by Rick Tippins
He wasn’t overly concerned about striking out on this scavenging effort. After all, he was after a seven-year-old’s all-weather jacket, a North Face or the like and, as he suspected, the children’s section was literally untouched. Jared settled on a black waterproof North Face jacket for Essie.
People must have started to realize what was happening, and had looted most of the rest of the store. All the food was gone, along with nearly every piece of camping gear the store had carried. Jared remembered their sleeping arrangement and searched through the camping area until he found a small junior-size sleeping bag rated to 0 degrees Fahrenheit. He found a couple of light sticks and jammed them into his pack before leaving the store. He looked up and down the streets, saw no one, and began his journey back to the gun shop.
As Jared came around a corner, turning onto a street he intended to use to cut some time off his return trip, he locked the brakes on the bike and slid to a stop. Coming up the road was a large group of people pulling wagons and carrying children. Closer inspection of the group had Jared scrambling backwards, as several of the males in the group were armed with rifles. It was too late, they had seen him, and he could tell they were issuing orders to the women and children as the men moved to protect their group.
For a reason Jared could never identify, he stopped his retreat and slowly raised his hands, waiting as the group advanced. Everyone in the group was either grim faced or looked scared to death.
Jared was starting to second-guess his decision to stay and face this group as they drew abreast, but the armed men had their weapons hung at low ready. As much as this comforted him, Jared was also very aware of the fact that their low ready was in his direction, and Jared couldn’t blame them. They were a haggard-looking group, desperate and frightened in appearance. Jared kept his hands up as they passed him one at a time. One of the men stepped away from the group and stopped in front of Jared, weapon low.
“I’m not one of the bad guys, man,” Jared said to the man.
The man nodded and let the rifle hang by his side.
“Where you all headed?” Jared asked.
The man looked at the passing group. “Away from here, somewhere with no gangs.”
Jared nodded his agreement with the man’s statement. “Lots of that around here,” Jared said flatly.
The man drew a deep breath, and Jared could tell he was not comfortable talking about where his little group was headed.
“I’m leaving too, just as soon as I get squared away with supplies,” Jared blurted out, trying to gain the man’s trust. He didn’t know why he cared if the man trusted him or not. He was just so damn happy to be talking to another man other than the cantankerous Bart. “Headed to Florida to find my parents,” Jared finished.
“Ah, hell,” the man said, thrusting out his hand. “Name’s Chad.”
A huge smile spread across Jared’s face as he grasped the man’s hand, pumping it and smiling ear to ear. “Jared, I’m Jared.”
Chad told Jared his group was headed to Monterey, where they were going to find work on a farm and earn their way, working for food and shelter. They had all come from the same neighborhood, which had recently fallen victim to looting and even murder. Gangs had begun looting the residential neighborhoods when the food ran out in the stores. They had even heard stories of women being kidnapped.
Chad told Jared the men had armed themselves and attempted to protect their neighborhood, and that was when three of his neighbors were killed. A gang had come in and began looting the homes and, when the men in the community stood up, trying to drive them out, a gun battle ensued, killing three of their men and two of the gang members. The attacks came more frequently after that until the people decided enough was enough.
As the last of the group’s people passed the two men, Chad asked, “What are you doing riding around the streets? It’s pretty dangerous out here for a group our size, not to mention someone alone.”
It was Jared’s turn to explain himself to Chad. Jared told him about the murder of the two kids and his finding the family dead and basically adopting their seven-year-old orphan. Jared left out the part where he single-handedly killed five of the gang members in a fit of rage, revenge and hatred. He didn’t want to be judged and remembered something Bart always pushed, which was to make one’s self seem less able so when the bell rang, your opponent would hopefully underestimate you.
As the last of the radio Flyer wagons was pulled past the two men, Chad gave Jared a friendly clap on the back. “I like you, Jared, and I hope you find your parents.” With that, Chad rejoined his group and moved up the street.
