He’d found it a month ago on the body of a traveler who had fallen through the floor of a hotel. The dead man’s hand was still clinging to the unbroken bottle. Jim chuckled. Poor bastard may have been unlucky, but he sure had his priorities in order. Jim had already been offered everything from food to a blow job in exchange for the whiskey. But he wasn’t selling. Fortunately, no one had the balls to try and steal it from him.
He felt the boat rock as someone stepped on board.
“You down there?” It was the voice of Red Kilpatrick.
“Be right up,” he called back.
He gazed at the Jack for a moment and sighed. This was the one thing he hated to share and he actually considered putting it away again. Then, with a resigned groan, he grabbed two empty cups from the cupboard and went outside.
Red was already sitting in one of the lawn chairs near the stern, his feet propped up on the side. On seeing the bottle in Jim’s hand, he very nearly toppled over. “Damn, boy!” he exclaimed with a grin. “Breakin’ out the good stuff, are we?”
Red was by far Jim’s best friend. He was a large man, about six foot two, with wavy red hair, blue eyes, and freckles...about as ginger as it gets. He was wearing his usual cargo shorts, white guinea tee (stained beyond redemption), and flip-flops.
“Yeah, hard day,” Jim explained. He poured them each a shot and went on to tell him about the Shadow People.
Red looked more curious than afraid. “Why do you think they’re back?”
Jim shrugged. “Don’t know. But someone sure saved my ass today.”
Red held out his empty cup and smiled. “Well, you can bet your life it wasn’t the wranglers.”
Jim poured him another before taking a drink himself straight from the bottle. “Maybe they hate me so much that they don’t want anyone else to kill me.”
Red downed the whiskey, smacking his lips in appreciation. “Yeah, right. Whoever it was, they did you a solid. You going to go look for him?”
Jim chuckled softly and shook his head. “I won’t be going back out for a while. Not unless I have to. I appreciate whoever it was that helped…but if the Shadow People are really back, I’m keeping my ass right here on the boat.”
As he spoke, Jim spotted a sprightly figure crossing the platform toward them. He pointed. “There you go, Red. I think Liam wants to talk to you. And he doesn’t look too happy.”
Liam was a short, thin, wisp of a man, with sandy blond hair and an almost ivory complexion. His overtly effeminate walk and manner of speech made no secret of his sexual orientation. After hopping on board, he planted his hands firmly on his hips.
“Get the hell out of here, faggot,” snarled Red.
Red and Liam had been neighbors for years. Unfortunately for Liam, Red was a giant asshole and an unapologetic homophobe. He'd tormented Liam relentlessly in an effort to make him move away. But Liam refused to be bullied. During that time, Jim had never liked the way Red behaved. In fact, until the collapse they had been a long way short of being friends. But, as he'd learned, people can change.
“Call me a faggot one more time, redneck,” Liam huffed.
Red glared menacingly. “F. A. G. G. O. T. spells....”
“It had better spell me a shot of that whiskey,” he snapped back.
Jim heaved a sigh. “Use my cup. I’ll drink from the bottle.”
Liam held up his nose and plopped himself squarely down onto Red’s lap. “That’s all right. He can share.”
Red’s face twisted into a sour grimace.
“Don’t you look at me like that,” chided Liam.
The grimace faded. Red shook his head and put his arm around Liam’s waist. “You know, I hate you sometimes. Can’t I have a guy moment…just once?”
“Sweetie, you get plenty of guy moments,” Liam teased. He snatched the empty cup from Red’s hand and held it out. “Now give me some of that stuff.”
Jim couldn’t help but laugh while pouring Liam a drink. “I still can’t get over you two.”
Red gave him a lopsided smile. “Hey, what can I say? I was as surprised as you were.”
