Beauty and Dread Read online

  “Beauty and Dread”

  By Nicki Huntsman Smith

  Copyright © 2016 by Nicki Smith

  http://www.BeautyandDread.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, use the contact form at http://NickiHuntsmanSmith.com and use the subject “Attention: Permissions Coordinator”.

  ISBN-13:

  978-1539869290

  ISBN-10:

  1539869296

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank the following:

  Lori, my editor, proofreader, and grammar consultant extraordinaire. Thankfully, comma placement doesn’t vex her as profoundly as it does me.

  My beta readers, who provided advice, suggestions, and top-notch cheerleading. Al, your suggestions were especially helpful.

  My friends and family, who have always accepted my eccentric interests and overt nerdiness with indulgent affection. If any of my children ever read my books, they will get mentioned by name. That’s the deal.

  Lastly and most importantly, my husband Ray, without whose constant encouragement, gentle nudging, infinite patience, and support on a million different levels, this book would never have been written. I owe him everything.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Epilogue

  A Shadow

  I said unto myself, if I were dead,

  What would befall these children? What would be

  Their fate, who now are looking up to me

  For help and furtherance? Their lives, I said,

  Would be a volume wherein I have read

  But the first chapters, and no longer see

  To read the rest of their dear history,

  So full of beauty and so full of dread.

  Be comforted; the world is very old,

  And generations pass, as they have passed,

  A troop of shadows moving with the sun;

  Thousands of times has the old tale been told;

  The world belongs to those who come the last,

  They will find hope and strength as we have done.

  --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Prologue

  London

  British Institute for the Study of Iraq

  “Pity there’s no one left to share this with,” Harold muttered to himself.

  Dr. Harold Clarke’s final decoding of the seven mysterious Urak tablets had been gratifying and exhilarating; the pinnacle of his career, actually. It was the culmination of more than a year’s tireless research, done first in his barricaded Twickenham flat, and then continued at the BISI housed in the British Academy Building in London. It had been a harrowing adventure making the pilgrimage from his home to London, but he had done it. It was vital to view the tablets themselves, not just pixilated photographs. Even more importantly, he needed to touch the cuneiform symbols chiseled into the stone, allowing the author’s message to seep into his fingertips, travel along his body’s nervous system, then find the appropriate neurons in his brain to explain what the fingertips had discovered.

  Dr. Harold Clarke, brilliant anthropologist and world-renowned expert in ancient logophonetic languages, had a secret. Yes, he was a genius; his IQ was in the high 150 range. But he also possessed a hidden talent that had helped propel him to the lofty professional position he enjoyed before the end of the world happened. He had never told anyone about it. Not his family, nor his few friends, and certainly not his colleagues. His talent was something mainstream science would have ridiculed and dismissed. But because Harold was smart, he had used his gift to make himself a better scientist during his career, and again recently to decipher the ancient stone tablets before him. After weeks of studying them, touching them, coaxing from them their long-dead secrets, there had been a breakthrough, and it went beyond just the translation. He had connected, telepathically, with their author who should have died more than twelve thousand years ago.

  Chapter 1

  Liberty, Kansas

  “What the hell do you mean, she’s gone?” Maddie’s pale face was flushed with frustration. Her red gold hair stuck out at odd angles, a follicular casualty of her recent head injury. After the necessary butchering, Pablo had said all that luxurious hair actually detracted from her beauty, and he meant it. But now, he had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. She looked like a reject from a casting call of Peter Pan’s Lost Boys.

  “Jessie said she wasn’t in her bed this morning, and she wasn’t in the front or backyard. I’ll keep looking though. Please, lie back down. In case you forgot, your beautiful noggin is still recovering. Getting upset can’t be good for you.”

  A bright spot of blood blossomed on the white gauze bandage which encircled her shorn head, underscoring his concern.

  Once he got her tucked back into bed, he would search for Amelia. But right now there was nothing more important than taking care of Maddie, making sure she didn’t cause further harm to herself or the graphing calculator that was her brain.

  Jessie stood in the doorway. He felt her presence there before he saw her. Those unusual sea-green eyes studied him, but he no longer found the child disconcerting. Somehow, Amelia had pulled Maddie through the devastation of a bullet wound in her skull, an injury that happened outside of Albuquerque the previous week. Jessie had been a witness to the doctoring, but Pablo had been banished from the room and would probably never know how Amelia had done it. Even more astonishing than Maddie’s survival was the apparent lack of residual brain damage. So far the only side effect of the head trauma had been her newfound ‘psychic’ ability which had brought them to Liberty, caravanning with the other group of oddities which included the scary female warrior, the handsome guy, and the red-haired man, who died during the Hays mission.

