by Stu Jones
Tears welled in the boy’s eyes as he stammered, “I’m sorry, Momma. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you know what? You are sorry. Just like your damn father. You’re a sorry piece of trash, and you’ll never make anything of yourself.”
“Momma, please!”
She slapped the boy hard across his face, her fingernails taking small chunks of skin from his cheek, just beside his ear. He cried out in pain.
“You shut your damn mouth, and show me the respect I deserve!”
The boy pinched his lips together as tears dripped from his chin.
“Do you understand me?”
The boy nodded.
“You will run to school, and you won’t be late. If the school calls and says you’re late, or if you don’t come straight home afterward, then God help me. I swear, Reno Yackeschi, I’ll beat you within an inch of your miserable life.”
“Yes, Momma,” the boy murmured, the look of fear plastered across his face.
“Now get the hell out of my house,” she said as she released him.
The boy ran from the trailer crying, fleeing from a woman who no longer played the role of mother.
It took Reno forty-five minutes to get to school on foot, even though he ran faster than all the other boys in his class. He was still late and would receive the beating his mother had promised after the school called to tell her he hadn’t arrived on time. Reno went straight to the front office to apologize. As he walked in, Vice Principal Staph stepped in front of him and blocked his way to the front desk.
“Why aren’t you in class, Reno?”
“I couldn’t help it. I—”
“Oh, you can’t help it now?”
“Please, don’t. You don’t understand,” Reno squeaked.
“I understand perfectly well. Ms. Pounds, get Reno to his class. Ms. Gertie’s room, please.” The vice principal directed a stern gaze at Reno, wagging a meaty finger in his face. “I’ve had enough of your shenanigans. I’m calling your mother right now.”
It was as good as a death sentence. Reno lowered his head and walked from the office as Ms. Pounds led him to class. The kids snickered as he came in, disheveled, sweating, and led by the arm. Reno didn’t care. It was over for him. And although Ms. Gertie was asking him a question, he wasn’t listening. All he could think about was how bad he didn’t want to go back home to that trailer.
The day went by too quick. Reno finished loading his backpack and walked down the hall through the front doors of Valley View Elementary. At the bus loading area, he squinted his eyes in contemplation as he waited for the bus.
He loved his mother, and she had loved him…once.
Everything changed on a snowy January night two and a half years ago. His dad, a full-blooded Comanche Indian, was a drinker, and while he’d never been a loving man, he had been there. Just a few unceremonious moments would forever be etched in Reno’s mind. His dad told them he was leaving to go in search of the wandering spirit. Though Reno and his mother begged him not to go, he said goodbye with a wave, not a hug, and walked out into the cold night, leaving Reno and his mother to fend for themselves.
Reno’s mother changed that night too. In the blink of an eye, the woman who had been loving and attentive became cold and distant. Her anger toward her husband, now redirected at her son. Every time she looked into Reno’s eyes, she saw the eyes of the man who had abandoned them. The daughter of a Cherokee woman and her Mexican husband, Reno’s mother was prone to alcoholism and took to the addiction with ease. Her cold and distant demeanor soon turned violent and oppressive. Everything and everyone that young Reno had loved in his life disappeared. The two and a half years that followed his father’s departure were full of terrifying, fearful lessons taught to him by his now abusive mother. Reno’s life was hell.
The one bright spot that remained was grandfather, Nuk’Chala, who lived in the same neighborhood. The old man was actually Reno’s father’s uncle, though he might as well have been Reno’s grandfather. For a long time, Nuk’Chala was the only person in Reno’s life who offered any consistency. In the last few years, the old man had taken an even greater interest in the boy, sensing that Reno was experiencing hard times.
“Nuk’Chala meant lonely wolf in the ancient tongue. He knew the old ways of the Comanche and still practiced some of them. He spoke to Reno of how the white man had brought war and ruin upon the Comanche. But in the end, he told the boy, the Comanche nation had destroyed themselves by forsaking all that was most important and accepting the lazy nature and addictions of modern society. Reno sometimes spent hours after school listening to the stories and legends of the great lords of the plains. These tales stirred something deep in his heart. A fire had been kindled inside him, an ancient fire that burned of war, courage, and noble purpose. Reno hoped that one day Grandfather Nuk’Chala would teach him the ancient combative arts of the plains warriors.
