by Schow, Ryan
There’s only the dim light of the bus’s headlights to work by. It’s enough until we get the fire going. On top of the bus, the rope holding the wood is bound tight and it takes me a minute to loosen the knot. When I feel slack in the line, the wood just starts falling off the side to the floor below.
No one pitches a fit about the noise, but then again, if they did I wouldn’t care. We’re saving these people’s lives.
“Help me with the fire,” I tell Xavier.
We make a teepee of wood on the concrete floors, tuck some paper and kindling beneath it, light the fire and blow on it until the kindling catches. After that, we squirt a little lighter fluid on the larger pieces of wood, feed it some even larger pieces and then gather everyone around it.
Brooklyn is suddenly there, by my side.
“That rail car stinks pretty bad”—she says, pointing to one of the passenger cars on the left—“but the other two are better. We need to clean a few things out of there, some garbage, but for tonight it will do.”
“Has everyone got a blanket and pillow?” Adeline asks the group.
Everyone nods because Draven made sure they were dressed warm, had something to eat and brought a blanket and their pillow.
“You got this?” I ask Xavier. He nods his head. I kiss Adeline and say, “I’ll be back here shortly.”
I make my way back to the neighborhood the way we came, driving a little faster than Adeline, and returning in just over half the time.
By then, Draven, Eliana and Ice had gathered enough people for round two.
This group is comprised of boys and men, and like the previous group, they’ve got their blankets and pillows. Unlike the others, though, these guys have several boxes of food and bottled water.
When everyone’s on the bus, Ice and Eliana get on with me. I can see in their eyes how they might have some concern for me. Any one of these guys could overtake me as I’m driving. As it happens, none of them try. In fact, most of them thank us for what we’re doing.
Back at the rail yard, Xavier started a second fire, which was perfect when the new group offloaded.
“When we go back,” Ice says, pulling me aside, “why don’t you let me and Eliana take lead along with Draven. You can then take Adeline and Brooklyn and head back home.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “They can head back.”
“Brother, how many times do I have to tell you, protect your family.”
“You’re my family, too.”
“I can protect myself,” he says. “Besides, I need to protect Eliana.”
Barking out a laugh at the absurdity of his statement, I finally relent. “Yeah, alright. But if something happens to any of you because you sent me off, I want you to know, I’ll hold a grudge.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Just after the second group left, Draven walked across the street to Demon’s house, knocked lightly then let himself in and said, “Hey boss, something’s going on. I got up to pee and the guard is down.”
“Why didn’t you piss in your toilet?” he grumbled. He had a bed, but for some reason, Demon preferred sleeping on the couch.
“They don’t work.”
“So?”
“Did you hear me?” Draven said. “I think you have a problem. An internal one.”
Half awake and not happy, Demon got off the couch, slid on some pants and a shirt, then said, “Show me.”
Draven led Demon outside to where he’d stashed the dead guard. He showed him the body. Demon took a closer look.
“Why’s he dead?”
“Broken neck, I think,” Draven said. “I thought maybe someone cut his throat, like you said happened to the others, but this one’s different.”
Demon stood up, looked at him. He was a silhouette in the dark, the bandage now off his ear. It looked like a rat had gnawed half of it off, it was that ragged.
“We need an inventory of everyone here,” he said. “We need to see who’s missing.”
Now that Demon was separated from the others, now that he knew the man was not armed and not near any weapons, Draven said, “How’d your ear get like that?”
“I told you. We were just gathering food and supplies when we were ambushed.”
“Yeah, but how’d your ear get like that?”
“Someone shot it.”
“I was aiming for your head,” Draven said, ready to go.
“What?”
“I said, I was aiming for your head. I was a bit rattled though, so my aim was slightly off. I can tell you this, though, for what you and these people were doing in my neighborhood, just knowing I got you felt good enough.”
Demon turned and rushed him. He was ready. All Draven needed to do was rattle the man with the dead guard, then anger him about his ear, and he’d be primed for bum-rush tactics.
Demon took the bait.
Stepping aside, Draven slapping him on the back of the head as he sailed by, causing him to stumble forward.
“Without a gun or a knife,” Draven said, “you gangbanger pussies are just about useless.”
Demon lunged again; Draven put two knuckles on the man’s eye socket. He’d been going for the nose, but a punched eyeball would work, too.
Draven stepped back, appraised the man. He was trying to get his bearings.
“Guys like you are predictable. You’re all the same. It’s all about posturing and ego. But one on one, like now, I can already say, Guillermo, you’re just a bitch.”
Demon put his fists up, didn’t rush in the way he did before. With enough light from the moon above, the two of them squared off, each moving toward the other.
This time, Demon was perfectly silent. He made the mistake of moving first, though, giving away his strategy. Draven countered the punch, drove a knee into the man’s ribs, shoved him down.
“Even focused, you’re just a street brawler. No real skillset. Get up, puta. Brawlers survive on word of mouth, people that say, ‘Oh he killed so and so,’ or ‘he runs with this gang, or that gang.’ And the Latin Kings? They kicked you out not because they were scared of you, but because they know what I know, and that’s that you’re a bitch.”
