Alarum (Walking Shadows Book 1)

by Talis Jones

  “How old are you, kid?” he asks gruffly like he doesn’t really care. I bet he doesn’t.

  “I’m six,” I tell him, but I have to say it twice because my voice still didn’t want to come out of hiding.

  “Gotta speak louder or I’ll just guess,” he grumbles. “Are you fourteen?” I shake my head. “Thirty nine?” My head shakes again jostling my glasses. “Eighty six?”

  Finally I can feel my voice coming back. “I’m six!” I tell him half-shouting.

  “Alright alright calm down, kid. No need to shout,” he winks.

  He grabs my left arm tightly and looks me right in the eye. “Don’t move.” There’s so much warning in his voice that I don’t even nod. I lock my limbs until I’m a statue like when I’m playing Secret Agent with Momma and I’m hiding from her. A buzzing sound fills my ears and I almost jolt out of my shoes when the needle pricks my arm but the man squeezes me harder and I force myself to stay as still as possible. I gotta. It hurts and tears threaten to break through the dam of my resolve but they don’t. I stay fixed like marble. I gotta.

  I leave quickly still looking at the red irritation on my arm and at the bluish black number six written there. Or at least he said it’s a six but it’s just a bunch of lines he called tally marks. I didn’t learn those in school yet.

  CHAPTER 7

  A couple of weeks have passed since Miles’ birthday. And Maurene’s I guess. Despite being twins they separate their birthdays, Miles’ first because he was born first and then Maurene’s the day after. I probably don’t have to tell you that Maurene did not invite me to share her cake. A blessing really, seeing as I may have mixed a bit of dirt in with the chocolate batter. I almost diced up some worms and mouse droppings but Kody and Katya are okay people so I restrained my tiny rebellion.

  Sweat drips down my brow from the angry sun. I put my basket down and sit beside it, and just for a moment I bow my head to hide it from the sun. Never challenge the sun with a stare because you will always always lose. Only fools look up. Only the broken look down.

  The sun is always angry and I sort of wish I knew why. What did we do?

  That’s one thing no one seems able to tell me, how this world crumbled between our fingers like fool's gold. But to be fair I’ve spent my time since then amongst other clueless kids and criminals who just didn’t care so long as they could adjust their sails and ride the waves. Ya gotta give them that, the underworld always finds a way to keep going. They survive with a bold ferocity while the common folk titter and quake whenever the shepherd they were following takes a wrong turn down the mountainside.

  “Vizsla!” Lizbeth’s voice cuts through like a whip and I jolt to my feet faster than should be possible.

  “Is that what you’ve been doing out here? Sitting? Dreaming?” Red climbs up her once graceful neck and spit flies from her once smooth rose-petal lips. I tune out her continuing verbal beating and look at her, picturing her as a furless cat, something wrinkly and unwanted, something that just wants love. She likes to watch the sun rise in the morning and witness it setting in the evening.

  I think she watches it and puzzles about what she did to make it so angry.

  I think she watches it to make sure it keeps its promise to return each day.

  Movement flickers behind Lizbeth's shoulder and my gaze shifts to see a cloud of dust kicking up in the distance. A striking black stallion crests the hill of the road. I wonder—

  Pain dots my vision and my teeth smash together as my neck twists my head to the side. I look at Lizbeth in surprise. For all the threats she’s delivered she’s never actually hit me. She usually orders Hans or Kody to do it for her.

  “This world has no place for the weak and disobedient,” she hisses. “Disrespect me again and I’ll have you put down like the blind pup you are.”

  I stare at her speechless. This time she means it, I can tell by the icy glint in her eyes. She means it. Locking my jaw to rein in my tongue I slowly lower my eyes to the dirt. I beg the adrenaline in my veins to calm and please be quiet and please leave me alone and I feel it buzz away angrily and reluctant and I’m left like a ragdoll with no bones and leaking stuffing and no will. My brain cycles on a phrase and I dunno where it came from but in that moment it leaps into my mind, plants its feet, and refuses to leave: From dust we were born and to dust we’ll return. From dust we were born and to dust we’ll return. From dust we were born and to dust we’ll return…

  Satisfied Lizbeth strides back to the house, spine straight and fists clenched and honey hair shaking its ends at me in the breeze. A rustle snags my ears and I turn to see Maurene lurking nearby, a twisted smirk on her pretty face.

