The Stone Scry Read online

  She asked, “Wisdom, sir?”

  “Bring it back to the tribe and establish some new trade routes for the Britts.”

  “Yes, sir.” She lifted a smile and tucked it back down. No one noticed her reaction but two people. Abu tilted a curious head. Sam remained stoic.

  Barry stretched out two gangly arms and yawned. “Let’s all get some sleep.”

  The big clomping of Britt boots accentuated their departure. Juan Delgado and Shaquan White lifted Tom from the couch and led him off towards a nearby guesthouse. Sheila waited until the last Britt left the sitting room, then headed towards the exit when Sam grabbed her arm and twirled her around.

  “What’s going on?” Sam asked through a contemptuous face.

  “What are you doing”—she struggled—“let go!”

  “I saw your exchange with Barry! What are you two plotting?”

  Abu positioned between her and the door and said, “No secrets, Sheila. I saw it too.”

  She stopped squirming, surveyed the room, and yanked her arm sending Sam to the floor. “Ok, I’ll answer if you explain why you didn’t follow Interstate 40 like Barry asked earlier outside Elizabethtown. You said you guys—Abu, Juan, and Shaquan—were heading to Raleigh. When Barry asked why you were moving up I87, you said your father works at Fort Dix. You didn’t answer his question, Samuel.”

  He and Abu looked at each other and shrugged.

  “Ok,” Sam said, “I needed information. Jackers cut the Danvers off at Mount Olive, and I need to know how much farther south they penetrated North Carolina. So, I came here to Elizabethtown to gather information from your Britt tribe.”

  “So you could find the fastest route to Raleigh and avoid the jackers?”

  Sam lifted himself, sat in the wooden chair, and locked his fingers behind his head. “Right again.”

  “Which means you’re leaving the Divers.”

  “You keep thinking like that, Sheila, smoke’s going to start coming out your ears. Satisfied?”

  “I guess it’s my turn,” she said and swished her hair back. “Like you, I plan on heading to Raleigh.”

  “You do?” Abu batted his eyes.

  She giggled and said, “Better pull that lower lip back in Abu, you might trip over it.”

  “Oh! Sorry, Sheila. I didn’t mean to stare.”

  “It’s fine.” She turned back to Sam and continued, “I’m leaving, and Barry knows it.”

  Abu slapped his leg and exclaimed, “That is why Barry Trenton chose you, he wants us to help you leave the Britts. It was an act!”

  “Momma always said I look like Betty Davis.” Her wink sprouted a dopey smile across Abu’s face. “Well, goodnight, gentlemen.”

  “Hold on,” Sam growled. “My father has no idea we planned to continue north to Raleigh. He cannot be enlightened, Sheila.”

  She sent Sam an impertinent glance. “If the Britts find out I’m a deserter, they will crucify me. You understand this, right? They drizzle honey to bring flies, but dip the fly in glacial acetic acid if it crosses them.”

  “You also understand”—Sam pointed at her—“we are spotters, not guardians. Hunters. We move fast and kill those who threaten us faster. Guardians are overpaid snipers who sit on their asses. We will not back down from a fight. If the jackers catch us off-guard in a corner, we will engage until we either send them back to hell or become their dinner.”

  “I can keep up.”

  Abu piped out, “I’ll ensure she does, Sam.”

  She batted her Betty Davis eyes at Abu and said, “You’re not the only one who has a guardian angel, Sam Mason.”

  Abu puffed out his chest, nodded, and bid her goodnight. She sauntered out, knowing his eyes glued onto her figure. Seeing Sam less enthusiastic, his smile disappeared.

  “She can inveigle you all she wants. She falls behind”—Sam rose, eyebrow cocked—“and she is your problem.”

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  Morning light oozed out white pines and ironwoods outlining seven figures leaving the compound. Barry Trenton guided the four spotters and Dr. Tom Mason away from Elizabethtown, followed by Sheila Briggs. Leaf litter crunched under their feet to the first checkpoint where they gathered around a smoldering fire as dawn’s rays divulged their expressions.

  “I’m heading back from here. Sheila will take you wherever you need to go,” Barry said and looked at her with a face lost in the past.

  Sam could tell Barry longed to be her guiding spirit. He wanted to assuage Barry’s concern, but he could not figure out how and remained silent. The poor old man had lost his son and soon would lose a daughter-figure. Here Sam stood, reunited with his dad. Sharp, stinging emotion drove his eyes away, down to the leaf-cluttered ground.

