365 Days At War

by Nancy Isaak

  While Wyatt thought his remaining at the winery was for his own safety, the truth was—it was for ours. We simply didn’t trust him not to talk once he reached the Point.

  Meanwhile, throughout our preparations, Alice kept trying to draw me aside—wanting to discuss the ‘plan’. I purposely put her off, explaining that I was too tired to think.

  Instead, I suggested that all of us would go over our plans to overthrow Brandon and the Foxes once we’d reached Alice’s Westlake Village house. If all went well, we expected that to happen sometime tomorrow afternoon or during the evening.

  Until then—Nate, Erroll, Wyatt, and I were determined to keep to ourselves.

  Because we Locals were changing the ‘plan’.

  And we knew that Alice wasn’t going to like it.

  * * * *

  “OW…whose stupid idea was this anyways?!”

  I writhed under Wyatt’s pounding needles until it became necessary for Erroll and Nate to stand on either side of me, holding my arms down as I lay on the dining room table in our private quarters.

  “You’re the one who decided to get all artsy-fartsy with those stupid angel wings,” snorted Erroll. “Serves you right.”

  “You want me to change my mind?” I growled at him. “Because you know who would be up next!”

  Still holding onto my arm, Erroll knelt down until he was at my eye level. “Damn straight, I do,” he said, quietly—daring me to give in.

  “Screw you, Erroll!” I lashed out.

  “Any chance you can add an extra number onto her back?” Erroll asked Wyatt. “Like maybe pi to the nth?”

  Wyatt didn’t answer, although I did hear him chuckle and—for just a moment—the pressure on the tattooing needles increased.

  “I’ll send you into the Arena myself, Wyatt!” I warned. “I swear to god, I will!”

  The pressure decreased just as quickly.

  * * * *

  It was actually Ryan who helped me into my burka-sheet the next morning.

  Alice had left the winery hours earlier, along with her two ghost-slaves—hoping to ‘diplomatically’ clear our way into Agoura Hills.

  At whatever roadblocks she encountered along her route, Alice was planning on alerting the sentries to the ‘challenger team’ that would be following later on that morning. Hopefully, Alice’s word was going to be enough to get us through the roadblocks with little or no inspection.

  At least, that was the plan.

  If it didn’t work—well, that was why we got the tattoos.

  And why I became a ghost.

  “Some of the girls have attached string to the inside of their sheets, so they won’t fall off so easily.” Ryan turned the sheet he was holding inside out, then handed it to me. “Look—I had one of our girls sew some strings inside your sheet. These two ends are tied around your chin. These other two strings here go around your waist.”

  I hefted the sheet in my hands; it was actually quite heavy and slightly off-white—not because it had faded—but because it was dirty.

  And it stunk—really, really bad.

  “Ohmigod!” I gasped, holding the sheet out at arm’s length. “Like you seriously can’t be making me wear this! Can you not smell how disgusting it is?”

  “That’s the point,” said Ryan, taking the sheet from my hands and holding it up above my head, so I could slip underneath. “The last thing you want as a slave is to be seen, especially if you’re attractive. And—not meaning to come onto you or anything, because I already got a great girl back home but—you’re a hell of a good-looking girl, Kaylee. So, seriously—you absolutely do want to smell as bad as possible, because—trust me—you don’t want any White Shirts looking at what’s underneath your sheet.”

  “This is stupid,” I mumbled.

  Holding my breath, I allowed Ryan to slip the sheet over my head. It took a moment, even with his help, to center my face so I could look out of the eyeholes. And tying up all the strings inside of the sheet was an exercise in futility; I fumbled for a good couple of minutes before I managed to connect everything.

  When I was finally done, Ryan had me turn around, taking his time while he checked me over. “You’re good,” he finally announced, pulling at the bottom of the sheet. “I don’t see any skin showing…or the clothes you’re wearing underneath—that’s a big no-no.”

  “Like so ridiculously stupid!” I grouched, pulling at the stinky fabric where it touched my face.

