by Nancy Isaak
No doubt—but I wasn’t going to say that out loud.
Brandon might have been drunk—but that didn’t necessarily mean that he was deaf.
“You never answered me before,” I said, looking at Porter. “But I need to know. Is there going to be a problem between you two?”
Almost reluctantly, Porter shook his head. “Guess it would be stupid to hold a grudge these days. Not a lot of us left, you know what I mean.”
I nodded.
“But you had better be here when he wakes up,” he warned, waggling a finger at me, “because I sure as hell don’t want to be alone with him.”
* * * *
Brandon snored—like nothing I had ever heard before.
It seemed to start deep in his throat, a growl that somehow snorted out of his nose, then sucked back air—finally ending in a little pfft! The three of us—Kieran, Porter, and I—stood at the guest bedroom door, watching him in amazement.
“You sure you had to bring him back?” asked Porter. “Surely there has to be another dumb jock alive somewhere who would love a new roommate.”
Kieran chuckled. “I’m going to bed,” he said, yawning. “Later.”
He disappeared down the stairs, no doubt to climb into bed with Rhys and Ethan. Porter pointed at me.
“You promised not to leave me alone with him, remember.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, yawning myself. “I’ll sleep on the couch in the living room, so I’ll be there when he wakes.”
I turned and walked down the hallway.
Porter followed me. “We still leaving tomorrow?”
“It will depend on Brandon,” I said. “We need to find out what really happened. Who shot him and why?”
Porter opened a nearby linen closet. He reached in and pulled out a blanket, a sheet, and a pillow, handing them to me.
“Sorry,” he said. “They kind of smell like my gran.”
* * * *
Porter helped me make up the couch, tucking in the corners of the sheet hospital-style—all neat and tidy. “You know, you’re kind of OCD,” I teased.
“I know,” he answered, smoothing down the blanket that he’d placed carefully over top of the sheet. “Jude says the same thing.”
With a flick of my wrist, I threw the pillow onto the makeshift bed. Porter quickly grabbed it and placed it exactly perpendicular to the edge of the couch.
“Sorry,” he said. “If it doesn’t line up exactly right, it makes me kind of edgy.”
“What happens when I get under the covers? Is that going to bother you?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I just have to make it up right. After that, it doesn’t matter anymore. Don’t ask me why. It’s just the way I’m built.”
I sat down on the bed—carefully—waiting to see what he’d do.
“Seriously,” Porter grinned. “It’s not a problem once it’s made.”
“Okay.” I took off my boots and lined them up to the side of the couch. Then, I laid back and put my hands behind my head.
“You going to sleep, Porter?” I asked.
“You kidding me! I’ve got Brandon Keretsky in my house. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be sleeping tonight.” He started toward the doorway. “Night, Jacob.”
“Porter, wait.”
He turned back.
“Jude?” I asked, quietly. “Really?”
He shrugged. “She’s not who you think she is—she’s—Jude.”
“So, are you dating or what?”
Porter shook his head. “She doesn’t think of me that way. We just work together. And sometimes I tutor her—help her with her dyslexia, you know.”
“And sometimes she beats the crap out of bullies for you,” I teased.
He looked down at the floor, suddenly depressed. “She got fired for it,” Porter murmured. “Beating up Brandon. I tried to tell the Manager that it wasn’t Jude’s fault, but he didn’t believe it.”
“How did she take it?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “She ran out of the store and I haven’t seen her since. When—this thing—happened, I went to her house to see if she was still alive. But she wasn’t there.” He looked up at me, embarrassed. “I sound stupid, don’t I?”
I shook my head. “You like her. You’re worried about her. I understand that.”
“Because of how you feel about Kaylee?”
What?!
He laughed at my surprised look. “Do you have any idea how many girls are interested in you, Jacob?” he grinned. “Yet, the only girl at school you ever stare at is Kaylee. It’s kind of obvious, dude.”
I groaned—it was my turn to be embarrassed. “Going to bed now,” I said, quickly. “Good-night.”
“For what it’s worth,” Porter said, “Kaylee’s a good girl. I approve.” Then, he turned and walked out of the room.
* * * *
“Jacob...Jacob!” I felt myself being pulled out of a deep sleep. “He’s going to kill him! Wake up, Jacob!”
My eyes immediately flipped open.
Rhys was leaning over the couch, shaking me. Behind him, Ethan was rocking back and forth on his toes, looking absolutely terrified.
“Get up, Jacob…there’s a guy killing Porter!” Rhys yelled.
I moved so fast, I tumbled to the floor—scrambling on my hands and feet, racing for the doorway.
* * * *
Skidding around the corner, I was greeted with the sight of Porter, lying on his back on the bedroom floor. Brandon was on top of him, his fist raised. The only thing that was keeping that fist from connecting with Porter’s face was Kieran.
My brother had climbed onto Brandon’s massive back and—reaching in front of him—was literally holding that fist in mid-air, inches away from Porter’s nose.
“Brandon, no!” I yelled.