  “What are you looking at Vizsla?” she taunts lightly.

  I say nothing. Instead I bend at the waist to start picking any vegetables brave enough to bloom in this wretched world. The family garden is small to some but big enough to feed everyone and make their meals the only spot of color in their lives. My mind begins to wander back to the stallion and its rider, both as black as the night. I long to turn around and look to see if it’s still there.

  “I’m talking to you Vizsla!”

  Bend, grab, twist, pluck, drop. Bend, grab, twist, pluck, drop. Bend, grab, twist, pluck, drop. My basket is almost full with enough tomatoes for dinner when a dusty ankle peeking above a shiny black shoe lashes out. Vegetables tumble out as the basket goes flying. Some are going to be ruined and if Lizbeth or even Hans finds out then Lizbeth’s smack will be the least of my pains today. Fresh food is sacred these days.

  “You bitch,” I growl before I can stop myself. Momma would be mad but no one else would condemn me. No instead I drink in Maurene’s shocked gasp like a cold lemonade on a hot day and I feel a weird cooling trickle of satisfaction and only that small forgotten part of me feels any shame at all.

  My victory is short lived as a fist sinks into my stomach causing me to fold in half wheezing. Another strikes me to the side of my head sending my glasses flying and knocking me into the dust adding to my choking fit. Maurene’s foot connects with my back, hesitates, then kicks it again. I try to roll out of the way but my lungs refuse to breathe right and my limbs lock up in panic and I can’t see I can’t see I can’t see. Doesn’t matter anymore, Maurene’s had her fill.

  I wait until her footsteps fade before forcing my body to relax and recalibrate. Opening my eyes I squint at the angry sun. Finally I roll onto my knees and take everything in: a lot of brown smears except for a big green smudge that must be the garden. With a frustrated sigh I begin crawling on my hands and knees in search of my glasses, gently patting the ground for any sign of them. Nearly five minutes have passed while I’ve delicately searched for my most prized possession. The soft soil of the garden is making my search much harder, not to mention that my glasses frames are nigh a perfect match in shade of brown.

  “These yours?” grunts a man.

  I look up, slightly aware that I have dirt smeared on my nose from how close my eyes needed to be to focus on anything clearly. Standing above me is the horse rider and in his hand are my glasses. Embarrassment flushes across my face and nerves tickle my belly but with caution in my back pocket I pull calm bravery to my face. Never trust strangers, unless you’re on death’s row anyway in which case you’ve got nothing to lose, Hero advised.

  Getting to my feet carefully I reach out and take my glasses settling them back on my face. “Thank you,” I reply, giving a slight bow as I stay extra sure to keep my eyes low. The rider shuffles his feet a bit as if uncomfortable. I risk a glance up and see him watching me. “Can I help you with something?” I offer politely.

  “Can ya look at me? It’s weird talking to someone when you can’t see their eyes.”

  I acquiesce gladly. I feel the same way but I’ve grown used to it. Meeting his gaze I blink surprised. He’s got green eyes. “Anything else?” I nudge, smiling nervously.

  “My name is Connors. I’m lookin’ fer a Hans? Folks in town said he’s a guns
mith. He wasn’t at his shop.” His body shifts at ease but his eyes stay sharp.

  Nodding I gesture towards the barn. Void of animals it became Hans’ smithy. “He’s in there, but—” I bite my tongue. Never trust a stranger…

  The rider tilts his head, eyeing me. “But what?”

  Another of Hero’s lessons pops into my head: Kindness for kindness, even if it’ll bite you in the ass later. I bite down a smile. “But ask for Katya to help. Hans likes to pretend he’s still the best but she’s better.” With that I bob my head and sink back to my knees snatching up any undamaged food for the basket. The rest I will toss into the stream. I’d gladly let the animals eat it in the night but I can’t risk lulling them with a hand out that might tempt them back again.

