Troop of Shadows

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  Oklahoma

  “Once again you underestimated him,” Fergus said from the passenger seat of the dented pickup.

  They’d left Sam in bed, sleepy and sore, yet recovering quickly. He truly must have some kind of self-healing super power, Dani thought. The circumference of the gunshot wound in his abdomen already looked smaller, which was crazy, and the Cephalexin should be thwarting any lurking infection. Sam would be fine to leave whenever they were ready.

  And that would happen after they reconnoitered I35 north of Podunk, Oklahoma. The town’s actual name was Davis, and it lay in the rural boonies south of Oklahoma City. If a colossal roadblock had been constructed near there, as they suspected, they would need a plan to circumvent it.

  “Yes, clearly I underestimated him. Now shut the fuck up. I’m thinking.” She studied the Rand McNally map they’d just found at the Love’s Travel Stop. They sat behind the building in the exact spot they’d been the previous day when the sky had been lumpy, sick-ward green, and spoiling for a fight with an outflow boundary.

  “I like you, Honey Badger. Why that is, I have no idea. You’re actually quite unpleasant most of the time.”

  She reached out a distracted hand and patted his knee. The anchored GPS on Sam’s bike still worked, but wasn’t convenient. Besides, she liked the feel of the crisp folded paper which was bisected, trisected, and quadrisected by a thousand colorful veins of information.

  She pointed at a dot. “Norman. I’d bet my grandmother that’s where these bumpkin shitheads have it set up. Just south of Oklahoma City.”

  Dusk had slipped away and night was upon them. Fergus held the flashlight so they could see the map.

  He nodded. “Could be. Do you think they’re keeping people in or people out?”

  “Both, probably. The big city is close enough so they could pick its carcass on a regular basis, but Norman is far enough into the country for farming. If they were smart, they’d have two roadblocks creating a safe zone in between. That’s what I’d do. I also think it’s likely they have smaller barricades on all the secondary roads. Again, that’s what I’d do. I don’t want to waste a lot of time and gas that we don’t have traveling all over BFE to find out, so we’re going to concentrate on I35 tonight.”

  “She has spoken.”

  Dani felt the familiar tingling of anticipation, like an injection of some delicious narcotic. As Sam had said, she was a ‘thrill looker.’ There was no denying it, to herself or anyone else. And now she no longer had to hide her dirty little secret. It felt both shameful and liberating...like a drunk bringing a six-pack to an AA meeting.

  Fergus watched her as she shifted the ravaged Ford Raptor into drive. It would be difficult to see with the headlights off, but stealth demanded it. They would travel for fifty miles or so, then park on the service road and hike the rest of the way to mile marker 113, just south of Norman. From there, they would traverse into whatever terrain lay to the west of I35; farmland, most likely. She intended to survey the route they would take with Sam when they would flank the hypothetical blockade from that side. It would be a long night and potentially a dangerous excursion — they may encounter sentries or other would-be assailants. The thought elicited a predatory smile.

  “What if you’re wrong? What if it’s set up north of Norman? What if doesn’t even exist?”

  She’d been anticipating every potential complication and pitfall and the manner in which she would react to each of them.

  “I’m not wrong,” she said. “If there’s no roadblock, we’re golden. But I’m not wrong.”

  An hour later, she had proof. They’d left the pickup parked on a narrow road that ran perpendicular to the highway, then hiked through fallow fields until they reached an inky, sluggish stream.

  “It’s Walnut Creek, which feeds into the Canadian River to the east,” she whispered, gazing at the brackish water. “It’s the perfect natural barrier to deter people from doing exactly what we want to do. Of course, most people are stupid and would approach on the highway, then fall right into their trap. See that firelight about a hundred yards out? Past that clump of trees? That would be the blockade.”

  Fergus reached into his jacket, withdrew a pair of binoculars, located a switch on one side and flipped it.

  “You’re fucking kidding me. You have night vision binoculars in your magic coat? I swear to god, you’re a goddamn leprechaun. Don’t deny it.”

