The Takers: Book One of the Oz Chronicles (17 page)

Some 45 minutes later, we got our first call from Roy. He had found a campground off I-75. He would wait for us at exit 290.

"I didn't see any signs of trouble," he said. "You can breathe easy."

"Not likely," I said. I turned Chubby around to inform everybody that Roy was safe, and he had found a place for us to bed down for the night. Best of all, he reported that we had a safe passage. I was hoping that it would put the others more at ease than it did me.

As I made my way to the wagon, I gave Wes the news, and he informed his passengers, Tyrone and Valerie. Chubby moved past the van and we approached the wagon. I was about to give the others the news when I saw something on the horizon behind us that gave me pause. Then again I couldn't be sure if I saw anything. Though the temperature was in the fifties and the pavement below me wasn't conducting any heat, I was hoping I was seeing a heat-induced mirage. Far off in the distance, I saw what looked like an army marching our way. It stretched across both sides of the interstate, and the soldiers were the size of specks, thousands of them, all dressed in black. I blinked my eyes to try and push them out of my vision but they were still there.

Miles saw my awed expression. "What's up, boss?" He turned to look over his shoulder to try and see what had me so spooked. He had no reaction.

My gaze went from the approaching horde to Miles and back to the advancing throng. They were gone. Miles clearly had not seen them. "Nothing," I said not sounding very convincing. I turned Chubby around next to the wagon and we trotted along side the others. My head was turned to the rear. I looked for the marching people to reappear.

"Did Roy call?" Reya asked. I didn't immediately answer. My eyes were fixed on the real estate behind us. "Captain Kid," Reya said, her voice impatient and terse.

I snapped out of my fixation. "What?"

"Roy—did he call?"

"Yeah, yeah, he called. Everything is fine. He found a campground for us." I tapped Chubby on his ribs with my heels. "Let's pick up the pace." I ran up to tell Wes the same thing. I was filled with a sudden sense of urgency.

***

As promised, Roy was waiting for us at exit 290. He escorted us to McKaskey Creek Campground. The mixture of the evergreens and turning fall colors made it a picturesque spot for traveling campers or, in our case, traveling warriors. A slight wind blew in from the east and turned the lake into a churning pale green pool. Had I not been worried about the mission we were on, the impending next meeting with the Takers, the eerie call from the Délons, and the either imagined or real marching army to our rear, I would have found the atmosphere very relaxing. As it was, I was a bubbling caldron of trepidation and fear. I could not escape my inner feeling of doom. I scanned our ragtag group, and cursed myself for getting them involved in this. I should have walked out of the Kroger's grocery store the first night I met Wes and Lou, and I should have kept on going until I reached the interstate. Then none of them would be here. I sat on a picnic table away from the others, kicking myself for even leaving my parents' closet.

Wes and Roy approached me with some fishing poles. "Where'd you get those?" I asked.

Roy smiled. "There's a bait and tackle shop up the road. I got one for everybody." He handed me a rod and reel. "Got a tackle box full of spinners and lures."

"I'm the king of fishing," Wes said, his voice almost giddy. "Alltoona's known for its stripers and rock fish. Bet you I hook the biggest."

I looked at the rod and reel and tried to make myself seem excited. I couldn't pull it off, and Wes noticed.

"C'mon, Oz," he said. "Kick back a little. Relax. There's enough trouble ahead to keep us occupied for the next hundred years or so. Might as well enjoy the simple things when you can."

I smiled out of courtesy more than sincerity. "What's the winner get?"

"What?" he asked.

"Your bet. What's the winner get?"

"Oh, well the joy of watching all the losers clean and cook up the day's catch."

I smiled, this time sincerely. I had been so down in the dumps it had not occurred to me that fishing would not only provide us with some much needed distraction from our current situation, but it would also provide us with a hot, freshly cooked meal. Somehow adding that little practical matter to the task made it even more enjoyable. When you do something out of necessity, it always feels more rewarding. I jumped off the table, and we all headed for the rocky shore.

