365 Days Alone

by Nancy Isaak

  But, of course, no one came and—within moments—Jay and I were biking down Driver Avenue, heading toward the Lost Hills Sheriff’s Station.

  * * * *

  On the best of days, it would have been a 20-minute bike ride to Lost Hills. This time, it took us an hour.

  Our first stop was along Driver because, of course, I just had to spend a few moments petting my future-horse and feeding him some carrots that I'd brought along for just that purpose.

  “Do you think they’re getting enough to eat?” asked Jay, looking worried.

  “I hope so. It's a pretty big grassy area they've got there,” I answered, scratching Beauty (yes, that is my new horse's name) behind her ears (or his, I don’t really know). “If you're worried about it, though, we could always stop on the way home and look for some hay or oats or something in that little barn over there.”

  I pointed to a large storage shed in the far left corner of the enormous front yard. It had a barn-like look to it and, in Old Agoura (like in Malibu)—that usually meant it was where the riding equipment and feed was stored.

  “It probably would be a good idea. We should make sure they're well fed,” murmured Jay. “It might be important to have horses later on. Like, what if we need them to travel someplace where the bikes can't take us? Also, we might have to carry something heavy. They'd be good for that, too.”

  “Or it might just be fun to have horses to ride,” I suggested, smiling.

  Jay grimaced at me. “Fun really isn't where our heads should be right now. It's probably the end of the world. So, like let's figure out exactly what we're dealing with first before we do fun stuff.”

  “Zombie!” I suddenly yelled out.

  With a screech, Jay spun around, her hands flying up, ready to defend herself.

  I began to laugh. “Sorry,” I snorted. “Guess teasing is considered fun stuff, now, right?”

  “Idiot!” Jay whacked me across the shoulder.

  Beauty, startled by the movement, took a step back, turned, and trotted off to join her companion on the far side of the field.

  * * * *

  Five minutes later, we were cycling past Colodny Drive on the right—with all its apartments and townhouses and menacing windows. The two vehicles—one facing us and the other facing away—were still in the middle of the road.

  But if there was anybody actually alive along Colodny—we saw no signs.

  * * * *

  When we reached the 101 Freeway, Jay and I stopped in the middle of the overpass, staring down at the sea of dead cars arranged in rows for as far as we could see in both directions. From where we stood, we could just barely make out the Google car north of us.

  Once again, we had to wonder—why had the Google-driver been taken away, while Jay and I were left in an empty world to fend for ourselves?

  “It's weird, isn't it?” said Jay. “All those empty cars.”

  “I wonder if any of them can start.”

  “Probably not. I’ll bet it was an EMP that took them all out,” mused Jay.

  “What's an EMP?” I asked.

  Jay smirked at me. “You really don't pay attention in Science class, do you?”

  “Why do you think I keep needing your notes?” I retorted. “Now, what's an EMP?”

  “Electro-magnetic pulse. It's like this weapon that the government has that can be used to instantly destroy anything that uses electricity. All technology—poof—gone like that…although I never thought an EMP could knock out batteries. That’s extra-weird.”

  “But the cars weren’t destroyed. They look exactly the same.”

  “Well, an EMP doesn't really destroy the technological-thing about the car. It destroys its ability to use electricity…I think.”

  “Can they be fixed, then?” I asked.

  “I sure can't fix them,” said Jay; she raised one eyebrow (Spock-like) at me. “Can you?”

  “I can't even fix the blinking 12 o'clock on the microwave when the power goes out,” I admitted. “Mom does it for me.”

  “You're such a Luddite,” teased Jay.

  I stuck my tongue out at her. “Since I don't know what a Luddite is, I'm going to take that as a compliment.”

  Jay gave me the ‘look’ she saves for when I’m being especially dense.

  “All right, then,” I sighed. “What is a Luddite?”

  “It's someone who doesn't really want to take part in science or technological advancements. You know, like my dad doesn't really text. He just phones, instead. So he’s kind of a Luddite.”

  “Remember when your dad wouldn't let you have a cell phone because he was worried that it would give you a brain tumor?”

  This brought a smile to Jay’s face. “Mom said that, for the first few years they were married, my dad wouldn't even use the microwave. She said he had this little wand-thing that he kept waving at it, making sure that it wasn't going to send out death-rays everywhere.”

  “A wand…like a Harry Potter-wand?” I asked.

  Jay gave me the dense-look again. “That'd just be stupid! It was some tech-thing that registered whether the microwaves were escaping through the door.”

  “So your dad—the IT specialist—is a Luddite? Now, that’s ironic.”

  “It's a Pakistani-thing,” Jay shrugged. “You know…educate your daughters so they're accepted into Ivy League universities, then marry them off to some sheep herder from back home. Believe one thing—do the other. Trust me, there’s no logic to it.”

  “Does your dad text at work?” I asked.

  “Probably. I mean, I've seen him do it, so I know he knows how. He just doesn't do it with mom or me.”

  “Pakistani-thing?”

  “Or maybe it's just a ‘dad-control-thing’. Like if my dad is actually talking to us, then he knows that we're probably listening and we’ll have to do what he says.”

