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  MOVING WITH THE SUN

  Book Three in the Troop of Shadows Chronicles

  By Nicki Huntsman Smith

  Copyright © 2018 by Nicki Smith

  http://www.MovingWithTheSun.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 author, 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”.

  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, Al, Lisa, Lori, and Ray, who provided advice, suggestions, and top-notch cheerleading. My books are better because of you.

  My friends and family, who have always accepted my eccentric interests and overt nerdiness with indulgent affection.

  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 - Anonymous

  Chapter 1 - Tyler

  Chapter 2 - Rosemary

  Chapter 3 – Amelia

  Chapter 4 – Ingrid

  Chapter 5 – Tyler

  Chapter 6 – Rosemary

  Chapter 7 – Tyler

  Chapter 8 – Amelia

  Chapter 9 – Cthor-Vangt and Jessie

  Chapter 10 – Ingrid

  Chapter 11 – Anonymous

  Chapter 12 – Rosemary

  Chapter 13 – The Love Shack

  Chapter 14 – Tyler

  Chapter 15 – Fergus

  Chapter 16 – Anonymous

  Chapter 17 – Ingrid

  Chapter 18 – Rosemary

  Chapter 19 – Amelia and Fergus

  Chapter 20 – Tyler

  Chapter 21 – Jessie

  Chapter 22 - Anonymous

  Chapter 23 – Rosemary

  Chapter 24 – Ingrid

  Chapter 25 – Fergus

  Chapter 26 – Tyler

  Chapter 27 – Jessie

  Chapter 28 – Amelia

  Chapter 29 – Ingrid

  Chapter 30 – Rosemary

  Chapter 31 - Fergus

  Chapter 32 – Anonymous

  Chapter 33 – Jessie

  Chapter 34 – Ingrid

  Chapter 35 – Rosemary and Amelia

  Chapter 36 – Fergus

  Chapter 37 – Jessie

  Chapter 38 – Amelia

  Chapter 39 – Ingrid

  Chapter 40 – Anonymous

  Chapter 41 – Fergus

  Chapter 42 – Jessie

  Chapter 43 – Anonymous

  Chapter 44 –Amelia

  Chapter 45 - Rosemary

  Chapter 46 – Ingrid

  Chapter 47 – Jessie

  Chapter 48 – Ingrid

  Chapter 49 – Amelia

  Chapter 50 – Ingrid

  Chapter 51 – Tyler

  Chapter 52 – Jessie

  Epilogue – Fergus

  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 - Anonymous

  Dear Diary,

  We destroyed the bridges today in an effort to make us ‘safer.’ Acquiring the explosives was no small task, but the placement and detonation was child’s play. Bridges are easily demolished, unlike larger structures, such as skyscrapers and athletic stadiums. When it came time to topple them, it was over in less than five seconds. Rather anti-climactic, but still more interesting than anything else that happened today.

  I admit, I have mixed feelings about being cut off from the continent. Of course, there will still be access via boat, or for those so inclined, an invigorating swim, but removing the bridge roads felt a bit like severing an umbilical cord. It’s an appropriate metaphor; all the necessities of life for this baby island formerly came from the mother mainland.

  Now we’re truly on our own.

  You have to see the irony, Diary. You do, don’t you? They went to such extreme measures to secure their safety and well-being, blissfully unaware that already in their straw-hut midst is one who intends them more harm than any huffing-puffing wolf.

  Chapter 1 - Tyler

  “Little dude, that is not the way to do it. You can’t rush these things. Pretend there’s a school of mermaids swimming around out there. You don’t want to fling that hook into a mermaid face or a mermaid breast. You want to lob it gently into the water so she’ll notice it. She’ll see the bait and swim up to it, all sexy and gorgeous with her long red hair streaming around her, then her luscious lips will latch on to it. When you feel that tug, that’s when you go Rambo on her. Yank the rod to set the hook. Got it?”

  Tyler spoke to the fourteen-year-old standing next to him on the beach. The water looked like celadon silk, the late morning sky was an azure canvass painted with wispy horse-tail clouds, and the temperature was already a balmy ninety degrees.

  “You just described The Little Mermaid. You want me to set a hook in the mouth of Disney’s most beloved princess? What kind of monster are you? And a Rambo reference? Are you eighty?”

  Tyler laughed. During college at the University of Florida, the movie star smile in the handsome face had compelled most members of the Zeta Tau Alpha sorority to drop their lacy panties. He doubted that many of those nubile young ladies were alive now. The scattering of survivors seemed to register very high on the intelligence scale, and the Zetas had been known for their blond hair and long legs, not their brains,

  “Never mind about Rambo,” he said to the boy. “Just remember what I told you. You’re smart. You can do this.”

  “I’m a lover, not a fisherman,” Kenny said, slipping into Tyler’s surfer-dude accent. Tyler wasn’t sure if the kid did that without thinking or if he were being made fun of. Kenny was one intelligent kid. And it was hilarious to hear a short, nerdy black teen emulating his speech pattern.