  Barry held Sheila’s cheek. “Goodbye, little one.” They hugged, and he kissed her forehead.

  “Thank you, Barry,” she said while running fingers through his frizzy hair. “You’re a true sweetheart.”

  “Bless your heart, child. Make me proud.” A soft thumb wiped a salty pearl drop from her cheek.

  “I love you.” She patted his shoulder knowing she would not feel his warmth again and turned towards the rising sun. “Time to get your friends, Dr. Mason.”

  Tom gripped Barry’s hand tight. “I will not forget you. I owe you my life and then some.”

  “Just pass it on, Dr. Mason, that’s all I ask. Pay it forward.” He turned and said to Sam, “Spitfire, you and yer friends take care of my girl, you hear?”

  Abu stepped forward and puffed his chest out. “We’ll guard her with our lives, sir.”

  Sam inhaled woody smoke from the embers. He wanted the smell to capture this moment between his neural synapses, locking away a memory so intricate and beautiful. Every campfire for the rest of Sam’s life would trigger it.

  “Look us up, Mr. Trenton,” said Sam. “You have friends in many places now.”

  Barry waved them on as they melted into the living treelined border. Lifting two palms together, he quoted, “He leads me on paths that are right for the good of His name. Even though I walk through a very dark valley, I will not be afraid, because you are with me.”

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  Turning northeast, they followed Interstate 701 passing two more checkpoints before reaching the Cape Fear River. Its capacity washed over the eastern side of the highway another quarter mile, making the I701 overpass look more like a pier.

  “We have to cross that?” Tom asked.

  “Here, Dad, put this on.” Sam provided Tom a 1.5mm neoprene top.

  Receiving his M2010 rifle upon leaving Elizabethtown, Tom tucked it into a spare bag provided by Shaquan and donned the neoprene top. “Ok, ready.”

  “Can you make it? The current shouldn’t be strong.”

  “I can make it, Sammy,” he said, securing the rifle. “You would be surprised by what your old man can do. Once to the other side, we need to traipse along the shoreline. Traps are all over between here and White Lake.”

  “Yorick is north, up the river that way. Where do you want to start?”

  “If they made it, they would travel south. We should check for signs along the banks.”

  Sam nodded and leaped into the murky brown river’s flow, navigated across, and emerged a short distance from where he entered. Regrouping with the team, he validated direction and performed one more gear check. The team struck out and combed the picket-fence tree line, avoiding exposure to dead patches of oaks and maples for fear of nefarious eyes.

  Juan suddenly gripped Tom’s pack and yanked him backward sending him rump first into the earth.

  “What happened?” Tom asked, swiveling his glance from tree to tree.

  “Look.” Juan knelt and smoothed away leaf litter, uncovering wooden spikes lining a dugout.

  “Christ…how did you see that?”

  “We lay down the same thing around our borders. If a spotter dies in a trap”—Juan slapped his chest—“he deserved it. Pinche jackers can’t get rid of us so easily.”


  Tom dipped his ear and asked, “Spotter?”

  Sam slogged over in ankle-deep Carolina clay. “Juan, you found a jacker trap?”

  Laughing, he replied, “Oh yeah. Hey Sheila! Britts good at laying traps?”

  She called out, “No. Cuidado, there’s another one here.”

  Sheila’s gear shuffled and jingled catching up to them. “Britts don’t lay traps,” she said, “too many traders in Elizabethtown who get confused and wonder about. The tribe relies on layered outposts. You saw those yesterday.”

  Tom stood up, preening off loose leaf litter. “What is a spotter?”

  “We are, Dad,” Sam said and motioned to Abu, Juan, Shaquan. “Spotters are a hybrid of a hunter and soldier. Our groups take turns patrolling tribal borders and gathering food from the ocean.”

  “Divers will be missing you, right, being gone so long?”

  Sam squeezed the nape of his tense neck. “I think we better get you back to Raleigh, first. You know, after we find your team. The elder will understand.”

  “Sammy, how many spotter teams are there?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty? For a city of thousands?”

  “We also have soldiers called guardians, Dad. Like the city is naked, sheesh.”

  “One team missing leaves a wide hole in their defenses, right?”

