“So, where’d you go to school?” I ask Jacqui, interested only inasmuch as her answer will distract me from darker thoughts.
“Mission,” she says, which surprises me, because that’s where I go. It means our time there would have overlapped. I don’t remember her, though—but then, Mission Viejo High is a pretty big school.
“So you’re a Diablo, too?” Kelton says, equally surprised.
“Was,” says Jacqui. “Until I bailed.”
And then Kelton gasps. “You wouldn’t happen to be Jacqui Costa, would you?”
She turns to look at him. “How the hell do you know my name?”
“Are you kidding me? You’re, like, legend.” Then Kelton turns to me. “She’s on this plaque in the office—the school’s SAT record—a near perfect score!” Kelton turns back to her. “I’ve been hating on you all year!”
“Well, now you have a face to hate, too.”
“So why’d you drop out?” I ask her, now genuinely curious.
But of course she deflects the question with, “I had better things to do.”
“Hmm,” I say. “Sounds to me like your tap-out started a long time ago.”
I catch her eyes again in the rearview mirror. A quick, cold glance. I have to remind myself not to antagonize her. She’s got the gun, and a shriveled raisin of a conscience, if she has one at all. I imagine her to already be animal, without needing three days to get there.
• • •
As we turn in to our neighborhood, part of me begins to relax, while another part becomes more tense. Returning home means a measure of safety, but it also means failure. Unless Mom and Dad returned while we were gone. I hold onto that hope like the frayed end of a lifeline, because I still refuse to face any of the alternatives.
Rows of houses bake in the sun, their occupants nowhere to be seen—pretty much how we left it. I’m crooking my neck, pressed against the tinted window, to get a better view of our house. We’re half a block away but I can already see our driveway. Mom’s car is still gone. Garage door is still down. Side gate still shut.
But the front door is open!
Before Jacqui even throws the car in park, Garrett and I have jumped out and are running to the front door.
“They’re home!” Garrett yells. “I knew we should have just waited! I knew it.”
But if they’re home, why would they have left the door wide open?
As we hurry toward the door, I can see there’s a note taped to it. For a brief instant I think it might be from our parents, but it’s just a flyer calling for an emergency community meeting later today. That’s when I realize there are chips of wood lying on the doorstep and all over the tile in the foyer. The door isn’t just open—it was kicked in.
“Dad?” Garrett yells. “Mom?”
He wants to believe it so badly, he’s in complete denial. He looks at the busted doorjamb. “Maybe they lost their keys. Or Uncle Basil came back and couldn’t get in.”
But he’s grasping at straws. This was a break-in. And then I realize—
“Kingston!”
The thought of our dog having to face intruders propels us inside.
The house is not exactly ransacked, but things aren’t right. There’s a thin steel band on the floor, pieces of copper piping, greasy footprints on the carpet, and as we come around a bend, we see our hot water heater lying like a shipwreck in the dining room. It’s been ripped out, ripped open, and lies dead on the dining room table like a patient that didn’t survive the operation.
“Kingston?” Garrett calls. “Kingston! Where are you!”
And to my relief, Kingston appears in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room.
“Come here, boy!” I call to him. “Did you chase them away?”
I extend a hand to pet him, but he doesn’t come. Instead he whimpers and hesitates, not necessarily out of defiance, but something else. . . .
“Kingston?” I say, still trying to process his reaction. I realize that he must be hungry after a morning without food, so I reach into my pocket and pull out the beef jerky I had packed for the ride.
As soon as I do, another dog emerges from the kitchen, having smelled the meat. It’s the Rottweiler that belongs to a family across the street. Strange. Why is this dog here? He must have made his way in through the open front door, searching for water. I always remembered him to be friendly, but he doesn’t look all that friendly right now.
Unnerved, I stand up, rip the jerky in half and toss a piece to both dogs—but they just sniff at it. It’s not what they want. I know what they want, but right now my canteen is empty.
