365 Days Alone

by Nancy Isaak

“Shhh!” I spun around toward Jude. “How difficult is it going to be to open this door?”

  “It’s heavy—but I oiled the hinges. It’ll open when we push on it,” she said. “Just probably not before they pull out their guns.”

  “Okay, then.” I forced myself to think quickly. “Cherry—you’re at the door. Be ready to take down Rowena. Jude, you’re with me. Katy’s leading, so we need to get her first.”

  I moved to the far side of the cage and Jude followed.

  “Give me the rasp,” I ordered.

  Jude never even hesitated; she simply reached into her pants and pulled out the tool. I immediately placed it on the ground, just outside of the cage.

  The guards were now mere seconds away.

  “Don’t forget…it’s Katy that’s your target,” I whispered to Jude. “So, you don’t have to worry about Rowena. Her gun’s already empty, remember?”

  Jude nodded. “I’m on it.”

  I leaned down then, and reached through the bars toward the rasp. “Almost got it,” I grunted—a little too loudly. “Just a few more inches.”

  Running footsteps…

  Katy raced around the corner of the cage. “What the hell!”

  I reached out even farther, my fingertips just touching the rasp’s handle.

  “No, you don’t!” cried Katy, leaping for the rasp.

  The moment her hand touched the rasp’s handle, Jude reached out and grabbed Katy by her hair, snapping her head back into the bars with a bang!

  At the same time, I was reaching for the gun in Katy’s hand.

  I had expected resistance, but Katy gave up the gun easily—even as her eyes rolled back into her head.

  “She’s out,” Jude announced. She dropped Katy’s body to the ground and quickly turned her attention to Rowena. “Well, what do you know?” Jude murmured.

  Expecting to see Rowena at the opened cage door, I turned—instead—to find Peyton. She was standing, holding a machete, the tip of which was tickling the base of Rowena’s trembling throat. Beside Peyton, Cherry and Jay were ripping off pieces of duct tape, which they were using to bind up Rowena’s hands and mouth.

  “Jude!”

  A tiny dark shape raced across the field and straight into Jude’s arms.

  It was Lily.

  * * * *

  Moments later, we had both of our guards taped, gagged, and locked in the cage. Katy was still unconscious, but Rowena looked absolutely furious.

  Jude grinned at her, as she pointed to the foul-bucket in the corner of the cage. “The facilities are over there, ladies.”

  * * * *

  “There are girls stationed all along Kanan Road…and on the 101,” Peyton advised us. “There’s also a team in Old Agoura on Driver Avenue, but I’m not exactly sure where.”

  “Then we head up,” I said. “Right past the ‘A’ up there on the hill. We’ll travel along the top of that range, then cut back through Oak Park to Westlake Village. After that, we’ll head down through one of the canyons there—straight to Malibu. Hopefully, they won’t expect that.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Jude.

  I turned to Peyton. “We’ll be going right past Amelie. Is that okay with you?”

  She nodded. “Amelie would be down for that.”

  “Are we heading out of the front gate?” asked Cherry, looking toward the far end of the football field.

  I shook my head. “We stay off the roads wherever we can. Let’s head straight for the fence and climb over that instead. It will be closer to the hill anyway. Stay in pairs—Jude, you’re with Lily…Jay, you’re with me…Cherry, you’re with Peyton.”

  “And what about me?”

  The voice that had spoken was both soft and menacing.

  I immediately froze—we all did.

  * * * *

  They were like phantoms, suddenly coalescing from the shadows.

  Tray appeared first—right behind Lily.

  Six girls from the Protection Detail followed—all 12th graders—circling around us like sharks.

  The last to appear was Orla.

  And they were all armed; even Orla—she carried a shotgun.

  Before Jude had a chance to react, Tray had ripped Lily from her arms and placed a knife against her throat.

  “Don’t struggle,” Tray warned the young girl. “I’ve sharpened this blade and you won’t even feel it cut you until it’s too late.”

