By Jonathon David Hawkins
While Samuel Skinner loaded mildewed philosophy books onto a library cart, across town Nod's hope died with a squelch and a gurgle. As Samuel was using his one arm to haul the cart into the elevator, the one who had come to Fallow looking for the boy fell backwards to avoid the silver white blade that flashed at his thick belly.
Moments before, green light had begun to creep up through the small drain cover in the center of the basement floor, piercing the damp and dark. The small metal disc rocked in place before flipping off of the drain entirely. Before it had finished rolling rustily to a stop, Nod had sent through his canary: a large, brown rat the size the house cat. It had not wanted to emerge into this strange smelling new place—which it knew, somewhere in its tiny rat mind, was far away from home—and squirmed mightily to get back down the drain. Nod's rough hands pushed out and upwards, however, and it had already learned the folly of biting those coarse fingers.
The rodent lay—flattened and still—by the drain before taking a single, quivering step forward. When nothing foul happened to his unwilling assistant, Nod deemed it safe to proceed through the opening himself. He was very wrong.
The green luminescence rising from the pipe intensified as he pushed his hands through. It was a tight fit and the snot colored light sent long shadowy fingers creeping across the floor and the shuddering rat as Nod struggled for purchase. Fingers closing on the concrete lip, Nod began to push. Without cracking, without crumbling, the floor began to give way. The hole which had begun almost too small for his two large hands to fit through was soon wide enough for man to fit his head through, then large enough to endanger a careless child, and finally wide enough for Nod to slip his brown coated shoulders through.
Pulling himself up into an old, dark basement that smelt of must and mold, the squat figure in the filthy coat and tattered hat dragged through with him the pungent musks of strange sewers. He was fully halfway out, sitting on the edge of the odorous pit, when the black patent leather shoe came down upon the rat, pushing it's guts out it's mouth.
At that instant he knew all hope of getting to the boy quickly and on detected was lost. They were going to protect the boy from him, and if possible, destroy Nod in the process. These brief, dismaying thoughts had just enough time to flash through his shocked mind before the toe of that shoe caught him beneath the chin, sprawling him backwards onto the damp cement floor.
The moment his body left it the hole began to close. By the time Nod's hat hit the floor the drain was back to its original size and the green light faded completely. The basement was utterly dark. The two could not see each other in the murk, but Nod could feel the presence of the other, sense the eddies of air swirling around long legs moving surely in the dark.
"I can smell you, fallen." His base whisper floated in the dark and almost hid the silken rasp of a blade being drawn. "Zachius expected you'd come through this portal, fallen, and I was sent to stop you." The swift swipe of the blade was felt coming in the darkness almost too late—it missed gutting Nod by only one meal's breadth—and he feared his little hunting trip would indeed be cut short. But then another lash of the blade flashed out into empty air and Nod knew this would-be guardian was simply probing in the blackness.
"Heh. ‘Twas expected yeh say?" Nod was gone half a breath before the blade that sought his voice. "Ol' Zachius didn't tell yeh who yeh'd be a hunting, though, did he now?" Another dash, another thrust. Nod hawked a gob of tobacco juice into the dark and heard the wetness of it hitting flesh.
"Why would you think that, fallen?" He heard the anger in the voice, the in the hand wiping brown saliva from smooth skin. He was being prodded to reveal himself, Nod knew. He decided to give the figure in the dark what it thought it wanted.
"Cuz if he had, yeh'd not've come alone." Something lashed out in the dark and wrapped around an ankle, pulling the knife wielding guardian off-balance. A hard fist rose out of the darkness to knock the blade out of his grip while another jabbed out twice, driving him to the floor. There was no confidence now in the ragged gasps that tried to scramble after the lost blade in the moment before all Nod's weight fell on his back.
"And yeh'd have brought a damned light."
Nothing that moved on two legs was there to witness Nod's exit from the abandoned house. He pulled his battered hat down tighter on his head and spat speculatively while he paused in the darkness to catch his breath. Disposing of the body had taken time, and that time seemed suddenly very valuable. He had hoped to get at the boy tonight and be gone before sunrise. That hope was dead now: Zachius and his crew knew he was here. He needed to prepare a bolthole for in case things got choppy. For when things got copy. Then he'd approach his quarry when it would be easier to see those who watched over the boy.
But he must be careful not to wait too long, The jumpy bastards would no doubt move fast once they knew their friend from the basement was tucked discretely up the chimney.
Nod limped off into the darkness.
As the custodian clanked his mop and bucket out of the closet, Samuel Skinner dropped his books into his knapsack and slung the strap over shoulder. Reaching up with his left-hand—his only hand—he tightened the strap through the buckle and headed for the rear door. The lock clacked home as it closed.
Samuel huffed twice through his nose, clearing out the library dust. The air was sharp (it would bring frost for the coming morning) and somewhere not too far off a wood fire was burning. The night was much colder than the morning sun had promised and Samuel's T-shirt and cut-off shorts weren't quite warm enough. A wind rose up across the parking lot, it's cold cutting on the smooth skin were his right arm ended above the elbow. Running his fingers through his dark red hair, he scanned the parking lot. No black cars.