  “Lover? Really? Have you even kissed a girl yet?”

  Kenny smirked and waggled his eyebrows. “I’m not the kiss-and-tell type, pervert. Go bag your own woman.”

  “For sure, man. Just know that if you have any questions about...that kind of stuff...I’m here for you.”

  He had become attached to the orphaned teenager these past few months. There were a lot of brainy people in the Colony – himself included – but Tyler often wondered if Kenny weren’t the smartest of all. When the boy had wandered onto the island while the bridges were still intact, he had been near-starving and suffering from PTSD. God
knew what he must have witnessed out there in Mad Max Land. Tyler had offered up one of his bedrooms with the understanding that his fostering was temporary; at twenty-six, he wasn’t ready to be a parent. But in the process of getting some meat on the kid’s bones, the two had bonded. There would be no need to pass him onto any of the other Colonists at this stage.

  “Dude, I know about sex. I’m fourteen, not four.”

  “Right. Sorry. But I’m just saying, I’m here for you if you have any questions. There’s a lot more to relationships and romance than the sexual act.”

  Kenny rolled his eyes. “Seriously. Stop talking.”

  “Okay, okay.” Tyler smiled. “I think you have an interested mermaid. Do you feel it? Look at your line skittering as you reel in. See how it’s darting a little to the left and right? That’s what you’re looking for.”

  “I think I do feel something,” Kenny said, too excited to resume surfer-dude speak. His normal voice often carried a post-puberty break – much to his dismay – and the accent was pure Brooklyn. “Fuckbucket! I think I caught one!”

  “Hey, that kind of language will not cut it. You know Rosemary’s etiquette law. Nothing worse than ‘shit’ or ‘damn.’”

  “I can’t help it. I have Tourette’s.”

  “Horseshit. That Tourette’s business might work on the others, but not on me. You’re such a weirdo for doing that.”

  “Not a weirdo. Fake Tourette’s allows me to say stuff I wouldn’t otherwise get away with.”

  “Yeah, there’s nothing weird about that at all.”

  “It’s brilliant, actually,” Kenny replied, reeling in what might be a decent-sized fish, judging by the sweat glistening on the kid’s face as he struggled with the rod. “The benefits are twofold: I get to make snarky comments with impunity, and I also get sympathy because I have a ‘condition.’ With sympathy comes cookies. It’s simple causation theory. Oh wait...let me dumb that down for you, blondie. That means cause and effect. Ladies feel sorry for me, I get cookies. Holy crap! I think I hooked Moby Dick!”

  “Amberjack, subspecies crevalle, more likely. Let me dumb that down for you, Moriarty. You snagged a jack. That’s what you usually get in the surf. They’re decent eating when smoked or diced up in corn fritters.”

  “Why did you call me Moriarty? Isn’t that the bad guy in Sherlock Holmes? I’m not a villain. I’m adorable.”

  “I called you that because you’re an evil genius.”

  “Let’s keep that between the two of us for now,” Kenny said with a grunt, pulling the fish out of the water and flinging it onto the sand.

  “You got it, little dude. Yep, it’s a jack, all right. Good job,” Tyler said, removing the lure. “This is a small one. They’ll get three times that size a half mile out. Let’s take it up to the Love Shack and put it on ice. Maybe you can use your fake Tourette’s to score some cookies for us both.”

  It was a five-minute walk from the shore to the Colony’s common house, aka The Love Shack. In its former life, the building had hosted parties and social functions for those locals willing to pay the hefty annual membership fee; it was a beach version of a country club, but without a golf course. And it didn’t need one. The views of the ocean to the east and the inlet channel to the south were magnificent. The second story wrap-around balcony was one of the best places on the island to catch a cool breeze. Inside lay the nucleus of the Colony. Two commercial freezers, three refrigerators, a six-burner stove, several microwave ovens, and anything else that required electricity and was necessary for comfort and survival, including a serviceable collection of books. Nobody had power at their houses, not after the Solar Harvest when every panel in the area had been collected and installed here. Outside, a herd of 12-volt deep-cycle marine batteries stored the sun’s energy captured by the panels; a dozen nearby inverters transformed it from DC to AC. Everything was connected – panels to batteries, batteries to inverters, inverters to the Love Shack. The result was a miniature power plant, and it was vastly more efficient than the meager electricity formerly produced at individual homes.

  The decision to create the Love Shack had been a pivotal moment in the evolution of their cooperative community. They would all fare better if they worked together, just like those hundreds of solar panels lining the roof and grounds of the communal building.

  There was strength in numbers.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” Tyler said to one of the people standing at the stove. The kitchen folks usually did the cooking in the early morning or at night, when it was cooler. All the windows were open and the temperature wasn’t unpleasant at the moment. By late afternoon it would be sweltering, just like everywhere else on the island.

