365 Days At War

by Nancy Isaak

  The White Shirts at the base of the bleachers went down first; Stars leapt at them from the stands, their knives gleaming.

  Of all of the White Shirts on the track, only one managed to escape the initial onslaught, a kid who subsequently made the mistake of running too close to the stands. He was caught by one of the Christians—a large kid who gave the sign of the cross even as he throttled the life out of the White Shirt, using one big meaty fist.

  Up at the back of the bleachers, meanwhile, Reena cut open the throat of the Crazy in front of her. His blood sprayed down on a row of young boys and they screeched in horror, jumping up to run away.

  “Stay where you are!” I yelled up at the boys. “Whatever you do, don’t move! Only the evil need fear us! Only the evil will be cut down!”

  They reluctantly sat back down—all of them trembling, obviously terrified.

  * * * *

  It was utterly horrifying to watch—the slaughter.

  White Shirts and Crazies were taken down with knives, fists, guns—and in one case…a hammer.

  They fell steadily, blood spurting from their necks, bullet holes in their heads—gasping and pleading for mercy.

  But we gave none.

  Most of the Crazies were killed in their seats; a few tried to escape, but were quickly subdued—Stars and slaves joining together to exact their vengeance, their justice.

  At one point, I saw Cherry reach in front of her, slicing out at the Crazy sitting there. The kid went down quickly, blood pouring from his throat. Meanwhile, the Star seated beside Cherry set upon the kid in front of him—stabbing and slicing. His knife flashed up and down, again and again.

  “Oh god…Brandon!” I spun around, surprised to find that Tray had returned; she was down on her knees, kneeling beside Brandon’s body.

  “You killed him!” Tray gazed up at me with a kind of amazement. “I mean, you actually killed him.”

  Meanwhile, Orla dared a single step away from Alice—just enough so that she could see Brandon’s body. “Is he really dead, Tray?” she asked, her voice breaking with a barely contained horror.

  Before Tray could open her mouth, two Crazies suddenly leaped over the bleacher railing—one heading in my direction, the other to the fence at the far end of the field.

  A handful of Stars took down the one coming at me.

  The Crazy running toward the fence died a few seconds after the first—blood and brains splattering all over the field—a casualty of a well-placed bullet shot from a rifle-toting kid who had to have been no more than 12-years old.

  * * * *

  BANG…BANG…BANG!

  I realized that the gunshots I was hearing were coming from outside of the arena—most likely from Chumash Park. My immediate worry was that the Crazies were regrouping; that somehow they had retrieved more weapons and were about to swarm onto the football field and murder all of us.

  Later, I would find out just how wrong I was.

  While there was definitely murder going on in Chumash Park that day, it wasn’t the Crazies who delivered it.

  It was the slaves.

  When they had heard the commotion from inside of the arena, they had risen up and begun attacking their owners with whatever weapons they could find—knives, chains, rocks…teeth.

  * * * *

  Back inside of the arena—the killing was slowing down.

  Many of the Crazies had retaken their seats—breathing heavily, trying to ignore the dead bodies in front of them. Others simply used their feet to push the dead through the risers, allowing them to smash to the ground.

  Connor, meanwhile, was leaning precariously back, his slave chain looped around his redheaded guard’s throat. With his feet up against the kid’s back, Connor was using his body’s leverage to literally choke his tormentor to death.

  While I watched, a handful of Stars and slaves broke free of the far bleachers, racing toward the cooking station at the end of the field. One of the biggest guys carried a machete that he held up high.

  “You better run, Liam!” he yelled.

  In response, the kid in the tall chef’s hat squealed in terror and took off running.

  He didn’t get very far.

  * * * *

  “Tray, we have to get out of here!” Orla screeched. She was still behind Alice—using the bigger girl’s body as her own personal shield. “Alice can get us out, but we have to leave now!”

  I raised my eyebrows at Alice, questioningly; she merely grinned back at me.

