What Befalls the Children: Book 4 in the Troop of Shadows Series

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

Willadean nodded. “You’re probably right about that. We’ve blazed this trail recently. It’s our new favorite, especially since it leads to this meadow.” Like a game show model, she made a sweeping gesture toward a clearing ten yards ahead.

  Patches of blue sky and fleecy clouds peeked between gnarled branches. From the edge of the tree line, the foursome peered into the meadow at a plastic-wrapped bundle of boxes positioned there.

  “Let me get it,” Fergus said with a glance up at the sky. Before anyone could argue, he darted into the clearing and scooped up the bundle. The children waited at the edge of the forest, knives drawn, ready to attack the plastic sheathing upon his return.

  “It’s different this time,” Willadean said with a frown.

  “Pop-Tarts again, Willa!” Cricket squealed.

  “Yeah, but not many. And there’s other stuff, too. Damn, he took up valuable cargo space. Nobody is sick or hurt. Why do we need Cephalexin and Band-Aids?”

  “Your drone pilot doesn’t know you’re not sick or hurt. Hmmm, a bottle of peroxide, nice. Water-purifying tablets, excellent. Vitamin C supplements, a tarp, matches. Your Good Samaritan has resources. Fascinating...”

  Suddenly Harlan began signing. Whatever he said compelled his sister to dash into the clearing, unfolding a sheet of drawing paper as she ran.

  “Willadean, get back over here this instant!” Fergus said.

  The child ignored him, quickly placing an oversized note between two bowling-ball sized rocks. Just as she scrambled back into the marginal safety of the forest, a flying object whizzed into the blue patch of sky.

  Instinctively, they crouched low, watching the drone hover above the clearing, then slowly descend. It sounded like a swarm of angry bees and it looked like a flying plus sign with four rotating blades. With graceful movements, it lowered itself to a position a few feet above Willadean’s note, like a dragonfly poised above an insect-covered pond.

  “What did you write?” Fergus asked.

  “I didn’t have much room because I figured I should make the letters extra-large. I just said, PLEASE SEND CANDY NEXT TIME. If he doesn’t have any, maybe he’ll get the idea and send age-appropriate stuff instead of more of this crap.”

  Fergus rolled his eyes, started to reply, but was cut off by an irritated sshhh!

  The mechanical creature seemed to be reading the note. Of course that wasn’t happening — the drone operator was viewing it through the lens of the camera — but visually it was impossible not to attribute human, or insectile, qualities to the thing. Finally, it had its fill, and lifted up into the blue patch of sky, then zoomed off to the north.

  That’s what Fergus had been waiting for. He noted the trajectory.

  “Only two boxes of Pop-Tarts and no mac and cheese,” Willadean lamented. “Maybe next time will be better. Okay, boys, let’s take this stuff to the cache.”

  “You have a cache?”

  “Of course. We can’t eat everything all at once. And we can’t take any of it back home.”

  “Right. Then Serena Jo would know what you’ve been up to and put an end to this risky behavior.”

  “It’s only risky if we’re not careful.”

  “I have to admit, I feel a bit better after seeing the medical supplies, but it’s not enough. I need to find out who is behind this, and more importantly, what his end game is.”

  “I hope you don’t make that guy mad, Mister Fergus,” Cricket said between bites of strawberry pastry. “I’d sure hate for him to stop sending this stuff.”

  Willadean ignored Cricket, homing in on Fergus. “How will you do it? If you don’t come back to the village, Mama will know you breached the perimeter. That won’t end well for you.”

  “Right. That’s why you’re going to ask your grandfather to cover for me. I’m leaving now. Based on the limited range of these things, I expect to find its base no farther than a few miles to the north. I think I know where to start looking. Your job, Agent Willadean, is to convince your grandfather to tell everyone I’m ill. Tell him to embellish the cover story with lurid details of noxious-smelling vomit and liquid bowel movements. That should keep everyone away for at least a day.”

  Harlan signed to his sister.

