by Nancy Isaak
Without a word, I fell in step with my brothers.
* * * *
The Locals came out from behind the houses and bushes—boys I knew well and some not so well. Together, they arranged themselves on either side of the horses, their heads down, their steps leaden. At first there were only ten of them, but—by the time we reached Dume Drive—there were easily fifty guys walking alongside.
As we turned at the junction, heading toward the compound, Rhys’ Raiders emerged from the surrounding bushes—holding their rifles up—an honor guard to the dead.
I saw Shawnee among them, trying so desperately not to cry—her bow held out in front, her chin high in recognition and respect. When we walked by, her eyes met with Rhys’. For a moment, Shawnee’s chin trembled, her shoulders stooped, but—when Rhys nodded slightly to her—she straightened up again and her face became a mask, strong and determined.
* * * *
While the dead boys were carefully being lowered from the horses and carried into the Medical Clinic, Wester came and stood beside me. He looked tired and sad—a young boy who had come up against evil in the past and was facing it once more.
“When the bad guys came—to do things like this—the sisters would hide us behind the wardrobes. They cut holes in the wall and pushed the wardrobes against them. That is where we would hide.”
“You were lucky to have the sisters,” I said, quietly.
“We should have had guns,” was his response.
* * * *
Cammie was near tears when she raced up to Kieran. She threw her arms around him, her face buried in his neck. “I was so worried! You were gone so long!”
Kieran had to work hard to extricate himself—pulling gently at Cammie’s arms. “I’m fine,” he said. “We just had to bring the guys home.”
Meanwhile, Peyton walked up to Frank. “You okay?”
He nodded, tiredly.
“Good,” was all she said.
* * * *
Later, I walked over to an obviously traumatized Rhys and gave him a quick hug. “Good to have you back, bro.”
“They gutted them, Jacob,” he said, quietly—looking around to make certain that nobody was eavesdropping. “The Crazies ripped out their insides and strung it all over the rocks.” He wiped a dirty sleeve across his eyes, trying not to cry. “Frank and I heard the shots, so we came back. When we went up Trancas all the shooting was over and the Crazies were gone…but what they did…”
Hearing his name, Frank came over, with Peyton still at his side. “We thought the Crazies were attacking the Point, so we left Victor to get to Oxnard on his own.”
“You did the right thing,” I said. “It was better for you to come back, then get caught with the Crazies between you and the Point.”
“The thing you need to know, though—is when we left Victor—he was crying and weeping, saying that Kaylee led him on. That everything was her fault and he hated her.”
“Dude’s got a problem,” I murmured.
“Yeah, but,” Frank continued, “I’m worried that it may be more than that. Kid strikes me as one of those who might want to get back, you know—like come after the tribe for kicking him out…or maybe Kaylee.”
Great...another worry to add to my pile.
* * * *
The first thing I noticed when Frank, Peyton, and I stepped into the Clinic was the smell. There was a sweetness to it, like meat sometimes gets just before it really turns rancid. But there was also another scent overlaying it—bitter and pungent—the odor of urine.
“Guess it wasn’t enough that they disemboweled them,” said Porter, sniffing at Michael’s body. “Looks like some asshole peed all over them.”
Jay gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in horror.
Meanwhile, Connor was leaning over Cheyenne’s body. He pointed to a series of bloody gashes on the kid’s gray, swollen arm. “I’m not certain, but these look like teeth marks, like someone bit him on the arm and took a couple of chunks out of him.”
“The same with Michael’s arm,” said Porter. He walked over to Billy’s body, carefully using a pen to roll up a sleeve. “Looks like Billy’s had a few bites taken out of him, too.”
Reluctantly, Jay bent over Oded, running her gaze over his body. “There’s a big chunk taken out of his neck.” Jay looked up at us—eyes wide—absolutely horrified. “They’re really doing it!” she exclaimed. “The Crazies are eating people!”