For the first time in a very long time, Jared felt light of heart, maybe even a little happy. A simple conversation with a complete stranger had made his day, caused him to feel giddy, and painted a smile on his face. He turned and rode off towards the gun store.
Chapter Twenty-One
Bart let him in as usual, but cocked his head as Jared entered the store smiling and whistling a little tune. Bart closed the door and followed Jared into the workshop, where Essie was sitting, cleaning a pistol. Jared came to a screeching halt, took in the scene, and then stepped back out into the hall, where Bart was just catching up.
“Cleaning a gun, Bart? Really, you’re having a little girl handle a firearm?”
Bart recoiled. “First off, did you get laid out there on your shopping trip?”
Jared shot him a warning look.
“She lives in a different world now, Jared. She will have to learn how to protect herself.” Bart raised his hands, palms up. “No better time than the present.”
The two of them re-entered the workshop and sat at the table with Essie. Jared grabbed a bottle of water, downed half of it, then set it on the table.
Bart gestured to Essie. “Smart kid there, she speaks two languages, Spanish and English.”
Jared picked up a part of the gun Essie was cleaning, and started wiping it down, not saying a word.
“She’s good in school, plays soccer, and takes dance lessons.”
Jared placed the weapon part back in front of Essie and stood. “Wanna take a shower, Essie?”
“I don’t care,” she replied.
“Well, I’m going out back to set it up. Wanna cover me, Bart?”
Out in the back-parking lot, the two men set to hanging a tarp to give Essie some privacy during her shower, Bart doing more covering with his black rifle than actually helping with erecting the tarp barrier. As usual, he had a lot to say about how Jared should set the thing up and, as usual, Jared kept his mouth shut, following about ten percent of Bart’s instructions. Jared finished with the tarp, having made a two-sided barrier at an angle like a V in order to minimize material and effort.
He stepped back to admire his work, with Bart standing next to him. They’d stacked pallets seven feet high, placed a black container of water on top, and had a short bit of hose draped down into the tarp shower area. The hose had a valve so the person showering could turn the water on and off as needed. The container of water was rectangular and only about six inches deep. It was more flat than deep and, when left in the direct sunlight, the water would actually get warm enough for a semi-comfortable shower.
“How’d you get her to talk to you about all that dance and soccer stuff?” Jared asked.
Bart smiled slightly. “Kids want to talk, girls especially and, if you give ’em the opportunity and you listen, they won’t stop talking.” Bart glanced around the parking lot before continuing, “She has seen what you can do and have done, and holds you in a different light than she sees me in.”
Jared turned to Bart with an incredulous look plastered to his face. “Are you trying to tell me she sees me as more of a threat than she sees you?”
Bart chuckled. “Well, yes and no, she sees you as her savior, a hero, but me…I’m just some old harmless grandpa-type guy, and I guess she views me more on her level.”
“Ain’t that a load of crap,” Jared said in disgus
t. “An absolute load of crap.”
“Hey, hey,” Bart retorted, “that’s a good thing, my man. She has a bond with you, man. Whether you like it or not, this kid’s in your life for good.”
Jared shot Bart a glare. “So now you’re a psychologist?”
“You’re her new father figure, buddy, embrace it.”
“Father figure?” Jared asked.
“Yeah, father figure, you brought her here, gave her food and water, then gave her safe, warm shelter. Isn’t that what fathers do?”
Jared turned and headed for the building. “I’m done talking about this with you. I’m gonna make sure the kid showers and gets into some clean clothes,” Jared shot over his shoulder, causing Bart to laugh out loud.
“You just made my point. That’s exactly what a father would do.”
Jared stormed down the hall, thinking, What does Bart know about kids and dads and, of all things, daughters and fathers? The bastard has something to say about everything. It’s like having a full-size human version of Yoda around.
He stopped before entering the workshop, not wanting Essie to see or sense any negative energy from him. He briefly composed himself before walking in. She was sitting at the table, with his pack open and all the clothes laid out in front of her. Essie looked up; fear quickly shrouded her innocent eyes, having been caught going through his pack.