“Yoosh—sha—dunna,” he grunted, trying to flip Kieran off of him.
I leaned down, putting my face right in front of Brandon’s. His eyes were wild, flicking back and forth in a fury.
How much had this guy drunk last night? Or was it actually steroid-rage—as was the rumor?
“Keretsky!” I yelled. “Seriously, dude…don’t make me hit you, bro!”
Brandon’s eyes stopped flicking. They moved from left to right, searching—finally focusing in on me. “Rikes,” he squinted. “S’at you?”
“Yeah, it’s me. How you doing, Brandon?”
“Shot.”
“Just a flesh wound,” I said. “You’re fine.”
“Head’s banging.”
“I’d be surprised if it wasn’t. I think you must have drunk quite a bit.”
He grinned. “No mimim—no ninnin—no mimmimmim.”
“No minimum age anymore?”
Brandon nodded. “S’everythin’s free.”
“And you’ve been taking advantage of that, I see.” The big guy nodded, grinning. “Any chance you could put your fist away, Brandon? You’re making my brother work an awful lot there.”
Brandon finally relaxed—dropping his fist.
Carefully, Kieran got off of his back. Porter, meanwhile, remained where he was—hands up, protecting his face.
Reaching down, Brandon ruffled Porter’s hair.
“Shorry, dude,” he slurred. “No ’fence tented.”
Underneath his hands, Porter squeaked, “No offence taken.”
* * * *
It was hours before Brandon was coherent enough to be questioned. We sat in the kitchen, drinking coffee and eating cold Pop-Tarts.
“How does your arm feel?” I asked.
Brandon flexed it, moving his arm in a circle. “I can still toss you on your ass if I need to,” he boasted.
“No doubt.”
Kieran was sitting across from Brandon, staring at him with a kind of fascination. Rhys and Ethan, meanwhile, had gone back to bed, while Porter was sitting on the counter, close to—as he had whispered confidentially to me—the kitchen knives.
“Do you remember what hap
pened?” I asked. “How you got shot?”
“Was it the juvies?” Kieran butted in.
Brandon looked confused. “Juvies?”
“Guys in orange,” said Kieran. “From the probationary camp over in Encinal Canyon. They almost got us down on Kanan. We saw them kill a guy!”
Taking a long swig of his coffee, Brandon put down his cup and nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “That was them. Bunch of juvies attacked me down at the mall.”
“We saw about ten,” said Kieran. “How many came at you?”
“About the same amount. Yeah—ten.”
Kieran turned to me, his eyes alight with fiery indignation. “It’s them!” he declared. “We should probably get them before they get us.” He tapped at his Glock in its holster.
I shook my head. “What we need to do, is get out of here.”
Brandon looked at me, surprised. “You’re leaving Agoura Hills?”
“Going to Malibu,” I nodded.
“We should stay here and fight!” Kieran almost shouted. “We’ve got the guns. We know the area. If we take them by surprise—”
“You’ve got guns?” asked Brandon, his eyebrows raised in sudden interest.
“We’ve got lots of guns,” said Kieran, proudly. “I’ve got a Glock and Jacob has a Sig Sauer.”
Brandon looked over at Porter, who quickly raised up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ve just got my brains. Guns scare me.”
“Can I have a gun?” Brandon asked, turning back to me.
“We need to know where those guys are,” I said, ignoring his request. “Do you think that they’re all at the mall now or were they just passing through?”
Brandon shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably still at the mall. I mean, there’s lots to do there, right? Eat, drink—shoot at things.”
“And you’re sure there were ten of them?”
“Around that. Maybe more, maybe less.”
“Did you see a Hispanic guy, with a scar like this?” I drew a finger from my right ear, across my cheek and down to my chin.
Brandon nodded. “Yeah. That’s the dude that shot me.”
“Mateo!” hissed Kieran. “He’s in charge.”
Again, Brandon nodded. “Yeah, man. Dude was definitely in charge.”
* * * *
We decided to stay indoors, waiting until night to make our escape. As the others sorted through what to take or caught up on sleep, I pulled Porter out into the backyard to speak to him without anyone overhearing.
“What do you think?” I asked. “About what Brandon said this morning?”
“He’s lying,” Porter said immediately—without any hesitation.
I nodded. “That was my feeling, too.”
“So, what are we going to do?”
“I’m not sure. I’d like to just leave him here,” I admitted. “But I just can’t, you know.”
“It’s hard—living with a conscience—isn’t it?”
“Tell me about it,” I sighed.
“He’ll be hard to control,” warned Porter. “Put a gun in his hand and it will make him even more dangerous.”
“I agree. But if Mateo and his guys are out there, we’ll need Brandon armed.”
Porter sighed. “I wish Jude was here.”
I burst out in laughter.
“You guys talking about me?” We both spun around to find Brandon standing above us, on the porch. I quickly slapped my hand on Porter’s shoulder a couple of times—as if sharing a good joke. Then, I turned and climbed up the stairs, walking past Brandon.