I sighed. “We’ll bury them out on the Nature Preserve. Next to Denny and the twins.”
“But they’re all smelly,” said Jay. “Not like—death-smelly, but like pee-smelly. Shouldn’t we wash them first?”
Both Porter and Connor stepped back, their hands in the air—looking horrified by the idea.
“I’ll do it.” Peyton stepped forward, reaching out for a bedpan. “Let me go get some water and some soap.”
“You sure?” I asked. “They’ve been ripped up pretty bad.”
Peyton shrugged. “Not a lot else I can do,” she admitted. “But I did this for Amelie. I can do it for these boys, too.” She reached down and pushed a stray hair off of Michael’s forehead. “What do you say, dude? Feel like getting a sponge bath from an amazing chick?”
Frank leaned in close, speaking quietly in Peyton’s ear. “You are, you know…amazing.”
Blushing, Peyton pushed him away. “And now you’re distracting me. So, get lost, Frank. I’ve got some boys to dignify.”
* * * *
I’d never really thought of Peyton kindly.
To me, she was always just a really annoying rich bitch—with not a lot of brain power and way too much attitude. She was a Fox, a mean girl—so ugly for such a pretty girl.
But in that Medical Clinic, carefully sponging down those poor, battered boys, I saw something in Peyton completely unexpected—her humanity.
And—I wasn’t alone.
From that day forward, other guys came to look at Peyton differently. Where, before, she was simply a dumb sexual being—now, she had become something more.
Peyton had finally earned our respect.
* * * *
Later that morning, I walked by the temporary room that had been assigned to Kaylee. Her door was ajar and I stopped for a moment to watch her. She was sitting at a window seat, her feet tucked demurely under her, blond hair wafting down as she leaned over the journal she was writing in—her face one of deep concentration.
After about a minute, she seemed to sense my presence. Looking up, she gave me one of her most brilliant smiles. “Jacob!”
“I used to watch you like this,” I murmured, remembering. “When you worked in the yearbook room. When the door was open, there was this little gap between it and the jamb. I could stand there and watch you, but you couldn’t see me. You were always so serious about what you were doing, so full of concentration and intent. It was one of the things I loved about you. All the other girls in the room would be giggling and fooling around. Not you, though. You were too busy being Kaylee.”
She sighed, contented. “I loved working on the yearbook, being in that room. It always felt so safe…now I understand why.”
KAYLEE
We had to wait until the afternoon to bury the bodies. With winter temperatures setting in, the ground was cold and covered in frost, making it difficult for the burial team to dig the graves.
When, at last, the majority of the tribe had been assembled (with a small group left behind to guard the compound), the sun was shining directly overhead and we were thankful for the warmth it left on our cheeks. There was a slight breeze coming off of the ocean but, instead of cold, it brought the smell of salt and the faint barks of sea lions from farther down the coast.
Just under a hundred Locals gathered on the Nature Preserve that day, wading between the now waist-high grasses, pushing past the verbena and freesias and prickly pear cactus. In some places the vegetation had grown so high that a guy could walk there unobserved. Because of that, our soldiers sp
read out—holding long sticks—beating the bushes until we were certain that it would be safe to bury our dead.
* * * *
With the tribe assembled—arced around the open graves and facing the ocean—the horses came next. There were four of them, each being led by a silent Local.
On the horses’ backs were laid the wrapped bodies of the boys who had lost their lives cruelly and way too young. When the horses neared where we were standing, other boys moved forward to help lift down the bodies.
I felt uncomfortable watching those blanket-wrapped corpses that so reminded me of horror movie mummies. So, instead, I turned and looked at the people around me.
To my immediate right were Cammie and Kieran. They were standing side-by-side—close but not touching. I wondered if, perhaps, Jacob had talked to them about not being so public with their displays of affection or if they were just being respectful to the situation.
