by Nancy Isaak
When we reached the intersection of Pacific Coast Highway and Kanan-Dume, we found three of our sentries. They were kneeling behind big, yellow barrels—the type that hold sand or water to stop runaway vehicles.
All three had their rifles out and aiming up the hill on Kanan-Dume.
There was a young kid standing there—halfway up—holding tightly onto a white flag that was attached to a pole that had to be two feet taller than him. The boy couldn’t have been older than ten, perhaps even younger. He was very skinny and—because he wasn’t wearing a shirt—it was easy to see how his ribs stuck out underneath the three black lines tattooed across his chest.
I wanted to run to him—to grab his hand and bring him into our tribe, to hand him over to Sophia for a good home-cooked meal that he clearly needed. But I also knew that, no matter how innocent or terrified he looked—that it could be a trick. I needed to remind myself that, even though they were close to the same age, it wasn’t Ethan or Wester standing before me.
It was a Crazy.
All around me, my guys had spread out—finding defensive points, training their weapons on the kid. I looked up at the buildings and hills around me, wondering where Rhys, Shawnee, and the rest of the Raiders were positioned. I saw no sign of them anywhere; I simply had to be confident that they were where they were supposed to be, that they had my back.
“Sending babies to do their dirty work,” growled Jude beside me. “God, I hate these guys.”
“I need you to keep our people from killing him,” I told her. “Erroll and I will go up and talk to the kid, but somebody needs to stay here and keep everybody from having twitchy trigger fingers.”
Jude immediately turned and yelled out, “Anyone shoots without Kaylee’s or my say-so is gonna’ answer to me. And I’m feeling a little PMS-y today, so don’t test me, understand?!”
Nobody said a word, but I noticed that some of the guys nodded their heads; others lowered their weapons slightly.
“What if it’s a trap?” asked Jude, quietly—so only Erroll and I could hear. “Like if you guys get grabbed or shot or whatever…what do you want us to do?”
I grimaced. “Do what you need to do.”
* * * *
As Erroll and I walked up the hill toward the kid, I had a chance to really study him. He was even smaller than I’d originally thought; the leather boots he was wearing must have had 2-inch heels that made him appear taller.
His hair was long and fine; a dark mass of stringy hair that hung down around his shoulders. There was a delicacy to his face—his cheekbones high and fragile, just like the rest of him. In some ways, I was reminded of Lily. This boy, if only he had strawberry blond hair, could easily have been her brother.
“Keep your barrel down,” I told Erroll, pushing at his gun. “I don’t want any unfortunate accidents. He’s just a little kid.”
“Do you think he’s a slave?”
“Even if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. He’s too young to really know what he’s doing, what’s going on.”
“I think he’s a slave,” Erroll said, quietly. “The kid’s crying. I don’t think real Crazies would cry…do you?”
“No,” I shook my head. “But if he is, then that means his owners might be close by—so, be ready.”
We stopped about ten yards away from the kid. Like Erroll had said, the tears were flowing freely down the boy’s face. When he wiped at them with one trembling hand, he almost lost control of his flag pole and had to quickly grab at it again.
“Hello.”
He jumped at the sound of my voice, turning to look behind him—for someone or an escape route, I didn’t know.
“Um…are you…um…are you…Mother?” he stuttered.
“Some people call me that,” I admitted. “Other people call me Kaylee.”
“They said…um…well, that you’d be…pretty.” The boy glanced behind again.
It made Erroll nervous and his gun raised slightly.
When the boy turned back to us, he smiled slightly at me, his teeth like tiny, perfect Chiclets—white and gleaming. “I think you’re pretty.”
“Thank you. What’s your name, sweetie?”
The kid looked down—embarrassed, ashamed. “I’m not allowed to tell you. I’m only supposed to give you the message.”
“What message…and from whom?”
“Brandon wants to give you a gift. He said it’s because he’s proud of you.”
“Proud of me?” I was confused.