  “Harlan wants to know how you’re going to get back through the perimeter without being caught.”

  “It won’t be easy navigating that arboreal obstacle course, but I’m sure I can manage. I’m rather resourceful for a scholarly type. Don’t let my professorial façade fool you.”

  “I like you, but I don’t buy the professor thing.”

  “Clearly you have impeccable taste.”

  “Clearly I’m not easily hoodwinked.”

  “But are you bamboozled?”

  “Nope.”

  “Hornswoggled?”

  Willadean snorted. “Nope. And neither am I deceived, deluded, nor duped.”

  “But are you cozened?”

  There was the sudden keen interest again. He had gifted another gem to her glossarial repository and she hadn’t noticed the pivot from the matter of his background.

  “How do you spell it?”

  “Do we have a deal? You’ll make sure my absence is convincingly explained? No need for an exchange of hemoglobin. Just a promise.”

  “You have it.”

  After spelling the new word and a brief lecture from Cricket on navigating the forest, he took off in the direction of the drone.

  Chapter 8

  Ray

  Ray had no idea how long someone had been banging on his door. He’d been listening to John Denver while watching the drone footage from that afternoon. PLEASE SEND CANDY NEXT TIME made him smile every time he read it.

  The government had installed discreet security cameras at the facility’s entrances. As part of his evening routine, he logged into the internal monitoring system to look for anything amiss in Self-Storageville.

  If the small man currently pounding on the heavy-gauge commercial rolling door had been carrying a pot of gold in his other hand, Ray would have only been mildly surprised. The cameras filmed in black and white, so he could only speculate on the color of the bizarre hair. Surely it was red.

  He rolled his office chair backward, slamming it into his bunk, then reached into a file cabinet used as a bedside table. The Glock had not been fired since the shooting range in Gatlinburg prior to Chicxulub, but he continued to clean and oil it every month. The clip contained ten bullets. He hoped none would be required now.

  As he ran toward the commotion, he passed by Lizzy’s corridor.

  “We hear it too, Ray! We wonder if it has to do with your flying excursions!”

  She said something else that he didn’t catch; he was already two cavernous aisles away.

  He stopped at the rolling steel doors, fire-rated and custom-fitted to accommodate the space. Equipment brought to the facility over the years had arrived discreetly on generic long-haul trucks and unloaded under cover of darkness. The government did not want the self-storage facility’s nosy neighbors to witness the unusual variety of supplies being fed into the maw of the building. It owned the entire compound. The purpose of all those empty units surrounding Ray’s home was merely to provide cover for the operation. The treasure trove of supplies contained in the primary building was worth millions, so the security of the facility was necessarily austere. The double rolling doors where he stood now hadn’t been opened for three years. The final shipment brought through them had been of a personal nature, and he had been the only employee to unload it.

  After tapping a numerical code into the electronic pad next to the door, the monitor sprang to life. The man standing outside held his arms up in a gesture intended to express innocence. Ray studied him from the odd hair down to the well-worn boots before pressing the white button on the pad.

  “Step away from the door. I have a gun, and I will use it.”

  The grin that appeared within the beard seemed genuine.

  “Absolutely, sir. Stepping away now.�
� The man sprang down the metal steps, then turned to face the doors from the lower vantage. “I mean you no harm. I carry no firearms. I’m interested in neither pillaging nor plundering, but would appreciate a moment of your time. There’s a matter of some forest-dwelling children and the goodies you’ve been leaving for them.”

  Ray’s finger flew to the keypad. When the corrugated steel groaned and clanked, then began to rise, he crouched in the expanding opening with the Glock pointed downward.

  He had been right about the hair color.

  “I’m Fergus,” the intruder said, slowly climbing the metal steps, then extending a hand. The other hand still reached innocuously toward the darkening sky.

  For a reason he could not explain, Ray accepted the handshake, but kept the gun aimed at the small chest during the process. He felt a warm tingling sensation when their palms came together. For such a small man, he had a firm grip.

  “I’m Ray,” he said.

