by Nancy Isaak
Later, Porter and I were standing at the edge of the roof—looking over at the lights in the Locals’ area—when I noticed movement on the grounds below. At first, I thought that it was coyotes. Lately, we’ve been seeing more and more of the animals moving freely throughout the area—even in the daytime.
But it wasn’t coyotes.
It was Brandon and Kieran; they were carrying shotguns and heading out into the night.
Rhys chose that moment to come up and talk to me. Seeing Porter’s and my attention on the driveway below, Rhys leaned over to take a look. “Where are they going?” he asked, curious.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “But probably up to no good.”
“How come Kieran’s with Brandon now?” asked Rhys, sounding a little hurt. “How come he’s not with us anymore?”
I shook my head—I simply didn’t have a good answer.
“You’d have to ask him that, bro.”
* * * *
Family is weird.
They irritate you when they’re around; you miss them when they’re gone.
It wasn’t just Rhys who was unhappy about a family member tonight. I soon found Wester off in a corner of the roof by himself, sniffling into a pillow.
“What is it, bud,” I asked, sitting down beside him. “Don’t you like watching the meteors?”
“They’re good,” he said, in a quiet voice.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s Cherry’s birthday today,” he sniffled.
Rhys came over and sat down on Wester’s other side. “What’s wrong, Wes?”
“It’s his sister’s birthday today,” I explained.
“Then you need to look up,” said Rhys. “You need to look at the meteors, Wester.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because—somewhere—your sister is looking up at them, too.”
Wester peered up into the sky as an explosion of meteors arced to the west—one after another—a giant burst of light.
“See...there you go,” said Rhys, grinning. “Those were birthday candles to your sister.”
The skinny little boy with the messy dreads nodded his head, his tears drying up.
I looked over at my own brother and we shared a smile.
At that moment—I was so very, very proud of Rhys. If only our mom and dad could see what a good kid he was becoming, I know that they would be proud, too.
* * * *
But then there’s Kieran.
I cornered him in the pantry, when he came home later during the night. He was rooting through the boxes of supplies stored there, searching for snacks.
“Where’d you go?” I asked. “We saw you leave with Brandon?”
“Nowhere special,” he said. “Just around.”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
Kieran pulled out a box of vanilla wafers. “I’m taking these, okay?”
I pointed to the supply list Porter had posted on a nearby clipboard. “You need to write down what you take,” I told him. “That way Porter can keep track of how much food we have left.”
He sighed, making a big deal of it. “This is so stupid. Like we’re supposed to be free now and you guys are making it so annoying.”
“Really? Because I thought what we were doing was trying to keep us all alive.”
Kieran snatched the pen I was holding out and quickly jotted down a few lines on the clipboard. “There,” he said, thrusting the pen back at me. “Satisfied, Mr. Stick-up-your-ass?”
I took the pen but—at the same time—I grabbed his wrist and pulled him in close. He seemed shocked and almost dropped the box of wafers.
“Listen to me, you little pissant,” I hissed. “I’m getting sick and tired of your attitude. Now you want to hang out with Brandon, I’ll admit that I can’t do anything about that. But you do not bring this crap-attitude into this house around these other boys. It’s hard enough on them without having to deal with you dumbasses, too.”
“Frack you!” Kieran snarled, pulling his wrist back. “You’re not mom and dad!” He stalked out the door, giving me the finger as he went.
“You’re lucky I’m not,” I yelled after him, “because mom and dad would be so ashamed of you right now!”
Kieran froze in his tracks for just a moment—not turning around—then he caught himself and, stomping off, disappeared into the dark.
WHAT WE GOT AT PAVILIONS
It was just before noon of the next day that we heard the bell ringing.
Rhys was on watch and he raced downstairs to yell at us. “It’s not coming from where the Locals live. I think it’s farther down—near Pavilions!”
“Okay, we’re on it. Rhys, get back up and keep watch,” I ordered. “Porter, no offense, but you can’t ride a bike, so you’d just slow us down, man. You take Wester and Ethan and get them down to the guest house. You’re holding the fort down here.”
“Roger that.” Porter grabbed Wester and Ethan and—ignoring their pleas to be included—pulled them off into the backyard.
Meanwhile, Kieran, Brandon, Andrei, Ian, and I headed for the smaller of the garages. Inside were bicycles that could take us down Dume Drive a whole lot quicker than we could run.
* * * *
All told—from the ringing of the bell to arriving at Pavilions—it probably took us between five to seven minutes. When we arrived at the store, Ru and six of his guys were standing out front. One of the store’s windows had been broken and a kid was lying on the sidewalk, his left leg at an unnatural angle.
“What’s going on?” I asked, biking up to Ru.
A few of his guys raised their weapons toward us, but Ru immediately put out his hand to lower them. “Store got broken into last night. They beat up Connor and stole some stuff.”
I looked down at the kid on the sidewalk. He couldn’t have been more than twelve. His brown hair hung down over his forehead in sweaty strands and he was struggling not to cry.