Guys like Demon hated being called a bitch. That’s what made the name so useful. It rattled guys like this deep down.
Demon was on his feet again, this time rushing Draven, head-on, like he was going to tackle him. Draven dropped down, widened his base, then hooked an arm under Demon’s arm pit, spun him around and dumped him on his back.
Draven stomped down on the man’s face, but Demon rolled away, avoided the shot.
“You’ve got no guns, no knives, no brass knuckles or back up,” Draven said, keeping him close. “It’s just you and me, Demon. A fake gangster and a nerd. You know who’s going to rule the world when this is all over?”
“Not the nerds,” he said, winded but back on his feet.
“No, but not guys like you either,” Draven replied, snapping a kick off the side of Demon’s head. The man staggered sideways, his brains jumbled. “And it won’t be little psychopaths like that ugly redhead you call the tip of your spear.”
“I used to kill guys like you,” Demon growled, shaking off the pain, trying to rile himself up.
“You’re a has-been, Guillermo. You’re not fit for this world. Guys like me are going to lay waste to guys like you. I infiltrated you, took all your people, got you out here alone. It wasn’t hard. And this measly little yellow belt fight you’re putting up here…I know twelve year old girls who would square off better than you.”
“Yeah, well maybe those twelve year olds won’t last the night.”
“They will.”
“If they’re in your house tonight, they won’t. See, while you’re here with me, while I’ve been sleeping comfortably in my bed, the tip of my spear is in your neighborhood. Right about now, she’s burning it all to the ground. How do you feel about that, bitch?”
Draven stopped in his tracks, thought of his grandmother and of the families
there. How everyone capable in his group wasn’t there, but here, with him on this mission.
Demon started to laugh, but Draven rushed him, faking right, then feinting left into a kick that caught Demon right in the sternum with such force, the man just dropped to his knees, gasping for breath. Wasting no time, Draven grabbed his head, got the right angle, then use physics and his knowledge of the human body to twist and break Demon’s neck.
The body dropped to the ground, dead.
“See you in hell,” he growled right before breaking into a sprint.
By the time he got back home, he saw the houses burning. The second he saw the houses, though, he also saw the redhead.
She’d already started shooting at him.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Carolina and Chase were tasked with keeping watch of the neighborhood while everyone else was away. Carolina was a patient, attentive girl, but she was cold and bored. As she sat on the front porch, eyes roving the perimeter of the neighborhood, she couldn’t help but think about Chase.
She was on her porch, and he was across the street on his.
Maybe we can watch the neighborhood together, she thought. At least she might have someone to talk to, a better way to pass the time.
Eliana assured them they would be safe, but that there was still the small possibility of danger. For that reason, Morgan had Phillip and Ross with her in her house, and Chase was tasked along with Carolina with lookout.
“You should be over there,” Chase said when she walked up on the porch and sat down beside him. “Just in case.”
“I know,” Carolina replied. She didn’t say much more because her English wasn’t that great. It just felt better not being alone.
About an hour later, Chase started to sniff the air. She smelled it, too.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Fire,” she said.
Chase stood up, then sat back down fast. She did the same. In between Draven’s and Brooklyn’s house, in the shadows of the alley, they saw a dark, lone figure moving quietly through the night.
The person was headed straight for them.
A distant, but sudden swoosh! cut through the silence, an orange glow of light boiling up behind the houses. Chase scrambled to his hiding place, motioning for Carolina to get down. She did. But she was panicked because Alma, Bianca and Constanza were still in the house, along with Orlando and Veronica. And Eudora was still next door.
The solitary figure walked into the street, turned her back to them to watch the houses burn.
“It’s her,” Chase hissed.
Feeling helpless alongside Chase, who was undoubtedly scared of this woman, they watched as that bright glow became flames that were now licking their way up the sides of the house.
“Need to get to other house,” she said.
“That’s the woman who killed Tim,” Chase whispered. He grabbed his bat and snuck off the porch, moving into the night.
“Hey fire crotch!” he suddenly yelled.
The woman whipped her head around as Chase circled around her, his berth wide, but his eyes resolute. While he was pulling her attention to the right, Carolina moved quickly, circling to the left, using Chase’s distraction for cover. When she was clear of the woman’s view, she sprinted across the street and around the back of the Dimas’s house.
By the time she got there, Veronica had kicked out a second-story window and was lowering the girls down. Everyone was coughing.
Carolina caught Alma, Constanza and Bianca, the impact of each girl a forceful blow to her body. She didn’t complain though, not even when Veronica lowered herself out of the house. Carolina slowed her drop, but when Veronica landed, she tumbled to the ground, taking Carolina with her.
Orlando suddenly burst through the back door, charging through a thin wall of flames. He emerged safely, but not before his shirt caught fire. Realizing this, he dropped to the ground and started rolling around to extinguish the flames. Veronica and Carolina hurried over to him, started patting him roughly until the small fires finally died out. Not slowing down, Orlando got to his feet, went to the Barracuda and started it up. Carolina and Veronica exchanged looks.