  “Yes, you are.” The man grinned again. His teeth looked clean and well-maintained. Smart folks took care of their teeth in a post-apocalyptic world.

  “Tell me about the children, Fergus.”

  “May I come in? I’ll remove my jacket so you can frisk me, but I think you know I’m not here to make trouble. You can sense it, can’t you?”

  There was no denying the benevolent body language, nor Ray’s own gut instinct. This strange little man was telling the truth. The notion of human interaction probably compelled the potential lapse in judgment. It had been so long since he’d enjoyed the company of someone who wasn’t a monster.

  “You may come in. I’ll keep the gun on you, just in case.”

  “Excellent,” Fergus said, springing through the opening and removing the jacket with slow, exaggerated motions. “I’ll just lay it here on the floor, then do a pirouette so you can inspect my clearly harmless person. See? Nothing to fear.”

  Ray conducted a quick pat-down. “I’ll take the jacket for now.”

  “Of course. Any cautious person would do the same. This is quite a place you have here, Ray. I’m guessing government, yes?”

  “Tell me about the children.”

  “Very well, but first may I offer you a nip of social lubricant? I have a flask in my jacket. I find conversations grow exponentially more enlightening with whiskey. I’ll take the first sip so you know it’s not poisoned.”

  Ray couldn’t help liking this strange man. He may regret it, but he decided to take a leap of faith.

  “I’ll pass on the whiskey, but you may join me for dinner. I’m still keeping the gun on you, if you don’t mind.”

  “Don’t mind at all. I’m famished. I’ve been walking for miles navigating the Fire Swamp and fighting Rodents of Unusual Size.”

  “You’re a movie buff.” Ray chuckled. He had watched the The Princess Bride dozens of times. It was one of a hundred DVD titles delivered to the facility on the final shipment.

  “Over here,” he said, using the Glock’s barrel to direct the small man toward the improvised kitchen area. He’d selected that corner of the building because of its proximity to the food pallets. When he was ready to microwave his dinner or brew a pot of coffee, he didn’t have to travel far for supplies. The washer and dryer were there, too. They’d arrived on that last shipment before the double rolling doors had closed for the final time.

  “Sit, please,” Ray said. “Hands on the table in front of you.” The aluminum table and its matching chairs had been scavenged from the employee lounge before he’d converted it to Lizzy’s prison. Now the table was mostly used for folding laundry. He preferred eating meals in his room.

  “Would you mind fetching the flask from my jacket?”

  There should be no harm in letting the man have his booze, but Ray wasn’t about to drink from the flask of a stranger. Even if it weren’t drugged or poisoned, there were surely germs inhabiting its interior and exterior.

  “No problem, but I won’t be joining you.”

  “A teetotaler, are you?”

  “No. I just prefer you keep your cooties to yourself.”

  The deep chuckle bounced off the ceiling and throughout the facility. Lizzy must be beside herself with curiosity.

  “Good thing I’m not easily offended. Now about that dinner...”

  “Your choices are Irish Stew or Asian Beef Strips.”

  “That’s a no-brainer. You may have guessed my heritage.”

  Ray smiled. “The red hair tipped me off, and I detect an accent. What part of Ireland?”

  “Dublin. I taught at Trinity College before moving to the states. I was at Dartmouth prior to the pandemic.”

  An academic. The day was definitely taking a turn for the better.

  “New Hampshire. That’s some pretty country. What subject?”

  “Music theory. You?”

  “Georgetown. M.S. in Health Systems Administration.”

  “I see. You ran this place before, didn’t you?”

  “How did you guess?”

  “Just a feeling. I’d heard of these types of national stockpiles. You Americans like to be prepared, don’t you?”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “Indeed. Smart folks hope for the best and plan for the worst.”

  “Tell me about the children, Fergus.”

  The blue eyes twinkled. “They’re fine, Ray. But I should tell you that you’re being taken advantage of. Just a wee bit.”

  “So they’re not starving? Who’s taking care of them?”