The movement came so fast that Reno didn’t have time to react. The fist struck him in his left side, sinking beneath his floating ribs, forcing him to fold in half.
“What do you think about that, redskin?” the boy named Sam shouted into Reno’s ear.
Reno tried to breathe, as the void in his left side seemed to pull all the air from his lungs. What felt like an eternity passed as the hooligans laughed and danced around, towering over him. They pointed fingers and yelled insults. The school bus was gone. He had missed it—again.
“I said, ‘What do you think of that?’ ” Sam said, glowering.
Reno was coming back now, pulling himself together, taking in his first shuddering breath, when one of the boys slapped him hard across the face. He winced and instantly remembered the slap his mother had given him that morning.
“I think,” he said, the anger mounting within him. “I think Sam punches like a girl.”
One of the boys chuckled but was silenced when the bigger boy started to scream.
“I’ll show you who the girl is, Injun!” Sam punched Reno hard in the stomach a second time. Reno hit the ground and pulled his knees to his chest. He rode out the rest of the assault, which lasted only a few seconds as the boys kicked him and dumped his books on top of him. Reno’s backpack also contained a few cured animal skins and a half-finished dream catcher he’d been working on.
“Well, look at this,” Sam said, picking up the dream catcher.
“Just stop, please,” Reno managed.
“Yeah, we’ll stop,” Sam said, as he pulled the dream catcher apart and tossed it onto Reno’s head. “See you tomorrow, Tonto.”
As the boys left, Reno sat for a quiet moment, wiping the tears from his face. He collected his things and made it to his feet. He couldn’t go home now.
The walk to Nuk’Chala’s place took a while, but Reno felt numb to the pain and the hate. Time seemed to move at a crawl as he walked, his thoughts, fragmented and heavy. He arrived on the rickety porch and knocked on the flimsy door.
Evening had just begun to set in, and the insects hummed the chorus of their usual song. The old man opened the door in a fluid gesture. Though easily into his eighties, he moved with the grace of a cat. He smiled at his young friend but upon seeing Reno’s face, he took on a more serious expression.
“What is it, boy?”
“Help me, Grandfather.”
“What is it that you desire, boy?” the old man replied with an air of wisdom.
“Please. Teach me everything. I want to be a true blood like you, like our ancestors.”
The old man shook his head. “I’m sorry, Reno, but the old ways are dying. The wheel of time has choked them out. There is no reason to teach them any longer.”
Reno shuddered and brought his hands together. Tears welled in his eyes.
“Please, Grandfather. I have nothing. I need something to believe in. Teach me to fight, to survive, and to honor the Great Spirit as you honor it with your heart. There is nothing I want more in this life. I will give up everything I have and everything I am for this. Pl
ease, Grandfather.”
The old man looked the boy over, taking note of the desperation he saw in his face and the physical wounds on his body. “You know what you ask?”
The boy remained silent. The old man sighed.
“You must understand how serious this is. This will be harder for you than anything you’ve ever known. Many did not survive the old trials, but if you do, your mind will become as calm as flowing water, your spirit flexible and strong like bound cords of leather, and your body as hard as stone. You must do everything I say without question. And if you choose to abandon this journey, you will never speak to me again.”
The boy swallowed as this last charge sank in. He paused. “I understand,” he said in a whisper.
The old man gave an almost imperceptible nod then stooped to meet the boy’s tear-streaked face. “From this moment forward, you are no longer Reno Yackeschi. That name is one that you wear for the outside world. But your true name, your warrior name, the name that you will carry in your heart from this moment until you take your final breath on the field of battle will be this—Tynuk. In the ancient tongue, it means wolf born.”