  “Absolutely,” Ryan agreed, trying to maintain a straight face—and failing.

  Then, he reached into a nearby backpack and pulled out a small levered canister, handing it to me. It was about four inches in length and was seated in a fabric pocket, with a thick, elastic loop attached to it.

  “I want you to put this around your upper leg, so it faces inward,” Ryan instructed. “That way its outline shouldn’t be noticeable through the sheet.”

  “This is what…one of those foghorns, right? Or is it pepper spray”

  He shook his head, trying hard to stifle a chuckle. “It’s like…well…a stink bomb. So, you need to be careful with it…real careful.”

  “I’m carrying a stink bomb?!”

  Ryan became serious. “Use it only if you really need to, because that’s the only one I’ve got, so when it runs out…that’s it. And the stuff is beyond nasty. I mean, it smells like crap, right—like you did it in your pants. So—you want someone to back off—just one spritz under the sheet, then put it right back in its holder…and try not to puke. Now, put it away before your finger slips and I have to take off running!”

  Carefully—making sure that my fingers were nowhere near the lever—I slipped the elastic loop over my foot and pulled the canister up between my legs. It felt awkward sitting there, uncomfortable and—to be completely honest—invasive.

  Still, I had to agree with Ryan—if things went bad and someone wanted to poke around under my sheet, I’d probably be very happy to have that little stink bomb.

  “Where did you get it?” I asked, re-adjusting everything, so that the canister wouldn’t show as a bulge but, instead, laid flat between my legs. “Like I can’t imagine this is something you just had lying around.”

  Ryan blushed, looking down at his feet.

  “Ohmigod!” I giggled. “You did have it lying around!”

  “It was for a prank,” he admitted. “I bought it online. There was like this video on YouTube of these guys setting it off in their school and the stink chasing everyone away—firefighters came in facemasks, stuff like that.” Ryan shrugged, embarrassed. “One of my teachers was kind of a dick. I thought it would be funny to let it off underneath his chair, maybe at finals.”

  “So, have you actually smelled it?”

  “Yeah, it’s nasty,” he nodded. “More shart than fart, if you know what I mean.”

  I patted the canister beneath my dirty, smelly sheet. “Crazy-Ryan, you make a girl feel just so darn purty.”

  He didn’t laugh—didn’t even crack a smile. Instead, he reached into the backpack once more and, this time, pulled out a thick chain and a padlock.

  My blood ran cold at the sight of it; instinctively I took a step back.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ryan said, quietly. “But only three girls are allowed to walk free in the Conejo Valley these days.”

  “Alice, Orla, and Tray.” I snarled.

  He nodded—ashamed. “Every other girl has to be chained to their owner, Kaylee. And if you aren’t, then the law says you can be taken—by anyone.”

  * * * *

  They didn’t dare come near me while I raged.

  Instead, Ryan, Erroll, Nate, and Wyatt waited in the doorway as I paced back and forth—angrily reconciling myself with my new position in life. With a dirty sheet covering my body and a thick chain padlocked around my neck, I had now become a ghost—a slave.

  Officially, I had just been declared less-than-human.

  I was now chattel—livestock that could be bought and sold.
>
  It was humiliating and it made me furious. How one human could do this to another was simply beyond me?

  When I finally got my emotions under control, I stopped pacing and turned my head toward the guys. Ryan and Wyatt were gaping at me openly, but Erroll and Nate both looked at their feet—unwilling to meet my eyes.

  “So…we gonna’ do this or what?!” I barked at them.

  Ryan immediately nodded; no one else said a word.

  “Erroll!”

  I knew that my tone was harsher than I had intended but—of all of them—I needed Erroll to respond, to make sure that he understood.

  “We’re gonna’ do it, right, Erroll?” I asked him. “You on board?”

  It took a moment, but Erroll finally looked up and nodded.

