Moving With The Sun

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  ~~~

  The transmission ended.

  One former and two current residents of Cthor-Vangt stood in silence on the saturated bank of the Intracoastal Waterway. With every passing minute, the unrelenting wind and torrential downpour seemed to intensify. Despite the warm temperature, Amelia shivered.

  Chapter 45 - Rosemary

  “Come on, Lucas. You must have some idea who the murderer is,” Rosemary said, shrugging into a plastic yellow poncho. Annoyingly, Lucas still lounged on the sofa after Ingrid had left with the two newcomers.

  “Maybe I do, but it would be irresponsible to accuse anyone without proof. That’s how it works.”

  “That’s how it worked before. Everything is different now.”

  “It wasn’t different a few days ago when you told me you wanted empirical evidence.”

  “That was before this downpour started and I became more convinced about the hurricane. Especially now after that stranger showed up and corroborated Ingrid’s visions.”

  “Yeah, that’s a weird coincidence,” Lucas said, grudging acceptance in his tone.

  “Oh, you believe it now?”

  “I didn’t say that. Let’s just say I think there might be something to it. There is some strange shit happening lately.”

  “I just wish Fergus had come back to let us know what we’re facing in Tequesta. The British fellow confirmed the group is still there, and the gunfire he heard is troubling. So the question now is, if we do evacuate, where do we go? It can’t be just a straight shot across the Intracoastal because we could run right into the Terminators. So do we go north or south? What will we find when we arrive? God, I hate not knowing things.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the Love Shack to inventory our supplies and check on the power grid, then I’m going to the beach to inspect the boats. What will you be doing?” She opened the front door, letting the rain pour onto her tiled entryway. The reality of its acceleration disheartened her. She would have to make a decision soon.

  Lucas gave her the roguish smile she usually found sexy.

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head about what I’ll be doing. Got your pepper spray? Got your knife?”

  “Yes.” She fingered the lumps in the pocket of her capris, then stepped out into the rain.

  “Keep them handy!” he said as she closed the door behind her.

  When she arrived at the solar panel field a few minutes later, the pepper spray and knife were still in her pocket. Chin was there checking on the equipment, clucking and humming as he moved from one panel to the next.

  “How is the system?”

  She decided he was ignoring her after a full minute passed without a response.

  Finally he said, “Looking okay, for now. Not so good if salt water gets there.” He gestured to the outbuilding that held the 12-volt batteries and inverters.

  “No kidding. Are the panels secure?” she said, then almost laughed at the blatant look of annoyance on the man’s face. His hands were on his hips now as he glowered at her.

  “I no tell you how to do your job. You no tell me how to do my job. I go home for now. I not a goddamn duck.”

  She was chuckling to herself when she opened the door to the Love Shack. She was surprised to see Charlotte there, rummaging through one of the freezers. The woman was dripping wet and had left a trail of sand and water from the doorway to the kitchen.

  “Hey, Charlotte. Listen, don’t worry about cooking for now. People can get by on their own food until the weather improves.”

  “I don’t feel right about that,” Charlotte replied without turning.

  “It’s okay. You’re such a trooper for coming out in this and trying to feed people. I think you’ve spoiled us.”

  A snicker came from the thin woman. It was an unusual sound, nothing like Charlotte’s normal laugh. She continued to ferret through the foil-wrapped contents.

  “I mean it,” Rosemary said, frowning now. “We should save the juice in the batteries for more critical things.”

  “Is that a direct order, oh Fearless Leader?” Charlotte said, pivoting to face her now. She wore a macabre, Jack-O-Lantern grin.

  Rosemary had two thoughts at that moment – one crazy and the other unsettling. First, she imagined placing a tea-light candle in the woman’s mouth so it would shine through the gaps left by absent teeth. Second, she realized the Kentucky accent was gone.

  She was looking at the killer. She remembered the pepper spray and knife in her pocket and fumbled for them now under the rain-slicked yellow plastic.