  Orla didn’t see our interaction.

  But Tray did.

  She rose up slowly—shaking her head in disgust. “So, this is how it ends.”

  “This is how it ends,” I nodded.

  “Tray…you have to come…NOW!” Orla was absolutely frantic, tugging at Alice’s sleeve, trying to pull her across the football field. “Alice, hurry up, you fool!” she shrieked, when Alice refused to move. “Why are you making this so difficult?!”

  One of the Stars from the group in the center of the field reached out and grabbed at Orla’s arm. She immediately screamed, pulling away from him. “Use your gun, Alice! Get him!”

  “You idiot!” Tray yelled at Orla. “Haven’t you figured it out, yet? Alice is one of them!”

  “Wha—at?” Orla looked confused, unable to comprehend that the girl whose arm she was gripping tightly—the girl who had sworn to be her protector—could possibly betray her. “But…it’s Alice, Tray.” She looked up at Alice—as if for confirmation. “Tell Tray that you’re not with them…you’re with us. Right, Alice…right? You’re a Fox—just like us.”

  Alice laughed. “Oh, I’ve never been a Fox just like you two bitches. Sure, I could go to your parties, beat up your enemies. But—a Fox? That was never gonna’ happen and we both know it—because I wasn’t rich enough…and I certainly wasn’t pretty enough. I was always just Brady Bob to you—someone to order around and laugh at behind your backs…but never a Fox.”

  Orla gave Alice a tiny tug on her arm. “But you could be one now,” she insisted, smiling weakly up at her. “Like I think you’re an absolute Fox…but we gotta’ go now, Alice…okay?”

  “What about you?” Alice looked over at Tray. “Do you think I could be a Fox?”

  Tray sniffed, shaking her head slightly. “Never.”

  “Ohmigod, Tray!” Orla screeched. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

  The same Star who had grabbed at Orla’s arm before, took a few hesitant steps toward her. Alice immediately pulled out a small revolver and aimed it at the kid’s face. “Step back some, Kenny.”

  “That’s right,” yelled Orla, pointing a shaking finger at the Star. “You get back right now or Alice will shoot you!”

  “Oh, I’m not going to shoot him,” Alice corrected her. “I just want him out of the way when I shoot you.”

  Orla’s face dropped; she turned white with shock and horror. “But…it’s me, Alice. Like…I’m the President.”

  “Consider yourself impeached.”

  * * * *

  I felt nauseous when the bullet exited the back of Orla’s head—her blood and brain matter fanning out in a fine mist, even as her body folded in on itself, dropping to the ground. Her eyes remained steadfastly open—even in death—locked on Alice in silent condemnation.

  SNAP!...Tray’s whip shot out, aiming for Alice’s gun hand.

  The whip fell short, however—the distance too great.

  Tray quickly took a step forward and flicked the whip over her shoulder for a second attempt. As she began her forward thrust, however, two hands latched onto the leather, yanking the whip backward—straight out of Tray’s hands.

  Spinning around—furious at who would have dared to commit such an act of defiance—Tray was shocked to discover Connor. He limped forward—a deadly grin on his face and held up the whip.

  “Lose something, my mistress?”

  Tray’s eyes narrowed with distain. “Oh, you’re so brave now, little man, aren’t y
ou…with all your friends around. Well, why don’t you show me exactly how brave you are? Right here, right now…in the Arena.”

  “Bring it,” growled Connor.

  In the last few minutes, more of the Stars had come out onto the field. They circled us now, hooting at Connor—urging him on.

  “We’ll make a deal,” said Tray. “Our own little challenge. You win—whatever you want. I win—I get my whip back and I leave Agoura Hills.”

  Connor nodded. “Works for me.”

  “No!” I came forward and placed my good hand on Connor’s chest, gently pushing him back. “Tray is mine.”

  For a moment, I thought he might object. Then, nodding, Connor moved back, joining the Stars who surrounded us.