Jared’s wide smile immediately put her at ease. “You like any of them?”
Her voice was small and barely audible as she replied, “Uh huh, all of them.”
“Pick a set you want to wear, and let’s go get you cleaned up.” Jared grabbed a Safeway bag and waited as the little waif of a girl carefully picked through the clothing, taking entirely too much time. Jared was about to urge her to hurry, but stopped himself. She was a little woman, and didn’t they take forever to get ready? What was the rush anyway? Jared waited patiently as Essie chose an outfit, then traded the top for another top, looked them over, scrapped the whole outfit, and started over.
Who is she trying to impress here? he wondered. What Jared noticed was the socks and underwear she chose never changed; he made a mental note that it must be all about outer appearances.
Jared stepped forward and pointed to a top and bottom. “I like those,” and that was the end of that. Out back, Jared set an old milk crate up inside the makeshift shower, with a bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap resting on top. Next he placed the new clothes on the Safeway bag, telling Essie to undress and place her old clothes in the bag.
Essie stood there staring at him for a moment before responding, “Who’s going to wash me?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jared saw Bart turn and stifle a laugh, training the rifle out across the rear parking lot in a false display of tactical poise.
“Ah, can’t you wash yourself?” Jared asked, a slight quiver to his voice. Bart had his back completely turned now, and his shoulders heaved with suppressed laughter.
“You have to wash my hair. I can wash the rest,” she said.
“I gotta work the water,” Jared stammered.
“Bart can do that,” she said, staring up at him.
Bart slung the rifle, moving to take control of the water valve as Jared stood as still as a statue, watching Essie as she disappeared behind the tarp.
Bart had a shit-eating grin on his face as he raised his eyebrows and gestured towards Essie. “Go wash her hair.”
“Why’d we even put this fucking thing up,” hissed Jared as he followed Essie behind the tarp. Essie stepped into the tarped shower and wriggled out of her soiled clothes. Jared remained outside and watched as the little garments were tossed out and onto the ground at his feet.
“Start the water, Bart,” Jared said. Jared grabbed the water nozzle and tested the water’s temperature which was warmer than he would have expected. Without a word, he thrust the nozzle through the slat in the tard without invading the little girl’s privacy and blindly sprayed her down with the warmish water. After he was sure she was rinsed and ready for soap, he instructed Bart to stop the flow of water. Jared fished about until he was able to grab the shampoo and haul it outside the shower.
“Okay, Essie, pop your head through the opening there so I can wash your hair.” Jared ordered.
Essie’s drenched face appeared through the slat in the tarp and Jared poured shampoo into her tangled locks and began scrubbing. After a few seconds, he stopped.
“You do it. Just do what I was doing with your hair. It’s important you learn how to shower yourself.” Jared said.
His sense of unease with the situation began to evaporate as the reality of their situation came into focus. He was the little girl’s guardian and she was in need of a bath. He was ensuring her basic hygiene needs were being tended to and that was it.
Essie finished washing her own hair and, as she promised, she washed the rest, much to Jared’s relief. Bart started and stopped the water as needed and never said a word. Jared stayed with Essie, helping her rinse from the safety of the outside of the tarped shower. When she was finished, Jared handed her a towel and then gathered her half-rotten clothes in the Safeway bag, leaving her to dress behind the privacy of the tarp. He took the bag and threw it as far as he could over the back fence down into the brush surrounding the creek.
When Jared emerged from behind the tarp, Bart was dead serious. He never smiled, nor did he laugh; he looked at Jared almost as if he were proud of the younger man. When Essie was dressed, the two men took the tarp down and hid it alongside the building, making it look like all the rest of the junk found behind a building in an industrial area. When this task was completed, the three went back inside. Jared and Essie sat down at the table in the workshop while Bart stowed the hosing from the shower in a locker against the wall.