  He smiled in the dark and lifted the smallish device to his face. Dani thought of a Navy SEAL attending the opera.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t think to purchase some when you were buying your fish antibiotics.”

  “Touché. What do you see?”

  “I see a prodigious heap of car-shaped steel piled up on both the northbound and southbound lanes of the highway. Just as you predicted. Good job, Honey Badger. I also see five armed men milling about in front of and beside said pile.”

  “Yes, yes. That’s what I figured.”

  “You have a plan for this?”

  “Of course. But you won’t like it.”

  He groaned. “Does it involve my ass connecting with the seat of that two-wheeled torture machine?”

  “Yes. You should be happy about that. I would prefer to just pull up in Big Blue and go postal on those redneck fuckers, but I can’t put Sam at risk like that. So we ditch the truck, load up as much as we can in our packs and carry the bikes across the creek. I can see sticks and rocks in the water. It can’t be more than a couple of feet deep, which is what I estimated it would be. That’s why we’re on the west side and not the east side where it’s deeper. Tributaries typically swell just before they flow into a river.”

  “What a coincidence. I also swell right before I flow into something.”

  She snorted. “Okay, Pervus Maximus. Let’s head back. I bet Sam is worried sick.”

  ###

  “I don’t like the idea of getting so close to that roadblock,” Sam said from a sofa in the living room. He’d refused to stay in bed any longer. The day had dawned much too early for Dani after only a few hours of sleep the night before. “Why can’t we just try some other roads?”

  She stifled a yawn. “Because we don’t have much gasoline and all the cars we might have pilfered from are being used for roadblocks. Look at the bright side. You’ll get to ride your bike again. At least until we get clear of Norman.”

  “Maybe we could get more gas from underground tanks.”

  “Don’t you think the local yokels have already drained them? If they’re organized enough to accomplish the barricade, they’re probably smart enough to have scavenged what was left in these parts.”

  Sam frowned and nodded.

  “We’ll be wading through a bacteria-ridden creek, so we’ll need to waterproof your dressing.”

  “Will duct tape and a Glad Trash Bag do the trick?” Fergus waved the items from the kitchen doorway.

  “Yes. Perfect. Once we’re through the creek,” she tapped at the map on the coffee table, “We’ll have to get past the barricade. That means riding through some fields for a few miles until we hit a residential area to the west of I35. If I’m right about the safe zone, there will be another roadblock here,” she pointed, “Just south of I40 which runs east and west. Once we’re past it, we can decide whether to stay on I35 through Oklahoma City or keep to secondary roads.

  “We’ll rest today and head out just after dark. How does all that sound?”

  Sam nodded. Fergus appeared noncommittal.

  “Why take the bicycles? We can just filch some new ones.”

  She glanced at Sam, knowing before she looked that she would find wide-eyed panic. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “The bikes come with us,” she said.

  “Oh god. There it is again. A nauseating testimony to young love. It might get us killed, you know. Those things are heavy, cumbersome, and will slow us down.”

  “They will. But they’re still coming with us.”

  ###

&nbs
p; “Do you think there are alligators in this creek? Piranhas? Great Whites?” Fergus’s whisper seemed loud to Dani’s ears, despite the noise from the crickets, cicadas, and gurgling water. The crescent moon provided adequate light for their endeavor — barely. There would be no free hands for flashlights. If the Oklahomans were smart, they would have posted sentries not only on the highway but at this location as well. Maybe they weren’t concerned about a few stragglers getting past their barricade. Or maybe they were waiting for them on the other side of the creek. The thought made her edgy and exhilarated.

  “Stow it, Fergus,” she hissed. “Let’s get this over with.”

  The burden of their packs was shared by both back and leg muscles, but the bicycles must be carried with arm strength alone. She watched Sam step into the stream. He’d hoisted his beloved Pivot Mach 429 over his head and held it well above the water with ease; more effortlessly than a man with a bullet hole in his belly should be capable of.