  That was a shame. He had liked the cheeky little fellow.

  Pablo ushered the little girl out of the bedroom and closed
the door behind them.

  “You’ve searched all around the yard and up and down the street, Jessie? She can’t have gone far.”

  The child nodded, but then remembered her agreement with Pablo. She must vocalize rather than gesticulate.

  “Yes, Pablo.” The singsong voice perfectly suited her. The elfin otherworldliness had diminished somewhat now that she was clean and communicative.

  “Do you want to stay here while I go search? She’s probably just exploring...chatting to the locals and whatnot. I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” he added when he noticed the distress on the child’s face. They had all bonded with the Amelia. Her easygoing nature, inherent wisdom, and tranquil demeanor had made her the perfect travel companion, and now, an invaluable friend.

  “Yes, I’ll stay with Maddie. Please go now.”

  “Okay, okay.” He smiled at the child. “You’re worrying for nothing though. I know she’ll turn up any minute now.”

  For the rest of the morning and a good portion of the afternoon, he canvassed the surrounding area, returning every hour to check on the girls at their new home – a small ranch-style dwelling near the center of town where the community greenhouse was being built. Then later that day when he arrived at the meeting taking place in the former courthouse, he asked everyone he met if they had seen Amelia. No one had.

  “Come on, people. Let’s take it down a notch.” Steven, Liberty’s unofficial leader, raised his voice to be heard above the din.

  Pablo hadn’t yet decided how he felt about the man. He seemed insufferable at times, but little fault could be found with his decisions thus far. Sometimes exceptionally smart people were oblivious to their own pedantic natures; he had learned that lesson from his parents who had encouraged his creativity and supported his lofty literary goals but were quick to bring him down a peg when he complained about his less than articulate peers. So many people in his culture never embraced English, even though they lived in the United States. This baffled Pablo, who was a wordsmith in both English and Spanish. His parents had been proud of their son’s exceptionalism but would often point out that nobody liked a puto arrogante...arrogant asshole.

  “Where the hell do you get off acting in direct violation of the vote, Steven?” The speaker’s angry voice came from the row behind, but Pablo kept his eyes on Steven at the center of the room. “Is that how it’s going to be from now on? Everyone has to abide by the rules except you? Is this what you bought with the food you shared?”

  “The rescue operation was an exception, I promise. The circumstances demanded action and since we suffered no casualties, I think we should just let it go for now. There are more pressing matters to discuss. May we proceed?”

  “Do we have a choice? You seem to be running the show now.”

  “We always have choices, but why waste valuable time and energy debating the semantics of government and majority rule when we won’t make it through the winter with our current food supply levels?”

  The man didn’t respond.

  Game, set, match.

  “You’re wrong about the casualties.”

  The voice came from a bench in the back row of concentric circles. The speaker was the intimidating young woman, Dani, and judging by the look on her face, she was either about to cry or kill someone. Maybe both. Pablo was glad he wasn’t the one who had upset her.

  “Of course. I misspoke. Your friend Fergus was a tragic loss, but also not yet a member of our town.”

  “No, but he volunteered for your dangerous, unsanctioned mission, and now he’s gone. So there were casualties.”

  Steven tilted his head a degree, studying the girl. “You volunteered too.”

  “I had to. No one else on this planet could have done what I did, and clearly it was a job that needed to be done. As for all you assholes who voted against saving those women, fuck every last one of you. Sam, do you want to live in a town where half the people wanted to let those girls suffer?” She spoke to the Greek god sitting next to her.

  Pablo watched Steven’s face. Was he trying not to smile?

  “Give us a chance. Let us prove to you that we’re good folks. Scared folks, but good folks. You and Sam would be huge assets to our town, and we have a lot to offer in return,” Steven said.

  The girl opened her mouth to reply, but Sam reached for her arm and gently pulled her back onto the bench beside him. If any other person had tried that maneuver, he would have broken fingers now.

  “We’ll talk later, Dani. Candidly and with no sugarcoating, I promise. Now, Marilyn, what’s first up on the agenda for today’s discussion?”

  Before focusing his attention on the spinsterish librarian, Pablo saw Steven wink at his sister, who sat with her strange companion in one of the front rows.

  Now there’s a human oddity, he thought, observing the wild blond hair and vacant smile of the person sitting next to Julia. Inspiration for a new poem came to mind as he covertly watched the young man.