Jared broke the awkward silence. “The clothes fit fine?”
Essie nodded in the affirmative, legs swinging off the chair, not quite touching the floor. Jared nodded as well, not knowing what else to do. How was it this seven-year-old kid could make him feel so uncomfortable? And to make matters worse, he knew Bart was loving every second of it.
The rest of the night was spent eating and drinking bourbon while Essie drank a soda and the men taught her how to play poker. Essie didn’t talk much other than to ask a few questions about her hand, but she watched everything the men did. When Essie yawned, Jared put her to bed, stretching out next to her as she nestled into the kid’s sleeping bag he looted from REI.
Essie turned in the bag to face Jared. “Can we get a brush and some hair bands tomorrow?” she asked. “We have to brush my hair after a shower.”
Jared hadn’t even thought of that. His hair was still fairly short and hadn’t had the time to grow much since the event. “Sure, we can,” he said. “In fact, you let me know all the things you need and I’ll get them for you.”
Essie just stared at him. “Can you scratch my head?”
Jared reached out and ran his fingers through her hair, realizing it was a tangled mess. He adjusted and scratched her head till she fell back against the small sleeping bag, her breath taking on that already familiar and rhythmic quality. She’d be asleep soon; he knew this about her and they’d been together for less than two days. What the hell was happening? First the old bastard had hijacked his life and, now, this miniature creature had him running around, washing her hair, shopping for her clothes, and tomorrow he would risk his life so she could have a brush and some hair bands.
Jared returned to the workshop, half hoping Bart had gone to bed. He hadn’t. Jared dropped into a chair and grabbed the bourbon, swirling it like a fine glass of wine.
“What goes on in there that takes you twenty minutes?” Bart asked.
“We talk, she lets me know what she needs, and tonight I scratched her head till she fell asleep,” Jared replied. “She also gave me a list for tomorrow, so can you babysit while I go out?”
Bart looked curious. “What does she need?”
“A brush and
hairbands.”
Bart nodded slowly, mulling this over as he brought the plastic cup to his lips and drank down the brown alcohol. As he swallowed the bourbon, he looked Jared right in the eyes and said, “I’d call that progress, Jared—I’d also grab her a toothbrush.”
An image of the two dead boys and their toothpaste flashed into his mind, causing his heart to skip a beat. Jared quickly gulped down a generous amount of bourbon. It was easy here in the workshop to battle the fear. He just beat it back with the liquor, but out there on the streets he had to conquer it on his own.
The following night, Jared returned from Operation Get Hairbands with enough hair bands for an entire Girl Scout troop. He also retrieved two dozen hairbrushes and toothbrushes because he decided to let Essie choose which brush she wanted so he didn’t end up having to go back out.
This time out, he saw a lot more people, and not all appeared friendly. His gut told him to steer clear of them all. He hadn’t taken the trailer, so he was fast and maneuverable, making it easier to keep a safe distance from the majority of people he saw. For the most part, the people he saw didn’t appear to want to make contact with him either, so those encounters worked out nicely.
Jared had ridden up on a group of about ten people who immediately began firing their guns. He had pedaled in the opposite direction and never heard a bullet pass him, so he figured they just wanted to scare him off…they had succeeded mightily. Another more troubling encounter was with four men on a residential street. One man had stepped out as if to meet Jared, while the other three men took up positions behind abandoned vehicles and trees. The men were about one hundred yards from Jared when he turned and rode in the opposite direction, but before he had completed his turn, he saw the man in the street had dropped to a knee and was pointing his pistol at Jared. The man never fired as Jared rounded a corner and sped out of sight.
Jared watched Essie, seated in a chair toying with her food, and thought how he’d come to be responsible for a child, not only a child, but a little girl. How was he going to take care of a kid? He’d never even had a cat or dog. He had only been responsible for himself, and that had proven tough enough. He noticed her hair was still a tangled mess, and there were no hair bands holding her locks at bay.