  “There’s a low spot here,” Fergus said a few feet in front of them.

  The water was chilly and moved faster than she’d anticipated. Even at thigh level, the inky flow could wash their feet out from under them.

  She gritted her teeth against the onset of muscle fatigue. They were at the halfway point, and the waterlogged clay pulled at her boots with the slimy suction-cupped hands of a backwoods creek monster. Her passage was made more arduous by the .45 Cattleman pistol, which she’d attached to her wrist in an improvised duct tape holster. It had been a last minute decision, prompted by the thought of their vulnerability during the crossing. It might have been overkill though, and she was regretting it now. Just twenty more feet. Don’t be such a pussy. You can do this.

  Fergus sloshed out of the water and onto the far bank.

  “Made it!” he whispered, just as two men stepped out of the surrounding brush. One of them struck a blow to the back of his head. He collapsed to the rocky ground like a puppet with severed strings.

  “Come on out, both of you. Slowly.” The nasal drawl sounded lazy, almost bored.

  Sam shot her a backwards glance. They exchanged a tiny nod and she began to fight the mud again, watching every movement of his body.

  The two men stood close to the water’s edge now, holding rifles which gleamed black in the moonlight. Ill-fitting military fatigues hung on thin frames, and the hands holding the firearms seemed tentative, awkward; teenage boys unhooking their first bra.

  Dani noted these details with her peripheral vision. Her focus was on Sam’s back, so when his shoulder muscles tensed, she was ready.

  He heaved his bike at the man on the left. It didn’t knock him down, but it surprised and distracted both men long enough for her to release her grip on the bike and level her pistol. Two shots rang out. The man on the right fell to the ground with a yelp. The man on the left was still struggling with his rifle when Sam darted from the water and took him down with a chisel fist to the throat.

  The movement might have killed him, but Dani knew better. At least the redneck would be unconscious for a while. She floundered the rest of the way out of the stream. Sam was already checking for a pulse in the man she’d shot.

  “Is he dead?” she asked.

  “No. You just winged him. Shoulder and bicep. He’ll be okay. Good job!” The wounded man groaned in disagreement.

  “I was aiming for center mass. Guess I need more practice.”

  She ignored Sam’s distressed look and knelt beside Fergus. She turned his head one way, then the next, exploring the skull with careful fingers through the matted red hair, then breathed a sigh of relief. When she slapped his bearded face, his eyes fluttered open.

  “Is that an angel of mercy I see? Or a raven-haired hellhound bent on inflicting misery and pain? What happened, Honey Badger? Everything’s a bit fuzzy after I got out of the water.”

  She smiled, removed a small flashlight from her pack, switched it on and aimed it into the blue eyes.

  “Holy shit, girl, is there no satiating your sadistic pleasure?”

  “Your pupils are even, but we’ll check them again in a few minutes. I think you’ll live.”

  “I’m wondering if that’s necessarily a good thing,” he grumbled as he sat up and rubbed the back of his head.

  “Your bike is in the water, Dani,” Sam said. He might have been speaking of a cherished pet.

  “I know, and it’s going to stay there. They’re all going to stay right where they are, and we’re getting the hell out of here. I love you Sam, but this is crazy. We’ll get more soon.”

  He had been inspecting the damage to his bicycle, when his head jerked up, and the bike fell to the ground with a satisfying thud. In three steps, he stood facing her. He cupped her face between his hands and gazed into her eyes.

  “I love you too. So much. More than anything in the world,” he said, then he kissed her.

  A year’s worth of suppressed emotion traveled through his fingertips, through his lips, his languid tongue, and into her. She dropped the flashlight and wove her fingers into his hair, that beautiful, golden hair. She pressed the length of her body against his, felt his hardness, then grasped his hips and pulled them against hers.

  There was nothing but Sam. The cicadas, the crickets, the gurgling water, the dangerous situation, vanished. Just Sam. His mouth, his tongue, his body, his love so intense it was almost a tangible entity.

