365 Days At War

by Nancy Isaak

  “But we’re only seventeen. In the old world, we wouldn’t have been allowed.”

  “Well, lucky for you, we’re not in the old world,” said Jay. “In this world, we need to move faster, because we don’t know how much time we’ve got. Trust me, if I had a guy who loved me like Jacob loves you, I would marry him in a heartbeat.”

  “You mean, like Porter?”

  Jay frowned at me. “He’s already spoken for…and I would never hurt Jude that way.”

  “But you like him, don’t you?” I persisted.

  She rose up from my bed and headed toward the door.

  “I’m jealous of you,” she said, ignoring my question. “But I’m happy for you, too. Congratulations, Kaylee. I think this is a good sign—that everything is changing. It will only get better from now on—I’m certain of it.”

  But—she was wrong.

  * * * *

  The reaction to Jacob’s and my engagement varied.

  Some of the guys were excited and clearly looking forward to a wedding. Others seemed angry, frustrated—jealous that Jacob not only had a girlfriend, but a fiancé, when they had no one.

  As a result, I became even more worried about the safety of the other girls. Late at night, I used to go up onto the roof to look at the stars and just remember. These nights, however, my gaze would be directed downwards, toward the driveway and the road beyond it.

  Often I would see figures walking by, some stopping at the gate to stare inwards. I began to recognize some of the shapes; older guys from the tribe who weren’t happy about the engagement—ones who had openly complained about the lack of girls.

  * * * *

  “Nobody goes anywhere alone or unarmed,” I told the girls at breakfast one morning. “And we all need to show up at the self-defense classes next door. Are you listening, Peyton?”

  She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Carry a gun, take a friend, go hit Kieran next door. How’d I do?”

  “I’m serious about this. Things are getting weird out there.”

  “You think?” asked Peyton—one eyebrow lifted in a fair imitation of Spock.

  “And I’m also wondering whether we should move into the compound. It would probably be safer.”

  Cherry immediately shook her head. “I’d rather stay here.”

  “So, would I,” added Jude. “I like not having so much testosterone stinking up the joint.”

  “Speak for yourself,” smirked Peyton. “Personally, I love the smell of a good set of sweaty abs in the morning. Especially when I’m rolling over top of them.”

  “Like—EW!” cried Jay, holding up a piece of toast. “Like I’m eating here!”

  “What about you, Jay?” I asked. “How would you vote?”

  She shrugged, putting her toast down. “I’d kind of like to stay here for the moment. But, maybe move into the compound if the Crazies get closer.”

  Hannah and Shawnee both put their hands up in the air for their turn. Chuckling, I pointed to Shawnee first.

  “I’d like to move into the compound,” Shawnee grinned.

  Cherry gave her a nudge, teasing. “Because you want to be with Rhys.”

  “No, I don’t,” insisted Shawnee. “I just think…well, uh…I…because it’s.” She stopped, not knowing what to say.

  “That’s what I thought,” nodded Cherry. “Little sister is sporting a mongo-crush.”

  “Shaddup!” groaned Shawnee, looking thoroughly embarrassed.

  I pointed to Hannah next. “Okay, little one…what’s your choice?”

  She smiled widely. “I want to go where you guys go!”

  “Okay then,” I said. “Except for Peyton, we know where everyone stands. And, Peyton…I’m assuming that you want to move into the compound.”

  “Well, you’d be assuming wrong,” she said, surprising me. “I’d rather stay here.”

  “Why?” asked Jay, equally confused.

  Peyton shrugged. “Law of supply and demand…the less available a precious commodity, the more valuable it becomes.”

  Jude threw a sugar packet at her. It bounced harmlessly off of Peyton’s shoulder, falling to the ground. “You’re such a weirdo, princess…you know that, right?”

  “And you need to wear more antiperspirant,” announced Peyton. She picked up the sugar packet and placed it back on the table. Then, she looked up at Jude and waggled a finger. “And I’m serious about that deodorant, bitch.”

