by Nancy Isaak
He jumped up and ran off, dragging both backpacks behind him.
Rhys and Kieran chuckled among themselves.
“I hear Andrei’s really good at science,” I said.
Suddenly…Ian sat up even straighter. “Whoa—is that what I think it is?!” He was pointing toward the waves, off to the right. “Ohmigod!” he cried, jumping up in his excitement. “There are two more!”
Rhys, Kieran, and I rose up to look.
Just ocean—undulating, empty, endless.
And then…we saw them.
* * * *
We could easily hear them from shore. Their spouts were a noisy whoosh of spray—dozens of them blowing at any one time.
It had to have been the biggest pod of gray whales that I’d ever seen in my life. They were incredibly close to shore—at least fifty bulls, cows, and calves—slowly making their way north along the coastline.
We stood there for a good five minutes, watching them lunge up and down—dark gray curves of semi-prehistoric grace, massive and gleaming, slicing through the water. The adults swam straight—one-after-another—barely breaching the surface at times. At others, they swept upward and out of the water—giant torpedoes of power—slamming back with a force that created enormous towers of spray.
It was the calves, however, who truly entertained us—with their breaches and belly-flops, their slapping of flukes. They moved among the adults—like children everywhere—quick, mischievous, annoying.
Except for one.
* * * *
“He knows we’re here,” I said, my mouth open, in awe.
“What’s he doing?” asked Ethan.
“It’s called spyhopping,” I explained. “I’ve heard about it—but I’ve never seen it before.”
“He’s looking at us,” added Kieran. “Studying us.”
Directly opposite from where we were standing—fifty yards back in the ocean—a young gray whale had risen vertically out of the water. His head and shoulders (so to speak) were exposed and it looked as if he was treading water—although I knew from a 9th grade science lesson that he was balancing on his body’s natural buoyancy.
But Kieran was right; the young whale’s attention was completely on us.
Ethan ran forward—heading straight for the water. “Hello!” he yelled, waving. “Hello!”
As if in response, the whale sank quickly down—his head disappearing beneath the ocean. Then, just as quickly, it lunged upward—breaching the water and flopping back down in a giant SLAP!
Down at the water’s edge, Ethan laughed and danced with glee.
* * * *
“They’ve lost their greatest predator,” said Kieran, as we walked home from the beach in the late afternoon. “That has to be why there’s so many. No whalers anymore, no nets.”
“And did you notice when we surfed,” asked Brandon, “how many more fish there were?”
“It’s changing,” I said. “The ocean…it’s repairing itself.”
“Maybe that’s why everyone’s disappeared,” suggested Andrei.
We all stopped and looked at him. He shrugged, looking a little self-conscious.
“It’s like when we got sick,” he explained. “Porter had to find the right medicine to cure us. Well, maybe the world got sick. And, maybe, the only way to cure it was to get rid of what was making it sick.”
Brandon burst out in laughter. He reached out and shoved Andrei, almost sending the kid to the ground. “Bleeding heart, left wing pansy-ass,” he snorted. “Boo-hoo-hoo!”
He walked on, chuckling to himself.
The rest of us followed him more slowly—wondering.
* * * *
When we got back to the house, Porter and Connor had already returned. They were in the backyard, grilling some Spam and potatoes for supper. As the others scattered for their rooms, I walked outside to talk. “How’d it go at Ru’s?”
“It’s weird,” said Porter. “They’re still all worked up about Joe disappearing. Some of the guys have left these cards and flowers inside of the cage—like a memorial.”
“It’s a little creepy,” agreed Connor. “Nobody even liked Joe. Not really. We all just put up with him. He was kind of like our…our—”
“Brandon?” I asked.
He nodded. “I know that’s bad to say, but Joe was mean. And he liked hurting people. Not just the big kill-someone-kind-of-thing—but in little ways, too. Tripping you when you walked by—slapping you hard and saying it’s a joke, that sort of thing.”
“Yup. That’s Brandon,” I agreed.
“Ru seems pretty broken up about it, though,” said Porter. “Although I got the sense that it’s more because he’s lost one of his guys, than because Ru liked Joe. Like it was Ru’s responsibility because he couldn’t protect him. Couldn’t save him.”
“Are they going to take down the cage?” I asked.
