by Geoff North
They searched the confusion of tracks in clumps of snow and about rotted stumps. There were too many of them. If Boo and Ann had gone this way, their tracks had been covered by the heavier footfalls of the Neanderthals. There was a coppery scent in the air, something both Abe and Becky recognized. Abe stepped over a fallen tree and his foot slipped into something wet and pink. “Becky—over here.”
The decapitated head of a Neanderthal was propped up in the snow a little ways ahead of Abe’s foot. Becky picked her way around and found the body a few seconds later. “Come on,” she said and headed north into thicker woods. “The body fell in this direction. If he was running when he lost his head, chances are the kids went this way first.”
He recalled the first few minutes when they had arrived in ancient Africa so long ago. She had been too terrified to leave the clearing and venture out into the tall grass. Now, the sight of a headless caveman was something she took in stride. Abe wasn’t so sure that was a good thing. Another thought troubled him. If the Neanderthals had been pursuing them this whole time, why would they suddenly kill one of their own?
“Are you coming or not?” She called back. Becky had found two trails of small footprints in the deeper snow. “More joined in on the chase here,” she indicated points to either side where lesser trails merged with the path they were on. “There must have been dozens of them, waiting.”
“How’s your leg?”
She felt the area of skin where the spear had come through. “All healed over but it still hurts like hell. What about you?” Her fingers touched his stomach where the blood had already dried. Inches away was the old crescent shaped scar where the beast from Egypt had dined on his innards. The two of them were a mess of old injuries, a scarred testament of hardship. If anything, their bodies were becoming stronger. They could sustain themselves on less food and water. The harsher the environment, the hardier their systems—internal and external—became. The insidious disease coursing through their veins was evolving—conditioning them to survive.
“I’ll live.” They followed the path in silence. The dead forest became thicker; the maze of black branches scraped the low clouds, blocking out most of the remaining light. Abe was getting a sick feeling they wouldn’t find the children before dark.
“I’m losing the trail,” Becky said. “It’s as if they’ve started to split up again.”
Abe stopped at a rotted tree stump and studied the snow. She was right. The tracks directly ahead couldn’t have been made by more than three or four running beings, none of them belonging to Boo and Ann. He spotted a smaller line off to his right heading east. Becky found a second trail further ahead zigzagging to the west.
“We must be catching up to them,” Abe whispered. “They’re trying to throw us off.”
Becky cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed Ann’s name.
Abe squatted down. “Quiet! It could be a trap.”
A moment later they heard the girl’s distant cry. Becky crashed through the trees before he could warn her again. Something heavy struck Abe on the back and sent him flat on his stomach. A hand grabbed at his hair and forced his head back. He felt the cold edge of a stone blade against his throat.
“Don’t move,” a voice whispered into his ear. “We have the children and we will kill them if you fight.” Abe relaxed his muscles and watched as people descended out from the trees. It was a trap, he realized, as the blade sunk a little deeper into the recess beneath his Adam’s apple.
“Who are you?” Abe croaked.
Three men dressed in heavy furs approached. Abe could barely hear them make a sound. Their feet were covered in leather up to the knees and every step they took was careful and considered. He could kill the one on his back in the blink of an eye and take out the ones approaching. Becky called from the woods somewhere behind him. “Don’t fight them, Abe. The kids are safe… for now.”
The blade at his throat lowered and Abe was allowed back to his feet. Becky and the children appeared out of the trees, behind them were two more men—humans—prodding the three captives forward. Abe looked to the man that had landed on his back and asked again. “Who are you?”
“Finders,” he answered.
“What do you find?” He studied the man’s face. His dark brows furrowed together and he scratched at the stubble of his cheek. Abe asked again, pausing between each word in hopes of being understood.
‘We find… people. We go south and find people like the children… like you.” He reached out and touched Abe’s face with powerful fingers. Abe backed away when one of them poked at his eye. “You’re not like us. Your eyes are blue.” He spun around to Becky. “She is stranger still. Eyes blue… hair gold. The children, they are like us.”
Boo and Ann had their arms wrapped around Becky’s waist. Their faces were tear-streaked, their eyes filled with fear, but they didn’t appear any worse for wear. The men from the trees gathered in closer. They were more like Boo and Ann—darker skin, black hair and brown eyes.
Abe worried the strangers might try and separate the children from them in favor of their own kind. He wouldn’t let that happen. “The Neanderthals… the ones chasing us—did you kill them all?”
“The flats? Of course! They are our enemies and we kill them on sight.”
“Flats?” Becky questioned.
“Squishy faces,” the man pressed a fist into his face until the tip of his nose touched his lips. “The flats.”
Abe pointed to his own nose and tapped at his high brow. “We’re like you. We are not flats.”
“Never said you were.” He started through the snow. “Come, it will be dark soon.”
“Just a second—you had a knife at my throat a few seconds ago and threatened to kill the children. Why should we go anywhere with you?”
“We had to be sure no more flats were in the forest. Finders find few people anymore. Ones like you almost never. Can you understand that?”
Becky answered for him. “Now that you’ve found us, you might be sorry. We carry a disease in our bodies… an illness that spreads to other people that come in contact.”