SIX
NOW
The morning scouting party—Mico, Rick, Shana, and Cody—loaded up in the bed of the rusted Chevy Silverado and pulled the tailgate shut. They slung their rifles and took their positions. The sky was just beginning to lighten on the eastern horizon as they all checked and double-checked their gear. Each member carried a rifle based on his or her familiarity with a given type and what was available. Several of the members also carried handguns stuffed in their waistbands, and all of them brought makeshift pikes, bats, knives, or other close-quarter weapons.
Kane approached the truck in the semidarkness and greeted the truck’s occupants. They responded in turn.
“All right, guys,” Kane began. “Today you’re all going to Crestline Heights. I’m sure you’re all familiar with the area. If for some reason you’re not, Cal can brief you.”
Mico, the team’s leader, asked, “Haven’t we hit that one already?”
“Yep.” Kane nodded. “You’re right. We have. Last time, though, we ran out of daylight and had to leave half the subdivision unchecked. We pulled a solid load of goods from the sections we did cover, so it’s worth our time going back to scout the rest.”
Mico nodded with understanding.
“Again, Cal is familiar with the area, so if you have questions, make sure you get with him, Okay? Cody is the only new guy here, so even though I’m sure the rest of you know the rules, I’ll go over them again. First, don’t engage with any unknown humans unless first engaged—no exceptions. Highwaymen will set traps designed to evoke your sympathies. Don’t stop for anyone, not for women and children and not for old ladies. Clear?”
The group gave their verbal acknowledgment.
“Second, steer clear of anything that even remotely resembles a Sick. If you have to take one or two down, get close and use your melee weapons. As we discovered in the past, if there are more in the area, they’ll converge en masse if they hear loud noises like explosions and gunfire. Fire your weapons only as a last resort.
“Third, no one goes anywhere alone—ever. If you’ve got to relieve yourself, then I hope you like company. Groups of two at all times. This goes for male-female groups too. Safety trumps modesty here. Cal will stay with the truck, so keep him and each other informed about where you are and where you’re searching. Keep your personal walkies close by for this.”
Cody nodded.
“And last, always, always, always be back at the station before dark. You don’t want to be wandering around out there when the sun goes down. If you get into any trouble, break contact and get back here ASAP. Any questions?”
“Negative, Kane. We’re good to go,” Mico replied.
“Good. Jacob and I will be out there as well today doing some hunting. If you need us, try channel five.
“Hunting?” Shana asked. “As in wild game?”
“It’s looking that way. Saw some deer tracks yesterday.”
The team in the truck exchanged smiles and high fives.
“We’ll see how it goes. You guys stay safe.”
Kane slapped the side of the truck a few times and signaled for the guards to open the gate. Cal gave a thumbs-up out the window of the truck, and the team responded in kind. Kane waved as the truck cranked up and pulled forward through the gate, the red taillights disappearing down the gravel road into the early-morning light.
The truck came to a stop along a side street in the subdivision. Trash and debris littered the streets, covering the burnt yards where happy, naive children used to run and ride their bicycles. Four team members jumped over the side of the truck and into the street.
“Walkies on,” said Mico, pulling out his radio and turning the knob on top of the device. It came to life with a chirp, followed by a succession of three more beeps.
“This is the last grid. We’ve pulled a good load so far today so don’t take any chances. It’s easy to forget that a rusty nail followed by a bout of tetanus can be the end of you out here. Don’t be stupid.”
Shana rolled her eyes. “Spare us the speech, Mico.”
“Yeah, fine. Shana, you’re with me. Rick and Cody, partner up and let’s get it done. We only have a few hours of daylight left.”
Mico gave a thumbs-up to Cal, who switched on his radio and gave a thumbs-up in return. Cal then stepped out and pulled his rifle from the passenger seat. He shut the door and took his position as overwatch in the bed of the truck.
The two groups split up to cover different sides of the street. Coming back had been a good idea. They scored various types of fuel, batteries, firearms, ammo, and a solid load of canned goods. They even found a few pallets of bottled water, which was almost unheard of. Rick, Cody, and Shana guzzled two bottles each on the spot. Always the stickler for the rules, Mico frowned at this, though he eventually drank a bottle himself. What the others didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
Two houses down on this grid and they’d picked up nothing of real value. Mico grabbed his radio and keyed it up. “Mico to Cal. Everything still look good?”
“Street is clear,” came the reply.
“Mico to Rick. You guys good?”
“Yeah, we haven’t found much of anything.”
“Roger. Carry on. We’re going to continue up the block on the right side.”
“Gotcha.”
After Mico and Shana checked four more houses, a wash of static came over the radio, followed by a splashing sound. Mico frowned at Shana as he picked up his radio.
“Mico to Rick. You guys Okay?”
“Yeah. Did you hear that too?”
“Yeah. Hang on. Mico to Cal. Everything good?”
Silence.
“Mico to Cal. You copy?”
Again they heard nothing but silence.
The former Army National Guardsman swore and glanced at Shana. “He’s probably taking a piss,” Mico said, “but we need to check on him.”
Shana nodded. The two made their way out through the unhinged front door of the ruined house. Mico peered down the street and held up his radio.
“Cal, if everything’s cool, now’s the time to say so.”
Nothing. Mico saw that the truck and everything around it appeared to be clear.
What the hell are you doing, Cal?
“Mico to Rick. Rally on the truck. I can’t raise Cal.”
“I gotcha, man. We’re headed that way.”
Shana and Mico jogged at a brisk pace down the center of the street. It took just a minute to reach the truck, and as they approached, they smelled the rusty scent of fresh blood.
“Rick, where the hell are you guys? Respond!” Mico yelled into his radio, as he and Shana moved around to the back of the truck. At once Shana gasped and turned away. Blood poured from Cal’s headless corpse, trickling off the open tailgate and splattering on the ground.
“Oh, my God! Where’s
his head?” Shana cried. “It’s Sicks, isn’t it? They got him. They got him!”
“No.” Mico hissed. “If it was, they’d still be eating him right now.”
“Then what?”
“Shut up for a second, and be ready to fight,” Mico growled. “Rick, come in, damn it.”
Mico’s radio came alive with a wash of static. He held the device up to try to get a better signal. A voice spoke in a whisper through the static. “Rick ain’t gonna be able to take this call. Would you like to leave a message?” Mico listened to the wheezing laughter. “So are you two gonna stand by the truck all day, or are you gonna make this fun?”
Mico swallowed hard and slowly turned to look at Shana. His expression told her everything she needed to know.
“Run,” he whispered.
“The truck,” she choked out.
Mico slowly shook his head. “They have the keys. Run. I’ll cover you.”
“I can’t—”
“Lock that shit up!” Mico hissed. “One of us has to make it back. I’ll cover you as long as I can.”
Shana wiped at her face, checked her rifle, and nodded.
“Now!” Mico yelled, as he spun and raised his AR-15.
They came from everywhere, more than he could count. The furious bandits converged on them, sounding wicked, bloodthirsty howls. The rifle blazed in front of Mico as he dropped his targets. Just a glance over his shoulder told him that Shana wouldn’t make it far. The thugs were chasing her up the street.
Mico ducked and moved to the front bumper as a hail of bullets struck the truck. His training taking over, Mico stayed low, engaging target after target from behind cover. He turned, firing at the men closest to Shana, taking four of them down. Mico dropped his empty rifle magazine and grabbed another from his cargo pocket just as something slammed into the side of his head with a spine-jarring thud.
The world seemed to reel as Mico fell to all fours. Shana screamed as the thugs began to rape her in the street. They swarmed around Mico now, laughing and yelling at him to get up. Mico tried to stand but was struck with another violent blow to the head. Consciousness left him for a moment, fading back in like the dawning of the day. He pulled his arms under him and tried to push his body up when something warm cascaded over his head and dribbled down this forehead. Urine. He remained still, trying to get his bearings. He was pulled to his feet and pinned against the truck by the angry mob as blood and piss trickled from his hairline. Shana wasn’t screaming anymore.