A year and a half ago, while out hunting, Red had been set upon and robbed by a group of roaming raiders. Badly beaten and barely able to walk, he'd been abandoned miles from home, alone in hostile country. Alone that is, until Liam came looking for him. For a week he kept Red hidden and tended his injuries until he was strong enough to make it back to the boats. Three times they were almost discovered by the wranglers. But never once did Liam consider abandoning Red to save himself.
“Yeah,” agreed Jim. “Surprised hardly fits it considering you did everything but burn a cross in his front yard.”
“You never know where love comes from,” Liam told him. “Red just needed the right push to see it. And you should try some love yourself, Jim. You’re all on your lonesome way too much.” He paused, a sparkle in his eye. “I hear Anne Blake has her eyes on you.”
Jim groaned. “Anne has her eyes on anything with a dick.”
Liam wagged a finger. “Don’t be ugly. Anne’s a sweet girl. She’s just lonely, is all. You should be nice to her.”
“Can we change the subject?” Jim pleaded.
“Sure,” agreed Liam. “Maybe you'd like to tell me why everyone on the pier is running around like chickens with their heads cut off?”
Red told him about the Shadow People.
A visibly shocked Liam grabbed hold of Red’s face, forcing him to look eye-to-eye. “You are NOT to leave the boats. You hear me? Promise!”
Red nodded and smiled reassuringly. “I promise. Now get on back home. I’ll be along in a minute.”
Liam emptied the cup and stood up. “You stay put too,” he said to Jim before leaving.
Once he was out of earshot, Red leaned forward and rubbed his temples. “How did this happen to me? I’m not even gay.”
“I hate to tell you, buddy, but it looks pretty damn gay to me.” Jim loved teasing Red about the relationship.
“But I’m not,” he insisted. “It’s just that…I can’t explain it. I just love him. I’ve never been into men. But I love him anyway.”
“Hey, who knows how this stuff works,” Jim said. “You love Liam, and he loves you. That’s all you should worry about.” A devilish grin crept up at the corners of his mouth. “Sex must be interesting though…what with you so definitely not being gay.”
Red shot him a warning look. Jim knew this meant he’d hit the line. Red never spoke about sex with Liam…not ever. He decided it was a good time to change the subject.
“I almost forgot,” he said. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a plug of tobacco and tossed it onto Red’s lap. “I found this.”
Red smiled from ear to ear. The package was still air tight. He grabbed the edges, fumbling as he tried to tear it open.
“Don’t you open that shit here,” Jim told him, sternly. “I hate the smell, and you know it.”
Red stopped his fiddling, but continued to look at the tobacco longingly. “I owe you one.”
A short time later, all but the night guards were back on the platform. Word had spread like wildfire about the Shadow People, and soon everyone was gathered around Jim’s boat, peppering him with questions.
He tried to be as reassuring as he could. After all, it was only the normal guy and the little girl he'd encountered. He hadn’t seen the whore (a dark haired woman who generally approached her victims naked); the nerd (a gangly, oily haired teen boy); the old lady (who always waited until her victims were within arm’s reach before striking); or the homeless man (by far the strongest and most dangerous). Just the first two.
“They might have just wandered here by chance,” he said, standing atop a folding chair. “And they’re dead now anyway.”
Mr. Baldwin stepped forward. A stout man in his fifties, he had formerly owned a donut shop in town. “Jim’s right,” he said. “We don’t know if they’re really back. Let’s wait a few days, then we’ll check downtown.”
“But what about the guy who shot them?” asked Gina Richards. Her husband had been killed a year prior by the whore. She hated the Shadow People; but not nearly as much as she hated her husband for allowing the whore to kill him.
“Whoever he is,” replied Jim. “If he’s still there, we’ll find him soon enough. Now go back home. There’s nothing more we can do for now.”
Gradually, everyone wandered away, but fear had covered them like a wet blanket. No one could possibly forget the terror that the Shadow People brought with them. They had killed more than twenty men and women before anyone realized what they were. Or perhaps more accurately, what they weren’t. They never spoke. They killed without hesitation. And they never, ever gave up. On the inside they were like anyone else; flesh, blood, bones, etc. But it didn’t take long to understand that they were most definitely not human. Clones was what most people suspected. This seemed to be as plausible as anything else, especially as there were seemingly never ending copies of each and every one.