“We know all about that. No more talking… we have a long journey.”
“Where to?”
“Home,” the stranger said. They headed north. “We’re taking you home.”
Chapter 18
Loren Driskin loved chocolate. The fifteen-year-old girl loved a lot of things, and her boyfriend was certain he wouldn’t have enough money to buy even half the things she wanted for Christmas. Stewart dug through his pockets as she pointed out more and more.
“I hate the ones with cherry centers, and I think I’m allergic to peanuts so don’t even look at those.” She started from the top shelf of the confectionary aisle and worked her way down. “These are my favorites—milk chocolate on the outside and that cold stuff in the middle. I love those.”
Stewart continued digging and stepped to one side, allowing room for a mother and her two little boys with their shopping cart to pass by. Birdtail had one big grocery-hardware store and it was packed with customers. A foot of snow had fallen the week before forcing people to finish their holiday shopping in the small town instead of traveling out to the bigger centers.
Loren saw the look on his face and the hands working away inside his pockets. “You don’t have to get me much if you can’t afford it.” She punched him lightly on the shoulder. “We only started going out last month. I’m not expecting anything, really.”
Sure you aren’t. “It’s no problem, I got the money. I might not be able to get you much, but Santa will do his best… you’ll see.”
She kissed his cheek and they carried on down the aisle. Stewart could fish in his pockets until the store closed, it would make little difference. He had one ten dollar bill and some loose change. A box of cool-centered chocolates—that was all his first girlfriend was likely going to get this Christmas. He wished he could do better.
The Goon Squad had disassembled the day
after Halloween two years before, and although Stewart still went to school and talked to the old gang-members, things had never been the same. They never hung out after class. They were scared be seen together, worried somebody might be watching, listening. Wesley Zimmer asked Stewart what had happened that night, but Stewart remained tightlipped—as did Leroy and Brian, he was sure. As a result, the little gang splintered and went their separate ways, remaining friends but never close. Stewart had finally built up enough nerve to ask Loren out in November. He’d promised himself to make it last. He was crazy about her, and every moment they spent together helped suppress the entire episode of his father’s beating and the ill-fated Halloween visit. He could never forget it completely, not if he lived to be a hundred. But young love was powerful and Stewart would do just about anything for her—anything to block out the past—even if it meant begging his parents for another twenty or thirty bucks.
They made their way to the front and Loren grabbed a couple of chocolate bars from a rack near the check-out lane. “Seriously, Stewart, don’t worry about Christmas. I get a decent allowance and can afford to buy us both goodies.”
Stewart was about to protest but a rotten smell filled the air and his eyes were drawn to an old man already at the register, three customers ahead in line. His cart was filled with groceries and he hadn’t unloaded a single item onto the counter.
“Oh, God,” Loren whispered and plugged her nose. “What’s that stink?”
Stewart put a finger to her lips and leaned his head to one side for a better look. The man was dressed in baggy, soiled sweat pants that pooled over a pair of black slippers soaked with melting snow and mud. A heavy grey parka hung on his narrow stooped shoulders and the hood was drawn completely over his head making it almost impossible to see the shadowed face beneath. Stewart didn’t need to see his face to know it wasn’t an old man. The smell said it all; garbage mixed with weeks-old body odor and the pungent sting of urine. The ghost that had fed him rotten eggs was at the check-out leafing through the pages of a magazine pulled from a rack next to the register. He didn’t seem to care the line-up was growing. The mother and her two boys were behind Stewart and Loren, and a few more customers with carts had pulled up behind her.
The cashier cleared her throat and rattled her stick-on finger nails against the rubber surface of the counter. “Excuse me, sir. I’m ready to put your groceries through.”
“Ssshhh… I’m reading.”
A teenager somewhere behind Stewart groaned. “Are you serious, man? Just buy the magazine and read it later.” Stewart wanted to tell the kid to shut up. The inside of his mouth was dry, his heart had begun to hammer, and he could feel sweat beginning to trickle down his back.
This can’t be happening. He can’t be here. Not now.
He tossed the magazine on top of the mountain of junk food and soft drinks already piled into the cart and started to push it past the counter.
“What the hell?” The teen yelled out. “Do I get my stuff for free, too?”
The cashier came out from behind the till. “I’m sorry, sir, but I still have to ring your groceries through.” He ignored her and headed for the sliding doors. “Hey! You haven’t paid for that.”
The cart stopped and he turned to face her. Now Stewart could see plainly what he’d prayed never to lay eyes on again. “I’m taking this food with me and you’re going back to your cash register without saying another word.” His eyes were pools of black, the grey skin stuck to the hollows of his skull was like diseased pudding. There was a hint of yellow on the high cheek bones that may have been the last shades of a once healthy hue, but now it just appeared jaundiced and deathly. One of the little boys behind Loren screamed.
Allan Bagara turned to look at the boy and his hood fell all the way back. A giant blue vein running from one eyelid all the way back across the top of his bald head pulsed like a worm trying to writhe its way free. “Be quiet… All of you, not a single word. Buy your things and forget you saw me.”