“Dude,” I said. “I can honestly say that we were talking about a girl and you, my friend, don’t look very good in high heels.”
* * * *
A few minutes later, the screen door slammed.
I was at the sink, getting a glass of water when Brandon came up beside me, hitching himself up onto the counter.
“Listen,” he said, picking absentmindedly at the bandage on his arm, “about that gun.”
Through the window in front of me, I could see Porter outside in the backyard. He was wiping flop sweat off of his forehead.
I turned to Brandon and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, dude. Let’s get you weaponed up.”
The look on Brandon’s face was one of pure delight.
* * * *
At midnight—or as near as we could make it without a working clock—we put on our backpacks, holstered our weapons, and assembled at the back door. I had sorted everyone into pairs earlier in the day.
Porter was to be with Kieran. Rhys was with Brandon.
I’d be with Ethan.
One armed person in each pair.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “We stay off the streets as much as possible. And under no circumstances, do we go anywhere near Kanan. We’ll head back the way we came, straight over the hill, past the high school, and into the townhouses.”
Our first stop was to be Ethan’s home.
He desperately wanted to check and see if his mom and sister were back. In our hearts we knew that he was ultimately going to be disappointed. But, still, how could we say no?
And truthfully—I had already made a quick trip myself to my own house during the afternoon, while everybody else was napping. As I was expecting, there was no sign of anyone having been there. I entered quickly, picked up a few things—and left a note for my mom and dad.
We’re safe. We’re alive. We’re going to where the light is good.
Love you
Jacob, Kieran, and Rhys
* * * *
With a group as large as ours, it was hard to move silently through the dark.
Footsteps echoed, young boys sniffed, buckles clicked.
Still, we made our way over the hill without any problems.
At one point, we heard a gunshot. As before, it came from the area around the shopping mall. We immediately froze where we were, listening. But no other shots followed and, after a few moments, I motioned everyone forward again.
Ten minutes later we were at the edge of the high school.
I gathered everyone around me, whispering quietly. “We’ll go over the fence and through the buildings. It will be quicker than going along the road. If we get separated, remember that Ethan’s townhouse is straight up the hill, right across from the school’s main office.”
“Section C,” Ethan whispered.
“Okay guys,” I said, quietly. “I’ll lead. Brandon, you bring up the rear.”
Brandon saluted me with his gun. “Stay frosty,” he grinned.
* * * *
We moved quickly through the high school—darting from the shadows of one dark building to the next. At Driver Street, just outside the school’s Main Office, we stopped to catch our breath.
It was incredibly dark, no stars or moon in the sky, and it was difficult to see each other. Because of this all-consuming black, it took Ethan gasping to make us realize that—we weren’t alone.
* * * *
In the shadows of a nearby doorway, we could just barely see two white eyes staring back at us. I immediately swung my gun over, aiming into the darkness.
“Come out from there,” I ordered. “Now!”
“Hello…do you have any food, please?” The voice was soft and accented.
Kieran came up beside me, his Glock cocked and ready. Behind him, I could see Brandon moving forward—unaware yet of exactly what was happening.
“Brandon, stay where you are,” I ordered. “Guard our six.”
He immediately moved back into position—watching for anyone coming up behind us. Porter, meanwhile, grabbed Rhys and Ethan, pulling them backward—out of danger.
“We have food,” I said. “But you have to come out where we can see you—slowly.”
* * * *
Inch-by-inch, he came out from the darkness—a skinny, little African-American boy with a shoulder-length mass of messy dreadlocks. He was wearing ripped jeans and a black hoodie, and he carried a thick branch in one hand.
He was also 8-years old.
I immediately lowered my gun, as did Kieran. “Are you alone?” I asked.
The kid nodded; it was hard to see, but I thought that he might be trying not to cry. I knelt down to make myself closer to his height.
“Hello,” I said, trying to appear friendly. It was obvious the little guy was scared. “My name is Jacob and this is my brother, Kieran. That’s Porter and Rhys over there and that big guy at the back is Brandon. Ethan, come here.”
Ethan ran forward and I placed him in front of me—opposite the kid. They stared at each other—just two little boys—shy and interested.
“This is Ethan.”
Smiling, Ethan gave a little wave. The kid gave a little wave back.
“Now you need to drop that branch, bud,” I said gently. “It’s okay. I promise. You don’t need a weapon with us.”
It took a moment before the kid decided to trust us. Then, kneeling down, he placed the branch on the ground. Immediately, Porter came up and handed me a granola bar.
“Here, you go, bud.” I passed the bar on to the kid. He grabbed it and ripped off the wrapper. Two bites later, it was finished.
“Merci,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank you.”
“What’s your name?” asked Ethan.
“Wester,” he said, shyly.
“Do you live around here, Wester?” I asked.
He shook his head. “In Calabasas…by the freeway.”
“That’s quite a ways away,” I said. “How did you get here?”
“Walked.”
“Why did you come all the way here?” asked Kieran.