  “Lily, don’t move!” yelled Jude. “Not an inch!”

  In front of her, Lily went stiff—her eyes wide with terror.

  * * * *

  It became complicated very fast.

  Jude and I had Katy and Rowena’s guns, Peyton had her machete, and Cherry had the screwdriver. Even as we held our meager weapons before us—prepared for battle—Jay was already being subdued, her hands cuffed behind her back.

  “Getting a little monotonous, I know,” drawled Tray. “Poor babies—you didn’t even make it ten feet this time. A tad embarrassing, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Let Lily go,” Jude growled.

  “I’d suggest that you put down your weapons first.”

  Nobody moved.

  “Or we could play this your way,” shrugged Tray. “That works for me, too.” She pressed her knife into Lily’s neck and a small line of blood appeared. It dribbled down Lily’s throat, staining the top of her shirt.

  There was a small whimpering—like a keening almost too high for us to hear. It was Lily, trying to find her voice through her fear and panic.

  “Stop!” I cried, placing Katy’s gun safely on the ground. Beside me, Jude followed suit, throwing Rowena’s gun to the side.

  A moment later—Cherry dropped her screwdriver.

  Peyton, however, held onto her machete.

  “Knife vs. gun?” Orla took a few steps forward and aimed her shotgun at Peyton’s stomach. “Bitch, you know you’d lose.”

  But Peyton still didn’t lower her machete. Instead, she asked, “How did you know?”

  “That you’d betray us?” Orla shrugged. “Honestly, I didn’t think you would. It was Tray who said that you should be watched. She said that you were up to something. I guess she was right.”

  The look Peyton gave Tray was poisonous.

  Tray just grinned. “Whatever.”

  “Put the knife down, Peyton,” Orla commanded.

  “I want Lily back first.”

  “All right…if you put down the machete, you can have the girl,” offered Orla.

  “Promise?”

  Orla lowered her shotgun. “I promise.”

  Peyton immediately dropped the big knife. It clattered to the ground and one of the 12th graders rushed in quickly to scoop it up.

  “Let the girl go, Tray,” Orla told her.

  Tray leaned in close and whispered into Lily’s ear. “Listen up, little girl. When I let you go, you go straight to Peyton. You go anywhere else and I’ll slice you open. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” squeaked Lily—her voice small and scared.

  Tray pulled her knife away from Lily’s neck.

  When Lily hesitated, Jude yelled at her, “Go to Peyton…now!”

  Lily began to scramble—falling once—before she finally made it over and into Peyton’s arms.

  Behind us, meanwhile, four girls from the Protection Detail had entered the cage and freed Katy and Rowena—helping them to limp out through the door.

  “Don’t shut that,” ordered Orla. She walked over to the cage door and motioned us inside. “Ladies.”

  As Cherry, Jude, and I shuffled back toward the cage, a mischievous look suddenly overcame Orla. She giggled, motioning toward Tray. “On second thought, let’s have a little fun. Put the kid and Dr. Gunga Din in there with them.”

  “But you promised!” yelled Peyton, furious. “If I put the machete down, you said I could have Lily!”

  “And I gave you the girl just like I promised,” Orla said, reasonably. “It’s just that now I’m taking her back.”r />
  * * * *

  When the cage door finally closed again that night, there were six of us inside—Jude, Cherry, Jay, Lily, me—and Peyton.

  Orla stood outside the cage—annoyed and more than a little frustrated. “You don’t have to do this, Peyton. You’re being ridiculous.”

  “You guys are killing people,” Peyton sniffed, “and yet I’m the one you’re calling ridiculous.”

  “Don’t you get it,” snapped Orla, “when the sun rises and the other girls see you, I won’t have a choice anymore. You’ll be, like totally on your own.”

  Peyton actually yawned—as if she was bored. “You always have a choice, Orla. You just usually make the wrong one.”

  Tray picked up a small rock and tossed it between the bars. It hit Peyton in her right leg, causing a small red welt to spring up. “What a whiny little righteous bitch you’ve become,” she taunted.