With a nod, the kid used both of his hands to wave his flag from one side to the other. Immediately, Erroll tensed, his gun coming up, his eyes scanning the area around us. From farther up Kanan-Dume—where the road disappeared as it curved behind a slight hill—we suddenly heard a noise.
Scritch…bump…scritch…bump…scritch…bump!
I turned toward the young boy; if anything, he looked even more terrified.
“I’m sorry, Mother!” he cried.
“Crap!” Erroll grabbed me by the arm and immediately started pulling me back down the hill. I was moving backward—still facing the boy—so I had a clear view of him just standing there, white flag in his hands, tears falling down his face.
And a giant bouncy-ball heading straight toward him!
* * * *
It had gained speed when it came around the curve; its bounces growing longer and higher each time it hit the ground.
Scritch…bump…scritch…bump…scritch…bump!
I was reminded of the giant bouncy-ball that was still in my dad’s backyard, the one that Lily and Hannah liked to play in. This ball was similar to that one, only larger. Like some bizarre joke, it bounced off mail boxes, fences, and cars—careening this way and that—steadily making its way toward us.
Scritch…bump…scritch…bump…scritch…bump!
As it bounded over the head of the young Crazy, somehow missing him by mere inches, the kid yelled at me. “They made me do it, Mother…I didn’t want to, but they made me!”
The bouncy-ball continued, this time veering to the left. It hit a light pole, slid around it, then bounced out into the road again.
From behind a rusting Mercedes where we’d taken cover, Erroll and I watched the ball fly past—scattering the Locals at the bottom of the road, eventually coming to rest along Pacific Coast Highway. It rocked back and forth for a moment, before it settled down—a giant quivering sphere of red and yellow vinyl—just waiting.
It was Cammie who reached the ball first.
She peered in through its entrance, her head disappearing within the folds of vinyl. A moment later, she stumbled backward, hand to her mouth—horrified.
As Erroll and I ran toward her, other Locals—some of them my guards—approached the bouncy-ball. They had their weapons trained on it and I expected bullets to fly at any moment.
But, like Cammie—when they reached the ball and looked inside, they did nothing—simply moved away, their shocked looks driving a bolt of fear straight up my spine.
“What is it?!” I cried out, as we neared the ball. “What’s inside?”
* * * *
Josh was curled up at the bottom of the bouncy-ball—a bruised and bloody mess that barely even looked human. It was obvious that they had tortured him; two of his fingers were missing, and there were cuts and whip marks all across his body.
Grief-stricken, horrified—I pulled my head out of the ball’s entry tunnel and turned to Cammie. “Ohmigod…Sophia…she needs to be told!”
“There’s an envelope…did you see it?” she asked me.
The last thing I wanted to do was go back inside of that ball, but I knew that I couldn’t ask anyone else to do it for me. So, I leaned down and pushed in through the entry, sliding on my elbows along the vinyl, until my head popped through the opening on the other side.
My heart dropped.
Josh was looking at me; his wide, glazed eyes, seeming to stare right through me—accusing. If there hadn’t been a white film over both of
them, I would have been certain he was still alive.
A moist sheen covered his whole body—what looked like sweat—and his limbs trembled slightly, as if he was shaking. But it was, of course, me that was shaking—causing the ball to tremble under my body weight.
It moved even more as I leaned in further, causing Josh’s body to twist slightly—revealing a small envelope. It was bright yellow, with small spots of red here and there that I knew had to be blood.
There were two words written on the front of the envelope, in large, flowing script…
…For Mother...
* * * *
The gunshot echoed through the hills.
I heard it the moment I emerged from the mouth of the giant ball. Like the Locals around me, my head spun around, just in time to see the young Crazy collapsing in the middle of Kanan-Dume.
There were two older mohawked-boys near him—one on either side—both holding guns. I had no idea which one of the Crazies had shot the young boy, or even where they had emerged from their hiding places.