That evening Jim ate alone. Usually Liam and Red would invite themselves over, but not this time. Not even Anne came around for her nightly rejection. Candles burned on every deck, and Jim could see people huddled together staring into the darkness, listening intently for any possible warning call from the guards.
He hated the way he felt the same fear as everyone else. He was a soldier and an officer. And a damn good one at that – which was why people generally turned to him when something bad happened. There was a long-standing rumor that he was a former Navy Seal. It wasn’t true, though he allowed the others to carry on believing it anyway. Not because he wanted to pretend he was something he wasn’t, but because it made people feel a little bit safer.
He lay in his bunk, staring at the ceiling of the cabin most of the night while contemplating the future. In a day or two he’d grab some ammo and go see what was out there.
And this time he would make damn sure not to run out of bullets.
* * *
As it turned out, six full days passed before anyone could muster up the courage to go further than the wall. Jim wanted to go sooner, but Liam begged him to wait.
“If you go, Red will want to go too,” he said. “And if you don’t take him, he’ll just follow you anyway.”
Jim knew this was true, so he hung back until the general consensus was that it was probably safe. Stupid. If the Shadow People were out there, they’d wait. Whatever they lacked in conversation, they more than made up for in patience.
Once he was sure that Red and Liam were helping to tend the garden and safely out of the way, he set off toward the pier. His .45 was now sitting comfortably in a holster he'd borrowed from Mr. Baldwin. He also had his AR-15 slung over his shoulder. He didn’t normally carry a rifle; they were too awkward and bulky. But this time he wasn’t going far. Just downtown.
For once, Henry Mills said nothing to him when he passed, merely giving a sharp nod of acknowledgment. The pier seemed longer than usual today, and the hill leading to downtown extra steep. By the time he reached the top, his blood was already pumping loudly in his ears.
The body of the normal guy was still exactly where he had fallen on the street. Flies were swarming all over his gaping wound as well as the patches of dried blood splattered about on the concrete nearby. Jim frowned. They’d need to do something with the body soon, otherwise the smell of decomposition would become overwhelming. A wicked thought then formed. Or we could leave it for the wranglers. A peace offering. He laughed inwardly. On the other hand, even wranglers probably wouldn't eat the Shadow People.
Downtown was deathly quiet. On his way he passed both the little girl and the other normal guy. Whoever had shot them clearly wasn't interested in moving their bodies. He looked carefully down the street for a sight of anything unusual. But as far as he could tell, everything was the same as it always was. He checked the traps he had set inside some of the buildings. Nothing there. He then moved methodically block by block, inspecting every nook and cranny that he knew of where someone might possibly hide. After several hours of searching and finding nothing, he decided to return home.
He was just hitting Main Street when he heard the unmistakable scraping of boots coming from around the corner of the next block. Instantly, he dropped on one knee and leveled his rifle. He began counting his heartbeats, trying to slow them down. He needed to be accurate.
The footsteps suddenly stopped, but he could see the shadow of a man peeking out from around the corner. He grinned viciously. I got you, you son-of-a-bitch. One more step and you’re mine.
“Don’t shoot!” a voice called. “I’m coming out.”
Jim eased his finger slightly off the trigger, but kept the weapon aimed. “No sudden moves,” he ordered.
A man in black fatigues and a long black coat slowly moved into view. He was about the same height as Jim, though not as broad in the shoulder. His head was shaved clean, and across his chest he held a rifle with a mounted scope. Jim recognized it as a .308 Winchester. A decent enough weapon, though not exactly state of the art.
The newcomer walked toward him with measured strides, all the time smiling as if greeting an old friend. “No need to get jumpy,” he said. “I’ve been watching the streets for days. No more of those fucking clones around as far as I can tell.”