  Goodness is a notion in which all may not partake

  Kindness is a choice not everyone must make

  Be true to the nature at one’s core

  Love the dark things others abhor

  Whatever dark things that nutcase might love, Pablo hoped never to find out.

  Chapter 2

  “You’re like a mother hen. Please don’t fret so. I’m sure I’ll be fine in a few days. These ladies are taking excellent care of me.”

  Julia stood at the bedside of her friend. The town had set up a makeshift medical clinic in the former Liberty Regional Hospital. There was no power, but plenty of sunlight streamed through the windows, and a kerosene lamp sat on a table next to a water cup and a plate with Thoozy’s half-eaten lunch. He still didn’t have his appetite nor his strength back after the morning she had found him barely conscious in his motel room.

  “You must eat, old man. Come on, finish that tuna fish.”

  The dark-skinned face assumed the universal expression of disgust; the normally smiling mouth turned down in an exaggerated grimace. “It’s just so fishy! If God intended for people to consume creatures that breathe water and swim in their own toilet, he’d have made them taste better.”

  “You big whiner. When I come back in the morning, I’ll bring some land-based food. Steven has some canned pork and beans. How does that sound?”

  “Sounds like I’ll be able to entertain the nurses with my butt trumpet tomorrow night.”

  The warm grin was back to normal, but the haggardness around his eyes and the tight-lipped way he glanced at Logan hovering by the door bothered Julia. Something was deeply amiss with her friend, but it seemed there was nothing she could do to draw him out.

  “Okay, Thoozy, we’ll be back tomorrow bearing flatulence-creating, non-fishy-tasting gifts.” She smiled at one of the women from the medical crew who had just breezed through the doorway. She remembered her name was Natalie, but that was all she had gotten from Steven about her other than some visibly discomfited foot shuffling. Her big-sister radar told her the two must have some history, but there had been no time yet for an extended conversation with her brother. She hoped to have one later once Logan and her nephew Jeffrey were in bed.

  “One more thing, Doc,” he said to her in a low, conspiratorial voice with another glance at the blond young man who was absorbed in studying the woman who’d just entered. Julia recognized that face: he was analyzing her ‘colors.’

  “Have you had a chance to talk to your brother about that thing we discussed in the car the other day?” The cotton ball head twitched in Logan’s direction.

  She read the subtext: Have you told your brother about Logan? Explained his behavioral and psychological issues which could range from harmless Asperger’s and manic depression to more dangerous disorders such as schizophrenia or psychopathy? And by the way, have you mentioned to your brother, in whose home you and your ward are guests, that your former traveling companion also exhibits savant-level abilities with firearms?


  She felt a flash of annoyance. This was her problem, not Thoozy’s.

  “Not yet, but I will, I promise. We had the town hall meeting this afternoon, and Steven has been busy preparing for it. See you tomorrow, Thoozy.”

  “When we can have a moment alone...just the two of us...” another head twitch in Logan’s direction, “I need to talk to you about something. It’s important.”

  She nodded, kissed the old man on the top of his Q-tip head, and hustled Logan through the door. A minute later they were outside of the hospital and walking toward their bicycles. A fierce wind gusted straight out of the north; the weak setting sun was no match for it. It would be a chilly ride back to Steven’s house which was five miles from Liberty’s town square.

  “The nurse’s colors weren’t as pretty as yours.”

  “I saw you looking at her,” Julia said, as they mounted their bikes. “It’s good that you can do that, Logan. I believe it’s quite a gift you have, but I wonder if it’s something we should keep to ourselves. Some people might find it a bit off-putting.” She noticed the sudden frown, his response when he didn’t understand a word. “Unpleasant, I mean. It might feel to people that you can see inside their heads, which is not a comfortable feeling. Most of us like our privacy, and we all have secrets, don’t we?”

  “Oh, yes. I think that’s true. There’s nothing bad about having secrets. My mom said so. She said I should not tell people about all the things I keep in my head. She said oversharing wasn’t good.”

  “I think your mother was a smart lady. What colors did you see, by the way? Around Natalie the nurse?”

  “It was kind of weird. They kept changing. For a while they were yellow and orange, then they would get brownish. For a minute they were almost black, then they went back to yellow and orange again. Not pretty colors, like yours. Your colors are my favorite.”

  Julia laughed between the puffing and pedaling. She thought ahead to the talk with her brother and wondered if revealing all the details regarding Logan was necessary. Much of it was conjecture on her part...nothing more than amateur psychiatry. Having an interest in a subject and reading up on it doesn’t make one an expert.