  * * * *

  A short while later, Wyatt stood outside with Nate, Ryan, Erroll, and me—at the copse of burnt trees. We were moments away from beginning the final leg of our journey. I think that Wyatt was actually relieved to say good-bye to us—believing that the farther we got away from him, the less likely his chances of being forced to accompany us into the Valley.

  “Remember that your tattoos are all going to be a little raw and tender,” Wyatt told us. “Plus, they’re gonna’ itch, so make sure that you use the lotion that I gave you.”

  “Thanks, Wyatt.” I gave him a quick hug. “For everything…I know this has been kind of difficult for you.”

  “It’s scary,” he admitted. “But it’s also sort of nice, you know…doing something important for once.”

  “Just remember that you can’t go back to the Point until November 1st,” I warned him. “Nobody can know where we’re going and what we’re about to do. You have to promise that.”

  “I promise,” he nodded, tears coming to his eyes. “But you guys will come back after that, right? I mean, you’re absolutely going to come back to Point Dume.”

  Probably not.

  “Of course,” I lied.

  * * * *

  We hit our first checkpoint at Lindero Canyon Road and the 101 Freeway in Westlake Village. Because it was just outside of Agoura Hills, that checkpoint had fewer White Shirts guarding it than the main checkpoint at Kanan Road. Alice had figured that it would probably be the best chance for us to enter Crazy-land without being inspected.

  As we neared the checkpoint, Erroll whistled the pass-code just as Nate had taught him—two long and four short. The sentries immediately responded with a series of five long and three short whistles of their own.

  “Stop!” Ryan quickly put his arms out, holding us back. “Wait a second!”

  “What’s up?” asked Erroll, confused. “Did I not do the code right?”

  “You did it right…you gave them the correct code. That’s not the problem.” Ryan kept his voice low, not taking his eyes off of the armed sentries fifty yards down the road in front of us.

  “Then, what is it?” I asked, worried.

  “What they just whistled…that code,” whispered Ryan. “I don’t recognize it.”

  “Neither do I,” Nate agreed.

  The weight of the chain on my neck suddenly felt exceedingly heavy on my shoulders. If we had made a mistake coming to this checkpoint—if I had to run—I wondered how far I would be able to go, carrying so much extra weight…and how fast.

  In front of us, meanwhile, one of the sentries moved out from behind the roadblock—which really was no more than two SUV’s placed nose-to-nose.

  He stood to the side of the vehicles, waving a rifle over his head. “Just screwing with you guys!” he yelled. “It’s okay. You can come on up.”

  Nate immediately burst into what he hoped would appear to be amused laughter. He pulled hard on my chain and I stumbled, almost falling to the ground.

  “Come on, girl!” Nate ordered, loudly—pulling me up behind him. He turned slightly at the same time, so that his lips wouldn’t be visible to the sentries at the blockade. “Sorry, Kaylee,” he whispered. “Please don’t kill me when you get a chance!”

  Erroll, however, chuckled for real—reaching out a hand to slap me on my butt.

  “Are you kidding me?!” I growled from under my sheet.

  “It’s called ‘get-back’, boss,” he told me. “Might be the only chance I get.”

  “You and Nate are so both goin on crapper detail!” I promised.

  “Still worth it,” Erroll shrugged.

  I would have said more, but the sentry was walking toward us. His rifle was now threaded across his back, his right hand reaching out to be shaken.

  Behind him, two other Crazies came out from either side of the SUV’s. Both of them were carrying weapons—the type of stubby semi-automatics you would often see in spy movies in the old world.

  “You should of seen your faces, bros!” laughed the sentry, shaking Ryan’s hand. “Like I thought you were gonna’ piss your pants!”

  “Yeah, you got us good,” Ryan grinned. “So…Alice was here this morning, right?”

  The guy nodded. “Let us know we had a challenger coming through.” He shook hands with Erroll, then walked slowly around him—looking his muscled body up and down with an approving eye. “Dude...you are like one big mofo!”

  Erroll peered down at the sentry, his eyebrow raised in mock disdain. “We done here…dude?”

