The Taking

by Becky Johnson

  Matt continued, "I'll find Henry. He can't have gone far. I'll find him, bring him to your house, and the three of us will wait it out."

  Sarah managed to mumble an okay in response, and they hung up without saying goodbye. Somehow, tonight, goodbye had the potential to be a little too real.

  With the phone still clutched in her hand, Sarah resumed her post, gazing out across the backyards connecting her home to Henry’s.

  Fifteen seconds of bravery and she could be home. That’s all it would take. Fifteen seconds and she would make it back to the security of her own home. She just didn’t know if fifteen seconds was too long.

  6:05 p.m.

  Phone clutched in his hand, Matt’s frantic gaze flew from wall to wall of the garage. He had always wanted to defy the rules of Heritage on the night of the Taking. He had always wanted to do something like what he was about to do, but he had never actually done it. He pushed his phone into his back pocket before he reconnected the truck’s battery and closed the hood. He lifted the old garage door by hand, wincing every time it squeaked. If his mother heard him leave it would send her into a panic.

  With the door opened he looked both ways, up and down the street for any evidence of something off. It was the same quiet street he had surveyed only moments before. Matt climbed into the driver’s seat of the truck and then hesitated as his gaze slid around the garage. Strangely he felt like he was saying goodbye. Shaking off the unease, Matt locked the truck doors before putting it in neutral and rolling forward down the slight incline out of the garage. In the driveway, he put on the emergency brake then ran back to close the garage door. He didn’t want anything to draw the Takers attentions to his home.

  Before climbing back in the truck, Matt took a second to look up and down the tree-lined street. It was dark, no lights anywhere, especially none from people’s windows. It was like a blackout. But there was nothing else to indicate anything different or unique about this night. It was just a dark street. Matt almost wished he could see a visible threat. Something he could fight, instead of the quiet dread that permeated every corner of Heritage. The Takers didn’t need to do anything else; They had already defeated the town.

  6:07 p.m.

  The soft whispers went silent as the Mayor stood up in front of the room. A slight man with pale blue eyes and thinning hair he kept combed over his broad forehead, the Mayor didn’t bang a gavel or whistle. He didn’t even speak until the group noticed him and voluntarily shut their mouths. It wouldn’t do at all for a louder than normal sound to travel outside of these four walls and alert the Takers to their presence, not after they’d gone through so much work to make sure they were all but invisible.

  Paul sat up in his seat but kept his gaze down. He didn’t want to hear another round of ‘isn’t this great how we take care of our community’ or ‘we know how challenging this is, but it’s necessary for the greater good.’ Necessary, ha. It wasn’t necessary any more than it was good. Every month on the new moon the leaders gathered and basically drew straws. If your number came up, you went outside to face the Takers. If you fought or tried to resist, the people of Heritage would tie you up, knock you over the head, and forcibly throw you out the door, a sacrifice to the Takers. If your family decided to intervene, they would be restrained.

  Claire yelling at him to stay back. Pushing. Yelling. Screaming to get to her. Sharp pain and then nothing.

  Paul shook his head. Tonight wasn’t about that. He couldn’t remember, not right now. Right now, he needed to focus on why he was here. He needed to focus on what he was going to do. In a few hours, this would all be over, and he would be at peace with Claire. Henry’s face floated through his mind, but he pushed it away. He couldn’t think about him now. All he could do right now was focus on this meeting and make it through the next five minutes. Up at the front, the Mayor was giving his speech about sacrifice and how the town was better because of the people gathered in this room. Bullshit, all of it, but as Paul surreptitiously gazed around the room he saw heads nodding along in complete agreement. Sheep, all of them.

  He took a deep breath in and held it for five long seconds before letting it out in a rush. He focused on the Mayor again.

  “As always. I want to ask if there are any volunteers.” Everyone in the room tensed as if they were all collectively holding their breath. Sometimes someone would volunteer if they were sick or old, and for the rest of the town that was always a relief. The Mayor looked over the crowd allowing the silence to drag on before he spoke again.

  “We will draw the lottery.” The Mayor turned to his secretary, Jonas, a slender, balding man with thin wire-framed glasses who rarely strayed more than a foot from the Mayor’s side. Paul found himself wondering if the two took shits together. He stifled the inappropriate snicker.

  Jonas rushed from the room and returned shortly with a black tin lock box. He placed it on the table in front of the Mayor before deferentially backing away.

  The Mayor reached into his shirt and drew out a long chain with a small key that glinted in the dim light of the meeting room. The Mayor held the key up high as though it were a long-lost treasure. His movements brought pomp and circumstance to a ceremony that was anything but celebrated. The Mayor fit the key to the lock, turned it, and opened the box revealing the stones that would determine someone’s fate tonight.

  The Mayor's voice boomed out somehow loud in the silent room, despite his soft tone. “When Heritage was first formed it was a peaceful sanctuary for our ancestors. They longed to escape the horror of the Civil War and found peace here in this valley. For many years they lived free of the horror and hatred that filled the outside world. Their crops flourished. Their children grew up strong and innocent of the hatred and evil in the world around them. They did not know that there was a price for their freedom. A sacrifice required to maintain peaceful isolation. When the Takers first appeared, our ancestors tried to fight them.”