  “Now, can we get back to the subject of self-defense?” I asked. But, before I could say anything more, there came a furious knocking at the front door.

  “I’ll get it,” said Jude, rising up from a chair—an enormous gun in her hands.

  “Ohmigod!” Jay cried out, surprised.

  Jude ran a finger down the barrel of the gun. “Self-defense, Skipper—some of us actually listen when Barbie speaks.”

  * * * *

  “Where is he?” I asked, running into the Council room. Porter, Connor, and Josh were already there in their seats, looking as impatient as I felt.

  “Kieran and Jacob went out to meet him,” explained Josh. “He should be here any minute.”

  “Any news on what he saw, what he heard?”

  The guys shook their heads.

  “The only thing we know for sure is that he’s coming and he’s okay,” said Josh. “The rest, we’re just going to have to wait for.”

  Suddenly, we heard footsteps coming up the main staircase.

  A moment later, the door opened and Jacob and Kieran walked in with Nate. The younger boy looked exhausted, his eyes rimmed with red, and his clothes were ripped and torn. In his hands he carried a gym bag, which he placed carefully on the floor.

  Not able to help myself, I jumped up and gave Nate a hug. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” I maneuvered him toward a seat, then pushed a bottle of water toward him.

  “It’s just been a long walk coming home,” said Nate. He took a big swig of the water. “And I screwed up coming down Encinal. Wasn’t looking where I was going and tripped over a rock. Went over the side a ways. That’s where most of these cuts and bruises came from—not from the Crazies.”

  “Then, they didn’t catch you?”

  He shook his head. “Almost ran into Brandon at one point. That was scary. But he literally looked the other way as I walked past. If he had just turned his head back, he would of had me.”

  “So, Brandon’s still alive,” I sighed, disappointed. “He made it through his eighteenth birthday.”

  Again, Nate nodded. “So did Tray and Orla…plus some other guys I heard about.”

  There were more footsteps on the staircase outside and—a moment later—Xavier came running into the room. He launched himself into his brother’s arms, practically knocking Nate out of his chair. “You’re back! You’re back!”

  Nate pushed him away, coughing. “You’re choking me, little brother. Give a guy a chance to breathe.”

  Xavier jumped up and down, little leaps of excitement at having his brother finally home. Meanwhile, Nate rose from his chair and moved to the gym bag he had placed so carefully on the floor. “Brought you a Christmas gift, Xav.”

  If anything, Xavier jumped even higher.

  Nate held out a hand. “But you have to calm down first, because I don’t want to scare it.”

  Immediately, Xavier stopped jumping; his eyes went wide with anticipation and his grin just wouldn’t quit. “You brought me a pet!”

  Opening up the gym bag, Nate pulled out a large ball of orange, black, and white fur. He passed it over to Xavier, who cradled the calico cat carefully. The cat sniffed at Xavier’s nose once, then buried his face under the boy’s arm and began to purr.

  “Look at that, bro,” said Nate, proudly. “He already likes you.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Well, that’s up to you to figure out, isn’t it? So, why don’t you take the cat up to our room and wait for me? When I’m finished here, I’ll help you find a box and some dirt and we’ll
get it some food and water.”

  Grinning from ear-to-ear, Xavier left the room—holding the cat as if it was a priceless treasure. But I guess—for a kid who had just got his brother back from the Crazies—it was.

  * * * *

  “Nate, did you by chance get that calico cat from up around Ralphs?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Brandon had set up traps all through the mall, just to catch it. I don’t know why, but he absolutely hates that cat.”

  “I thought it looked familiar,” murmured Jacob.

  “Last night, I was making my way around the back of the store. You know that culvert back there—I was gonna’ use it to head out of the city. Anyway, I heard this mewing and found the calico in one of the traps.”

  “And you took it?” I was ecstatic by the idea.

  “Of course,” Nate grinned. “It was a win-win. I got a great gift for Xav and I got to stick it to the dumbass.”