Orlando put the muscle car in gear, backed across the street where it would be safe from fire, then pulled the slingshot out of his back pocket and headed for the alleyway.
By then, Carolina was looking at Draven’s and Eudora’s home. She knew the old woman was inside. Taking a deep breath, she said to Veronica, “Get girls out of here,” and then she ran inside, not knowing if she’d make it back out alive.
The heat was immense, the flames now inside Eudora’s home. She found the older woman in the living room, coughing, her body slumped over sideways. Carolina took the wheelchair, spun it around and said, “Eudora!”
She didn’t know what else to say.
The old woman looked up at her, eyes straining against the smoke, her expression one of weary gratitude. Carolina started to wheel her around back where there was wheelchair access, but the second she headed for the hall, Eudora grabbed the wheel, stopping them.
“No,” Eudora said. The flames in back were too high now, the smoke too thick.
Carolina turned her back around, the smoke now fully in her lungs. Coughing, her eyes burning, she couldn’t stop the onset of panic. All she knew was she had to get to the front door before the smoke did her in. She was rolling Eudora through the darkened hallway when Eudora reached for the closet door and said, “My gun!”
“No time,” Carolina said, hacking and coughing, her lungs burning.
They finally managed to push through the front door and out onto the porch, but that’s when she saw the crazy woman in the street. Chase hadn’t killed her. A second later, the gunfire started. Carolina ducked down, the front door splintering as bullets slammed into it.
She saw movement from the side. Chase had his bat in one hand and he was throwing rocks at her with the other.
Carolina was choking on the pillow-thick smoke. Eudora was, too. But the way the woman was sending bullets their way, they couldn’t just stand out there waiting to get shot. And she couldn’t ease the wheelchair down the porch steps. It would take too long.
She thought about hoisting the woman out of the chair, maybe carrying her to safety, but she didn’t have the time or the strength.
Carolina was too small.
The only way out of this, the only safety they could find, was back in the burning house. She wheeled them back in, pulled her shirt over her nose and waited.
“Leave me,” Eudora said, her voice worn and scratchy.
“No!” Carolina said.
“Leave me, dammit!” the woman roared.
“No!” screamed back, just as loud.
Finally, when the smoke was too much, when Eudora was coughing too hard, Carolina pulled open the door, snuck a peek outside.
The woman in the street was now looking in the opposite direction, shooting at Chase, or maybe someone else.
She was about to sneak Eudora out to the porch when the woman in the street was hit. Her head shot sideways, her body tottering, her legs wobbly. Carolina glanced down to the alleyway and saw Orlando walking into the street, his sling shot pulled back. Veronica was behind him with a handful of rocks, feeding him the ammo he needed.
Still coughing, still scared, Carolina felt some of the panic pull back.
Orlando fired off another rock, caught the woman in the side. Seeing the opportunity to finish her, he picked up the pace, firing off two more shots. Wasting no time, Carolina grabbed Eudora and the wheelchair, both of them still coughing, and managed to say, “I try to get you down.”
“Keep your weight back as far as you can and go slow,” Eudora croaked out.
Half focused on the woman in the street, half focused on the four porch stairs she was going to navigate, she prayed she’d have the strength not to dump the woman on the front walkway.
In the street, from only ten feet away, Orlando fired off another rock,
this one clipping the woman’s chin. Her head jolted sideways, the gun in her hand clattering to the ground. Her right leg gave way, her knee rocking so hard she was going to go down any minute.
Another gigantic rock sailed through the air, this time from where Chase had been. She saw it coming, moved just enough at the last minute to avoid getting hit. More rocks came flying in, each one just as big as the last. Orlando stood his ground as well, rapid firing the slingshot at her from ten feet away while Veronica kept feeding him rocks.
Orlando wasn’t missing anymore. Neither was Chase. The rocks were pummeling her body. Through the smoke, she saw Draven and her hopes soared.
He was the one throwing the bigger rocks!
Another huge rock came arcing in, this one slamming onto the top of the woman’s skull. Through the light the fire was casting off, Carolina watched this rock take most of their attacker’s energy.
Draven must have seen this, too. He moved in on the woman, but not before Chase was there with his spiked baseball bat in hand. The bat scared Carolina, with all the nails sticking out of it. Chase called it his porcupine stick. Looking at it now, intimidating as it was, it no longer scared her. This was what the bat was meant for: times like these.
Chase circled around her, to where she couldn’t see him coming. He wound up on the run, let out a guttural growl, then swung the bat down on her back with the almighty force of a boy avenging a murder.
The nails stuck in the woman’s back. She screeched in pain, her body arching, bucking, falling. Orlando continued to drill her with rocks.
It’s time, she told herself.
Slowly, using all her strength and balance, Carolina moved the wheelchair up to the edge of the first of four steps. With a foot behind the back wheel, she pulled up the front and tilted Eudora back far enough to shift the balance in her favor. She eased the chair to the edge, her body arched backwards, the chair in perfect balance. The fire was hot on her neck, the flames crackling everywhere, but she tried to pay it little mind. She told herself to focus only on the wheelchair, not on anything else.
The wheel rolled over the edge, dropped down a step, jarring the older woman.