. . . And that’s when a third dog emerges. One that I don’t recognize. It’s a Doberman, and it’s eyeing me like I’m a much more attractive proposition than the jerky.
I’m so startled I almost jump out of my skin. “Garrett, stay back,” I say.
Then the Doberman starts growling.
“Kingston!” I call out. But Kingston stands with the other two dogs, and won’t come. It’s as if he’s no longer our dog. Because we betrayed him by not giving him enough water. This is his new pack.
The Doberman’s muscles tighten, like it’s ready to charge, so I grab Garrett and race back out the door.
“No!” Garrett yells. “We can’t just leave him! We can’t just leave Kingston!”
But behind us the dogs have started barking, and I can’t tell if they’re pursuing us into the street, or just chasing us from their territory. So I pull Garrett along, knowing that I can’t take the time to explain this to him. That Kingston, a dog that, under any other circumstance, would have been loyal to the end, made an instinctive choice for his own survival.
14) Kelton
Alyssa and Garrett race out of their house, and practically hurl themselves back into the car, slamming the door—and it only takes a moment for us to realize why. A pretty lethal looking Doberman Pinscher comes out the front door, followed by Kingston and another big dog. They follow the Doberman’s lead as it circles the car. Alyssa explains what happened, and Jacqui pulls out my gun.
“No!” I tell her. “Let’s just see what they do.”
Kingston puts his paws up on the back door, looks sadly in the window at Garrett, whose eyes are clouding with tears. Then Kingston follows the other two dogs back inside the house. Alyssa breathes out her relief.
“So you’re just going to give up your house to a pack of dogs?” Jacqui says.
Alyssa doesn’t respond. She won’t even look up. It’s like her brain’s processor just froze with this last straw.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell Jacqui. “We’re going to my house. We’ll all be safer there anyway.”
Of course, convincing my father to take them in will be fun and a half. Considering the way things have escalated today, he’s probably gone full commando by now—guns locked and loaded, with the truck all packed for our pilgrimage to the bug-out, and pissed off to high heaven that I left this morning with nothing but a note. But I’ll stand firm that going with Alyssa was the right thing to do.
And Jacqui? Well, she’s a necessary gambit. That’s a chess term. It’s the sacrifice of an important piece early on in the game, with an eventual long-term gain down the line. But sometimes that’s what you have to do to win. Take risks. I know that bringing Jacqui here was a big risk. But despite Alyssa’s obvious mistrust of her, Jacqui’s the only reason we’re still alive right now, whether we like that or not. I’m just glad I noticed her infection—because I knew she wouldn’t pass up antibiotics. I can’t help but feel that her decision to join us was a gambit of her own. And now I can only hope that Jacqui won’t turn on us the second she gets what she wants.
We park in the driveway, and I lead them toward my house. I can already tell that my father’s been busy. The spider holes in our yard are covered and ready to be manned, booby traps are set, and the security shutters are down. Dad’s even lined the perimeter with additional surveillance cameras.
J
acqui looks around in sheer awe, stepping off the cement path and onto the grass, and when her foot touches the ground, the dirt gives way. I grip her arm and catch her so she doesn’t fall into the pit, which is only a couple of feet deep, but lined with nail boards, like something out of an Indiana Jones movie.
“Booby trap,” I say. “Be careful where you step.”
Jacqui shakes her head, too cool to be horrified. “And how long have you been preparing for the apocalypse?”
“A while,” I say. “The end of the world is our family hobby.”
She glances around, captivated by the grim awesomeness of our yard. “Beats knitting,” she says.
Now the hard part. I approach the front door, take a deep, deep breath, fumbling with my keys—but before I slip the key into the lock, I freeze up, remembering that Jacqui still has my gun. If my father sees it, the hell that’s already going to break loose will become exponential. The fact that it’s now in her possession doesn’t just make me wildly irresponsible, but one hundred percent culpable for whatever the hell she ends up doing with it.