  “Whatever,” muttered Tray. “It’s better this way anyways, right…you and me, Kaylee.” She moved into a fighting stance, her feet planted, her fists in front of her face.

  Meanwhile, I reached for Alice’s gun.

  Tray’s eyes went wide as the weapon was passed into my hands.

  “What?” I said. “Did you really think that I would actually fight you?”

  For the first time since I’d met her, Tray looked unsure of herself—confused. “But we’ve got a deal.”

  “I don’t deal with beasts…I just put them down.”

  The uncertainty and confusion melted away from Tray’s face—replaced by anger and something else…a shrewd cunning. “But if you shoot that gun, Kaylee, you’re the one that will be the beast. Because you’ll be just like us—killing someone who’s unarmed and not a threat to you.”

  “I know,” I said, agreeing. “And I will never forgive you for that.”

  Tray shrugged, holding out her hands. “Then, don’t do it…just let me go and I’ll leave Agoura Hills…and I’ll never come back.”

  I shook my head. “Except that people like you always do…and you come back meaner and you come back stronger. So, really—there’s only one way to make sure that you don’t. To make sure that everyone will be safe.”

  “Don’t do it, Kaylee!” Tray begged; she placed one hand on her chest, the other she held out to me—a plea for forgiveness, for mercy. “I just want to leave. Please, Kaylee…please…”

  But the time for mercy and forgiveness had passed.

  Lifting the revolver up, I aimed its barrel at the point dead center between Tray’s beautiful amber eyes. “For my people…for my tribe,” I whispered. “For my child.”

  Then—I killed her.

  * * * *

  Except for a few quiet sobs here and there, the Crazies were silent as I climbed to the top of the cage in the middle of the football field. I balanced there on my battered ankle, cradling my broken wrist, and looked out at the crowd that surrounded me—Stars…slaves…Crazies—their faces filled with anticipation, with hope…with expectation.

  Under my instructions, the bodies of the vanquished had been placed along the running track. The dead numbered well over sixty—all boys—except for Tray and Orla.

  All of them—the Foxes, Brandon, the White Shirts—they would all be buried in a mass grave. There would be no crosses to mark their final resting place—no memorial to their evil existence.

  In time—I hoped—they would merely be forgotten.

  * * * *

  “WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!” I yelled. “WELCOME TO FREEDOM!”

  The reaction was instantaneous—kids began to scream, others cried—sobbing in open relief. A group of Crazies started dancing—not the feral, threatening leaps from before, but silly, hop-wiggles—teenage expressions of pure happiness.

  Off to one side, the eight large Christians sank to their knees in prayer. Reena and Ryan joined them—linking hands and lowering their heads.

  Cherry and Connor, meanwhile, had their arms around each other; they were caught in a rather hilarious cycle of sobbing…laughing…sobbing…laughing…

  All of it—the screaming for joy, the sobbing in relief, the kneeling in prayer—it brought tears to my eyes. Standing there on top of the cage, looking down on all of those amazing kids finally freed to live their own lives as they saw fit, I felt such an intense pride at what we had just accomplished…but I felt a deep sadness as well.

  Because our freedom came at a deadly price that we would all have to come to terms with eventually.

  But—not today.

  I lifted up my arms—waiting for quiet.

  When all eyes were on me, I began.

  “This is where good made its stand today. This is where good battled evil and defeated it.” The crowd began to cheer, but I shook my head, silencing them. “However, the war is not over…yet. Our people, and I mean all of us—Locals and Crazies—because we are one tribe now. Our people are still out there being held as slaves, being abused. And we will not abandon them. We will search them out and we will fight for their freedom—just like we have fought for our own today!”

  The Christians, along with Reena and Ryan, stood up and thumped their fists against their chests—a soldier’s call to action. Others joined in—one-by-one—until everyone stood united—calling out for vengeance, for retribution.