It was weird because Ru’s guys were just hanging around, staring. No one seemed to be doing anything to help the kid.
“Are they still inside?” I asked.
Ru shook his head. “We didn’t find anyone. Looks like they stole some beer and a couple of cans of cranberry sauce, if you can believe that.”
I kept my face completely expressionless, but the hackles had just risen on the back of my neck.
“Why would someone steal cranberry sauce?” asked Kieran, innocently. “That’s just whack.”
“True that,” seconded Brandon.
“Was Connor the only one watching the store?” I asked.
Ru nodded.
That infuriated me. “He’s what—eleven, twelve? And you left him by himself to guard what’s basically the Fort Knox of food on this Point?!”
Around us, Ru’s guys began to grumble among themselves. One or two of them moved their hands for easier access to their weapons. Ru didn’t notice—or was simply ignoring them. “Tactical error,” he said. “Live and learn, I guess.”
“And the guys who did this? Any idea who it was? Are they still on the Point?”
Needless to say—I was pretty sure who was responsible and that they were standing right beside me.
Ru shook his head. “Josh saw five guys heading up the highway this morning. We figure it was probably them.”
“All right then,” I said. “If you don’t need us anymore, we’re going to head back home.”
“Thanks, man.” Ru held out his hand and we shook. “You honored the MOU…you’re all right.”
* * * *
As we turned to leave, Ru motioned to one of his guys.
“Joe,” he said, quietly. “Do it.”
A big guy—Joe was probably about seventeen—all grit and muscle. His chin bore the beginnings of a beard—a little soul patch of black hair. Something about him unsettled me and I stopped to watch. He pulled out a large handgun and walked over to Connor, the kid who was lying on the sidewalk.
“Oh crap,” I murmure
d.
Andrei and Ian were already riding back through the store’s parking lot. Brandon and Kieran, however, were still beside me.
“Dude,” said Brandon, shocked. “No way.”
“Are you kidding me?” whispered Kieran.
Joe cocked his weapon, aiming it at Connor’s head. The boy looked terrified and he burst into tears.
“Wait…wait!” I yelled, racing over and throwing myself forward until my body was half over the kid. “Stop! Just hold on, for God’s sake!”
I was worried that Joe would simply shoot right through me. Brandon and Kieran must have had the same concern because they brought their weapons up. In response, the boys around Ru reached for their own guns.
* * * *
“Put your guns down now!” ordered Ru. “And I mean everybody!”
One-by-one, his boys slowly lowered their weapons. “Dude,” Ru said to me, “it would help if your guys did the same.”
“Brandon, Kieran…put them down. Now!” Immediately, Brandon lowered his gun; Kieran, however, did not.
“Kieran, put your gun away!” I insisted, my body still leaning over Connor’s.
“Not until he does.” Kieran nodded toward Joe who—although it was lowered—still had his gun in his hand.
“Joe, back off,” ordered Ru.
Glaring at Kieran, Joe slowly backed away.
Kieran lowered his weapon in response.
I still didn’t move. Instead, I turned my head slightly, glancing down at Connor. “You okay, kid?”
The young boy looked terrified; there were tears and snot all over his face.
“Please don’t let them kill me,” he whispered.
* * * *
I left Brandon and Kieran to stand guard over Connor, while Ru and I had a quiet conversation on the other side of the parking lot. Meanwhile, Ru’s boys sat on top of a couple of cars, smoking cigarettes, talking—and watching us through careful eyes.
“It isn’t cruel when we can’t help him,” insisted Ru. “Connor’s like a racehorse who’s broken his leg. He’ll only suffer more.”
“So you’re just going to kill him?!” I was horrified.
“Put him out of his misery,” explained Ru. “It’s being humane.”
“It’s being insane,” I said. “Absolutely insane. You can’t just kill a kid because he’s broken his leg.”
“Then what do we do?” Ru asked. “Do we just leave him there in pain? Wait for him to die?”
“You take him home with you,” I insisted. “You help him get better. Try and fix his leg.”
Ru waved at his guys sitting on the cars nearby. A couple of them were punching each other, laughing at the pain they were inflicting. “Have you seen my tribe? You really think that there’s a doctor in that mix?”
“But you can’t just kill him!”
“Then there’s only one alternative that I can see,” Ru shrugged. “You take him. Because we sure as hell won’t.”
He waited for my answer.
Reluctantly—I nodded my head.
Ru slapped a hand on my shoulder, smiling. “Then it’s settled, my friend. Connor now belongs to your tribe.” Ru started to walk away, then suddenly turned back. “But one last thing.”
He came in close then, leaning over so he could talk to me confidentially. The smile on his face disappeared and he spoke quietly and very seriously. “You tell those two assholes over there,” he growled, pointing at Kieran and Brandon, “that the next time they break into my store—I’ll kill them. Are we clear?”
Crap!—Ru had known all along that it had been Kieran and Brandon who had broken into Pavilions.
He was never going to kill Connor.
I had just been played.
* * * *
It took us a long time to get Connor back to the house.
