Shifting

Seventeen

We spent a hard night in the center, only daring to use the lanterns deep inside the recesses of the building, and only after covering the tiny windows with blankets, tarps or newspaper. None of us knew how many of the trees were alive now; perhaps it was all of them, perhaps only one. We spoke in hushed tones and scurried about in our makeshift fortress like terrified mice in the walls of a cattery.

“If we all go for it,” said Mrs. Nelson, “I’m sure we can take just one ash tree.”

“You first,” said Brigman with a snort.

Jimmy Vanton snored in a chair in the corner.

Brigman jerked his thumb at Jimmy. “I nominate him for the job.”

“If we go out there, we can’t be sure we won’t get the attention of more of them,” I said. “But they seem to only react when people are close.”

“We don’t know that! We don’t know how many are alive, maybe every tree in town, or maybe every tree and tomato vine and thistle bush that storm touched is just waiting out there for us,” shouted Vance, pulling at his face.

It was about two-thirty in the morning and a group of us were having what amounted to a council of war in the conference room. We burned a Coleman at about a quarter-power to conserve fuel. Most of the others were sleeping fitfully.

Carlene Mitts had bedded down with her baby, who had seemed cute and joyous only yesterday, but tonight, for reasons known only to the baby gods, the kid cried off and on all night. Everyone in the place cringed every time it so much as gurgled and we all listened closely as she worked hard to shush it. Generally, this didn’t work and the cries built up in strength and finally into a righteous fury. While it coughed and wailed with what seemed like incredible volume in the silence of the night, we all waited for that thing that sat only twenty yards from the front glass doors to come wading into the lobby. In my mind’s eye that great arm lifted off the roof and start devouring us all like a sloth tearing into a termite mound.

“That kid is starting up again,” hissed out Vance between his teeth.

“It’ll be okay, nothing happened the last times,” said Brigman.

I kept quiet. I didn’t tell them that earlier I had crept out into the lobby to peek out and see if the tree was still there. It was there all right. While I crawled back, holding my saber firmly so it didn’t clatter against the chairs, the kid had started up. The roots had definitely sensed it, and had moved around restlessly, questing for the source of the disturbance. Something I had seen had disturbed me even more, however. I decided to tell them about that.

“I did see something when I last checked on it.”

The others looked at me, not sure if they should ask.

“The flying types, they are roosting all over it,” I told them.

Vance stood up then, that had done it for him. “We’re screwed. We are surrounded. The Preacher got us all in here and never even made it down to join us. I bet he and the Captain are both dead.”

With those grim words he left. I didn’t go after him and try to argue, as was our usual pattern. I was tired and I knew he might very well be right.

It was Brigman’s turn to rub his face. “Well,” he sighed. “I’m willing to go down fighting. We can’t just sit in here for a week or two until the supplies run out. I think we’ll have to take a look at the situation in the morning and go for it.”

I agreed and we all found places to bed down for the last few hours until dawn.

To everyone’s relief, the mist dissipated overnight. By morning, it was hazy and overcast, but relatively clear. Peeping out the windows, we could see the tree clearly now. Bits of Erik Foti’s clothing still hung in strips from its boughs, its roots and the open maw in the trunk. A great dark stain of dried gore ran down the face of it.

The parking lot around the tree was a wreck. The cars were damaged and stacked at odd angles like a spilled box of dominos. The two trees closest to where the ash had been planted were both sycamore trees. They did show splintered rips in their bark where the chain link fencing had been ripped away, but showed no obvious signs of life. They were still rooted in place.

It was Mrs. Hatchell who came up with the winning plan. She woke up Monika and I at dawn to tell us about it.

“We’ll burn it,” she said in a voice filled with resolve. I recalled that Erik had been one of those students who had hung around her counseling office for years. She had never had any children, she thought of all us school kids as her children and her hate for the tree that had killed Erik was palpable.

“How?” asked Monika. She was still lying on her cot in the same room with me. Mrs. Hatchell had found us there again, but this time she hadn’t complained about fraternization among the young or anyone else’s delicate state of mind. This morning she was on a mission. A mission to kill a tree.

“We’ve got propane tanks, but no blow torches,” I said.

“No, not the propane. The gasoline,” she said, eyeing me directly.

I opened my mouth to say, “What gasoline?” then stopped. “You mean from the basement, from the generators.”

“Right. They aren’t working now anyway, so what the hell good are they? If we live, we can get more fuel. There is plenty in town, we can refill them later.”

I nodded, it made sense.

“We need liquid, something that will stick,” she went on. I could see in the dark pit of her eyes that she had been thinking about it all night.

“I wonder how much burn damage it can take and still live?” I said out loud. “A normal tree, full of green sap and soaked with rainwater, is not easy to burn down to a stump.”

“I doubt we’ll have to burn it to a stump,” said Mrs. Hatchell. “The thing seems to eat now. It had to change significantly to do that. I doubt it is even made of wood all the way through.”

Monika came up and touched my back with a small hand. Her other hand, with her wrist in a cast, she hugged against her chest. “I don’t want you to fight the tree again, Gannon,” she said. There was a pleading quality to her voice. I was surprised and wasn’t sure how I felt.

Mrs. Hatchell turned narrow eyes on her. “Gannon isn’t just your personal protector, Monika. We all need him on the front line. I doubt the rest would have the guts to face that thing without him. But if he goes after it, they will join him.”

Monika narrowed her eyes in return, and the way her lips tightened I knew very bad words were about to be exchanged. I’d already learned that Monika had a quick temper. I put myself between them and said, “Look, I’ll go talk to Doc Wilton about this. I think it is a good idea, we just need to talk it over with the others.”

Mrs. Hatchell wasn’t having any of that, however. “Forget her. She’s given up. You’re the leader now. After yesterday, it’s obvious.”

I opened my mouth in surprise. I didn’t want to be anybody’s leader, I wasn’t even thirty yet. I didn’t want to have to think for a group. I wondered where the hell the Preacher was and hoped he was still alive. “I’ve just been trying to do the right thing,” I said lamely.

“And you’ve been doing a fine job of it. Yesterday’s trauma would have put some men into a shaking, broken state, but you are back and ready for more. Every tribe needs a chieftain, especially when there’s a war on. Just do it.”

Monika tucked her good hand into my belt behind me, getting a grip on me as if she felt I was going to get away. It was a possessive action, and I noticed she was still glaring at Mrs. Hatchell.

I put my hands up in a gesture for calm. “Emotions are running high here,” I told them both. “I’m going to talk to the others, we were talking about this all night, and we do want to make a try for it. Maybe you two should talk together a bit.”

Catching Mrs. Hatchell’s eye I made a significant gesture toward Monika.

“Okay,” she said. “We have plenty to talk about.”

When I moved to leave, Monika held on and followed me into the hallway. She came close and it became hard to think.

“Gannon, you tried to stop it. Erik is dead, but that is not your fault,” she told me. “You have done enough. Someone else can do the finish.”

I nodded, kissed her on the head, and said, “I’m just going to talk to them.”

I left her and went to find the others. I thought she might be crying, but I didn’t look back.