But when I saw the Crazies grin at each other, high-fiving over the little kid’s body, it didn’t matter to me. All that mattered at that moment…was death.
Josh’s…the young boy’s…theirs.
“Take them both down!” I screamed.
* * * *
Lightning-fast, Rhys popped up on the roof of a building to my left.
Responding to a quick hand signal from him, other Raiders rose up—on both sides of Kanan-Dume. All around me, meanwhile, the Locals—Cammie included—turned their weapons uphill.
And hell rained down; the noise was deafening.
The two Crazies didn’t even have a chance to run.
One fell by bullets, the other died with an arrow through his left eye.
But the shooting didn’t stop there.
Angry bullets riddled the bodies, causing them to twitch and stutter along the pavement. It was only when I raised my hand that it finally came to an end.
Silence…
Up on the roofs and along the hills, I saw the Raiders—their heads whipping about, searching for other targets. Moments passed, along with a flurry of hand signals.
Finally, Rhys turned and looked down at me, giving the all-clear.
“Get Josh out of that thing!” I immediately ordered Erroll. “Wrap him up in a blanket or something and let’s get him home. And make sure that no one talks to Sophia until I’ve had a chance first. She needs to hear this from me.”
Before Erroll could respond, Jude suddenly yelled out. “Shawnee sees something!”
We all looked up at the roof of the building opposite Rhys’. There was Shawnee, standing on top of an air conditioning unit. She was holding binoculars and pointing at the top of the hill at the far end of Kanan-Dume.
“What are you seeing?” I yelled up at her.
She held up four fingers. “Crazies on horses…just coming up now!”
Erroll had a set of binoculars in a case at his waist. He quickly pulled them out and handed them to me. “They’ll be too far away for bullets or arrows. Do you want me to send some guys up to meet them?”
I shook my head. “We send guys up Kanan, they’ll be heading straight into a funnel—the hills are on both side.”
“Dudes will be bullet-bait,” murmured Jude.
“Ohmigod!” whispered Cammie. “You know who that is, don’t you?”
She was looking at where the four Crazies on horseback had just emerged at the top of the hill. They stopped just shy of the edge, sitting there, looking down on us.
A low growling began beside me.
I turned and looked at Jude; her teeth were actually bared and the deep rumble was coming from her throat. It was only when she caught me staring that the growling stopped.
“Oh sorry,” she said. “Was that me?”
* * * *
I would not have thought it possible for Tray to have become even more beautiful. But—even from a distance, and looking through binoculars—I couldn’t help but stare at her.
She was wearing a leather tunic; her long legs were bare, her feet covered in roman sandals that laced up her ankles. There was some sort of gold braid woven into her hair and she had a semi-automatic slung across her back.
It made her look like a warrior princess—fierce and proud.
Brandon, meanwhile, sat on an enormous black horse next to her.
His hair was growing back in and, while still muscular, he had lost that mutant steroid-look. His body now was that of a professional athlete—ripped and powerful. He was wearing a bone breastplate and black leather jeans tucked into motorcycle boots. Along his arms were golden bands and there were two black lines tattooed across his face—one above and below his eyes. I realized that his tattoos mirrored our own battle-marks and I wondered if he had done that on purpose—to mock us.
Sitting beside him—was Orla; the rumors about her being taken prisoner and executed had obviously been wrong. Her horse was smaller than Brandon and Tray’s, however, which made her seem somehow lesser.
In Crazy-land brawn had apparently finally trumped brain.
While Brandon and Tray looked and dressed like warrior-gods, Orla wore designer jeans, cowboy boots, and—ironically—a pink blouse and matching cowboy hat. It did nothing to suggest confidence in her as a leader, although I had to admit—she did look cute.
* * * *
The fourth Crazy was off and to the side, as if she didn’t quite merit a ‘power position’. She was leaning on her saddle horn, casually gazing down at us. When Brandon said something that caused Tray and Orla to burst out in laughter, she also turned and grinned at him, nodding.