  The Mayor paused and dropped his gaze as though pondering the foolishness of these ancestors and their fighting. Looking out at his rapt audience, he resumed his speech. “My grandfather was Mayor of Heritage, at that time he spent hours in prayer and counsel with the town leaders. One night the answer came to him while he knelt on his knees in this very room.”

  He looked around making sure that he had the audience’s complete focus. “He realized that sacrifice was necessary to keep the peace and the drawing was born. Each family in our town is represented in this box. Each family has volunteered to sacrifice one of their own if the stones call for it. In the 150 years since that night Heritage has continued to prosper. We are free of the evil of the world. Free of the burden of worry about our future." The Mayor raised his arms and spread his hands as he cast his gaze up to the ceiling. When he spoke again, his voice shook with passion. "Heritage will keep us safe. Heritage gives us a secure future where we will never go hungry or worry about our children being corrupted by drugs, immorality, and the ways of the world.”

  At this proclamation heads around the room nodded in agreement. The utopia they were promised carried more weight than the current horror.

  The Mayor cast his gaze around the room once more before placing his hands over the stones and bowing his head. “God, we ask that you guide the drawing of this stone tonight. Give the Chosen One strength and peace to face the coming trial. We thank you for your grace in providing us with this means of protecting our community. In your name, we come together and are gathered here, Amen.”

  Paul felt nausea roll through his stomach, and he swallowed hard to hold back the sour taste in his throat. He couldn’t lose it now.

  With his speech done the Mayor cast a solemn gaze around the room. He gave the impression of looking at each person without ever actually making eye contact. He stepped to the box, held his hand over it, and closed his eyes. No one moved. You couldn’t even hear anyone breathe. Tense and silent, everyone became perfectly still.

  Finally, the Mayor’s hand dropped and drifted
over the stones before closing his fingers around one and lifting it out. His dark eyes surveyed the rock in his hand before looking back at the crowd and stating in a quiet voice that carried to each corner of the room.

  “Anderson.”

  6:22 p.m.

  The backpack was heavy. Much more substantial than it’d felt when Henry had first pulled it on to his shoulders an hour earlier. Now the backpack was a weight holding him down, keeping him down. Henry trudged a few more steps while looking for somewhere to rest for a little while. He was close to the school and just a few blocks from the woods that surrounded Heritage. This was as good place as any to rest before leaving town. He slipped through the well-known gap in the school fence and headed toward the back corner of the playground.

  The Heritage school faced Main Street which ran east-west through town and was the only street lined by shops, a doctor’s office, government buildings, and the post office rather than homes. Heritage School was a rectangular two-story brick building that housed Pre-K through twelfth grade. The average class size was fifteen, and the entire school boasted an attendance of 167 students. The textbooks were ancient. History lessons stopped in the 1950s, and the science books avoided controversial topics like evolution. Small streets on each side and one behind defined the school boundaries. The other side of those streets were lined by cookie-cutter, plain white, Cape Cod style houses. The playground stretched along the east side of the school while athletic fields covered the back.

  For now, Henry headed toward the athletic fields. He could take a break under the bleachers where it was dark and hidden. Henry didn’t know if Sarah would come looking for him, but even if she did, he would see her before she could spot him in the dark. He felt one brief moment of guilt for the worry he would cause Sarah. Then he reminded himself that this place wasn’t his home.

  Henry crossed the field behind the school while humming the Batman theme song under his breath. This was an adventure like none other. He was the dark crusader making the long journey home. He crouched and dodged to the left before running to the right, pretending he was avoiding bad guys in Gotham City. He ducked and crouched his way to the bleachers. Reaching the steel steps, he climbed under and crawled toward the middle where he would be hidden from anyone passing by.

  Henry settled with his back against a support pole and pulled his backpack in front of him. He would just take a short break and eat a snack before he headed out again. In a couple of hours, he would make it to the highway and be on his way home.

  He checked his glow-in-the-dark Deadpool watch. It was a little after six. He had plenty of time before his uncle would even be home. By the time Uncle Paul realized he was missing, Henry would be in a tractor-trailer truck on the way to Pittsburg. One of Henry’s favorite books was about a boy in the 1940s who rode cross-country in a train. He figured tractor-trailer trucks were the closest he could get to that.

  Henry pulled a can of soda and an apple from the bottom of his backpack. The hiss of the can opening seemed loud in the midst of the silent night, and he stopped still, checking if anything reacted. Nothing moved. He continued with his snack. He crunched the apple and looked out over the street that ran behind the school. Directly across from him was the Stevens house. Julie Stevens was a few years older than him, but they were still at the same school. He idly wondered if she was home. Maybe sitting inside her house right now, looking out across at him.

  Henry shivered. The sensation of being watched intensified. He gazed at the Stevens’ house, but it was dark and quiet. He reached into his backpack for his spare sweatshirt to combat the sudden chill as he was struck by the feeling he was not alone. With his bag and sweatshirt clutched to his chest, he pressed against the support post behind his back and hastily looked around. He didn’t see anything. Nothing stirred in the shadows under the bleachers. He shuffled around the post and looked out between the bleachers to the athletic field. Nothing. He let out a breath that puffed into fog before him.