On my other side, meanwhile, were Peyton, Frank, and Lance. For once, Peyton was wearing a skirt that actually went to her knees and her make-up was minimal. Jacob had spoken to me earlier about what Peyton had done in the Medical Clinic, and I found myself feeling strangely proud when I looked at her.
She had come so far—was truly a member of the tribe now.
Frank, meanwhile, was so obviously in love with Peyton. Even when he wasn’t looking at her, his body seemed to lean in her direction; he was always conscious of where she was and would angle toward her.
And Lance—small, white-blond, fragile—he could easily have been Peyton’s younger brother. At one point, he touched Peyton’s hand slightly. She looked down and, realizing that the young boy was upset, took his hand in hers and gave it a slight squeeze.
Across from me, Xavier was standing among taller, older boys. As usual, he had his cat, Kanga, with him—this time on a halter leash (where did he find that?). The cat was happily sniffing around the flowers at Xavier’s feet, stopping now and again to lick at an imagined slight to the near-perfection of his fur.
Jay, standing next to me, leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Do you think Xav is using that cat as his way of remaining close to his brother, Nate?”
I nodded back. “Either that or Xavier just likes cats.”
* * * *
The bodies were laid gently on the ground, one next to each open grave. Jacob moved to stand where everyone could see him. He was dressed—like most of us—in black and he was carrying a bible.
“Cheyenne, Michael, Oded, Billy—our brothers, our tribemates—who gave their lives to defend this tribe. If their deaths have taught us anything, let it be that life is precious—not something ever to be taken for granted.”
As Jacob was speaking, I noticed Hannah backing away from where she was standing beside Jude. Without a word, she began to wander through the nearby grasses; I found myself sadly disappointed by her obvious lack of respect for the serious of the situation.
Jacob, luckily, didn’t notice. He continued speaking, talking of each boy’s short life—moments that were precious to each. Of Oded, Jacob spoke of his Muslim heritage, how every morning he would see him out on the cliff, saying his prayers to Allah. Billy, like Pauly, was a loveable goof who always had a way to bring out a smile. Michael was more serious and was hoping to transfer to the Medical Clinic because he wanted to become a doctor. Cheyenne, meanwhile—a kid who had walked down from Tacoma, Washington last year was planning to return home to see if his younger sisters had reappeared.
“Like all of us,” continued Jacob, “kids with hopes and dreams who just wanted to survive. That their lives were cut short by evil must remind all of us that we live in troubled times—that there are forces just over the mountains who would wish to take what we have, to enslave us—to murder us.”
Standing between Ethan and Xavier, Lily began to cry softly. Immediately, Ethan placed his arm around his sister’s shoulders. Xavier, meanwhile, picked up Kanga and gently tucked the cat into Lily’s arms. Still sobbing, the little girl buried her face into the cat’s fur.
Lily wasn’t the only one crying, however. As I looked around at the dozens of sad and angry faces, I noticed many had moist eyes, while others had tears openly flowing down their cheeks. Shawnee and Wester were both crying—silently—holding hands tightly in their grief.
“We will now have seven graves on this hill,” said Jacob, “that exist because of the Crazies.” This brought much grumbling from the crowd. “Seven lives that were taken for no good reason. Seven kids who should still be alive—laughing, telling stories, making us laugh, making us cry. These boys who were our brothers, our friends, who were our tribemates.”
Jacob looked directly at Lance. “All of them,” he said pointedly. “All of them deserved to live.”
I noticed that Hannah had cut through the tall grass and was now making her way around toward Jacob. For a moment, I thought of leaving my spot and bringing her back to the group. I decided against it, figuring that it might cause more disruption than letting her continue her explorations.
“Michael, Billy, Oded, Cheyenne,” said Jacob, looking down at the wrapped bodies. “I want you to know that we won’t forget you. I want you to know that we will always remember your sacrifice. And—above all—I want you to know that your deaths will not go unavenged!”