I cocked back the open face reel and tossed my spinner into the murky lake water. It was as if I were instantly bathed in an invisible shield of relaxation. The sound of the clicking gears, the gentle splash of the water, the breeze blowing through the colored leaves, it was so calming that I forgot all about Takers, and crossbows, and firecrackers, and battle plans. It poured out of my mind like water pours through a break in a damn. I looked up and down the shore and was happy to see everybody in our group was fishing. Ajax and Kimball even sat with Tyrone and Valerie, patiently waiting for them to untangle their lines and make their first cast.

Wes was true to his proclamation. He was the king of fishing. He not only caught the biggest, he caught the most. There was a mixture of striper, largemouth bass, and perch. The biggest was a striper that Wes bragged weighed at least 15 pounds. The losers of the bet pitched in and cleaned the bounty under Wes's very close and often irritating supervision.

We cooked the fish over an open fire and ate what was by far my most hearty and delicious meal since I woke up from my fever-induced slumber. I was not a big fan offish, but at the moment, I would have told you my favorite food of all time was anything with gills and a dorsal fin.

Ajax and Kimball were the only ones who did not eat the fish. I was afraid Kimball would choke on the bones so I fed him his normal diet of Alpo. Ajax wasn't a meat eater by nature, so he stuck to a small portion of apples and berries. His appetite wasn't quite back to normal, but I could tell from his eyes that he was getting back to his old self.

We ate all the while knowing that just a few short hours ago, we were preparing to do battle with the Délons. Had Roy not been witness to the voice on the radio, I'm sure the others would have believed I was just being overly paranoid. Where did they go? I didn't tell anybody about my sighting back on the interstate. I couldn't be sure it was real since Miles had not seen anything at all. There was a possibility that the stress of the situation had played tricks on my mind. Perhaps I did see a mirage. The conditions weren't perfect for it, but it was possible.

We hadn't given up on the idea the Délons would make an appearance, but as time passed we were becoming less and less apprehensive about it. We gathered around the campfire and talked about better days. Roy spoke about his parents. Reya still remained aloof and didn't participate much in our conversation, but she smiled as her brother talked about their mom and dad. Their father was a truck driver, and their mother was a special education teacher. They were hard working people who were strict but loving parents. Miles lived with his mom and saw his dad on weekends. Truth be known, he didn't really like going to his dad's house. Miles didn't get along with his dad's ever-changing lineup of girlfriends. He spent most of his time playing Play Station 2. He was a Madden freak just like me. Devlin lived with his grandparents. His dad ditched him when he was three and his mom died in a car crash a year later. He never really felt loved by his grandparents. They cared for him the best they knew how, but they were cordial and off-putting when they interacted with him. He sometimes thought that, given the opportunity, his grandparents would have gladly turned him over to the state and washed their hands of him.

As the fire crackled and popped into the evening, Reya finally asked the question she had wanted to ask for some time. "Why don't we just give them the baby?"

There was a thick, unsettling silence that hung in the air after she spoke. I could tell some of the others had been wondering the same thing. The baby after all was a Storyteller, and it was a Storyteller that was responsible for bringing the Takers into our world.

"We have to get him to the Keepers," I said, trying to sound assured that was the best thing to do.

"Besides," Lou said looking up at the purple crack in the sky, "you see what happens when they get their hands on a Storyteller."

"So let's kill it." Reya said so directly and coldly that it chilled me.

"What did you say?" I was daring her to say it again.

"Reya!" Roy wanted to pounce on her for saying such a stupid thing.

"I'm serious. He ain't nothing but a baby now. He ain't no Storyteller yet. We should kill him before he causes more pain and suffering in this world." There was a certain unassailable logic to her statement. If we kill Nate, then he can never grow up to be a Storyteller. The Takers can't use him to bring forth their army.

Ajax was showing more signs of his old self now. The more Reya talked, the more agitated he became. He hollered as she continued to make her case.

"All I'm saying is, we should think about it. The Greasywhoppers might go away if the baby is dead." She avoided looking anyone in the eyes.

"There's nothing to think about," I said, the anger dominating my tone. "We have to get Nate to the Keepers. If the Greasywhoppers want him because he can help them, then that means he can hurt them, too."