  He was shaking, whether from cold or fear he wasn’t sure. He moved as quietly as possible, suddenly sure that if he made even the slightest noise that whatever presence he sensed would find him. He had no idea what would happen then, but he knew he didn’t want to be found.

  Henry slid back around the post, so he was once again facing the street. It was empty and still. Completely motionless. The breeze that moments ago rustled the leaves was gone. Tension filled the air like the moment in a thunderstorm right before lightning struck.

  A light on the street flashed, and a figure appeared before vanishing. Henry pressed his hand over his mouth to hold in the scream that threatened as ice flooded his veins. What was that? What did he see? Another jolt of light and a figure dressed in black appeared on the street before him. The figure faded and then reappeared like a television image flashing in and out.

  For a second, the figure seemed not entirely stable, not quite real, then the air cracked again, and the figure moved forward, solid and confident.

  Henry pressed his fists to his mouth trying to stifle his rapid breathing. The night was so silent he was afraid that his heartbeat was enough to give away his hiding place. The tension built again, electricity crackling along the ground and turning the air ice cold. Another snap ripped through the air, and three others joined the figure. They looked at each other. Henry couldn’t hear anything, but the figures seemed to be talking to each other – communicating in some way.

  They moved down the street. Long black cloaks with deep hoods covered their bodies. Each step was more of a glide than a footfall. He couldn’t see their feet or their hands, although they moved as though they had both. The black hoods covering their heads faced forward toward the town center, and they moved down the street in unison. Turning neither right nor left all four facing the center. The air was so still. It was like they moved through water with slight ripples of disturbed air appearing behind them.

  Henry could barely breathe. The air felt cold and heavy. It took effort to pump his lungs like they were filled with ice.

  The group moved slowly and smoothly until they were directly across from Henry where they suddenly stopped still, so unmoving it appeared they were frozen. A group cloaked in a darkness so complete that details were lost in the black. All four figures seemed to shudder and phase, moving between this world and whatever hell from which they came. When they solidified again, the figure closest to Henry turned and looked right at him.

  6:22 p.m.

  The air was cold, burning her lungs as she breathed in and out. Her joints ached, and each footstep seemed harder than the one before. Ruth had left her house only moments ago, but it already felt as though she had walked miles uphill in a blizzard, rather than a few suburban blocks.

  The wind whispered through the trees like a gentle breeze, but around her, it cut through her coat like the gales of a hurricane. She felt her body lean forward as she struggled to walk into the wind that pushed her back towards her home.

  Ruth labored through her steps, forcing herself forward foot by foot. The houses that lined the street and the gently swaying trees that surrounded them were quiet and dark. Peaceful almost. The oddity of seeing one thing while experiencing another was not lost on Ruth. It felt as though she was walking down a different street than the one before her eyes, as though two realities were combined into what she was feeling and what she was seeing.

  She pressed on. One foot in front of the other, leaning into the wind.

  6:25 p.m.

  Sarah sat against the backdoor in Henry’s house, her arms wrapped around her knees and her phone clutched tight in her hand.

  Matt was on his way. He would find Henry. Everything would be okay. She repeated it like a mantra over and over again. Everything would be okay. She tried to make herself believe that.

  Sarah rocked herself, more aware and afraid than any previous Taking. Except of course when her mother. No… she wasn’t thinking about that. It wouldn’t help anything.

  Her phone buzzed i
n her hand. A text from Matt.

  I’m on main street. No sign yet. I’ll keep you updated.

  Sarah pressed the phone to her forehead. This was her worst nightmare come to life. The Takers were here, and people she cared about were in danger. She was terrified. Matt’s words from earlier came back to her. Just be brave for a little while. She sat for another second before she stood to peer out the window again, looking toward her house. It all seemed normal. No signs that tonight death walked the streets.

  Come on, Sarah, 10 seconds of courage, that’s all you need. 10 seconds of bravery and then you can relax. You can survive anything for ten seconds. It reminded her of that movie To Build a Zoo. What was it the character said? “You know, sometimes all you need is twenty seconds of insane courage. Just literally twenty seconds of just embarrassing bravery. And I promise you, something great will come of it.” She didn’t even need twenty seconds. In ten she would be back in her house. Just ten seconds.

  She stood with her hand on the doorknob building her courage for what would come next. Twisting her wrist, she gave the door a small push. It cracked open with a slight creak and let in a breath of crisp fall air. Sarah paused, listening. The only sounds to reach her ears were crickets chirping and leaves rustling. A normal fall night. She pushed the door open a little farther and leaned out, looking to the right and then to the left before stepping out onto the back stoop. The back door to her own home beckoned. Ten seconds.

  Sarah stepped off the stoop and hurried in a straight line toward her back door. With every step, she repeated ten seconds, ten seconds, ten seconds. Everything else faded. Her whole focus was the door fifteen feet, ten feet, five feet away. She was there. She rushed up the steps and to the door. With her hand on the knob, she spun to face the yard once more. If something was coming for her, she wanted to know.