  The grin widened, as Charlotte’s hand moved toward a canvas bag slung over a bony shoulder.

  “Your timing is unfortunate,” she said, then darted across the floor faster than Rosemary would have thought possible.

  The blade was so sharp, she barely felt it slice through the hand she had instinctively raised. The second blade was serrated. She felt its progress from left side to right as it slashed her throat. There was surprisingly little pain; more concerning was the abrupt absence of oxygen.

  Her trachea had been severed by the grinning monster before her.

  Her knees collapsed. As she lay on the wet floor, she thought about the man she had befriended in her old life, saw him dangling from his dining room chandelier. No matter how much good she had done since that day, it would never be enough to make up for his suicide. As her body began to shut down, she experienced a moment of clarity: this was what she deserved. It felt right...proper...fitting. She didn’t resent her premature death. It was the price she always knew she would pay for her transgressions.

  “For the Angel of Death spread her wings on the blast, and breathed in the face of the foe as she passed; and eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, and the hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still. That’s Byron. Apropos, yes? I had to change the pronouns from male to female, of course.”

  They were the last words Rosemary would hear.

  Chapter 46 – Ingrid

  “I think it best that we leave now, before the weather gets worse,” Harold said soon after they arrived at Ingrid’s house. He and Jessie had asked for a moment alone to discuss their situation, and she had respected the request. She had no idea what the two were talking about, and while it shouldn’t be her business, she felt piqued at being excluded.

  She had been dreaming of this man for years. He was her soulmate; as cliché as that term was, it applied to him. How else would you describe a person you had never met but had been in love with for decades? She always suspected he dreamt of her as well, but to discover the truth of it was the most gratifying moment of her life.

  “Yes, I agree. I won’t wait until Rosemary decides we’re right about the hurricane. By then it may well be too late. We’ll gather some supplies and head down to the beach where the kayaks and boats are kept. You’re skilled with water craft?”

  “I’m an Englishman, so the answer is yes, of course.”

  “I’m still trying to wrap my brain around all this.” She felt shy suddenly. They stood inches apart now. Jessie’s owl eyes watched from across the expanse of the living room. Ingrid barely noticed her presence, enthralled by the flesh-and-blood version of her dream man standing in front of her.

  “So am I. And I eagerly await the opportunity to fully explore our...connection. But that must wait until we are off the island.”

  She loved that his gaze lingered on her lips an extra moment before traveling back up to her eyes. She had always been secretly proud of those lips; they were still full at her age, and damn few old-lady lines framed them.

  “You’re right, of course. Let’s be about our business, then.”

  For the next half hour, she directed Harold and Jessie’s activities as she prepared to leave her home. A pragmatist would not bring jewelry boxes filled with diamond rings and strands of cultured pearls; nor unwieldy photo albums; nor sentimental keepsakes. A pragmatist would bring easy-to-carry food, bottles of water, and a loaded r
evolver.

  Harold pulled the wagon down the cobblestone footpath behind her and Jessie, who darted covert glances her way every few seconds. The child was lovely, but those large green eyes were unsettling. There was something not quite right about the little girl, but the riddle of Jessie would also have to wait.

  The sustained winds were not screaming yet, but they seemed intent on that goal. She wished she had done a better job of convincing Rosemary to evacuate. There were a few people in the Colony whom she genuinely liked; she hoped they would follow her lead.

  A figure appeared twenty yards ahead. In the heavy rain, it was difficult to make out who it was. She squinted through the downpour.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said as the woman approached.

  Charlotte wore a black rain slicker. The pale, homely face seemed to float inside the hood. Ingrid felt something tug at her memory, but she dismissed it. No time for ruminating or chit chat.

  “Where you goin’?” Charlotte said when they were within speaking range.

  “We’re headed to the kayaks. We’re getting out of here, and if you’re smart, you’ll do the same.”