"A whole lot of trouble over a little retard," Reya snapped.

My heart stopped when I heard her use that word. I stood, my hands balled in a fist. "What did you say?"

She stood and towered over me. "He's a retard. He's got Down syndrome. Believe me, I know. My mother taught those little short bus freaks."

I looked at Nate who was in Lou's arms. "How do you know?"

She smiled smugly. "My momma worked with retards of all ages. She looked after babies, too. Look at Nate's ears, they're what's called dysplastic, all tiny and funny shaped. You see his fifth finger is dysplastic too." None of us knew what she meant. "There's only one joint." We all looked at Nate and then each other. "He's got the retard eyes, too…"

"Stop saying that word," I said. I was more than a little angry. I could have beaten the living crap out of her, but I controlled myself. "If you ever harm a hair on that kid's head or even so much as talk about it again, I'll feed you to a Greasywhopper myself."

Her mouth dropped. She was sizing me up to see if I could back up my threat. I could see that she was torn. Finally she turned to her brother. "Are you going to let him talk to me that way?"

"Hell, Reya, I was just about to shake his hand. You just don't know when to shut up." Roy stood and walked away.

Reya stomped a foot and groaned angrily. She hated me now more than ever because her brother had taken my side one too many times. I could see her plotting her revenge in her mind even as she sat back down and returned her steely gaze to the flames of the campfire.

I grabbed Nate from Lou and headed toward a nearby picnic table. Wes followed after me.

"You gotta do something about her," he said.

"We need her," I said, not knowing if I believed that any more.

"We need her like we need a thorn in our keisters," he said as I sat down.

Roy approached. "I can handle her."

"I don't think you can." Wes was insistent.

I raised my hand. "She stays," I said unapologetically. "Roy you're in charge of her. If she gets out of hand, you're going to have to make a choice."

Roy nodded. "I've already made my choice. I'm a warrior. I'll keep her under control."

"And if you can't?" Wes asked.

"I'll personally toss her out on her rear," Roy said unequivocally.

Wes looked at Reya sitting next the fire. "You may have to do more than that."

"Meaning?" Roy said.

"Meaning she's a hothead that won't go quietly." He turned back to Roy. "You prepared to do whatever's necessary?"

Roy swallowed hard. "Yeah."

I rocked Nate in my arms. "She'll come around," I said. "It won't come to that."

When Wes and Roy left, I focused my attention on Nate. Was Reya right about him? Did he have Down syndrome? If so, that would make him like both Stevies. One was a Storyteller and the other who could hear the Takers in his head. I thought about how I treated Stevie Dayton and was racked with guilt. I was the one who put the monsters in his head. I made him feel so useless and unwanted that he created the Takers. Stevie Dayton wasn't responsible for the end of the world. I was. I held Nate close and vowed to myself that no one would ever treat him like I treated Stevie Dayton.

***

We posted sentries in shifts until morning. Six of us paired off in groups of two. Each pair took a three-hour shift. I'm not sure how necessary the guards were because none of us really slept more than a couple of hours. And, when we did sleep it was a restless unsatisfying respite from the insanity that came with being awake. The craziness waited for us in our dreams, too.

I took second shift with Wes. We kept each other awake reliving Titans football games. He was almost as big a fan as I was. Turns out he was there for the Music City Miracle, too. We both agreed it was the greatest play in the history of professional football.

It wasn't until late in our shift that we turned to more serious matters. After some talk about how the game of football related to war and battle strategies, Wes leaned in and said, "You know you're a born leader, kid."

I felt embarrassed and unworthy. "Nah, I'm just trying to get by."

He snickered. "Yeah, right. I've seen you in action, Oz. You answered the call, my friend. Not everybody does."

"You did," I said.

"Please, if you hadn't have come along, I'd still be sitting in that mattress store in Manchester. Everybody in this campsite tonight is here because of you." He yawned, and then continued. "Well, maybe not Reya, but she's a different story all together."

I caught his yawn and shook my head to fight off fatigue. I surveyed the sleeping bodies in our camp. "I don't know if we can do it." I looked at Wes. "Win, I mean."