Jim frowned. Caution with strangers could be the difference between life and death. He had to be sure that this was the guy who had saved him. And even if he was, he needed to know why he'd done so.
“How do you know they’re clones?” he demanded.
“What else could they be?” he replied.
“We call them Shadow People.”
The man laughed. “Spooky.”
“Yeah? So what do you call them?”
“I call them target practice. Shit. I bet I’ve killed more than a hundred of those fuckers.”
The man stopped when he was ten yards away, just before Jim was going to tell him to do so. He obviously knew how close was close enough.
“What’s your name?” Jim asked.
“What’s yours?” he responded, still smiling.
“I'm in no mood for stupid games. Just answer me.”
The man sighed. “Fine. Mark - Mark DE Chico. Out of New Mexico, if you want to know.”
“Okay. I'm James Tallos. People call me Jim. Were you the one who helped me a few days ago?”
Mark nodded. “And I enjoyed every damn second of it. Nothing prettier than the pink mist coming from a clone’s head. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop pointing that rifle at me.”
Jim hesitated, still reluctant to give up his advantage just yet.
“If I had wanted to kill you,” Mark continued, “I could have done it from where I was sitting.” He pointed up to a tall pecan tree just beyond the last building.
After a second or two more of consideration, Jim slowly lowered his weapon. “So tell me, what are you doing here?”
“Just passing through,” he replied. “On my way across the bay.”
“What’s over there?”
“Just some things I left behind before the shit went down.”
Jim knew that there was a strict rule about bringing strangers to the platform. He also knew that no one would try to stop him if he did. Even so, people were already nervous enough. “You camped nearby?” he asked.
It was like he'd read Jim's mind. “What? No invite back to your place?” He smirked, then raised a hand to stall any response. “No problem. I know how it is. I’m set up about a mile south of here. Come on back with me if you want to. ”
Jim stiffened. “You should get out of there. The wranglers…the cannibals…that’s their country.”
Mark sneered and spat on the ground. “Let them come if they want to die. I’ve dealt with their kind before. Cowards most of them. Besides, I've set some claymores. If any of them get within fifty yards...boom! The end.”
Jim glanced in the direction of home. People would
worry if he was gone for too much longer. Especially Red. “Okay, just for a bit,” he agreed. “Then I have to get back.”
Mark led him east to the main highway that passed through two more towns before reaching the Jubilee Parkway spanning Mobile Bay. After crossing this, they moved on into a thin wooded area where Jim often hunted for squirrels and rabbits, and even the occasional raccoon. A mile south, just as he'd been told, he spotted a small camp through the trees ahead. After showing him where the wires for the claymores were set, Mark walked him in.
There wasn’t much. A backpack, tent, and a few small cooking pots.
“You only carry the .308?” Jim asked.
Mark pulled back his coat. There was a chrome plated .38 revolver strapped to one thigh, and a black 9mm Glock attached to the other. “But I like this little cutie best of all,” he said, fondly stroking the butt of his rifle.
He rummaged in his backpack and produced a glass jar of peaches. Jim politely refused the offer to share them. Another of his rules. Only eat it if you know where it came from. After two years, he had seen too many people get deathly ill from spoiled food. Canned stuff was usually okay. But something out of a jar was risky. Mark shrugged off his refusal and set about devouring the fruit.
“You said you’re from New Mexico?” Jim asked after a short pause in conversation.
“You bet,” he replied through a mouthful of peaches. “Moved to Miami five years ago.”
“What’s it like there?”
“Fucked up. Just like here. People still don’t know what went wrong. Well, those that the government didn’t ship off to Atlanta.”
Jim had heard rumors about people being herded off there like cattle. Forced to leave their homes at gunpoint. But the stories were so disjointed and varied, he didn’t know what to believe. “Have you been there?” he asked.
Tallos - Episode One (Season One) Page 2