  “So your dad really isn't a Luddite, then,” I decided. “He's just a control freak.”

  “Probably,” Jay admitted. Then—after a moment—she turned and asked me, “Are you worried about your dad?”

  “A little” I shrugged. “But he's with the Boob-Bimbo now, you know. And ever since he met her, it's like he’s stopped being my dad. He's more like an uncle now, really. He doesn’t even come to see me or telephone me anymore.”

  “But what if he's alive? I mean, what if he's still there…down in Malibu?”

  “He’s not,” I told her. “He and the Boob-Bimbo have been in Brussels for the last two weeks—some kind of financial conference. Or more likely a shopping trip for her. It seems like she always needs a new diamond this or that.”

  “Which means that the Malibu house is probably vacant,” said Jay.

  I turned to look at her and she wiggled her eyebrows at me.

  “Just saying,” Jay grinned.

  * * * *

  Once we’d left the overpass, we turned left, biking down Agoura Road. Ahead of us was an unfinished housing development on the right, surrounded on three sides by a wooded area. A supply truck was stopped in front; it was in the middle of the road, across the right hand lane, where it had obviously been in the midst of turning into the development when the world decided to make a turn of its own.

  As Jay and I rode close, we noticed a red traffic flag fluttering on the ground, a few yards from the front of the truck.

  “I guess the flag person went the same place the Google-guy did,” I said.

  “And the driver,” added Jay. “And the construction workers…and...” Suddenly, she slowed, pointing into the construction site.

  “What is it, Jay? What do you see?”

  “Look over there. See it?”

  She was pointing at one of those small catering trucks that always seem to inhabit work sites. This one had its side flaps up and, even from the road, I could see the rows of sodas and chocolate bars on its shelves.

  “Kit Kats!” I moaned.

  * * * *

  Although the catering truck was situated a little wa
ys off from the actual housing development, it still had a number of cars and trailers around it, enough to make Jay and me nervous—just in case someone (or something) was hiding behind one of the vehicles. So, we decided that it would probably be safer if just one of us biked in and checked out the situation first.

  If everything was all clear, then the other would join her.

  (Obviously, this was kind of stupid because, if something actually had happened, it wasn’t like the other person could really have done anything about it. Still, Jay and I are new to this post-apocalyptic-thing, so you have to give us a break.)

  We eventually wound up ‘rock-paper-scissoring’. I ‘papered’ Jay’s ‘rock’, so she had to bike into the development. Meanwhile, I waited with increasing nervousness by the side of the road.

  * * * *

  It seemed to take Jay forever to reach the catering truck.

  She didn't go straight toward it. Instead, she did these little circle-moves, slowly biking closer and closer. I suppose she was circling, so that she could look into all the shadows and hidey-holes and make sure that nothing evil was lurking.

  When she finally did stop, Jay nervously stood on one bike pedal and leaned onto the side of the catering truck, peeking through the back window. After a long moment, she turned toward me and called out. “It looks okay!”

  Ignoring Jay's circle-route, I headed straight for the side of the truck and the row of Kit Kats I had seen from the street. Grabbing one of the chocolate bars, I ripped the wrapping off and took a big bite.

  Jay, meanwhile, reached over and picked out an apple.

  “Seriously!” I scoffed. “Free candy bars and you're choosing an apple?!”

  “Apples are perishables,” Jay argued. “It just makes sense to eat the perishables first.”

  “Well, you be sensible. I'm still going to eat chocolate.” And I reached for another candy bar. “You know, if we were really being sensible, we would have brought along some backpacks to carry stuff home with us. Next time we go on walkabout we've got to be smart about this sort of thing. You never know what we might find that we'll want to bring back.”

  “We should get some baskets for the bikes, then,” suggested Jay. “That would make it even easier to scavenge.”

  “There's that bike store down on Thousand Oaks, on the Ralph's mall side. I'll bet they have bike baskets in there.”

  “And if we're going to be biking everywhere,” mumbled Jay, between bites of apple, “then we'll have to carry things like spare tires and bicycle pumps.”

  “Makes sense,” I agreed, nodding. “We should probably stock up on bottled water, too, whenever we can.”

  “There’s going to be lots of things we’re going to need,” said Jay. “Like toilet paper and hair products and food…and did I mention toilet paper?”

  * * * *

  Something was bothering me.

  I held up a hand for silence and moved a few feet away from the catering truck, scanning the wooded area around us for clues.

  “What is it, Kaylee…what's wrong?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just…”

  All of my Spidey-senses were tingling. I knew instinctively that something was off. When I finally realized what it was, the hair stood up on the back of my neck.

  “Do you hear it?” I whispered, urgently.

  “Hear what? I don't hear anything!” Jay looked terrified. The apple dropped out of her hand and rolled under a nearby car.

  “That's just it,” I said. “I don't hear anything either. Even the birds have stopped chirping. Why aren't the birds chirping? I mean, seriously, since we woke up yesterday, when have the darn things ever stopped?”

  Shielding her eyes from the sun, Jay stared up into the trees, searching for birds. “What do you think it means?”