Stewart forced his gaze to the floor. Please don’t let him see me... Please don’t let him remember. The cart began to rattle away and Stewart listened to the sounds of the store as the doors swooshed open. Air conditioners pumping warm air, dairy coolers and stand-up freezers buzzing. Frosty the Snowman was playing from a fuzzy-sounding speaker somewhere in the ceiling. The doors closed a few seconds later. He heard the cashier begin talking to someone ahead of them, and then the beep-beep-beep of items being scanned. He looked up and saw everything back to normal. The little boy that had screamed was yanking at his mother’s pant leg demanding a pack of gum. The teenagers behind the woman and her kids were talking and giggling, tossing energy drinks back and forth between them.
Loren was grinning up at him. She looked pale, her lips drained of all color, but her eyes seemed cheery enough. “What’s wrong with you?” She jabbed him in the chest with one of the chocolate bars. “Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She was going to scream her head off just seconds ago, Stewart thought. A lot of them were about to scream, or cry, or faint. None of them had remembered what happened—everyone but Stewart. He remembered because they wanted him to.
We need to let someone remember. You’ll always remember me won’t you, Stew?
Stewart stepped out of the lineup and headed for the door.
“Hey! Where are you going?” Loren called. “Can’t you wait until I’ve paid for the bars?”
He slipped out into the cold afternoon and ran for the sidewalk, avoiding the parking lot altogether. That thing would undoubtedly be loading groceries into whatever vehicle it drove and Stewart didn’t want to risk being seen again.
Loren caught up to him a block away from the store. “What was that all about? I told you I didn’t care about a Christmas present. If you can’t afford anything just get me a dumb card or something.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
He remembered more from Halloween night. As hard as he tried to forget, the words were never far away. They were burned into his brain.
What if one of the kids at school decides to pay us a visit in the future, Stew? What’re you going to tell them?
I’ll tell them no. I’ll tell them it’s a bad idea. I’ll tell them no one lives here. I’ll make them leave you alone.
Good boy.
Stewart looked at Loren and realized he was about to cry. “I can’t tell you.”
She dabbed a mitted hand against the side of his face and caught one of the tears as it started to fall along his cheek. “Can’t tell me? What’s wrong with you? You look terrified.”
He would do anything to make her happy. He would say anything to keep her. And then it all came out. Stewart told Loren about his father and the terrible events of Halloween night. They walked and talked halfway across town. When Stewart had finished his story, they were standing in front of Loren’s house.
“Come inside and warm up. You can stay for supper and visit Ethan for a little bit. He’s always asking about you.”
Stewart shook his head. “I better not. I wouldn’t want your brother and parents to see me like this.”
“I’m so sorry for what they did to you… what they did to your dad.”
“They didn’t hurt my Dad. The thing in the woods did that.” He watched as Loren chewed at her bottom lip. “I know it’s hard to believe... You do believe me, right?”
“Yeah… It sounds crazy, and for the first few minutes I thought you were joking, but after all that… seeing what it’s done to you, seeing you cry and seeing how scared you are… of course I believe you. We should talk to someone, maybe go to the police.”
“Please, Loren, don’t tell anyone. No police, no parents. Don’t tell any of your friends.”
“You’re just going to let them get away with it?”
“They can get away with whatever they want. You can’t even remember seeing him in the store—nobody there will remember seeing him today. They w
ould make parents and police forget… maybe they already have. Maybe they’ve done worse things to people. You gotta promise to keep quiet on this. Not a word to anyone.”
There was a long pause. Loren finally looked up and offered him a half-hearted smile. “You’re still meeting me at the Christmas concert tonight, right? Ethan’s Grade Three class is doing a little play. He’s playing an elf.”
“I’ll be there. My Mom and Dad are coming too.”
She kissed him and Stewart felt the cold tip of her nose against his cheek. Loren whispered in his ear before she pulled away. “Not a word to anyone. I promise.”
She started up the walkway towards the front door of her house and stopped. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a cell phone. Loren grinned back at Stewart. “Someone’s calling me.”
Stewart watched as she answered.
“Hello?” She listened. Loren looked puzzled and headed back towards Stewart, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s for you.”
Stewart placed the iPhone to his ear. “Yeah?”
“Couldn’t keep it to yourself, hey? After all this time, Weibe the Dweeb had to go and spill the beans.”
Stewart turned his back on Loren. He had the sudden urge to throw up. “Hello?”
“Yeah, that’s right, Stewy. Play dumb. Don’t let your little girlfriend know who’s calling. I bet you’re wishing you hadn’t told her now, hey, Stew? You don’t have to answer… I know that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Hello?” He tried to control his breathing.
“Keep it up, that’s perfect. We wouldn’t want to spoil her Christmas surprise, would we?”
The call ended.
Stewart’s fingers were shaking as he handed the phone back to Loren.
“Who was that? How did they get my number?”
“I think it was Brian Bryant.” He smiled at her and stuffed his trembling hands into the pockets of his coat. “You know what a clown that guy can be sometimes.” He started back up the street before Loren could ask another question. Stewart didn’t want her to see him crying again.