When Andrei and Ian realized that we weren’t following, they had circled back and returned to the parking lot. By that time, Ru and the rest of the Locals had already left.
It was just Brandon, Kieran, and me—standing over Connor.
The young boy was pale and sweaty—his body was trembling, and I was worried that he was going into shock.
“Is there any chance that you might have a wagon at the house?” I asked Ian. “Something that we can use to carry Connor?”
He nodded. “There might be one in the back garage.”
“Go get it and bring it back. And bring back Porter, too. Tell him to bring the first aid kit.”
Ian took off, biking fast. Andrei was right on his tail.
“What about using one of the shopping carts?” asked Kieran. I shook my head. “We need to keep him as flat as possible. It’d be better if it’s a wagon.”
“There’re some pallets over at the construction site across the street,” said Brandon. “What if we take one of those and put it on top of the wagon? Then we can put the kid over top of that.”
“That’s actually a good idea,” I said. “Why don’t you and Kieran go and get one that’s nice and flat? And bring back some boards to make a splint.”
As they turned and ran off, I knelt down beside the shaking kid. “I’m Jacob, by the way. We haven’t been formally introduced.”
“Connor,” he said, holding up a small hand. I shook it gently. His fingers were cold and sweaty.
“What happened, Connor?” I asked. “Do you remember?”
He nodded. “I was hiding in the store—in the produce section. It was dark and these two guys came in and, when I came out and told them to stop, the big one rushed at me and hit me in the leg with something.”
“Do you know what he hit you with?”
Connor shook his head. “Maybe a baseball bat…maybe a shotgun.”
“Did you see their faces?”
He shook his head again. “It was too dark.”
Well, thank god for that, at least.
* * * *
“Holy crap,” whispered Porter.
Ian had just ridden him to Pavilions in record time—Porter sitting awkwardly on the bike’s handlebars. He was standing beside me now, looking down at the young kid trembling on the ground.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
“I need some time,” said Porter. He motioned to Ian, who handed over the first aid pack on his back. Porter unzipped it and pulled out a thick black medical book. “I need some time,” he said again, this time to Connor. “Sorry, dude, but I need to figure this out.”
And—he walked a little ways away to sit on a nearby bench and read.
On the ground, Connor nodded, gritting his teeth against the pain. Sighing, I sat down beside him. “Hey,” I said, quietly.
“Hey,” he said back.
“Porter’s amazing,” I assured him. “You’ll see. Second smartest kid I’ve ever met.”
“Who’s the smartest?” Connor asked.
“Little brown girl named Jay.” I smiled down at him. “Sorry, bro, but she’s not around.”
He nodded, understanding.
“I miss girls,” Connor sighed. “They make everything so much better.”
“Yeah,” I said. “They do.”
* * * *
Five minutes later, Porter returned and kneeled next to Connor.
“Okay,” he said, tapping the big black book he was holding. “I’ve read up on broken legs in the “Merck Manual”. First thing I’ve got to do is take a look…ready?”
Connor nodded, gritting his teeth.
Using a big pair of scissors from the first aid kit, Porter cut into Connor’s jeans. As he did, Brandon and Kieran came over—fascinated by the sight of the open wound.
Connor’s leg was pale white, the ankle tinged with blue. His shin was obviously broken, because a piece of jagged bone stuck out at an angle from the ripped flesh.
“Make him drink this,” ordered Porter—handing me a small bottle of vodka.
“How old are you?” I asked Connor, pretending to be serious.
“Eleven,” he answered. “Last mont
h.”
“Old enough.”
I tilted the bottle of alcohol toward his mouth, forcing him to drink. Connor sputtered, the vodka bubbling up over his lips.
“Dude,” advised Brandon, standing beside me. “Slow down or you’re going to drown him.”
When I glared up at Brandon, he quickly held up his hands. “Never mind.”
“This is a compound fracture,” explained Porter to all of us. “That means we really need to stabilize his leg as much as possible before we even try to move him.”
“How do we do that?” I asked.
“Well…that’s going to be the challenge.”
* * * *
“Brandon has to do it,” insisted Porter. “He’s the strongest. It only makes sense.”
“Plus it will be ironic,” I added.
Porter looked confused, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he motioned Brandon forward, indicating where he should put his hands. The big guy didn’t move—just stood there, staring down.
“Grab Connor’s leg, Brandon,” I ordered. “Porter’s told you what to do. Now come on!”
Brandon shook his head. “It will hurt him.”
I stood up—facing him. Brandon was taller than me, but I still went nose-to-nose, leaning up on my toes. “Are you kidding me?!” I snarled, my finger right in his face. “You’re afraid of hurting an 11-year old kid...now?!”
Kieran reached out and touched me on the shoulder, trying to calm me down. I immediately turned on him, too. “Don’t even, you stupid dumbass! You are just as much to blame and you know it!”
Startled, Kieran slowly backed away.
On the ground below us, Connor began to groan. He had blacked out a few moments ago—the alcohol finally taking effect.