And then the door opens before I use my key—it’s my dad. It’s like he was waiting for us.
“Welcome home,” he says, with deadpan coolness. “Have fun out there?”
“Not at all,” I tell him. “It’s just like you predicted.”
“And the freeways?”
“Gridlock,” I report.
That’s when Mom rushes out, throwing her arms around me, in a deeply embarrassing hug.
“Kelton! Are you all right? Don’t you ever scare us like that again!” I don’t even have to look to see Jacqui’s smirk.
Dad gestures for Mom to go in and let him handle this. Then he turns to the others. “Brought your friends, I see. Hello, Alyssa. Garrett.”
They offer awkward greetings.
Then he gives Jacqui the once-over. “And who’s this?”
“Name’s Jacqui. I’m the one who saved your son’s ass out there,” she responds, fearlessly stepping forward. “I’m here for the antibiotics he promised me.”
My dad’s face swells with anger. But instead of yelling he takes a deep breath, bottling it up. He nods, keeping his composure, filing his fury away for another time. “Is this true, Kelton?”
“Yes,” I say. “She saved our lives, and got us home safely.”
“Thank you for that, Jacqui,” my father says. “But unfortunately, our antibiotics are not my son’s to give away.”
Jacqui glares at him, practically growling like the Doberman in Alyssa’s house, and my mind is already racing, knowing this won’t end well. She takes a threatening step toward him.
“Yeah, that’s not gonna work for me,” Jacqui says.
I think about the gun concealed in her waistband. What my father would do if he saw it. How he can never find out. Before the moment ignites, I step in between the two of them. “Like Jacqui says, she saved my life!” I remind my father, pretending to be indignant, and then realizing I don’t have to pretend because I am. “Are you saying my life isn’t worth some lousy antibiotics?”
“Kelton, you’re missing the point—”
“Next you’ll probably tell me that we can’t take Alyssa and Garrett in!”
“They have their own home!”
“Which was broken into, and is unsafe! And now their parents are missing!”
Then he gets closer to me, speaking quietly. Not quite whispering, but not loud enough for anyone but me to hear.
“We’re not having this conversation. You know how things are.”
And I blow it up, yelling, so that Mom can hear inside, and probably anyone else in listening range.
“Yeah, I know exactly how it is! And you’re right, we’re not having the conversation. Because I’m out of here.”
I turn and storm toward the BMW.
“Kelton!” yells my father.
I can’t fight the urge to halt when he calls my name like that—but I use it to my advantage. I turn back to him. “Now I get why Brady got the hell out of here the second he could. But I’m not waiting until I’m eighteen.” Then I look at the others. “C’mon, we’re leaving. Jacqui, we’ll get your antibiotics from someone who gives a shit.”
I’m hoping that Jacqui gets what I’m doing and plays along—because in a real situation, this girl would never take an order from me.
But she does get it—because she looks to my dad with a smile and a shrug and says, “Later, dick.” And for a moment I wonder how she knows my dad’s name. And then I realize that she doesn’t.
We make it halfway to the car—then my mother comes storming out of the house.
“Kelton!” she says with even more command than my father. “Don’t you dare get in that car!”
I turn to her, waiting for this to play out.
“Alyssa, Garrett—of course you can stay with us,” she says. “You too, Jacqui. We have all the water and food you need.” Then she turns to my dad, and says with thrilling defiance, “And antibiotics.”
She hustles Alyssa and Garrett into the house right past my father, who’s powerless to stop her.
“Marybeth, can we talk about this?”
“No.”
And she pushes past him, his authority overridden.
I feel triumphant, and worried at the same time, because my dad keeps a tally of slights. I know this will someday come back to bite me. But not today.
Jacqui saunters past my father, slathering him in sarcasm. “Thank you for your hospitality!” Mercifully, she doesn’t add “dick” this time, but she does grab the pink community meeting flyer taped to the door and hands it to him—like she’s doing him a favor.