  “I’ll take that under advisement,” he grins before setting off and leaving me to work. I sit for a moment watching him go, my thumb rubbing my tattoo absentmindedly. Thirteen marks.

  “Hey what’s yer name, kid?”

  My eyes snap back into focus and I see that he’s stopped and is facing me waiting for an answer. I hesitate. What is my name? “Vizsla,” I tell him.

  He nods in greeting. “Mine’s Connors.”

  Lifting an eyebrow my voice slips out before I can think better of it. “I know, you said that already.”

  “Sharp as a tack, I see,” he chortles. “Well, my momma always told me things come in threes so if I tell ya again don’t mind it.”

  I shake my head, pick up my basket and walk back to the house.

  CHAPTER 8

  8 YEARS AGO

  I’ve been at the Tennessee Coral for a year and I still hate it. The boss calls it “home sweet home” but I’d rather call those tents in the woods “home” like Daddy did than use the word on this place.

  “Hey, Flinch!”

  I tense my shoulders at the name. Almost everyone gets a new name here. The other kids gave me mine because I jumped at everything when I first arrived, even my own shadow. I couldn’t help it. I still can’t help it. The boss knows all his livestock and he thought my new name was hilarious. Now every time he swings by to check up on us he tries to jump at me and scare me. And of course I flinch. Every. Time.

  This place is the worst. And not just because my nerves are so raw that I jump at anything even if it’s not moving and not because of the person who’s voice just called my name, although she does make things worse. I heard some of the older kids talking about “prisoner solidarity” and I don’t really know what that means but I know enough to know that Rat doesn’t believe in it. She believes in “survival of the fittest” – that’s another thing I learned from the older kids. I don’t mind learning. I always liked school.

  “What?” I call back to Rat, crossing my arms. Rat runs the rest of the way leaving poor Rufus in the wake of her dust.

  “Don’t sass me,” she spits although there’s a hint of a smile behind her words. There’s always a glimpse of a smile behind her words but as far as I can tell she’s never meant it. Rat’s an inside-out liar. The emotions you read on her face are the lies and her words are the truths. When she tells you you’re gonna get a beating in a teasing friendly voice it means you’re gonna get a beating, no joke about it.

  “What do you want, Rat?” I push getting impatient.

  Rat just stands there as we wait for Rufus to show up. While Rat’s this wiry nine-year old girl with tight brown skin and a messy poof of curly black hair, Rufus is a dumpling in human form, a tall round child with beef-colored hair. Even though he is a year older than Rat he follows her around everywhere doing anything she says.

  “How’s it going, Flinch?” he pants as he finally catches up.

  “Just fine, Rufus,” I smile. “No parents, no food, no freedom. All is right with the world.”

  His giant pie-hole opens to let out a whoop of laughter but it snaps shut with one look from Rat. There’s nothing Rat hates more than laughter, as if this place needed to be any more depressing. If breaking my glasses didn’t turn me into useless merchandise (something the boss was quick to point out) then Rat would’ve crushed them my first day when Hero made me giggle.

  “You don’t get bread this week, Flinch.”

  I look at Rat like she’s crazy. “What did I do?” I demand.

  She shrugs. “Nothing. I’m just making sure you remember who’s who in this place.”

  Rat’s always pulling stunts like this, trying to enforce some self-imposed hierarchy she invented. “I’m not giving you my bread, Rat.”

  Jabbing a finger uncomfortably close to my nose she spits, “You will.”

  Wiping her spittle off my face (gross) I lock eyes with her and hold my ground. “I won’t.”

  Fury shoots through her and causes her wiry frame to quiver. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

  “You? No one remembers you. You’ve got no family. You’ve got no friends. So who’s ever gonna remember you? When you die nobody will waste the effort to shed a tear. You're nothing.” I spit the words real low and slow like a snake. Harsh words from a seven-year old but when the world breaks apart so does the definition of normal.

  I must have struck too deep or too true because her body freezes. Her eyes bore into mine so sharp that I practically feel them poking my brain but I refuse to— Nope, I flinched. I always flinch.