  “I’m spoiled and a bitch,” shrugged Peyton. “Big deal. At least, I’m not getting my kicks from murdering girls for no reason.”

  “That’s what this is all about?!” asked Orla, shaking her head—angry. “Bitch, we had a good reason and you know it! Belinda was going to disappear in a couple of days anyway! At least, our way—her death meant something.”

  “You stabbed her and you killed her!” Peyton yelled, jabbing a finger at Orla in her fury. “You killed Belinda just to manipulate the situation, to use her death to frame these girls. And you actually think that meant something?!”

  “But you don’t even like these girls, Peyton!” Orla waved her hands dismissively toward us. “Like you’re always calling them common, for god’s sake!”

  “Because they are common!” barked Peyton.

  “Uh…we’re right here,” muttered Jude, under her breath.

  “But they’re also human,” continued Peyton. “And they’re good—annoyingly good—so good that they make my teeth ache sometimes. And you’re right—I hate that about them…but not because of the reasons that you think. Not because they’re common or not rich enough or not pretty enough.”

  “Still here,” huffed Jude.

  “Then, why?” asked Orla—looking truly confused. “Why would you give up everything we’ve achieved just for them?”

  “Because, you dumb bitch,” snarled Peyton, “they’re better than us! Because they’re the one thing that we can never be.”

  “Oh, yeah…what’s that?”

  And Peyton’s eyes filled with tears as she spoke two simple words.

  “They’re Amelie.”

  * * * *

  As the sun rose, girls started arriving at the high school for breakfast—only to discover that there were new additions to the cage. For ‘security reasons’, the football field and stands were now closed.

  With the exception of the Protection Detail, the closest anyone could get to us now, was to stand just outside the gates—looking across the field to our prison-cage in the center.

  Even Sophia and Reena were denied entrance.

  They delivered their food tray only as far as the closed gate now. A girl from the Protection Detail would then bring the tray to us from there.

  We had effectively been isolated.

  * * * *

  That first day, Peyton kept to herself—sitting quietly in a corner of the cage, her back against the bars. We all tried to talk to her, but she refused to respond.

  Finally, we just left her alone—head down, deep in her own thoughts.

  The night, however, brought a vicious cold. While the rest of us huddled together, arms around each other, trying to keep warm, Peyton remained in her corner—shivering in her light dress and open-toed sandals.

  Slowly, I disengaged myself from the other girls and moved across the cage toward her. “Peyton,” I said gently, touching her arm. “You can’t be by yourself in this cold. Trust me, you need to be with us.”

  She didn’t even look at me—just pulled her arm back.

  “It’s only going to get colder,” I warned. “Come on, Peyton.”

  No response.

  I leaned down, trying to get her to look at me.

  When her eyes finally met mine, I grinned. “We promise not to kiss you.” The corners of Peyton’s lips turned up ever so slightly. “Except Cherry…sometimes she simply has no off-switch.”

  “Liar!” cried Cherry.

  A torrent of shaking suddenly overtook Peyton. She had to struggle to get it under control, her teeth were chattering so much. I quickly motioned to the others. They scuttled over—a circle of shivering girls surrounding one tormented, very cold Fox.

  “And Jude will probably fart,” I continued.

  “Truth,” Jude nodded. “Sorry, Princess.”

  “Jude’s a stinky bum,” agreed Lily. “But only sometimes.”

  Peyton smiled; it was small, barely there—but it was definitely a smile.

  “And Jay tells bad jokes,” I asserted, “only we don’t ever get them, because she tells them in Pakistani.”

  “Urdu,” corrected Jay.

  “That’s what I said—bad jokes in Urdu.”

  “But Lily’s good,” said Jude. “She makes up for the rest of us dumbasses.”

  “You’re not a dumbass!” Lily frowned at Jude. “You stop saying that.”

  Jude ran a hand over Lily’s face, erasing her frown. “Sorry, Sailor Moon.” Then, Jude looked down at Peyton. “See…I told you Lily was good.”