As for me, I keep a poker face and don’t look at my dad as I pass. But inside I’m smiling—because, for the first time in my life, I’ve made fear a tailwind rather than a headwind.
• • •
My circle of friends is usually limited to Scouts, preppers, or the random offspring of other dentists—so having Alyssa, Garrett, and Jacqui here is kind of a minor big deal for me. I give them the grand tour, starting with my favorite place in the house—our safe room. It’s where we keep all the supplies that we are never usually allowed to touch. First-aid kits, water jugs, guns, ammunition, and nonperishable canned food. It’s behind a hinged bookcase. I tug on a book that pulls back like a handle, and the entire shelving unit swings open.
“My dad modeled it after an old James Bond movie,” I tell them, hoping to maybe redeem my father for them. They are duly impressed. This is also where Dad stashed the antibiotics—various vials and pill containers in Ziploc bags.
“Any antibiotics allergies?” I ask Jacqui.
“No.”
I hand her two orange pill bottles of Keflex. “One round should do it, but if not, a second round definitely will.” I hold the two containers out to her, and she looks at them as if maybe it’s a trick. Then she snatches them from my hand, opens one of them, and pops two pills dry.
“Finally.” She exhales, stuffing the bottles in her pocket. Then she smiles at me, and for the first time it doesn’t come off as mad-creepy. “Thank you, Kelton,” she says, and I think she actually means it.
Alyssa looks around. “Is there a lock on the door?” she asks.
“Only on the inside,” I say. “It’s a safe room, remember. Why?”
“Because,” says Jacqui, “she thinks I’m going to raid it in the middle of the night and take off with all of your stuff.”
“Not everything’s about you,” Alyssa says, but the way she evades Jacqui’s glare tells me that this time it is. And maybe for good reason.
“No worries,” I say, with a secret wink to Alyssa. “There’s a motion-sensor alarm inside, so if anyone goes in during the night, we’ll know.” Which isn’t exactly true, because all the motion sensors are on the perimeter of our property, but Jacqui doesn’t need to know that.
I lead them out back, showing off my target practice area. And point out the porta potty. “We
’re not wasting water on internal toilets, so that’s where all business is done.” And although no one loves a porta potty, none of them complain.
In the kitchen, I show them the stainless steel drum that holds our primary water supply. I unscrew the rubber safety stopper and prep the tap. “My dad will ration the water,” I say, looking around to make sure he’s not around. He’s back out in the garage being diligent again. “But for now you guys can fill up.”
Jacqui’s practically salivating, eyes large like saucers. I can tell she’s already warming up to the place.
Alyssa and Garrett fill up the canteens I gave them. Jacqui fills up her water bottle. I notice, though, that Alyssa’s not drinking. She’s just looking down the dark hole of the canteen’s mouth.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, just after her brother and Jacqui leave the kitchen.
“Nothing.” She tries to shake it off, bringing the canteen to her lips, but as soon as she does—her eyes begin to well up, and I sense a pressure building within her until suddenly her floodgates break. She throws her arms around me, hugging me tightly. And I hug her back—not with the girl-next-door kind of infatuation I maybe would’ve had in the past, but with a sincerity that I hadn’t felt before. It both surprises me and makes total sense. She pulls away quickly, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I’m being stupid.”
“What? No . . . ,” I say. I’m not exactly sure what to do in a situation like this.
She wipes her wet eyes. “What a waste of water.” And she laughs.
“We all need to waste a little water sometimes,” I tell her. “Better than wetting the bed.” Which may be the stupidest thing I’ve ever said to another human being, but it makes her laugh some more. Not at me, but with me. Or at least next to me.
“Last week I would have called your house bizarre,” she admits, “but now I think it’s pretty incredible.” She meets my eyes. “Thanks. For everything. For putting yourself on the line back there so we could stay.”
I give her a slanted grin. “Eagle Scout, remember?” I say, trying to get a smile out of her. It works. “And anyway, I had to do something to make up for being so useless at the beach.”
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