  The four spotters exchanged looks.

  Sam struggled to speak, “Dad, well, the truth is—”

  “Is you are leaving them. Dammit, Son!”

  “Don’t start barking at me, what the hell? We’re risking our lives to search for your team.”

  “So what!” Tom threw the last handful of wet leaves off his clothing. “For once in your life, commit to something! Let me guess, you believed Mom and I were in trouble. You convinced yourself returning to Raleigh would ensure her safety. Am I right so far?”

  Most eyes drifted downward, including Sam’s. Potential retorts solubilized in wet mud.

  “Why did you leave Raleigh? To avoid lab work and subsist outdoors. Why did you quit the swim team? Spanish club looked good on a college application. Why did you quit your dojo? Brazilian jiujitsu was better. On and on and—”

  “Ok! No surprise, the great Dr. Tom Mason holds such a low opinion of me. You would prefer the company of little bloodsucking insects, commonly known as the Stone family.”

  “You are the smartest kid I have ever known. But every time you think another island carries treasure, you weigh anchor not knowing where it is buried. Going through life, floating from one island to the next. Why? Are you afraid of commitment?”

  “No!”

  “Treasure not meet your expectations?”

  Dad spent most of his life in a lab, Sam thought. The old man has no idea how the outside works. “I don’t need this,” he said, spun around, and mucked back towards the river.

  Tom whipped him back around and tugged Sam in close enough to smell his breath. “Right, you don’t need this”—he pointed southward—“but the Divers sure the fuck need you.” Tom eyed the others: Abu, Juan, and Shaquan. “And they need you, too. You guys leave the tribe, and you issue them a death sentence. We were sent from Fort Dix to protect you; do you not understand?”

  A series of snapping twigs sent all reeling into the mud, rifles drawn.

  Morning robin chirps and catbird songs withered to silence.

  ∆ ∆ ∆

  “Break out,” Sam commanded. Each positioned near a dense thicket or rotted stump.

  Three beings approached from the shadows. Heads shaved, they dressed in shoddy, ripped clothes. One had donned a catcher’s chest protector over a stained tank top. He whispered to a slattern wearing denim shorts, “Was it from here? I heard them in this way.”

  Droplets of rainwater started beaning leaves. The woman lifted her head, testing rain speed on her cheeks. “Better we head back. Can’t hear nothing once showers start.”

  A larger, shirtless man behind her spoke, “I hear nothing. Rain’s starting. Gonna wash the trail out, come on.”

  Sam opened fire. The skirmish was over in seconds.

  Abu checked the chest protector on the dead jacker for damage, finding several gaping holes with rib bone underneath. Clothing tattered and weapons in ill repair, the spotters focused on searching the jacker carcasses for information. Juan spat on the tank top jacker, drizzling mucus from the dead man’s face to neck, while Abu searched his pockets.

  “Via con Dios pendejo.”

  “Hey, Sam!” Abu slipped a driver’s license from a worn leather wallet. “This guy’s from Michigan.”

  “They are coming from the Great Lakes, not the Northeast. I knew it!” Sam motioned to the dead, saying, “I think the Divers can handle this trash just fine.”

  Shaquan blurted, “Oh, smack my sack!” Rummaging the farthest corpse, he used three fingers to detach a belted grenade. “Sammy, no way, man. He’s got two more.”

  “Stripped from the Tar Heels,” Tom said scowling. “You were saying, son?”

  “He’s got a letter in his pocket.” Shaquan started reading, “Dear Dr. Mason. I hid this letter near our point of separation, should you return for us. We snuck through Yorick and plan to continue south to reach your son. Once clear of river patrols, I will leave other clues in the hope they guide you towards our intended destination. Lou and Emelia are in good shape. Their special gifts will grant us safe passage. Your good friend, James Laramie.”

  Abu quirked his brow and asked, “Special gifts?”

  “What destination, Wilmington?” Sam asked.

  Tom focused deep in thought, rubbing his chin. “Wilmington. Alive!”

  “Dad, not this…”

  “I can go alone, but you know I cannot get past Armour.”

  “Dad!”

  “Sammy, I must go to Wilmington. You need to come with me.”

  “Unbelievable.” Sam leaned over, trying to reel in hyperventilation. Abu rubbed his arm, soothing anxiety back into the dark crevices of Sam’s mind.