  “Oh for god’s sake, can we please get the hell out of here? You kids can bump uglies later. My head is killing me.”

  She pulled away with a laugh. “Yes. Let’s get the hell out of here,” she said. The normal predatory smile was replaced by one as goofy and love-struck as the one Sam wore.

  Chapter 41

  Colorado

  “Can we have a potty break, Julia?” Logan asked, squirming in the front passenger seat. For the past hour, they’d been maneuvering around the metal and rubber quagmire she’d expected to find on the outskirts of Denver.

  “Can’t you hold it? This is a mess, and I don’t think it would be safe to stop here.”

  “I promise I’ll be fast. Really fast.”

  Thoozy, the skinny black Santa Claus spoke up. “Best to let him go. It’s not good for a man to keep his sluice gate closed when the water has risen to the top.”

  She sighed. “Okay. Be fast, please.”

  “Should I take my gun?”

  She scanned the perimeter outside the Rover. So far, they’d been lucky enough to find a way around and over the debris, but the obstructions were getting worse with every mile. It was time to get off I70 and onto secondary roads. For the hundredth time that week, she puzzled the collective decision of vast urban populations to flee their cities. Unless all those people owned remote mountain cabins stocked with food and water, what was the point of leaving the city which contained far greater resources? For the short term at least, these people would have been smarter to stay put.

  She shook her head.

  “I can’t take my gun?” The petulant teenager was back.

  “No, I didn’t mean that. Yes, you may take it. Just hurry, okay?”

  She contemplated their surroundings. It was an ocean of vehicles left in situ, many of which were still occupied; a grisly thought. Mother Nature had begun the job of housekeeping. Scouring winds and corrosive precipitation, both frozen and liquid, had wrought considerable damage in only a year. With the help of thermal energy from the sun, plus a hefty dose of time, this ugly landscape would one day become beautiful again. Perhaps in a thousand years, or ten thousand. It might even take a million. But the earth would abide, as she always had, whether or not there were people scratching and clawing along her surface.

  The voice from the back seat interrupted her musings.

  “That one is a handful,” the old man said.

  “He can’t help how he is.” She could hear the defensive tone in her voice. “But yes, he is a handful. It’s been a challenge figuring out the best way to deal with him. I’ve never raised
children, so I’m flying by the seat of my pants here.”

  “He’s not like most children, so I doubt that would have helped much anyway. Besides, he’s no longer a child. He’s a grown man.”

  Julia felt a prickling of irritation. Black Santa better not piss her off or she just might leave him by the curb. “Yes, I know that. But he’s developmentally and intellectually challenged, so he can’t be treated like an average adult.”

  “Why is that?”

  She was getting exasperated. “Because he’s not average. He needs special handling.”

  “He looks fine to me.”

  “Thoozy, come on. You know I’m referring to his mental capacity. At best, he’s low IQ, possibly coupled with Asperger Syndrome.”

  “And at worst?”

  She glanced at the rearview mirror. The old man smiled when he noticed her eyes upon him. The golden-toothed grin seemed curious, not contentious. She hesitated. Should she share with this stranger what her research had revealed?

  “Worst or worst-worst?” she asked.

  A rich chuckle. “Both?”

  “Worst is, he’s a low IQ, high functioning autistic with bipolar disorder. Worst-worst, he’s a low IQ, high-functioning autistic with bipolar disorder and schizophrenia.”

  “Oh, my. Are you also a psychiatrist as well as a molecular geneticist?”

  “No, of course not. Psychiatry and psychiatric disorders were interests of mine. Before.”

  “I see. Is there anything else I should know about my traveling companions?” The smile in the mirror remained warm. He didn’t seem to be goading her, and he did have a right to know, after all.

  She took a deep breath and said, “There is a worst-worst-worst option.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “If his childhood development had been...influenced in a harmful way, or if he’d experienced unhealthy urges that weren’t dealt with professionally and in a timely manner, it could be bad.”

  “Ah. I think I follow. What you’re saying is that we might be sharing our adventure with a sociopath.”