He had seen all lot of them lately. Or, rather, he had seen the same two over and over again. It wasn't that black cars were so uncommon, it was the style of the cars: sleek, glossy, chrome, and edges so sharp they looked ready to draw blood. You couldn't see the passengers through the heavily tainted glass (not even their shapes) and the license plates were curiously simple ones with bold black numbers on stark white backgrounds. Fallow wasn't the sort of town that attracted too many visitors. Ones such as these drew notice.
It was the same sort of notice Samuel had drawn when he first showed his face in Fallow. His foster parents were nice enough, but he stuck out in Fallow like a fox in a dog kennel. He could deal with the stares; he could deal with the cold shoulder. He was closer to his mother now and that's what mattered. Someone had to look after her, make sure she was all right.
The last minutes of the class period crept past with awful slowness, but they always did. Samuel hated the school building and it seemed despise him in return. From the khaki-tan of the dented lockers, to the off-white of the dusty walls to the flickering of the light fixtures, the whole building assaulted his senses. At the moment, though, Samuel was thinking about different kind of assault.
Samuel had always had a knack for spotting the dangerous hounds in the pack, for knowing when they were ready to bite. Dan Kizer couldn’t send out more warning signals if he had come to school wearing a leash and muzzle. Samuel didn’t know the reason for why the boy was funneling so much bile his way: in all probability there was no reason. No real one anyhow. But the anger was there none the less and Samuel would have to deal with it.
At last the bell sounded and the hour was over with. Samuel slumped out of his seat like the rest of Pavlov’s dogs and set his knapsack down on his desk. As Dan slid across the room toward Samuel on his way to the door, Samuel held the sack’s flap open with his teeth while he scooped up his books and folders. He had seen what was coming and decided to let it happen. The teacher was still in the room and it was good to have a sympathetic witness handy.
Just before Samuel dropped his armload of books into the bag, Kizer’s elbow connected with his. Samuel didn’t need to fake the dropped books and scattered papers, but the dropping of the knapsack—the rest of the contents spilling across the floor, of course—was an added touch.
"Mr. Kizer!" the teacher shouted in surprised anger. "Get back here and pick up Sam’s books for him!" Dan ignored this command and simply walked out the door and into the passing crowd. Samuel knew the boy wasn’t finished yet, though. His attention was drawn from Kizer and to the teacher as she stooped to help gather his possessions into the knapsack.
She avoided looking his eyes as she talked, he noticed. "You know, Sam, you shouldn’t have to put up with that. It’s hard enough to move to a new school, especially when…" Her voice trailed off as her eyes drifted to where his right arm should have been.
"I’m half-armed, not half-brained, ma’am. I can take care of myself." In his irritation Samuel let his act slip, though just a little: books were scooped up deftly and slipped surely into the knapsack, with no clumsy theatrics of holding it open with his teeth. The strap was thrown over his shoulder and he was out the door before she could frame her reply
Nod had managed to squeeze a little over half his bulk into toe phone booth. Just his luck that this rinky-dink little town actually still had phone booths, glass doors and all. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a highly polished disc of golden-brown wood that gleamed in the late morning sun. Reaching up over his head, Nod dropped the slug into the slot marked 35 cents. Something shuddered within the guts of the phone and the dial tone spasmed before an odd series of clicks and pulses hummed down the line. At the other end a phone rang four times before being picked up.
"Have you located him?" asked the voice at the other end, roughly bass with far too many years of tobacco.
"Heh. Top o’ the damned morning to you, too, Bleake," spat Nod. He left the voice on the other end to wait while he scooped a lump of tar-black tobacco out of a battered tin. After pushing it into his lip to join the wad already there, he dragged a fang under the thick brown nail to chase out the shreds of tobacco that had taken shelter there.
At the other end of the phone line smoke was exhaled angrily across the mouthpiece. "Do not waste my time. Have you found him?"
"Yeah, I found the boy." A blob of dark brown spit, aimed expertly by Nod’s twisted lips, hit the chromed bumper of a car parked at the curb. "I’ll have him before long."
"Do not founder, Antoninus. I am quite sure you need not be reminded of the consequences for failure." There was the sound of another gray cloud of smoke drifting down the phone lines, chased by the click of the connection closing.
"’Course not, Mister Bleake," chuckled Nod, fishing the returned slug from the slot with one thick finger and leaving the reciever to dangle. "’Course not."
Nod’s hand crushed his hat down tighter as he limped away, keeping his face shadowed in the bright sunlight. Wouldn’t do to frighten any passersby.
Samuel had known it would come sooner or later, but he was surprised when it came so soon. The toe of Dan Kizer's boot caught Samuel in the back of the knee and Samuel went sprawling to the floor. He saw that Dan's next step would bring the heavy shit-kickers down on his fingers.
In the instant before Dan could bring his foot down Samuel rocked back on he heels, gripped the sole of Dan's boot, and roase forcefuly to his feet. The larger boy was thrown off-balance this: windmilling his arms wildly, he tried to maintain his balance. The job was finished as Samuel thrust the still-gripped boot upwards, toppling Dan. The toe Samuel's own boot connecting with Kizer's groin ensured that he wouldn't get up any time soon.
The whole thing had happened so swiftly that it hadn't even registered yet with many of the students pushing past on their way to classes. Samuel was fairly certain that, to most of those who had seen what had happened, it would seem as if he had atacked Dan unprovoked. The incident in the classroom might earn him some credibility, but very likely not enough.
He had a choice to make, and the choice he made was to pick up his dropped pack and walk to the exit.