  Tom checked Sheila’s posture and asked, “Will you help us? I know you had no intention of returning to the Britts.”

  “How did you…know that, Dr. Mason?” Sheila shook her exhausted head and creased her brow. “Whatever.”

  “The Britts are unaware of your plans, Sheila,” Tom said. “I know this but will not explain why—not now. In Wilmington, I will tell you everything. How I knew your plans, what the special gifts are—everything.”

  “Of course,” she said chambering a round in her .30-30 Springfield. “Understand, I’m not joining another tribe. I’ll get you there, and then I’m following I40 to Raleigh. I’m not staying with the Divers, no matter how much freshwater they sell to Arizona and California.”

  “Thank you, Sheila.” Tom then joined Abu to help quell Sam’s panic attack. “This is bigger than you, Sammy.” He warmed his son’s hand as he spoke. “Bigger than you or me, or any of us. I know someone, something, is watching over you. Something that will keep you safe.”

  Sam caught his breath and leered at Tom. “Getting religious on me, Dad?”

  Tom cocked an eyebrow, stared into Sam’s eyes stone-faced, and said, “I refer to nothing biblical.”

  Sample Chapter

  From the conclusion to Master Hunter

  Sam observed Emelia as she shielded her eyes from ocean spray to assess the approaching jackers. Flashes of lightning from the approaching thunder cell reflected off her cheeks.

  She caught him ogling her and laughed. Then, a voice seeped into his thoughts, Don’t worry Sam, I like you, too.

  You do?

  Once a person gets past that cocky, macho shell, you’re quite pleasant. I have been in your dreams.

  “What the hell!” His lips twisted into a frown. Are you kidding? What did you see?

  I saw a sunrise, golden and bright. Under it stood elders from all the tribes shaking hands. Your mother stood behind you, gleaming. I watched my father present himself and hug you.
r />   Sounds nice. You did not see anything—you know—unsavory?

  Nothing sexual, if that’s what you mean. But there was something else. Something dark, in a fog. It kicked me out of your dream.

  What was it?

  I don’t know. It was not evil, but it felt irritable. Expecting something.

  I wonder if—

  A crackling, fuzzy voice announced, “Hello? Are you on this channel?”

  Sam swiped up the handle, “This is Wanderer, over?”

  “Wanderer,” the voice remarked. “What, like in that video game, Fallout?”

  Sam’s brow furled as he asked, “Who the hell is this?”

  “This is the man who is going to end your life, Samuel Thomas Mason.”

  “Bring it, you f—”

  “Put Emelia on.”

  “What?”

  “Put…Emelia…on. Are you as stupid as you are arrogant? Run along, Sammy. Time’s a-ticking.”

  Emelia reached over to take the handle, but Sam pulled it away and berated, “Now, you listen to me, you mother—”

  “Fine, we’ll do this the hard way.”

  Sam screamed, dropped the handle, and pressed both hands into his head holding his brain from shattering. It felt as if two school buses had rammed against each eardrum.

  Abu, Juan, Shaquan, and Sheila all bellowed in pain, wrapping arms over their heads. They struggled as if keeping their brains from exploding outwards. Emelia, Lou, and Tom were unaffected.

  “Emelia, dear,” the voice buzzed through the radio, saying, “meet me in your little boyfriend’s pea-sized brain.”

  She shut her eyes, focusing on Sam. Leave him alone!

  Sam bellowed, “My brain’s hemispheres are being ripped apart, make it stop!”

  I wonder if I could rip his brain apart. He is not the dashing hero I’ve heard about.

  Emelia squinted. Who is this? What do you want?

  Hello, cousin! I wish we did not have to meet this way, but Grandpa considered me a mistake, you know.

  Tom rushed to Sam and tossed a blanket over his shoulders. “Hang in there, Son, she will protect you.” He grabbed Sam’s hands and rubbed them in vigorous friction.

  Cousin? Emelia concentrated, Who are you?

  You know my name, hushed in family hallways and over stewing kitchen pots. I am the one they don’t speak about. The one crawling over your dishware behind the cabinet door after the lights go out. The one spinning a web between the frame and the wall over your head, dropping down at night to tickle your lips and inspect the dark crevices of your ears and nose. The one hanging beyond the corner of your peripheral vision. You know I am there, but you don’t see me coming. Eva’s bastard child.