  “Nobody saw you do it, I hope?” asked Jacob, looking nervous.

  “It was night and there were no lights back there. The only reason I found the cat at all was because I heard it cry.”

  “That is just so excellent!” I beamed. “You have no idea how much I’ve worried about that little calico. I was so afraid that the coyotes were going to get it.”

  “Well, now it gets to live in a mansion,” grinned Nate. “And it’s a nice little guy. I thought that it might scratch me, but the cat’s actually really friendly. Most of the trip back, it just stayed under my jacket and didn’t make a peep…uh…mew.”

  Jacob clapped Nate on the back. “Good job. It’s just a dang shame that we can’t let Brandon know that we stole his cat. Now, that would be something to see.”

  Nate’s face suddenly dropped. “About Brandon.”

  * * * *

  “They had a special Arena for Brandon’s eighteenth birthday. Brought in eighteen slaves. Some of them were really young.”

  “Brandon fought all of them?” asked Josh.

  “No,” Nate shook his head. “Only the bigger, older guys—the ones who would really challenge him. The younger ones were taken out by other guys, including that douche, Mateo.”

  “Were any of the slaves girls?” I asked.

  “There were girls in the stands—slaves—but not in the Arena. The Crazies think they’re too important to kill—at least at the moment. There was one girl who took part in the killing in the Arena, though. She was this black girl, really beautiful. I mean, like supermodel-beautiful.”

  Jacob and I looked at each other, but it was Kieran who said what the three of us were thinking. “Tray!”

  “Yeah, that was her name,” nodded Nate. “It was really weird because she was gorgeous, like this Spartan princess or something. But then she gets in the Arena and she turns psycho. I mean, she’s killing slaves right and left. At one point, she swings an axe and even takes out one of the Crazies by accident. It didn’t even stop her, man…she just kept on swinging.”

  I shuddered, just thinking about it. “What about Orla? Did you see a girl about eighteen with red hair?”

  “She didn’t go in the Arena, but she was there. When that Tray girl finished killing—when all the slaves were dead—the Orla chick, like held up this big, pink fluffy bathrobe. Put it around the black girl, who was all covered in blood. It was disgusting!”

  “What about the other guys?” asked Jacob. “The ones watching. When the killing stopped did they go onto the field? Did they…feed?”

  Nate nodded, sadly. “A lot of them, yeah. I couldn’t watch any more at that point, so I climbed down the back of the stands. A couple days before, I cut a small hole in the chain link there and I got out that way.”

  Neither Porter nor Connor had spoken up to this point. They both looked sickened by what they’d just heard. Connor actually held up his hand, as if wanting to ask a question in class. “It’s true, then...the Crazies are really eating people?”

  “Not everyone,” acknowledge Nate. “But a lot of them. Yeah, they’re doing it.”

  * * * *

  Later, Nate spoke to us about the changes that Brandon had made to the Arena. “No weapons are allowed inside anymore—not on the field or in the stands. If you bring weapons in and they’re discovered, you’re immediately put into the Arena.”

  “Brandon is probably afraid of a repeat of what happened when Kaylee and I were rescued,” Jacob commented.

  “And that bit about beating Brandon and becoming leader of the tribe has changed, too,” Nate told us. “Those challenges are only going to be held on special Arena days—only a couple of times a year. Plus, anybody who goes in against Brandon isn’t allowed to use weapons.”

  “But that isn’t fair!” cried Connor. “That’s like stacking the deck. Who could win against Brandon without any weapons?”

  “I think that’s the point,” said Jacob. “Guys will still think they have the possibility of becoming the leader. It just won’t be the reality.”

  “The other thing he changed is that—during the special Arenas—any slave, no matter who owns him, is going to be able to stand up and challenge Brandon. That way the slave has a chance to earn his freedom and leadership of the tribe at the same time. Brandon says it’s like the Spartacus-challenge, whatever that means.”

  “Spartacus was a slave who became a gladiator in the olden days,” explained Porter. “We learned about him in Social Sciences. He led a revolt of the slaves or something like that.”

