by E. A. Darl
She sat down under the sign then dug into her back pack and pulled out an apple, devouring it in three bites. Apples were her favourite. She could never eat enough apples. She reached in for a second apple, eating this one more slowly, pondering her next move. I could head to the ghetto, and check out every place where the brand was spray painted. Someone would know where the gang’s headquarters were in Solace. But making inquiries in that fashion is a good way to be ambushed and beat up pretty badly, especially if it is the Firebrand gang. They like their privacy. They would not appreciate someone asking questions. No, if the Firebrand gang wanted to speak to you, they initiated the conversation. What I need to find is the place where they exchange information, among other things. Their secure meeting place. It dawned on her that they could have more than one, but in Solace, there would be a primary location. She was hoping that Frankie’s Finger Foods would be that place. Avalon plucked the matchbook out of the side pocket of her backpack and flipped up the cover. Inside was small map, and a pointer in the shape of a hamburger pinpointed the location of the diner. It was located on the east side of town, not far from the road she was currently travelling. The hours listed were 11:00 a.m. to 9:00 p.m., seven days a week. She planned to be there at 6:00 a.m., to scout around and spy out the lay of the land, see who came and went from the place.
Avalon slid the matchbook into a pocket of her jeans, slipped her arms through the straps of the backpack, and headed off down the road.
Dawn found her in the city proper. The drought was no less severe here, than it was in the country or at home at Gainsborough Manor, for that matter. The difference here was that the pavement increased the temperatures by reflecting it back into the air. By noon great waves of heat would shimmer across the surfaces. The increased heat fed the drought and any patch of grass was a crispy carpet of dried vegetation.
The first buildings she came to were all abandoned, their windows broken out, and by the look of it from the roadway, the doors were missing too. She poked her head in the first couple to confirm her theory and noted that anything of value had been stripped out of the buildings. Soulless plaster shells were all that remained as every ounce of copper or metal or plastic had been scavenged from the bones of the building. The cracked stucco exteriors were tagged with graffiti announcing which gangs controlled the various neighbourhoods. Where the territories of the various factions intersected, the tags changed on a regular basis.
There were no vehicles on the street. Parking one in the area was as good as giving it away. Avalon kept a wary eye as the single family homes became duplexes and then row housing, and the density of the number of structures increased. The units in this area of town were occupied, the windows shuttered and curtains drawn to maintain the privacy of those inside. She began to see people on the street, lounging in doorways or sitting on the steps of the brownstone units. Most were boys, her age or a little older, with tattooed arms and chests, hair shaved or left long as they desired. They watched her cycle past them, following her passage with suspicious stares. Avalon kept her head straight, ignoring them, but secretly watched from the corner of her eye to see if they followed. One group got into a heated discussion over her passing. Hands pointed at her but their leader shook his head, and the group of four boys sat back down. With a sigh of relief, she spotted the street she was looking for and turned the corner. A van parked on the side of the road, forced her bike to move away from the curbside. As she swung out around it, five people stepped out into the road in front of her. Avalon braked hard, and as she did, three more stepped off the curb behind her, blocking her in. Avalon skidded her bike to a halt, apprehensively eyeing the approaching teens. They were a mix of boys and girls, in the vicinity of her age. Her eyes darted around the circle, looking for an escape.
“Why are you here?”
The question came from a tall, sandy haired teen, his face hard and unsmiling. A scar from a knife wound puckered his eyebrow, and slid down his cheek. He wore an eye patch, over the eye.
Avalon stared at him, surprised at the wave of pity that washed over her. Despite the wild thumping of her heart as the gang members closed the noose, something about their leader made her pause.
“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be?” she said, with a false bravado, glancing around at the shuffling bodies closing rank. She let a knife, tucked up inside the sleeve of her jacket slide into her palm, all without taking her eyes from the advancing teens.
“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.
Th
e 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.
