Troop of Shadows

by Nicki Huntsman Smith

  Steven felt his anger drain away. Images of what these people had been through this past year wormed their way into conscious thought. His ability to compartmentalize had always frustrated his wife; he could fixate on a project or problem, and nothing could breach the mental barrier if it wasn’t relevant to the task at hand. That’s what he’d been doing for the past year.

  And that tunnel vision might have killed a child.

  Of course he had antibiotics. After his phone call with Julia, that had been the first online purchase he’d made. You don’t need a doctor’s prescription for fish antibiotics, which were exactly the same Amoxicillin and Cipro that, when prescribed for humans, cost ten times more. Pharmaceutical companies realized they could make a few extra bucks by marketing their human drugs to the fish industry without conducting expensive studies and lengthy clinical trials. He also knew that the supposed two-year shelf life was horse shit. FEMA, under the directive of the Department of Defense, had sponsored a study of the efficacy of drugs beyond their expiration dates. They’d found that ten-year-old antibiotics were nearly as potent as the fresh stuff. Results of that research had been difficult to find in the public domain, but Steven had discovered it through his prepper network. The government wanted its citizenry to keep buying new antibiotics. It would seem that Glaxo Smith Kline and Ely Lilly made for cozy bedfellows for senators and congressmen.

  Just as with his coffee bean stash, antibiotics could not be replaced. Even though he’d bought more than they would probably ever need, what would happen if he gave them away then had none when Jeffrey came down with a kidney infection, bronchitis, or pneumonia? It was a lightning rod issue in the prepping culture, and Steven had spent many hours debating this exact subject in an online preparedness forum. Just how much of your foresight and hard work should be shared with others? Who is turned away and who reaps the benefit of Steven’s money, wisdom, and hard work? Why should he share with people he barely knew or didn’t know at all, when it just might come down to his own son doing without later?

  He stared hard into the deadly calm eyes of the supermarket manager. In those eyes he saw loss, rage, frustration, grief, and determination.

  He sighed. “Okay. What do you propose, Natalie?”

  “What I’m not suggesting is that you fling open your doors and allow everyone to storm in and take what they want,” she said with a pointed look at the other townspeople. “What I am proposing is that perhaps a designated person — a representative from the town — could inspect your stored items and make suggestions as to what could reasonably be shared with others without depleting your supplies to a level with which you’re uncomfortable.”

  “Let’s say I agree to that. Then what? What happens when the food and medicine that I’ve given away is gone? Another angry mob shows up and demands the rest of it? When does it end?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  “But that’s the crux of it. The reason I have all this stuff is because I did get ahead of myself. I planned and projected and worked, spent every dime I had plus every bit of credit my bank would give me, before the shit hit the fan. It was a huge gamble at the time. I leveraged my son’s college education and the future financial security of my family that the world was about to change in an unprecedented and terrifying way. That gamble paid off. The reason you all are in the situation you’re in is because you didn’t do all those things. And now I’m expected to just cover everyone else’s ass.”

  He knew he would help. Of course he would help. But goddamn it, he was going to bitch about it and resent it every step of the way.

  “I propose two representatives from the town participate in this little inspection,” Chuck countered, shifting his focus to Natalie. He wore an expression of blatant distrust as he waited for her response.

  A flash of anger crossed her features, but vanished so quickly Steven wondered if he’d misread it.

  “How do you feel about that, Steven? You can escort Chuck and I...you’ll be with us every moment. Does that seem reasonable to you?”

  “Let’s address the ‘what comes after’ part before I consent to anything.”

  For the first time, Marilyn spoke. She exuded universal suspicion and general displeasure, but also a keen intelligence. His wife must have found something redeeming about this woman, aside from a mutual love of books. Or perhaps she’d taken pity on the lonely, spinster librarian.

  “Steven, your concern is well-founded.” Her voice was cultured and pleasing, at odds with the dour features. “Like a plague of locusts, we might descend upon your home and clean you out of every last crumb. You are the toiling ant and we are the frivolous, lazy grasshoppers in this extant fable.”

  He nodded. She’d nailed it.

  “But perhaps you could give us grasshoppers a second chance. Maybe we’ve learned our lesson? Starvation and hardship will do that to a grasshopper. Perhaps you could see this as an investment opportunity.”

  If nothing else, this would be interesting.

  “Share with us now — not everything you have and not simply food and medicine. Share with us your knowledge along with these corporeal items. Show us how to grow and store our own food and generate electricity through wind power, as you’ve done. As an engineer, I’m sure you can devise and construct systems similar to yours. Help us learn these things so we can provide for ourselves in the future, rather than be forced to further pillage your stores. And in return, you gain freedom from the burden of this moral dilemma, which so clearly vexes you, as well as the threat of future raids. But along with these benefits, I suggest we reimburse you out of the fruits of our labor next year. A tally should be kept of every jar of green beans, every can of corn, every grain of wheat, so that it can be repaid in full. Am I wrong in presuming you have a seed bank among your stored items? How better to utilize those seeds than in the ground where they can generate more? Share those seeds and your knowledge with us, Steven. Invest in us, and in the long run, you will be the wealthier for it.”