  “It’s not my place to say. Just know that they’re healthy and happy. And safe,” he added with a meaningful look.

  “So there are plenty of adults looking after them?”

  “No worries there.”

  Ray sighed. He realized at that moment just how much he had been fretting about the children. “That’s wonderful to hear.”

  “They’re trying to extort candy from you.”

  “Yes, I saw that. I have some, but it will take a bit of digging to get to it. When communities suffer a catastrophic event — tornado, flood, hurricane — the people who often suffer the most during the aftermath are the children. Their worlds have been turned upside down, and unlike the adults, they’re usually helpless to do anything. So as part of our national disaster preparedness plan, we decided to include items meant to comfort. Stuffed animals, cozy pajamas, candy.”

  “That’s brilliant. You probably have enough candy here for a thousand children.” The blue eyes took in all the wonders that were visible from their vantage. But Ray was no fool. The pharmaceuticals and firearms were secured at the far side of the building, well beyond the visual range of this stranger.

  “It think so, too. So how did you find me? And why exactly did you come looking?” Best just to get that out in the open. He could only guess at the horrors people experienced during the pandemic and what followed: complete societal collapse. He had been safe and well-fed throughout. How bad had it gotten out there? What had people been reduced to? Had this man sitting before him committed atrocities? Ray gave a small, involuntary shiver. It wasn’t missed by his dinner companion.

  The small man took a deep breath, then said, “I’m not starving, Ray. I’m just a bit peckish from the hike over. I’m in good health. I have no desire to take anything from you, nor does anyone I know. The children and their...group...are fine. They’re better than fine,” he added. “They’re quite happy with their primitive lifestyle. I’m not saying they would turn down any gifts you were so inclined to offer from your vast reserves, but they don’t need anything. At least not yet. In many ways, their lives are more satisfying now than before. Maybe that’s the key to happiness — not having everything you could possibly want or need at the press of a button or with a dash to the corner store.” He gestured to the warehouse contents.

  “Maybe,” Ray replied. “But there’s something to be said for not having to worry about where your next meal is coming from. Why are you here, Fergus?”

  “Simpl
e. The kids told me about your drone and your benevolence. I had to make sure you weren’t a pedophile.”

  “I’m a lot of things, but pedophile is not on the list.”

  “I can see that. But I bet lonely is. When was the last time you had a conversation with another human being?”

  Ray’s laugh was bitter. “You should qualify that statement by adding sane before human being.”

  At that moment, Lizzy’s voice echoed down the corridor. Her timing was perfect.

  “We are tired of waiting, Ray! We want dinner. We want to know who is inside here with us. We can smell hiiimmm.”

  Ray watched the expression on the newcomer’s face transition from mild concern to surprised alarm.

  “What the hell, Ray? Who is that?”

  “That would be Lizzy,” he said.

  “Tell me about her.”

  “I’ll tell you about her while we eat. I’ll leave out the gory parts until you’ve finished.”

  ***

  “Hello, Lizzy. My name is Fergus.”

  They stood in the corridor several feet away from the steel mesh wall of Lizzy’s prison. She had been standing just on the other side of it when they arrived with her dinner. She was expecting them.

  “Are you a leprechaun?” she said in the voice that always made Ray think of tree limbs creaking in the wind. In a cemetery. At midnight. It was her witch affectation, the one she’d been using for a couple of weeks now. Every voice was different, determined by the personality or character currently assumed.

  “No, I’m not a leprechaun. Ray told me about you, Lizzy,” Fergus said. The blue eyes no longer twinkled as they had during dinner. “It sounds to me like you belong in there.”

  Lizzy’s unfurling lips stretched all the way to the long, inky-black hair on either side of her face. He’d never seen a mouth that wide. Lizzy liked to brag about the extra teeth she claimed to possess. Hyperdontia was rare, but it did occur. It wouldn’t surprise him if Lizzy were telling the truth about that, at least. But he hadn’t gotten close enough to check.

  “Perhaps. Doesn’t mean we like it, or that we will tolerate confinement indefinitely.”