  “Today we rise up as an army of reckoning,” I told the crowd. “An army that will march west to join with our brothers and sisters on Point Dume…and we will march north and we will march south and we will march to the east. And wherever our people have been taken, have been sold, have been beaten and abused…we will march forward to find them—AND WE WILL MARCH TO BRING THEM HOME!”

  The screams and cheers of those around me were deafening. I waited until they were all quiet, before I thumped my own fist against my chest.

  “I am Kaylee Michelson…” I yelled, “…and this is my tribe!”

  More yells and cheers—calls of Mother…and Fallen Angel…and just plain old Kaylee!

  “These are the rules we live by!” I cried out, loudly. “We are all equal…we are all valued. We protect each other, we care for each other, we respect each other. We do not stand by when another is being hurt, is being abused. By keeping each other safe, we keep our tribe strong and good and…”

  My words trailed off as I suddenly saw the motley assortment of figures coming in through the front gate. There were thirteen of them—all slaves—their dirty sheets speckled here and there with blood. They moved slowly—tentatively—uncertain of their reception.

  I pointed in their direction and all heads turned toward the girls.

  The slaves immediately stopped—some of them visibly trembling, prepared to turn and run at the first sign of a threat.

  “Welcome, my sisters!” I called out. “There are no chains here—no slaves, no owners. Just us—boys, girls—one tribe.”

  One of the newcomers gasped loudly; she had just noticed the line of bodies along the running track. Other girls in their group moved up so they could see, excitedly pointing toward the bodies of Brandon and the Foxes.

  A tall girl of about fifteen—bolder than the rest—ripped off her sheet and threw it to the ground, spitting on it. She was all skin and bones—her ribs jutting out—and wearing little more than a bra and a pair of panties.

  Still, there was a strength about her—a dignity. When she walked toward us, she held her head up high.

  One of the Crazies nearest her took off his t-shirt and ran toward the girl, gently helping to place the shirt over her head. Others followed his example, taking off their shirts and jackets and heading over to help the rest of the girls.

  And up on the cage, overwhelmed with their humanity…I cried.

  * * * *

  Dear Jacob,

  If all goes as I hope, I will be seeing you in a matter of days. My heart is beating so fast, just thinking about it. It’s actually difficult for me to write, my fingers are trembling with such excitement.

  Since you’re reading this letter, you will have discovered that Cherry and Connor are alive, since they will have been the ones to have delivered my letter to you. And, if they haven’t told you already…gu
ess what?

  I’m the leader of the Crazies…like totally random, right?

  Of course, there’s a bit more to the whole leader-thing than that and I’ll tell you everything when I get home. Or more likely—Connor and Cherry will.

  Anyway…sorry, I’m not coming home right away. There’s a council I need to set up and a farming strategy that has to be created (Please send up Frank soonest!).

  Most importantly, though—there’s a battle I still need to fight.

  In a few hours, thirty-five Stars and I are headed to the Point Mugu Naval Station. There are girls there and we intend on freeing them. Don’t worry, we won’t make the stupid mistake of just walking up to the front gate and asking the guys there to hand them over. We’re going to be sneaky about it. There’s a kid in the tribe here, who used to live on base—his mom was a Chief Petty Officer in the old world—and he says he can take us in through the northeast corner. He says there are some access tunnels there that will pass us under the barricades.

  So, today we walk to Point Mugu. Tomorrow we sneak into the Naval Station. The next day we get our girls back.

  And then—I’m coming home…and we’re going to work everything out between us.

  I promise.

  Love, Kaylee

  P.S. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I was coming up to Agoura Hills, but I knew that you would try and stop me. There was only one chance to defeat Brandon and I had to take it.

  P.S.S. I hope you still love me, too…because you are the second most important person in my life. Wait until I tell you who the first is! :o)

  * * * *

  By the time the sun rose the next morning, my team of warriors and I were slowly making our way along the access tubes that ran under the Point Mugu Naval Station. It was a maze down there—the tunnels branching off in all directions, carrying piping and electrical conduits throughout the base.