  The thin woman snickered. It sounded strange to Ingrid’s ears, but it didn’t matter now. She was on a mission.

  “Good luck with that,” Charlotte said. “Who are your friends?” She saw intense interest in the woman’s face, and also something else. Amusement, perhaps? What the hell was there to be amused about at a time like this?

  “None of your business.”

  “I’m Charlotte,” the Colony’s cook said to Jessie, thrusting a skeletal hand toward the child.

  Jessie’s eyes opened wide when she looked at the hand; a silver band with a purple gem encircled the middle finger.

  “Harold, my dream. You remember the one?” Jessie said, looking at Harold in alarm.

  Something passed between the two...some private message to which Ingrid was not privy.

  Charlotte chortled again – an odd muffled sound she had never heard come from the woman – then skittered off, up the path and away from the beach.

  “What just happened?” Ingrid said.

  “Jessie has been having some nightmares.”

  “Harold,” the child said, tugging at his sleeve and giving him a frightened look. “I saw the ring. And the terrible cursive words written on the paper.”

  Harold squatted down next to her, wrapping the small hands in his. “Jessie, Amelia is safe. She’s waiting for us now, and if you want to see her, we must leave at once. Do you understand?”

  Ingrid felt like a clueless outsider. Not only did she have no idea what the two were talking about, she felt a stab of jealousy at the camaraderie they shared.

  And how the hell did these people know Amelia?

  She was about to ask when Harold waved her off. The gesture almost felt like a physical blow.

  “Jessie, we can’t help everyone. My job now is to save you. That’s all that matters. And you know why.”

  Seconds ticked past.

  “You’re right. Let’s go,” the child said finally, turning her back on them both and darting down the cobblestones toward the ocean.

  Ingrid gave Harold a cool nod and went after her. She didn’t bother looking back to see if he followed. She knew he did, but was it because of Jessie or her?

  ***

  Harold: An unfortunate development here.

  Tung: What is it?

  Harold: All the watercraft have drifted out to sea. It appears the anchor lines were severed.

  Tung: This is the worst possible news.

  Harold: You’re telling me. I’m the one stuck on this doomed island.

  Tung: Stay put, then. We’ll come to you.

  Harold: Best hurry. The storm is getting stronger by the minute.

  Tung: Yes, Harold, I’m aware of that. I’m still standing on the bank of the waterway, soaked to the skin and as miserable as a human can be.

  Harold: And that is because of me and Jessie. I realize that, and I’m very sorry, Tung.

  Tung: Don’t forget Amelia’s complicity. Stay safe until we can get there. I’ll communicate as soon as we’ve found a suitable vessel.

  ***

  “Harold!” Ingrid yelled to her dream man, who stood near the shoreline in the pouring rain with his eyes closed. The boats and kayaks bobbed about in the surging, frothing waves – much too far to consider swimming out to, even if she were forty years younger. She had seen storms in the Atlantic, but this one would be worse than any before, and now there was no escaping it. Perhaps she had known this would happen all along. It felt appropriate, somehow. She would either survive it, or she would not.

  There were worse ways to go.

  “Sorry, my dear. I was contemplating our strategy.”

  “Our only strategy now is get away from the water’s edge, out of this downpour, and into some dry clothes. My house is the safest place on the island.”

  Harold nodded. “Perhaps we’ll be rescued,” he said with that charming grin.

  “Who would rescue us and why? Never mind that now. I’m drenched. I just want to go home.” When she spoke the words, another impression from the shrouded-killer nightmare flashed through her mind: safety was to be found on the beach, not in the direction of her home. Well, that might have been the case before all the boats were liberated from their anchors. Now everything had changed. There was no choice.

  Jessie and Harold followed her back up the cobblestones. As they approached the Love Shack, she decided to warn anyone there about the absent fleet. Then, they would go by Rosemary’s house to inform her there would be no escape for the Colonists. After that, she would wash her hands of the matter and focus on keeping herself, Harold, and the child as safe as possible.