  “Howdy, handsome. Hello, little boy,” the woman replied without turning. Charlotte hadn’t seen the kid, but she knew he was there. The woman was a hillbilly ninja, with her partially toothless grin and her innate ability to know everything that was going on around her. It was a bonus that she was the best cook this side of Appalachia.

  “How do you do that?” Kenny said to the woman’s skinny backside. “And why do you call me a little boy? I ain’t little where it counts. Huge cock!”

  The combination of the fake Tourette’s done in Charlotte’s Kentucky accent was almost too much. He bit his lip and punched Kenny in the arm.

  “Sorry about that, Charlotte. You know how it is with him.”

  The woman turned around while stirring the large stock pot. Thin lips twitched at the corners. Tyler could picture a corn cob pipe poking out of that mouth and a ramshackle cabin in the background. She might look like a country bumpkin, but that wasn’t a euphemism for stupid. And while he suspected Charlotte might have been a deep-south racist in her former life, she had grown as attached to the nerdy black teenager as had Tyler himself.

  “You brung me a fish, I see. Not a big ‘un, but it’ll do. Gut it, scale it, put it in a baggie with some water, then stick it in the freezer on the right. Not the other one...that’s for everything that didn’t come from the ocean. When you done that, come back and I’ll give you boys some cookies. I baked a fresh batch this morning.”

  “Whoop!” Kenny said, darting a pointed glance at Tyler. He was out the door the next moment.

  “He know how to gut and scale?”

  “Yep. I let him do that string of pompano I caught two days ago. He did a good job.”

  Charlotte nodded. Whatever bubbled on the stove smelled delicious. Tyler thought again how fortunate their community was to have her. She could make seagull edible.

  “He doing okay? I fret ‘bout that boy. Ain’t right for a child to go through all that by hisself.” She waved the soup ladle in the direction of the mainland and the aftermath of the plague. “He ever talk about it?”

  “Nah. I’ve tried to get him to, but he clams right up. Maybe sometimes it’s best to leave sleeping dogs lie. Know what I mean?” he said, maneuvering to get a spoon into the pot.

  “You’re lucky I like you. Otherwise, you’d be missing some fingers right about now. Go ahead. Tell me what you think.”

  He could see okra and bell pepper floating in the rich broth, and something else that might have been looking right back at him. The spoon paused on its trajectory.

  “Don’t worry. Thems frozen oysters from the spring. I know better than to serve summer oysters, even though I never seen seafood until I come here. If you’d hurry up and get that oyster farm going, we’d have a lot more. You marine biologists sure do move slow.”

  Tyler smiled, then sipped the liquid heaven. “Oh my god. You’re a culinary sorceress. As for the oyster farm, these things can take a couple of years. It took weeks just to get the cages repaired and in place, then seeded with the...let’s call them ‘baby oysters’...from the aquaponics tank. They’ll still take another year or two to reach maturity. In the meantime, we’ll still have wild oysters during the winter months. Patience, my dear.” He kissed the bony cheek before heading out to check on Kenny.

  As he steppe
d back through the main door of the Love Shack, he heard a popping sound, then shouts coming from the side of the island that faced the Intracoastal Waterway and the continental land mass beyond. The western side of their diminutive paradise had been secured in several ways. The first line of defense was staying out of sight. Colonists were discouraged from going to the west side where they might be seen from the mainland – if there were no visible inhabitants, there was no one from whom to steal food. Second, a discreet watchtower had been constructed in a copse of royal palm trees in which a sentry stood guard twenty-four hours a day. Third, a series of cadavers, long dead and past the smelly stage, dangled from wooden crosses near the shoreline, signaling a clear warning: stay away or this will happen to you. Their fourth line of defense for the persistent would-be intruder: a percussion tripwire installed near the water’s edge. Anyone who swam or boated across the waterway and trudged upon the sandy beach of Jupiter Inlet Colony would encounter it. The tripwire wouldn’t kill; its purpose was to announce a breach of their perimeter. The ball bearings from the shotgun shells had been removed, leaving the harmless caps that would explode with a loud pop when triggered.

  “Come on, but stay behind me!” Tyler said, sprinting past the boy, who had already dropped the half-gutted fish.

  “Should I arm my dart gun?” Kenny reached into the back pocket of his baggy cut-off shorts as he ran.

  “No. I told you to leave that stuff at home. You could accidently hurt yourself or someone else with those things.” The two sprinted down residential streets on their way from the Atlantic side of the tiny island to the Intracoastal side.

  “You never know when there might be a pirate invasion. My wolfsbane darts are ready for those eye-patched, parrot-shouldered bastards.”

  “Put them away. Now.”

  “Damn it, you’re pissing in my Wheaties again.” He slid the gun back into its pocket.

  “Where are the darts?”

  “They’re in a Tupperware container. Don’t trouble your pretty head about them.”