There were cheers at this—a loud outpouring of grief and anger from all the Locals. I found my own voice joined in for the call for vengeance, surprising myself with my own ferocity.
When the crowd finally grew quiet, Jacob held his right hand up high. I think I was as surprised as anyone to see that he was holding four arrows. “My mother told me of a time, many years ago, when she witnessed a funeral for an African bushman. To create a bridge to the heavens, the tribesmen fired four arrows, one-after-another. It was on this bridge that the bushman made his way into the afterlife. Whether you believe or do not believe in God, whether you are Catholic like Michael or Protestant like Cheyenne or Muslim like Oded or Atheist like Billy—let us all bear witness. Let us send them on their way with our prayers, with our friendship…with our arrows.”
Shawnee came forward then, an enormous bow in her hands. Jacob handed her the arrows and she notched one into her bow as she walked toward the cliff’s edge.
“On each of these arrows, we have written the names of our brothers,” continued Jacob. Pulling back on her bow, Shawnee arched backward—aiming high into the sky. “Michael, Billy, Oded, Cheyenne—your bridge awaits…FLY!”
And—faster than I would have thought possible—Shawnee shot those four arrows into the sky. They flew, one-after-another, arcing high—out over the ocean—an ethereal bridge to eternity.
* * * *
When we turned back to the graves, the bodies were slowly being lowered.
Beside me, Jay’s shoulders began to shake as she struggled to hold in her tears. I reached out and placed an arm around her, trying not to cry myself.
Meanwhile, Hannah had returned to the ceremony, pushing through the crowd, her arms overflowing with red flowers. They were freesias, I saw—bright and beautiful—and Hannah knelt down, dividing her bundle by four—one for each grave.
I had misjudged the girl; she had simply been gathering flowers.
Now, each of us moved forward, taking one of those flowers and throwing it into a grave. By the time the last of us had filed by—Michael, Billy, Cheyenne, and Oded were covered in red petals.
“That was a good thing you did,” I told Hannah. “Very, very proud of you.”
She looked down shyly. “I wanted them to sleep with something beautiful.”
I hugged her. “And now they will.”
* * * *
As we were preparing to return to the compound, I noticed Lance sitting on the ground between his brothers’ graves. He had his head down and was holding a freesia in each hand.
“You okay, Lance?” I asked, walking over to him.
“These were my brothers,” he said, softly. “You didn’t know them.”
<
br /> I knelt down beside him. “No, I didn’t. But Jacob did, and he said that they must have loved you very much, because they tried to save you the only way that they knew how.”
Lance nodded, then placed one of his freesias on the grave to his left. “This is Damien. He’s the oldest because he was born five minutes and thirty-eight seconds before me. He liked cars and baseball.”
“Hello, Damien,” I said.
“And this is Goran.” Lance placed his other flower down. “He was our middle. He was born three minutes and two seconds after Damien. He liked football best, but mom wouldn’t let him play because she said he was too little and would get hurt.”
“Your mom just wanted to protect him.”
Lance stood up, brushing the dirt from the back of his pants. “Guess I’m the oldest now.”
Then—still so very young—he held his hand out for me.
I took it, holding it tightly all the way home.
* * * *
Jacob and I sat out on the cliff that night—listening to the waves crash onto the shore far below, too dark to be witnessed on such a moonless night.
“I’ve been thinking that we should set up bonfires,” I said. “If we place them at spots along the coastline—where the sentries are—we can use them as signal fires. And we’ve got enough kids here who know science like Jay and Porter and Connor. I’ll bet that there are some who know chemicals that we could use to make the smoke change different colors. That way the fires would mean different things.”
“That’s a really good idea,” nodded Jacob. “It takes over an hour by horseback to get a message to Point Mugu from here. If we put a bonfire at Heavens Beach and one at Mugu, then we could use them like a relay system. The sentries light the signal fire at Mugu. Heavens sees it and lights theirs. Then, we see it and know what’s happening at Mugu almost immediately.”