  Peyton’s eyes filled with tears; her smile faltered and she turned toward me. “And you, Kaylee?” she asked, quietly. “What about you?”

  “Well, I’m the worst, obviously,” I said, “because I’m the common girl who’s going to make you our sister.”

  And, ignoring her soft protests, I reached out and took her into my arms. The others quietly joined me—pulling Peyton close.

  Into our warmth…into our family.

  SIX LIVES, SEVEN TICKETS

  It had been 364 days since our world—and our lives—had been irrevocably changed. Once we had been just normal girls, worrying about our grades, our clothes, our makeup—and boys.

  But now we were prisoners, held in a cage in the middle of our high school’s football field—cold, miserable, scared.

  Because—tomorrow—on Halloween…

  We were to be executed.

  Murdered.

  * * * *

  Orla tried one last time to convince Peyton to return to the Foxes Compound. She showed up just before supper, wearing a plaid, pleated skirt, pink sweater set—and a frown. “What’s with your hair, Peyton? It looks dumb.”

  Earlier that day—after our daily ‘washing’—Lily had amused all of us by braiding our hair. I had been given three braids, Jay got four, Jude received five, and Peyton got six.

  The braids were sticking out from all sides of Peyton’s head, giving her a goofy pincushion-look. Reaching up, Peyton patted one of her braids. “It’s haute-couture, Orla. Sorry, if you don’t get it.”

  Orla glared at the rest of us—her lips thin and pursed, like she’d just sucked on a lemon. “So, these are your friends now?”

  Peyton shrugged. “Ironic, huh?”

  “Dammit, Peyton!” Orla clutched at the cage’s bars, her knuckles white in frustration. “Why would you want to die like a peasant, when you can live like a queen?! It just doesn’t make any sense!”

  Sighing, Peyton stood up, brushed some imaginary lint off of her ‘very’ dirty skirt, and turned to face Orla. “Here’s what makes sense,” she began. “All my life, people have been telling me what I have to do, what I have to look like, what I have to say—even what I have to lie about. Well, guess what—I don’t have to listen anymore. Not to you, not to my father, not to anyone. And guess what, with power like that…I’m already living like a queen!”

  “This is so fricking stupid, Peyton,” Orla groaned, shaking her head. “I’m so ashamed of you.”

  Now, if she had been smart, Orla probably would have left at that moment. Instead, she decided to tau
nt Peyton one last time.

  “And Amelie would really be ashamed of you,” she sneered.

  I would never have believed the speed of Peyton’s fist, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. It shot out—straight between the bars—right into Orla’s nose.

  Blood spurted everywhere; Orla flew backward.

  “That’s from Amelie, bitch!” yelled Peyton. Then, she turned and stalked to the far side of the cage and sat down, facing away.

  Jude, meanwhile, kneeled down for a closer look at Orla. “Well, what do you know,” Jude pondered, studying her. “Guess blood really isn’t a good color on a ginger.”

  * * * *

  Tray showed up an hour later.

  She walked around our cage, looking us over, finally stopping in front of me. “Hey, Kaylee,” she said, politely. “What’s up?”

  “Not much,” I answered, just as polite. “What’s up with you?”

  “Get to shoot some girls tomorrow. That’ll be fun.”

  “Any chance you’ll just shoot five?” I asked. “Instead of six?”

  A shadow fell over Tray’s face; she frowned. “You’re trying to save yourself? I wouldn’t have expected that of you.”

  I shook my head. “Lily’s only eight, Tray. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t deserve any of this, you know it.”

  “You want to give her to me…nice.”

  She was taunting me—I chose to ignore it.

  “Not you, Tray,” I said, honestly. “You know that would be wrong. But give her to anyone else. Heck, give her to Sophia…just give Lily a chance.”

  Tray walked around the outside of the cage until she was opposite Lily—sitting tucked between Jude’s legs. She knelt down, studying the girl. “What do you say, little chicken? Do you want me to take you out of here?”