  “I wonder if any slave is going to challenge Brandon,” said Josh.

  “They didn’t at the Arena during his birthday,” Nate told us. “He stood on top of the cage and asked who would accept the challenge and be Spartacus. Even for a chance at freedom, not one of the slaves stepped up.”

  * * * *

  “They’re different now. The Crazies have changed them all.”

  It was a half hour later and Nate was holding up a piece of paper. On it, he had drawn a number of tattoos. They were a mixture of lines and geometric symbols, all surrounding the anarchist-A.

  “Do you think we can replicate those?” Jacob asked Porter. “They’re pretty complicated.”

  “I don’t think we should even try,” said Porter. “Not unless Nate is certain that he got them right.”

  “Sorry,” said Nate, shaking his head. “I tried, but I’m just not a good drawer. The only one I made sure I got right was one that I could use. It’s the tattoo that goes with the drivers of those carts. I figured that was the most important one…so I could get through the checkpoints.”

  “Good thinking,” said Jacob. Then, he sighed, looking down at Nate’s pitiful drawings. “But, unfortunately, these new tattoos the Crazies are wearing kind of messes with our idea of sending spies up there. If we can’t tag our guys correctly, it would be too dangerous to put them in that situation.”

  “I agree,” I said. “But there might be a possibility that we haven’t considered.”

  “What’s that?” asked Jacob, intrigued.

  “Porter knows the talents of our guys here in the Locals. He puts it all down in that big ‘information book’ of his. So, what if we go through that book and find someone who can draw really well? We already have a kid who does good tattoos. If we send up an artist into Crazy territory and get some accurate drawings of what tattoos go with which Crazy job, we can get our spies tattooed-up correctly. Then, we can send them up into Agoura Hills.”

  Jacob turned to Porter. “Do we have any artists who are good enough?”

  Porter nodded. “I can think of at least three who might be able to do it.”

  “Then, we have a plan.”

  * * * *

  Nate saved the worst news for last.

  Even though I knew that it was coming, it devastated me. I had a hard time controlling my tears as Nate talked. The rest of the guys, meanwhile, looked sickened.

  “They shaved the heads of a lot of the older girls,” Nate told us. “I heard a guy say that the orange-haired girl—she’s
the one who ordered it.”

  “Orla!” I hissed.

  “What I heard was that this Orla chick was jealous of their looks or something. Not all of the girls had their heads shaved, just the ones who were really pretty. I saw a lot of them in the stands at the Arena. They were with the guys who had bought them and they had, like these metal rings around their necks. A chain was attached to the ring and the guy who owned the girl held the other end.”

  “This is horrible!” I murmured.

  “The other thing they did was mark each girl with the same tattoo as their owner. That way there would be no fights over the girls. Everyone would know who owned which girl.”

  “What about the young girls?” I asked—thinking about Lily. “The little ones.”

  “I didn’t see any,” admitted Nate. “But I heard that they’re being kept in a house up near where the Orla chick and the black girl live.”

  “That must be the house where they kept Jude, Cherry, and me,” I said to Jacob. “I’ll bet that’s exactly the place.”

  “What I heard,” continued Nate, “is that the young ones will be kept until they turn either fourteen or fifteen. Then, they’ll be sold off in the slave market that the black girl has set up.”

  “If the young girls really are in the house next to the Foxes,” I said, “then we’ve got a place to start when it comes to making a rescue plan, because I know that house.”

  “There were also some of the older girls in the cage in the middle of the field while I was there—some of the bald ones who hadn’t been sold, yet,” Nate told us. “I tried to get close enough to see if I could rescue them.” He shook his head, sadly. “There were guards everywhere. I saw one guy walk toward the cage and the guards simply shot him for getting too close—they didn’t even give him a warning or anything.”

  “Nate, did you make contact with the Stars?” asked Jacob.

  He nodded. “I spent a day with Brent and that Han guy. There were a few other Stars around, but not a lot of them.”