  “That would be me.” The high-pitched, spindly voice was at odds with the stout figure, itself an anomaly in a room filled with half-starved people. She said nothing else but merely waited for him to continue.

  “You’re Cate?”

  A curt nod of the mousy-brown head.

  “As a nurse practitioner, you are the most qualified person to head our medical group. Is that something you’d be interested in?”

  Steven realized why the others thought the woman strange. Beefy arms were crossed over a generous bosom and the ruddy face wore an expression of amusement. What she found so funny was a mystery.

  “I’m guessing it doesn’t pay much,” she said.

  “Well, you’re right about that.”

  The amused smirk intensified. “Sure. I’ll head up your group, as long as I get to do it my way. I don’t want to be bothered with hangnails and nosebleeds either. And if my methods seem unorthodox, I don’t want to be second guessed. If you all agree to that, I’ll take the job.”

  With that, she turned and walked out of the room. Steven followed her progress, catching a gl
impse of the storm clouds through the corridor windows beyond.

  ###

  “I think it went well,” Steven said to his son as they sat down to a late dinner in their kitchen. As ominous as the approaching storm had appeared earlier, it had been all blustery bravado and produced only a few raindrops. He would bet his last can of coffee that the weather system had spawned tornadoes somewhere though. Perhaps Arkansas or Oklahoma.

  During the town hall meeting, which would occur weekly from now on, they’d voted on a number of issues and formed several other crews. Eventually, the greenhouse would be expanded upon not only physically, but in the broader sense of broaching into the town’s outlying fallow fields next spring. They’d touched on ideas for planting wheat, oats, and a few other grains, a berry patch for currants, blackberries, and strawberries, and an orchard grove with pecan, hazelnut, plum, and cherry trees — all indigenous crops.

  “Don’t you think it went well?” He pressed his son. “Everyone seemed excited to be pulling together and planning the community.”

  “I guess,” Jeffrey replied. Hostility over the rescue vote was still evident on a face which was just beginning to lose some of its youthful roundness to an angular jawline.

  It had been close. Twenty-three for, twenty-six against.

  Steven sighed. He had voted in favor of the mission but couldn’t deny the relief he felt when it went the other way.

  “Pretty exciting that you’re on the security crew. Only the best marksmen got picked for it.”

  His son’s face brightened. “Yeah, that’s cool. I like Chuck, and the other people seem okay.”

  Chuck, the former grocery store manager, had done a six-year stint in Afghanistan as an MP, so the closest thing to a police officer left in Liberty was awarded the position of head of security. His crew consisted of two burly young men in their twenties and a girl of eighteen who could hit the bulls-eye of a target fifty yards away with a rifle, handgun, or compound bow — a claim which several people had corroborated. With the help of Ed and Lisa, who confirmed they had witnessed his sharpshooting skills the day before, Jeffrey had been the last person accepted in. It had taken every bit of self-control Steven possessed not to interfere when his son volunteered. Its members would be responsible for keeping the town safe from marauders, as well as handling the delicate issue of enforcing any laws they legislated, none of which had been decided upon that day.

  Steven was relieved about that. He hated the inevitable politicking that would begin when bellies were full and minds less preoccupied with keeping them that way. After the assemblage, they’d made tremendous progress on the greenhouse build-out. At the rate they were going, it would be ready for seeding in a week. He’d managed to hide his distress at relinquishing the bulk of his seeds to Lisa, but they were in good hands. She knew her stuff, and abdicating his role as head gardener to her would allow him to focus on projects for which he was better suited.

  His first order of business was getting limited electricity running for the greenhouse. Then he intended to develop a grid system utilizing both wind and solar power; he envisioned it as a mini version of the grid at Kansas Electric. The lofty goal of having everyone’s lights back on within a year was presented at the end of the meeting and met with thunderous applause.

  He reined in thoughts of wind turbines and solar panels, focusing again on the young man across the table.

  “I agree,” Steven said. “I like Chuck a lot and the others seem nice. That girl sounds like a real Annie Oakley.” He laughed at the blank expression. “Way before your time. Hell, way before my time too.”

  “Dad, I can’t stop thinking about those women.”

  “Jeff, there’s nothing we can do about it. The vote went the other way.”

  “You and I could do something.”

  Steven groaned. “Son, we can’t. I’m not going to risk my only child on such a dangerous operation. Can’t you understand that?”

  “Maybe it wouldn’t be that dangerous. We don’t know because we don’t have all the facts. You always say, ‘We don’t have enough information to make a decision.’ Right?”

  Steven had no response ready. Jeffrey pounced. “So let’s get more information.”

  “And how do you propose we do that?”

  “We’ll ask Lisa. Just the two of us and her. Let’s see if there’s anything else that lady who left Hays told her. Then we’ll go from there.”

  Steven cocked an eyebrow at the smooth manner in which his son had just manipulated him.