  Without a word Rat drifts past me and Rufus follows her as if pulled by an invisible rope tying them together.

  “What did you say?” a warm voice asks behind me.

  Turning I smile at Hero. He’s got blond hair, blue eyes, and tan skin (well, we all have tan skin now thanks to the sun being so angry at us). I kinda think he looks like a Boy Scout on a popcorn tin. I’d call him that but he was already named Hero when I got here. Hero’s my favorite person here but he’s turning thirteen in a few days, which means that he’ll be transferred to the Skills unit.

  A little pang of sadness drip drops through me slow and maddening like a leaky faucet.

  The Tennessee Corral is a big place divided into three parts: Strength, Skills, Soldiers or Sold. Kids stay in the Strengths unit, a literal corral with holes worn through its tin roof, its wooden fenced perimeter reinforced with barbed wire and guards. In the colder months we’re herded inside a crumbling brick mill, filthy and rusting. We endure weather and the formations of gangs and hierarchies built amongst us.

  Those who make it to thirteen are transferred to the Skills unit, a giant building full of horse stalls if you’re good and cages if you’re not. In Skills you’re taught the basics of reading, writing, cooking, sewing, outdoor survival, and a few other skills that’ll make them useful. Some kids are bought with no Skills but most go when they’re around fourteen or fifteen.

  At fifteen if you’re still around then you’re either hired to work as a Soldier (just a fancy name for the boss’ workers, but the boss defers to Lucas Helmsworth, a leader of The Southern Coalition, so I suppose in a way they are soldiers) or you’re…well you’re set loose I guess. Set loose in one way or another. The Soldiers get to live in this big old country house, a crown jewel on this otherwise disheveled estate.

  “Flinch? You home, Flinch?”

  I jump back to the present. “Huh? Oh, sorry.”

  Hero laughs. “First you kick some dirt at Rat and now your mind is drifting. You must be cracking up, kid.”

  Scrunching up my nose I try and make my voice very serious. “I am not.” But this just makes him laugh harder. “Keep laughing and Rat will break a finger.”

  This shuts him up. Rat’s ruthlessness has won her some favoritism amongst the Soldiers who like to take bets on who’s gonna make it out of the corral.

  “I still want to know what you said to her,” he prods with a lopsided smirk.

  “Trust me, you don’t,” a voice grins.

  I flinch and immediately scowl at my doing so. “Is it impossible for you to walk up normal?” I snap flustered.

  Shade just raises his eyebrows. “I did.”

  He walk
s with silent footsteps and ears as good as a bat’s. A year younger than Hero and he’s another strong contender for the Soldiers unit. As long as I’ve known him he’s been able to scoop up information about anyone and everyone simply by listening and being overlooked in the shadows. Speaking of shadows…

  “Where’s Shadow?” I ask looking for his little brother.

  “I told him to take a walk.”

  “You what?” Shadow might be nine but he always seems so young, but maybe that’s just because he’s always standing next to Shade who looks distinctly older than twelve. And Shade might be reserved but Shadow almost never speaks, except sometimes to us.

  Hero puts a hand on my shoulder. “Chill out, Flinch. If he keeps trailing his brother he’ll just be seen as a weak coward.” Just then Shadow walks up to our little group. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” he jokes.

  “What happened?” Shade asks nodding towards his brother’s knuckles. I notice the blood on them and can’t believe Shade sounds so unconcerned.

  “Some kid threw a rock at me,” he murmured.

  Hero smacks him on the back, beaming proudly. “And you put them in their place, I see. Well done, Shadow.” Shadow lets out the smallest of smiles. “You should teach Flinch a few of your moves, she’s gonna need them after what she did to Rat.”

  Shadow turns his deep brown eyes to my face with a scared look. “What did you do?” he asks quietly.

  “She gave her a verbal gut punch,” snickers Shade. “Train up, Flinch. Unless you just plan to spasm and flail when she comes after you.” He puts his arm around his brother’s shoulders and they leave us. I watch them go with a bit of hurt at his words.

  “Ignore him,” says Hero. “She can’t do anything too bad without the boss getting mad and punishing her for it too.”