  Instead of taking offense, the sentry burst into laughter. “Nice,” he chuckled, pointing a finger at Erroll. “Like you’re gonna’ give Brandon a run for his money, aren’t you?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  Checking to make sure that no one would overhear—including the two other Crazies near the roadblock—the sentry leaned in close to Erroll and whispered, “Dude, you gotta’ kill him, okay? Just kill him…please!”

  * * * *

  Even though we had entered the Conejo Valley at Westlake Village, we still weren’t allowed to head straight to our safehouse. Instead, we were required to travel a circuitous route into Agoura Hills, arcing back around to Alice’s, where we would remain until Halloween—the day of the Arena.

  “It’s because the Crazies are funneling everyone along the 101 now,” Ryan explained, as we walked along the highway. “That way they control everyone who comes into the Valley—sends them through the market, makes them have to pass through multiple checkpoints.”

  “There’s no way that we can miss the market?” I asked. “Go straight to Alice’s?”

  “Not the way they’ve got the route set up now. The market is right in our path. We’ll enter it at the Reyes Adobe checkpoint and walk from there to what they’re calling the Canwood checkpoint, which is on the far side of Kanan.”

  “What a pain in the butt,” I sighed. “We could just go up Reyes Adobe Road to get to Alice’s house. We’re like literally adding a good hour onto our trip and most of that is going to be backtracking.”

  “We don’t have a choice. Most of the side roads have been closed down now. If you want to travel through Crazy-territory, you have to use the approved routes.” Ryan tried to give me a reassuring smile. “It should be okay, though. As long as we don’t stop and we move quickly, we’ll probably be through the market in ten, maybe fifteen minutes…easy-peasy.”

  Except that it wasn’t.

  * * * *

  The market was bewildering—like something straight out of a third world country.

  As we waited our turn at the Reyes Adobe checkpoint—two SUV’s blocking the entrance to the market—I studied the dozens upon dozens of tents and ramshackle huts that stretched straight down the freeway toward Agoura Hills.

  There were also dead cars everywhere, of course—most pushed to the side of the road. A few Crazies were actually using the hoods of the vehicles to show off their trading goods; I saw boots and books and even a portable camp toilet on one.

  Other cars appeared to be temporary shelters; there were guys sleeping inside of them, their dirty feet sticking out of the windows.

  Directly ahead of us, two large Crazies in White Shir
ts and holding rifles, poked and prodded through the backpacks of four guys seeking entrance into the market. There were other sentries lounging nearby—regular guys, not White Shirts. They chatted quietly among themselves, their eyes roaming along the line of people waiting patiently for their turn to be searched and prodded.

  “Be cool,” Ryan whispered to us. “And wipe your forehead, Nate!”

  Beside me, Nate casually reached up and wiped at the beads of sweat that had popped up on his brow. We were all jangly at this point—our nerves keeping us on edge. Erroll clicked his fingernails against each other to ease his tension, while I kept pulling my hand inside of my sheet to reassuringly caress the canister nestling against the inside of my thigh.

  As I peered around, I suddenly realized that there were no other girls nearby, although I could see a few on the other side of the checkpoint. Those girls were all under sheets, of course, chains around their necks, being towed through the crowd like cattle by their owners.

  Angry thoughts swarmed through my head at the sight—like buzzing gnats filled with fury.

  Fracking Crazies!

  This is insane!

  What if there’s someone I know under one of those sheets?

  What if they’re scared? Hurt? Abused?

  And one giant, all-consuming buzz that cancelled out all the rest.

  Somebody has to end this…there is no other way.

  Our challenger simply has to kill Brandon!

  * * * *

  “You!” The White Shirt motioned us forward. “Bring your girl over here.”

  Nate yanked on my chain and pulled me along until I was standing with him in front of the two White Shirts. They were both large guys—definitely not from Agoura High—but I was pretty sure that I recognized them as kids from Oak Park, members of their high school football team. In fact, I was certain that I had seen them play against our own high school team on more than one occasion.