It was Alice.
“Ohmigod,” I whispered, staring up at her through the binoculars.
“That bitch!” hissed Jude. And—before I could stop her—Jude stalked out into the center of Kanan-Dume Road and held her arm up high, giving them the middle finger. “One-on-one, you cowards! Any one of you…right here, right now!”
Brandon responded by rubbing his crotch suggestively, which made the three girls with him laugh even louder. Then, he turned his horse and disappeared back over the rise. Orla and Tray followed on his heels; Alice, however, stayed where she was a moment longer, frowning down at us.
Finally, with a kick to her horse—she was gone.
Grumbling to herself, Jude returned to my side. “Bitch is freaking lucky I don’t have super powers,” I heard her mutter under her breath.
“Kaylee!” It was Rhys, waving to me from up on his roof. “Do you want us to follow them? Take them out if we can?”
I shook my head, yelling up. “It’s too dangerous! They’re probably hoping that’s exactly what we’ll do. I wouldn’t put it past Brandon and the Foxes to have half their tribe on the other side of those hills.”
“So—you want us to stand down?”
“For the moment,” I nodded. “But let’s set up an expanded perimeter just in case they bring the battle to us.” Then, I turned to Jude. “Can I put you in charge of that Crazy up on the hill—the kid? We’ll pick up his body and bury it with the others out in the field on the Point.”
“What about the other two—the ones who killed him?”
I didn’t even hesitate. “Leave them for the coyotes.”
* * * *
There was something niggling away at me.
Something important that I had forgotten.
When I saw Cammie helping Erroll to bring Josh’s body out of the giant ball, it suddenly came to me—and my blood ran cold.
Oh God…how could I have forgotten?!
I started running toward Erroll, yelling, “Kieran’s heading up to the water tower! He’s probably halfway there by now! You have to stop him, Erroll! You have to go get him!”
Erroll looked confused.
“Josh was tortured! Like…he would of talked…water tower even.” Words tripped over my tongue, in my rush to explain. “Kieran could be walking into a trap!”
> Erroll’s eyes went wide in sudden understanding and he took off running.
* * * *
It was as if Sophia already knew.
She was waiting on Dume Drive, holding her rosary to her chest, her face tight with grief.
We approached as one—a tribe united—neatly arranged in rows, evenly spaced. In the middle of our ranks, protected by all—Josh’s body rose and fell gently with every step, cradled on Beauty’s back.
As we reached Sophia, we stopped.
She came forward—our guys parting, until she could stand next to Josh.
“Look at you,” she said, tears falling down her cheek. She touched Josh’s shoulder. “How happy you must have made God, that He would call you to His side.” Then, Sophia leaned forward and placed her forehead against his, whispering softly, “You stupid brave boy.”
* * * *
I waited until I was alone in my bedroom to finally read the note that Brandon had left me. Sitting on the edge of Jacob’s and my bed, I fumbled with the envelope, trying to ignore the blood stains as I ripped it open.
To my future baby mama,
Kudos on your promotion.
Thanx for snuffing Mateo. Saved me the trouble.
You’re doing a bang up job with those losers of yours. Definitely got some licks on you (besides the ones you’re going to get from me).
Can’t wait to add you to my harem.
Here’s crushing on you.
Your future second husband, Brandon
XOXOXOXO
* * * *
I’m still not sure why I kept that letter to myself.
Perhaps in some ways I was embarrassed by what Brandon had written. Certainly, I felt humiliated by it. Mostly—I just felt scared.
Because now I knew…without a doubt.
Brandon was coming for me.
* * * *
I spent the rest of that day and night, standing on the knoll in the Nature Preserve, binoculars to my eyes—searching the coastline for any sign of Erroll and Kieran. When the sun finally rose the next morning—pink-tinged and warming my chilled bones—I was close to tears from fatigue and frustration.