  It had just become clear why his wife had been friends with this woman.

  He scrutinized the face and demeanor of the former librarian, registering all the truth and sincerity behind her words.

  “I agree under one condition,” Steven said with a smile. “Chuck will be one of the inspectors and Marilyn will be the other. That is non-negotiable.”

  The plain woman smiled for the first time that day, transforming her face into something that was still not beautiful, but appealing in its honest candor.

  Steven didn’t notice Natalie’s angry expression because it was covered by a tight-lipped smile by the time he turned back to her. Jeffrey, however, hadn’t missed a thing.

  ###

  Three hours later, the only people still sitting at the table were father and son. Steven was drained, not just from the potentially explosive situation at the gate earlier, but also from the lengthy negotiations that came after the inspection of his root cellar and bunker. Chuck hadn’t been interested in his weapons stash; firearms were not in short supply. But his eyes had gleamed at the sight of all the glass jars containing pork, chicken, and beef, the hundreds of cans of vegetables, soup, and fish, and the dozens of five-gallon buckets filled with rice, dried beans, and grains.

  Steven agreed to give away half of it, which rankled more than he cared to admit to himself. He was saving lives, and he would still have plenty. It was the right thing to do.

  The last hour had been surprisingly enjoyable. With input from all the roundtable members, they’d hammered out a plan to construct an enormous greenhouse smack in the center of the town square. It would allow seed planting and food production during the dormant cold months, which were weeks away. It would be a cooperative venture — everyone would work and everyone would reap the rewards. Steven would be the agricultural director until the job could be delegated, freeing him up for engineering projects. The idea of designing and constructing windmills from scratch appealed to his inner nerd, and he woul
d have access to all the free labor he could use. Steven would supply the know-how and the townspeople would provide the muscle.

  The first order of business was to get the greenhouse built and the seeds in the ground. Scarecrow Ed’s former livelihood had been new home construction specializing in energy efficiency. As he’d sketched out plans on a notepad, Steven immediately knew who their foreman would be. The man’s precise freehand rendering of the post-and-rafter design appeared as if it had been done with drafting instruments; his concise explanation of how they would utilize heavy plastic sheeting and bubble wrap for insulation until windmill-powered heat could be provided was genius in its simplicity. Ed knew where to get all the necessary supplies, plus he owned a Ford F250 with a full tank of good gasoline. Later, if the cooperative proved successful, he explained how they could expand the structure and improve it, replacing the sheeting with glass and adding a heated liquid exchange system.

  Steven had found a new best friend. Ed’s mannerisms and social skills seemed a little off, but he appreciated his cut-to-the-chase delivery, as well as the direct manner in which he addressed all the questions they’d thrown at him.

  Steven was excited by the prospect of what they could build together. Not just the two of them, but all the survivors in Liberty, which numbered about fifty. They would be building more than a greenhouse and a few windmills — they would be forming a new society where everyone contributed through physical labor and specialized knowledge. No slackers, unless there was a legitimate disability as in the case of Chuck’s son Bradley, who suffered from bi-polar disorder. In addition to everything else this past year, Chuck had been contending with the escalating symptoms: obsessional and compulsive behavior, sudden rages, memory issues, and a recent fascination with dead bodies. The man was deeply distressed. They’d run out of Lithium several weeks ago, and as with antibiotics, the pharmacies in a twenty mile radius had been cleaned out. He didn’t know how he would control the boy, who was the same age as Jeffrey, but who outweighed his classmate by fifty pounds.

  It was just one of many problems Steven had learned of during the afternoon, and one for which he could not supply the answer. He had enough on his plate. He would help build their greenhouse, their windmills, and their community.

  But he had no desire to lead it.

  Chapter 27

  Arizona

  “Do you want to take a detour and see the Grand Canyon?” Pablo asked Maddie after her introspective silence had exceeded the limits of his patience.

  He still didn’t know what all she’d found in the minivan, other than a dead father and two dead children, but her stoicism during the ordeal had surprised him. He might need to reassess some formerly-held constructs of the woman sitting beside him.

  “No, I’ve seen it and I’m anxious to get to Oklahoma. Do you want to see it?” Her demeanor seemed normal again, but she still held the bulging hippie bag on her lap, her hands resting on it in a way that seemed vaguely proprietary.

  “No, I’ve seen it several times too. We took a few summer vacations there when I was a kid.”

  “What will we find in Oklahoma besides troublemaking cows and hooligan pigs?” The playful smile was back. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I think we will find green grass and good soil. I’d like to find a little farm somewhere that has a functional well and some fields that don’t need too much tilling. Maybe we can corral some misbehaving livestock and make them hand over their milk and bacon.”

  She laughed. “Oh my god that sounds so good. I haven’t had either in three hundred and eighty-nine days.”

  Pablo knew that was not a random number selected for dramatic effect. In addition to being a math wizard, Maddie also possessed the ability to summon specific dates from her past, recalling where she’d been and what she’d been doing. This was a talent she’d revealed to him just before the Walgreens incident. In her old life, people had found it disturbing if not downright freakish, so she’d learned to hide it. He thought it was fascinating, but he had to admit it was also a bit unnerving. He struggled to recall yesterday’s lunch.

