by Paul Taylor
Sunday morning dawned unusually bright and clear. The sky was a clear, high blue, emptying upwards for ever. Church bells tolled across a town that looked as though it had been baked fresh that very morning. Even the early morning churchers had a spring in their step as they strolled into St Mary's Catholic Church.
Sarah Ramsey stood at the back step of her house and inhaled deeply of the fresh air, filling her lungs with it. If anyone ever managed to bottle that smell of the world first thing in the morning, Sarah thought, they'd be a millionaire. She picked up the basket of fresh washing from the step and went out into the back yard. Her one year old son, Zach, wasn't far behind, toddling along on still unsteady legs. She had to suppress a laugh when she looked at him, his poor little face all scrunched up in a mask of intense seriousness as he concentrated on walking. His little body weaved side to side at each step like a tightrope walker fighting to keep his balance.
Sarah propped the basket on her hip, holding it with one hand, and went to pick Zach up with the other.
"Ack!" he snapped at her reaching hand. He'd do it himself. Seeing his frown, Sarah felt a hollow spot in her chest. He looked so much like Jeremy when he did that, it pained her that Zach would never know his father.
"Fine, walk," she told him, going ahead to the clothesline.
As Sarah pegged up clothes, Zach waddled about the yard, clutching his stuffed Tigger in one hand and staring at everything with a wide-eyed wonder. Sarah smiled at him as he gurgled happily to himself.
Going over to his mother, Zach plopped himself on the ground beside her and started playing with the hem of her skirt.
"Get away," she said as he tugged on it, pulling it down to expose the top of her knickers.
He laughed at her and went back to playing with his Tigger, speaking earnestly to it in baby talk, while Sarah kept putting up clothes.
Sarah reached into the clothes basket and grabbed another piece of clothing, a towel. She had to move further around the clothesline to put it up and, as she moved, glimpsed a movement on the other side of their backyard fence.
She looked again. "Mrs Wilson?" she called. "Is that you?"
There was no reply, and Sarah went back to pegging her clothes up. Zach heaved uncertainly back up to his feet and toddled across the yard again. Sarah could hear him babbling happily to himself as he wandered about behind her.
Zach gave a strangled cry and Sarah spun around, fearing he'd managed to catch himself on something, but what she saw was far worse.
Inside her yard was a man, dressed all in flowing black robes, with Zach caught up in his arms. The man cuddled him to his chest like a favoured uncle bestowing hugs.
Sarah dropped the clothes basket and lunged towards him. "Give him to me," she cried.
The man turned his head towards her and favoured her with a look at his face, pale and drawn, writhing as though things were living under it. He grinned ghoulishly, Sarah screamed again, and he twisted and slid over the fence like a shadow.
"Zach!" Sarah screeched and, throwing herself at the fence, clambered over it. But there was no sign of the man or her child in the neighbour's yard.
It was five minutes later when Mrs Wilson, Sarah's neighbour, concerned by the wailing and crying, came out and found Sarah, still half hanging over their shared fence.
Allan was a happy man. His and Cecile's little army of town residents now numbered well over four thousand. Not quite half the town's population, not even close, but it was a good start. He predicted by the end of the week they would have an extra three thousand converts, just through word of mouth.
Not all of them were fully qualified Shadoweaters, most of them wouldn't reach that stage, but would serve merely as infantry, front liners in the final battle that was to come.
The training was coming along even better than he could have hoped, a lot of their trainees were able to shadow a whole child without trying, and Cecile predicted they would soon be able to comfortably do the same to a full grown adult. The fat pig of a security guard had been a test of that. The Shadoweater who'd carried out the murder wasn't fully trained yet, but he was getting there. He was a bit of a loose cannon though, and the stupid idiot wanted nothing more than to go after his wife. He thought she was cheating on him.
Their most recent acquisition, the boy, cried out miserably from the bathroom where they were currently holding him and Allan turned in that direction. He had thought to use this one for training, but on second thought, decided he'd rather the boy's life-force for himself. He had a lot of work ahead and would need all the strength he could muster.
Especially if the one with The Light showed up. He'd already caused them enough trouble in their other incursions and Allan was damned if he was going to let them mess this one up for them as well.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE