by E. A. Darl
“This is Firebrand territory. Only the foolish would enter.”
“Or the really stupid,” said a girl to the leader’s right. She was also tall, with dirty blonde hair braided into one thick rope and slung over her right shoulder. Her lips were pressed together into a thick flat line that transformed her face from acceptable to ugly. Or maybe it was the possessive stance she took in relation to their leader that made her ugly to Avalon.
“She looks stupid, so that must be it.”
The other gang members laughed.
“Where’d you get the bike? Steal it from your little sister? Or just swipe it off of the street? It’s super ugly.”
Avalon ignored her, eyes fastened on the leader, who let the girl ramble on. She had the impression that this was how they did things, the girl provoking the victim until they began the fight, even though outnumbered. He was the only one that mattered. The rest would do nothing without his approval. She focused on the male with the eye patch and pretended the others did not exist. A muscle twitched in his cheek, a hint of a smile. Avalon decided that she had nothing to lose or to hide.
“My name is Avalon. I am not from here. I didn’t know this was Firebrand territory. If you wish, I will leave.”
“Avalon. A stupid name to go with a stupid girl. You are named after a tree? I bet it’s nuts!” The girl snorted at her own joke and the others guffawed along with her.
“Avalon is a mythical world of hope and peace. The name means ‘island’. It is the home of Merlin, and the legendary burial place of King Arthur,” said the boy, his eyes never leaving Avalon. “Don’t you read, Cris?”
Cris’ laugh cut off, her mouth hanging open at the rebuke. She snapped it shut. The gang surrounding Avalon laughed, this time at Cris. An ugly scowl echoed the murderous glare she directed at Avalon, hatred in her eyes.
“Did you not see the markings?” he asked.
“Yes, I saw them. But I needed to travel this way.”
“Why?”
Avalon hesitated. Can I trust this guy? She stared into his lone eye, noticing flecks of green and gold. It stared back into hers. Suddenly he winked and she realized she had been staring at him like a love sick teenager. Avalon mentally winced at her own description. She secured her knife then reached into her pocket and slowly pulled out the matchbook, holding it up for everyone to see. A variety of knives instantly flashed into gang member’s hands at her movements. They held them up to the light, steady and menacing, a visible threat. Avalon’s eyes swept around the group and leaving one open hand in the air, she tossed the matchbook cover to their ringleader. He caught it and opened his palm to gaze at the matchbook. Surprise flicked across his face.
“Where did you get this?” he whispered.
Avalon hesitated again. “I can’t tell you that, but I need to go there. It’s important. I need information.”
He stared at the matchbook, and then stuck it in his own pocket. He sauntered over to where she stood, walking around her and her bike, taking in her appearance. Pausing at her side, he reached out and touched the bee symbol stitched into the sleeve of her father’s jacket.
“Where did you get this jacket?”
Avalon pulled her arm out of his grasp, backing away.
“I didn’t steal it. It’s mine, and I won’t give it up either,” she said with growl, eyes fierce. “I will never give it up.”
He straightened, puzzled by her reaction. Suddenly he spun around and walked away.
“Bring her,” he snapped over his shoulder.
The gang closed in around Avalon and she had no choice. Pushing her bike and ignoring the gang members at her side, she followed the gang leader. The blonde girl fell into step beside him, slipping her hand into his. He did not seem to notice. She turned her head, throwing Avalon a dirty look, full of triumph. The warning could not be clearer. Her murderous gaze screamed stay away, he’s mine!
Avalon didn’t care. She was already plotting how to get away from this annoying gang. She had to get to Frankie’s, and find the Firebrand’s hideout
Chapter 4
Mitch’s Secret
MITCH FIDDLED WITH the broken air conditioning switch for the fifth time and for the fifth time since he left Peet’s place, it didn’t work. As the sun broke the horizon he finally gave in and rolled down the windows. Dust filled air blasted through the open window cooling the sweat on his brow and making him feel marginally better despite the grit now coating his skin.
The winding gravel road broke over the ridge of what was once a seabed tilted crazily on its side. Fossil Ridge was a well-known landmark and the destination of many a school field trip during his youth. There were shallow caves and crevices all along its expanse. The local lore said that gold was buried in the hills, the ill-gotten contraband of a time when the art of robbing a train was at its height, over two hundred years ago. The legend said that Crazy Annie was the brains behind the Sampson heists. Family members all, the three person team were credited with a dozen successful train robberies over twenty years. In year twenty-one, they all died when the team of horses they were using for a getaway flipped during a river crossing, trapping them all in the water beneath the wagon.
Somewhere in Fossil Ridge the gold of their heists was stashed, or so the rumours went, and prospectors turned treasure hunters searched the hills for the missing gold to this day. What no one knew was that Mitch was a descendant of the Sampson gang. No one except his sister knew, that is.
Mitch turned off onto a dusty track that switched back and forth between large outcroppings of rock, following a path that was little more than a goat trail. The old Mustang groaned at the steepness of the inclines but soldiered on, inching its way over the rugged terrain. It crested a hill and skidded down the far side to the base, kicking up a cloud of dust. A camp was set up in a copse of fragrant juniper bushes. Canvas stretched between the bushes providing a low shaded area. Under the makeshift shelter was a tightly rolled sleeping bag, a metal chest with the lid flung open and a woman, bent over a small campfire. The smell of coffee drifted back to Mitch as he shut off the engine, along with the delicious smell of eggs and bacon.
“Pam! Do you have enough there for two? I’m starving!”
Pam stirred the contents of the fry pan then lifted her head, squinting at the newcomer. Her grey hair was waist length and tied back into a pony tail.
“Is that my mangy cop-for-a-brother? Figures you would show up when there is food cooking.”
“It’s good to see you, too.” Mitch bent over and entered the shaded pavilion, squatting by the meager fire.
“Ummm,” he murmured, inhaling deeply of the smell of food “that smells amazing. How is the prospecting going?” He kissed her lightly on the cheek.
Pam pulled two tin plates from the chest and split the eggs and bacon between the pair and handed Mitch a fork along with his meal.
“Promising. I think I have figured out another clue. Here, look.”
She pulled out a tattered old ledger. The leather cover cracked and faded, and opened it to page defined by a ribbon.
“Annie said to ‘...travel the shadow of the twin mounds to find your dearest treasure...’ I think she means those two hills right over there.” Pam pointed with her fork to a series of rounded hills just visible on the horizon.
“She was writing poetry, Pam. You know what a raunchy gal she was. She was probably practicing her pick-up lines for the local saloon.”
Pam stubbornly shook her head. “I don’t believe that, and neither do you.”
“How long are you going to keep prospecting, Pam?” Mitch shoved the last of his eggs into his mouth.
“Until I find the treasure, you dolt. Why would I give up when I am so close to finding it?”
Mitch shook his head, bemused.
Pam put her plate down then sat back, arms folded across her chest. Her eyes narrowed.
“You want something. What is it, Mitch? This isn’t just a family visit, is it?”
�
�No, it is not. I need your help.”
“With what?” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “You don’t want me to sponsor your baseball team again, do you? You need some real sponsors.”
“No it’s not about baseball sponsors. This is something else, much worse.”
He picked up the pot of coffee and Pam held out the two mugs for filling. Over sips of coffee, Mitch filled her in on the events of the past few weeks, and what they had discovered. He mentioned the problem with the killer bees, if that was in fact what they were.
“You see, we need a place to house these bees, someplace that they cannot escape from but still some place that they can do what they normally would do, gather nectar and produce honey. Something about these bees is key to the drought, to the ecological disaster that surrounds us right now.” Mitch gestured with his coffee mug and liquid sloshed over the side. “The government is keeping very quiet about it all. Peet and I have hashed out a plan to locate the missing scientists and those who are possibly in hiding. The government is willing to kill to keep this information secret, Pam. I feel bad even asking you to get involved. But something must be done. The land is dying and the people will begin dying right behind it, when the food runs out. Society is disintegrating all around us. People are desperate. If you know of a possible place to hide these bees, I need to know and I need to know it, right now. I have the bees in the car.”
“You brought them here? Are you nuts?” Pam shot to her feet, her head bowing the makeshift tent. “What if they get loose?”
“They are in a secure pod. They won’t get loose until someone releases them. Do you know of a place?”
Pam slowly sank down to the ground.
“Well, there may be one place. It’s a two day hike from here. Are you willing to back pack them all that way? If they are killer bees, as you suspect, one false move or one fall that cracks that canister, we are both dead.” She glared at him in accusation. “And worse yet, you will have released a horror to the world that may kill us faster than the drought.”
“If we don’t find a place for them soon, they will die in that container and the chance to study them and find the antidote to the sickness attacking the land will be lost. Do you want to lose that opportunity? We have no choice, Pam.”
Silence descended for a moment and then she nodded.
“Ok, but we need to leave right now. I know of a secure place. It so happens to be in the direction of those two mounds you scoffed at, earlier. This is as good of an excuse to explore that set of hills as any. Personally, I’d be just as happy if they all died under my boot heel.”
She scowled at Mitch’s car containing the bees, then peered up, pinning the location of the sun in the early morning sky.
“We could get in about five hours of walking this morning before our brains fry, but I have a better idea.” She exited the tent and walked over to a thicket covered in tumbleweeds. “Come here.”
Mitch got up walked over, joining her in pulling the tumbleweeds away from the thicket. A glint of metal caught Mitch’s attention. Once they had cleared the brush a motorcycle was revealed, but not just any motorcycle. An aqua blue 1949 Harley Hydra-Glide was hidden in the brush. Mitch let out a low whistle, grabbing the handlebars and rolling it out into the sunshine.
“Where the hell did you get this?”
Pam grinned. “Not all treasure to be found out here is gold. I found this baby in a cave near where we are headed. It had been there since 1949. It was still in its original shipping crate. Inside, wrapped around a handle grip was a note that said ‘The spoils of war go to the victor. Perseverance pays off.’ The keys were in the ignition. The cave had not been disturbed since the bike was delivered. That is the place I want to take you to.”
“Wow, alright! Let’s go! I’m keen to see this place now.”
Mitch ran back to his car, grabbed his backpack containing the bees then locked and pocketed the keys for the Mustang, before running back over to Pam. An angry buzzing accompanied him.
Pam ducked back under the awning, gathered some essentials, and then joined him.
“It will be a tight fit on the seat, riding double. I’m driving.” She stuffed her bag under the straps behind the seat and climbed on.
Mitch sat down behind her, backpack on his back. She kicked the start and the bike roared to life.
“There is more gasoline in the cave,” she yelled over her shoulder then gave the bike some throttle and sped off across the dusty yard.
Mitch tightened his grip around her waist, yelling and hooting with glee as they vanished over the first set of hills.
Chapter 5
The Hospital Visit
PEET LED ALEXA DOWN the hallway of the dimly lit hospital, keeping a tight grip on her hand as they weaved in and out of the stretchers and bodies littering the hallway. Alexa’s eyes were wide with fear, and her lower lip trembled as she fought the urge to cry. Women, children, grown men. It made no difference. All of them were sick.
The emaciated bodies revealed distended bellies, every ounce of fat long gone, consumed in the struggle to stay alive. Open sores ran on the arms and legs of the people huddled against the wall. One man, on the only stretcher in sight, lay with a heart monitor beeping sporadically, ashen-faced and struggling to breathe.
Hands clutched at Alexa’s skirt as she walked by, begging for food and water. A wave of helplessness overwhelmed Alexa. A sense of shame dimmed her earlier joy of her pretty party dress. Sunny yellow with tiny blue flowers stitched around the hem, she had thought it would cheer the sick people in the hospital, but she no longer cared to attract attention.
It was just a dress but to the sick hoard in the hallway, she appeared rich, healthy and most importantly, like she had eaten recently. To them, she was wealthy beyond measure.
“Do not look at them, Alexa.” Peet murmured in her ear as he tugged her along, weaving in and out of the people.
The odor of sickness and unwashed bodies was overwhelming. Alexa wrinkled her nose and tried to breathe through her mouth but then she imagined she could taste the air and she clapped a hand over both to try to block the smell.
A woman lurched to her feet, screamed a name and then ran at her, eyes wild and crazed.
“Mandy! Mandy it’s you. You’re safe! Oh my darling, I found you at last!” She staggered toward Alexa, hands outstretched.
Alexa screamed. The woman’s hands were covered in blood. As her hair swung away from her face, deep red gouges were revealed, her skin clawed by her own fingers.
Peet stepped between the woman and Alexa, pushing her behind his body. The woman was oblivious to his presence, trying to slide around his bulk to reach Alexa’s trembling form.
“Now see here, woman. That is not your Mandy. Stop right here.” He gripped the woman’s arm, pulling her to a halt.
She blinked at the hand on her arm and then met his eyes.
“Not my Mandy? But where is she? I can’t find her anywhere.”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry. You need to see a doctor for those cuts. Here, come sit down.” He led her over to an empty chair and pushed her down into it. “Stay here. If I find Mandy, I will send her over, but you must stay here or she won’t find you.”
The woman nodded, mumbling under her breath. Her words trailed away and then she lapsed into silence. Alexa slid her hand into Peet’s as he hurried her away. She glanced back just before they turned the corner into another hall, to see the woman arguing with another woman that the child she held in her arms was Mandy.
“What is wrong with her, Peet?”
“A great shock, I suspect. She has lost someone dear to her, probably a daughter or granddaughter.”
“Oh. That’s sad. She really should be stronger though. What if Mandy is found?”
“Not everyone is strong, Alexa. Some people are weak. Those will be the first to suffer in trying times. I suspect all of these people are homeless. Hospitals always have food so they come here, looking for help and a handout. The
y are usually sick too.”
He veered down a corridor and pushed through a set of swinging doors. The howling din from the corridors cut off abruptly. The silence was profound and welcome. It left a slight ringing in Alexa’s ears.
“Where are we going Peet? Are we allowed to go back here?”
They passed a door with a glass window in it and a sign that read “Radiology: Admittance Restricted To Grade 3”. So far they had not encountered any hospital staff. Hospital security had its hands full with the corridor, but they did not bother Peet in his doctor scrubs and fake photo ID badge that announced him as Dr. Peet Anders. Alexa looked up at him as they strode down the hallway unchallenged.
“Are you really a doctor, Peet?”
He chuckled. “Yes, I am. But my education is in literary history. My doctorate is in archeology. This way.”
He came to a plain green door with no window. The bronzed plate beside it read “Records”. He pushed open the door and a light turned on. The room was filled with dozen of rows of metal shelving containing binders and books, stacked floor to ceiling. At the end of each row an alphabetical directory indicated what was to be found in that row. Cubicles lined the windowed wall on the far side of the room, each with a computer terminal blinking sleepily.
Alexa grinned at Peet then ran over to the computer terminals.
“I love libraries!” she said, and plopped herself down into one of the chairs in front of the screen and jiggled the mouse.
The screen awoke and she typed in a password. The screen saver of bouncing stethoscopes disappeared and a menu appeared, asking for her search terms.
“How did you do that?” Peet asked, amazed.
“The password is taped in the corner of the keyboard” she said, pointing at the curling paper. “So what are looking for?”
Peet stared at the piece of paper and laughed. “I thought you might like to search your parents, see if there are any records of their research in the data base. All the computers in the country are interconnected.”