  “Fine. We’ll talk to her.”

  Jeffrey’s rare smile was still more little boy than young man, and it melted Steven’s heart every time.

  Chapter 35

  Arizona

  Pablo was grumpy. He’d been deprived of sleeping with his love the night before. They’d crashed at a Days Inn on the eastern outskirts of Winslow, and she’d insisted that Jessie — the strange little girl with the sea-green eyes — sleep with her. She promised it was a temporary situation, and as soon as the little girl felt safe, Maddie would return to his bed. How long that would take, he could only guess. He knew he was being a jerk about it, but he’d just gotten her back. Their relationship had barely progressed from friends to lovers, and already he was being denied physical intimacy.

  The other reason for his surliness was bad gasoline. The last three attempts at obtaining more had been a bust, resulting in nothing more than a foul aftertaste. A year after the plague, it was turning. He was no chemist nor interested in the process that converted good gas to bad. All he knew was that much of what they were siphoning out of abandoned cars had oxidized, and that meant more gas-sucking down the road.

  Maddie watched him with amusement from the passenger seat.

  “I’ll suck the gas next time.”

  He shook his head. “No, that’s my job.”

  She laughed. “Really? And that’s based on what? The fact that you have a p-e-n-i-s?”

  Great. Now we’re spelling out the naughty words...

  “I’m surprised you remember,” he replied before he could stop himself.

  “And there it is, folks! The true source of Pablo’s poutiness. Somebody didn’t get l-a-i-d last night. Poor Pablo.”

  “I’m sorry. I know I’m being a d-i-c-k. I just missed you.”

  “It won’t be long. I think Jessie is feeling better already. Aren’t you, Jessie?”

  The child nodded. They’d gotten her cleaned up and changed into some clothes that had been scavenged from a corpse-free vehicle. The dress was too large, but clean and intact. Now that the grime was gone and her hair freshly washed and braided (just like Amelia’s, per Jessie’s request), she looked more like a child and less like a female Gollum. Still, those enormous eyes unsettled him...made him think of a warm tropical ocean and the toothy creatures that glided beneath its placid surface.

  “We should be crossing into New Mexico soon,” Maddie said, studying the map in her lap.

  Pablo gazed out his window at the relentlessly uninviting desert landscape. “That’s good. I’m ready to see Arizona in the rearview mirror.”

  “That sounds like the title of a country western song. Let’s write it!”

  He laughed. “Right now?”

  “No better time than the present,” Amelia piped from the back. “Come on Mr. Poet Laureate. Writing a song is child’s play for someone like you.”

  He grinned, caught up in the infectious excitement. Even the little girl smiled.

  It took several hours to compose the lyrics, then another two to put a melody to their creation. By the time they pulled into the parking lot of a Motel 6, the three grownups were singing “Arizona in the Rearview Mirror”, even working out some three-part harmony in places, with Pablo taking the tenor, Maddie the alto, and Amelia’s sweet soprano stealing the show.

  They piled out of the Highlander, which they parked in front of room 106. With a hand to his brow, Pablo scanned their surroundings. To the west, a colossal mesa pulled th
e sun toward itself like a greedy lover, and to the east, burgeoning cities of clouds scuttled in the direction they would be traveling in the morning.

  Pablo reconnoitered the vicinity, shotgun in hand and Bruno trudging along behind. There were no automobiles and no people. Not surprising since Gallup, New Mexico, was in the middle of nowhere.

  “I think this’ll be okay,” he said, when he joined the group again.

  Something whizzed past his left temple.

  He lunged for Maddie and pulled her to the asphalt. Amelia reacted even faster. She wedged herself beneath the under carriage, covering Jessie’s body with her own.

  Another bullet ricocheted off the side mirror. He couldn’t tell from what direction it had come.

  “See that second story window on the far right? Room 218, I think,” Maddie said.

  A third bullet pierced the passenger door where she had been sitting moments earlier. He followed her gaze to the tip of a rifle poking through the window.

  He couldn’t see the number on the door, but he had no doubt it was 218. She had a calculator for a brain, so tracking the trajectory and configuring the room number without seeing the silver-plated numerals was not remarkable...for her.

  “Shit,” he said. “Get under the car. Please.”

  Surprisingly, she did so. He scrambled in after her. Bruno darted behind one of the front tires. Curly Sue whimpered from inside the Highlander where Amelia had yet to release her.

  “That’s eight so far. How many bullets does an average rifle hold?” Maddie asked in a calm voice. She might have been pondering the caloric content of a Big Mac.

  “Five or so, I think. Of course that might not be his only gun or he might be using a high capacity clip.”

  “He’s no more than thirty yards away and he can’t hit a non-moving target with a rifle. He must not be a good shot.”

  “He doesn’t have to be. If he has enough ammo, he can just play the odds.”