  “Oh dear lord,” she whispered moments later.

  Rosemary’s body lay in a sea of blood. Her arms stretched out Christ-like on the tiled floor; her head turned toward the doorway; her lifeless eyes stared at something no living person could see.

  “It was that lady who did it. The one with the ring,” the child said.

  The puzzle pieces clicked into place. The shrouded killer from her dream was Charlotte in a hooded black slicker.

  “I think you’re right.” Ingrid couldn’t stop staring at Rosemary’s body. She had developed respect – even some fondness – for the strong-willed woman. Rosemary had spearheaded most of the advancements and improvements in their community. She didn’t deserve this ending.

  “I think you should retrieve that revolver now,” Harold said.

  She pulled it from her knapsack in a daze, handing it to him.

  “My hands are shaking too badly to aim it. We need to tell Lucas. He won’t take this well.”

  Jessie tugged on Harold’s sleeve again. “Should I...?” she whispered.

  Harold gave a curt shake of his head.

  Again, Ingrid felt like an interloper. There was much more than just a profound kinship between these two. And if she lived through the hurricane, as unlikely as that was, she intended to get to the bottom of it.

  Chapter 47 – Jessie

  It was a good thing she didn’t try to help Rosemary; she was too far gone, unlike Harold had been. Jessie couldn’t imagine what would happen if she brought back someone whose brain had begun to die. Would the person act like the zombies in those horror movies her daddy wouldn’t let her watch? Or just be slow and not very smart?

  She shook her head to clear her thoughts and followed Ingrid up the path. It was raining hard, and even though it was warm, she shivered. Harold was behind her pulling the wagon. They were going to tell Rosemary’s boyfriend about their discovery. Jessie thought she would get close to the policeman and send him waves of happy thoughts to help with his grief. She knew he would go after Charlotte the killer and was glad about that. Then the lady with the missing teeth and the bony hands couldn’t hurt Amelia or anyone else ever again.

  Ingrid stepped off the cobblestones and onto a residential street. After pas
sing a few abandoned dwellings, she veered toward a pale pink structure. It looked like a doll house. If Jessie ever got old enough to live above ground by herself, she would like a home just like this one.

  There might be room for a horse in that backyard.

  Ingrid knocked on the front door. After a few seconds, Lucas opened it. He wore a gray raincoat, rubber galoshes, and a belt with a holstered gun. Jessie felt a tap on her shoulder when she started for the front door.

  “Perhaps we should let Ingrid handle this by herself. It’s the worst news someone can receive. Lucas might not want other people to see him upset. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. They watched Ingrid speak to the good-looking man; watched her pull him close in a hug; watched her say something else to him and kiss his cheek, then turn and walk back down the sidewalk toward them.

  “It’s done. Let’s go home.”

  Harold’s girlfriend (as she had come to think of Ingrid) looked like she had aged a decade after delivering the bad news. For some reason, that made Jessie like her even more.

  “Leave your wet things by the front door. I’ll tend to them later,” Ingrid said as they entered the palace. It was the biggest and prettiest house Jessie had ever seen. She wouldn’t be surprised if a princess lived upstairs in one of those rooms that had a balcony. She had seen those balconies from outside and imagined Rapunzel unfurling her long blond hair over the railing.

  Maybe she would get to sleep in one of those rooms...

  “Stay where you are and I’ll bring some towels and dry clothes. They won’t fit well – Hector was a foot shorter than you – but they’ll do. Jessie, I have some clothes that my grand-nieces left the last time they visited. Stay put, both of you. I don’t want you tracking water all through the house again.”

  Jessie smiled when she saw Harold gazing at Ingrid’s backside as she darted up the curved staircase. She was very graceful and moved fast for an older lady. Harold was probably thinking the same thing.

  “Are they coming for us?” she whispered.