  “I don't know but—in the movies—don't the animals stop making noises when the predators show up?”

  “Vampires!” Jay immediately screeched.

  “It’s the daytime,” I snorted.

  “Then, zombies! Whatever—we need to go, Kaylee!”

  “Should we grab some snacks to take with us?” I asked.

  “Just go!” Jay urged, as she climbed back onto her bike. “Come on, Kaylee! We need to go now!”

  A moment later, she was heading toward Agoura Road, pedaling hard.

  Meanwhile, I made the foolish decision to chance the few seconds it would take to grab a few more Kit Kats. As I was shoving them into my pockets, I heard a rustle of movement alongside one of the construction trailers.

  Quickly, I lifted my bike from the ground.

  The rustling-noise grew louder.

  It was joined by a second rustling, this time coming from the other side of me.

  I risked a look in that direction and glimpsed a dark, furry shape running out from the shadows. Terror-stricken, I leapt onto my bike and began pedaling so fast that gravel shot out from under my back tire.

  Ahead of me, meanwhile, Jay was just bouncing over the curb, arcing out onto Agoura Road. My heart skipped a beat as I saw another dark shape, this one weaving in and out of the chaparral at the edge of the road, directly across from Jay.

  “Go faster, Jay!” I yelled. “There's something after you!”

  She screeched loudly in distress, her legs pumping harder, racing down Agoura Road. I followed a few seconds later, my bike jumping over the curb and onto the street. As I did, my back tire hit another gravel patch and rocks flew. Some of them must have hit whatever was following me, because I heard a sharp yip!

  I didn't look back, however; I just pedaled even faster.

  * * * *

  There was a long stretch of Agoura Road ahead of us—about a half-mile long—bordered on each side by high bushes. As Jay and I were sprinting along, I worried about what might jump out at us from those bushes—what jaws and fangs would suddenly find their way around our ankles, pulling us to the ground, tearing our bodies apart piece-by-piece.

  But even though the dark shapes continued to pace us (we could see them darting through the foliage on either side), nothing attacked nor did anything ever move out onto the road to block us.

  And about a terror-filled, half-mile later, the bushes and trees gradually fell away and so did the shapes shadowing us.

  * * * *

  A quarter of a mile from the Lost Hills Sheriff’s Station, I finally caught up with Jay. She was close to tears as she huffed and puffed to pedal the last few yards up a hill.

  “Did you see what it was?” she asked me.

  I turned my head to look back at the now-empty road behind us. “Just shapes.”

  “Maybe it was coyotes,” Jay suggested, hopefully.

  “If it was coyotes, then they're getting really brave. They usually don’t come anywhere near people.”

  “Then what could it have been?” She was breathing hard, flop sweat trickling down the sides of her forehead. “Do you think it was something…supernatural?”

  “I think it was dogs,” I told her. (Not that I knew. I mean, it really could have been vampires or zombies. I just told Jay that it was dogs to keep her calm.) “Now that humans are gone, they’re probably running in packs now.”

  “Oh, great,” muttered Jay. “Just another thing to have to worry about. I can’t believe that we got chased by dogs.”

  “On the upside,” I joked, “at least it wasn’t foxes.”

  MEET THE FOXES

  Like every high school somehow had a Jude-the-Rude—so every high school also had their version of the Foxes. Only in other schools, they might have been called the Heathers or the Pink Ladies or maybe even the Plastics. They were the darlings of the in-crowd, the cool girls, the beautiful and the rich—the girls every boy wanted to date and every other girl wanted to be like—or to trip in the hallway.

  At Agoura High there were three Foxes who ruled at the top of the student-food chain—Peyton Buckingham, Traynesha Davis, and Orla Whelan—all 17-years old and all in the 11th Grade.

  Peyt
on Buckingham:

  The richest of the Foxes, Peyton was also the nicest. That's not to say that she was ‘nice’ exactly; she was just less mean than the other two.

  And if you want to know what Peyton looked like, think of a slightly prettier Tori Spelling in “90210” (the original series, not the goofy one later on). Like Tori, Peyton had blond hair and blue eyes. She was also a little more curvy than the other two Foxes.

  There was some talk at school that Peyton’s bosom had been bought in Beverly Hills but, who really knew, right? I did know that her perky little nose had been purchased by daddy, however, because I had seen pictures from her elementary days and she was definitely sporting a ‘schnoz’ then, if you know what I mean.

  Clinging to stereotype, Peyton was definitely not the smartest blond in school. It was an open secret that she cheated regularly on tests and that the other Foxes wrote most of her essays for her.

  Maybe it was because her dad was a well-known t.v. director, or maybe it was because she just didn't have the brains for school, but Peyton's grand ambition was to have her own reality show and become a ‘brand’. Like Kim and Paris (and too many other dumb girls down here in California), Peyton was planning on shooting a sex tape to launch her career. Either that, she would tell us, or she would simply rob rich peoples' homes like the Bling Ring did (whose nutty members actually went to a Continuation School that was connected to Agoura High! But I’ll tell you about that later).

  * * * *

  I kind of liked Peyton when I first saw her in the hallways.