  “We’ll just find one of those hoodlum pigs and make him pay for his past misdeeds by handing over his bacon. Do we want maple or apple wood smoked?”

  “Smoked! I don’t like the maple kind. After we get the bacon, we’ll tell the cow to hand over two glasses of cold milk or we’ll turn her into a chew toy for Bruno. Who are we going to shake down for some biscuits and gravy?”

  “Good question. Perhaps we’ll find the Pillsbury Dough Boy running a shell game in a back alley. We’ll extort Flaky Layers and Crescent Rolls from the little chubster.”

  “I wish you hadn’t mentioned biscuits,” she moaned. “It’s been four hundred and seventeen days since I’ve eaten one.”

  He smiled. “So what did you find back there, young lady? Are you ready to share with the class?”

  The canary-eating cat was back. “I suppose I’ve made you wait long enough,” she said. “I was letting the anticipation build.”

  “You’re slightly evil. I love that. Now tell me. I can’t stand the suspense any longer.”

  “I scored on several fronts.” She flipped over the colorful flap and reached in, pulling out a package of M&Ms covered by plastic. “I think this is one of those Food Saver things, like they sell at Costco that sucks out the air then heat-seals the opening.”

  Pablo’s mouth began to water. He hadn’t tasted candy in more than a year, and M&Ms were a favorite, as Maddie well knew. They’d spent an evening in Prescott discussing the finer points of Belgian chocolate versus Swiss.

  “You are an angel sent from heaven,” he said.

  “You got that right. I’m Cocoarella from Hershey Heaven. But I’m also NoProcreatia, the condom angel from, uh, another part of heaven.”

  She pulled a second vacuum-sealed packet from her bag with a flourish. It was full of Trojan brand prophylactics.

  “Minivan Dad was really into vacuum sealing, as well as not knocking up future Minivan Step Mom.”

  “That’s...interesting. I was hoping for more candy though.”

  “Trust me. These condoms will be better appreciated in the long run. The last thing we want is little Pablos and Maddies running around.”

  “Oh.”

  She stared at him. “What, you want kids? In this world? After what we just saw back there?”

  “Well, I’d always envisioned my life with a wife and children. I don’t know why that has to change now.”

  Her expression of disbelief was so exaggerated it would have been comical...under different circumstances.

  “I did not just hear you say, ‘I don’t know why that has to change now.’ You can’t be serious.”

  So, this would be the subject of their first serious argument. Might as well get it over with.

  “Yes, I’m quite serious. Why should I...we... let these circumstances dictate our choices? I mean, within reason, of course. I’m pretty sure I have to give up my goal of being the United States’ first Latino Poet Laureate. But why shouldn’t we have children? What better way to say ‘screw you’ to Chicxulub than by bringing new life into the very world it sought to destroy?”

  “For one thing, who knows if the baby that I just spent nine months carrying in my body will contract the disease after she’s born? Did you think about that? Can you imagine how painful that would be for both of us?”

  Pablo had never considered that possibility. “Whatever kept us from getting it would probably be passed on to our baby. Don’t you think?”

  “That’s quite a gamble, don’t you think?”

  He pondered it for a long moment before answering. “I think it’s a gamble we have to take. The future of humanity depends on the remaining humans’ ability to procreate. I think we at least have to try.”

  “Said the man whose contribution to the venture is merely a sperm deposit.”

  “That’s not fair. You know I would be by your side every step of the way, mas
saging your swollen feet, rubbing cocoa butter on your tummy, fetching you Rocky Road ice cream from 7-11 at three in the morning.” He couldn’t help smiling. The thought of taking care of a pregnant Maddie was ridiculously appealing.

  He saw her anger drain away.

  “What happens if there are complications?” she asked, calmer now. “What if the baby is breech and we don’t have an obstetrician living on the farm next door? What if she’s born with a congenital heart defect? Or Down syndrome? Or spina bifida? Or any number of birth defects that are incredibly difficult to manage under perfect conditions?”

  None of those thoughts had ever crossed his mind. His fantasy was one of a plump and healthy Maddie, finishing up a normal pregnancy with the delivery of a healthy, perfect baby.

  He wasn’t willing to let go of the dream.

  “We can ‘what if’ until the hoodlum cows come home. Life has always been about taking chances...even when it was safer to take those chances. There are no guarantees. The fact that we are still here is a miracle in itself, and maybe it’s a sign that we’re meant for something even more momentous.”

  “What, like a New Age Adam and Eve kind of thing? If you think I’m gonna squirt out enough babies to repopulate the world, you need to think again. Have you noticed these narrow hips? This is not a baby factory.”

  He laughed, relieved that they could at least have a discussion about it. There was wiggle room.

  “Let’s agree to return to this topic at a later date,” he said. “In the meantime, I propose that we utilize Minivan Dad’s other, less controversial gift.”

  “You and your M&M obsession. You’re such a girl.”

  “That’s not what you said this morning.”

  “Ha! Touché, sir! You know, M&Ms and condoms aren’t the only things I found back there.”