Porter shook his head. “They’ve got two more guys who’ll be turning eighteen next month. Both of them have asked to be put in the cage.” He shrugged. “Got to have hope, right?”
I nodded my agreement, then turned to Connor. “How’d it go for you? Feel better now.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “Of course—no offense to the recently departed—it helps not having to worry about Joe gunning for me.”
“You talked to Ru, though?”
“We talked,” Connor nodded. “He said that he was just trying to save me—that he would never have let Joe kill me.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I think he wants to believe it,” Connor said. “But I also think that Joe would have gone through with it.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “I do, too.”
JOURNAL ENTRY #22
When I first started writing about what was happening, I did it because of Mom.
Because I knew it would have been important to her that someone wrote it all down—to bear witness. I felt stupid writing in the beginning—completely incompetent and not up to the challenge.
Sometimes, it seemed like such a massive waste of time.
But I didn’t stop—I haven’t stopped.
And now ‘it’ has happened.
The first couple of months, I never would have believed it but—now—I’ve discovered that I love writing. I don’t mean, just a little.
I mean—I love writing.
Without a doubt—it is the thing that I was meant to do with my life.
How ironic.
A writer—and his only readers will be gone in less than a decade.
* * * *
Tomorrow is Kieran’s fifteenth birthday.
I was thinking that I might read a few of my pages—as my gift. Then I realized what an insane idea that would be.
Can you imagine what Brandon would say? What he’d do?
The laughing, the joking, the taunting.
Instead, Kieran will get the box of hair products that I’ve been scavenging from around the Point.
He’ll probably like that better anyway.
KIERAN TURNS FIFTEEN
Just for fun, we decided to have a Black Tie dinner for Kieran’s birthday.
It would have been almost impossible back in Agoura Hills. But here on the Point—it was remarkably easy to find tuxes for each of us. Having scavenged through so many of the mansions, we already knew what was in all of the closets.
And having Porter’s spreadsheet made it simple.
* * * *
Kieran, being the guest of honor, got the first pick.
He chose a baby blue tux with tails from the closet of a famous action film star. The shirt he wore underneath was pink, with massive ruffles, and he fastened his sleeves with enormous diamond cufflinks.
Kieran still wore his manliner—adding a teardrop at the corner of each eye. And his hair was pulled back into a row of ponytails—six of them—going straight down the center of his head.
“Dude!” Rhys exclaimed when Kieran entered the dining room. “You look like you belong in one of
those old eighties music videos!”
Instead of taking offense, Kieran was delighted. He lifted up the ebony cane he was carrying, tipping it to his head in acknowledgement.
The rest of us were dressed relatively normal—basic tuxes, although Wester’s had a long tail and Ian was wearing a top hat. Mine was a little too long in the pants, but I’d turned up the cuffs to make it wearable.
All-in-all—we were a good-looking bunch of guys.
* * * *
I wish we could take a picture of us,” said Kieran.
“And tweet it,” added Brandon. “We could call it “Studs in Duds”. I bet it’d go viral.”
He moved off with Kieran into a corner of the room, discussing breaking the internet and upping their likes through SEO. I watched them go—not at all appreciating the way that Brandon placed his arm around Kieran’s shoulder.
Porter came over to stand beside me. “Don’t make it so obvious,” he said, quietly. “You look like you just sucked on a lemon.”
Checking to see that no one could overhear, I leaned in to talk quietly to him. “Do you think that—um—”
I couldn’t say it out loud. Porter, thankfully, knew where I was going. “That they’re a couple?”
“I’m not a bigot,” I said. “If my brother is gay—that’s his business. But Brandon—that’s my problem.”
Porter shook his head. “I don’t think either of them is gay. But I also don’t think that will make a difference to Brandon. Sooner or later, he’s going to try something with Kieran…guaranteed.”
“So, how do I help my brother?” I groaned. “He’s still so caught up in this stupid bromance of his. It’s like he doesn’t see what a piece of crap Brandon is.”
“Or he does and he’s just ignoring it.”
“But why would he do that? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I don’t know,” said Porter. “Maybe because—with Brandon—Kieran feels special. With you, he’s just the little brother who’s always making dumb mistakes.”
“Because he is always making dumb mistakes!” I grumbled.
“And you always point them out. I think it makes him feel like—less of a man, you know.”
“So, what? I’m just supposed to ignore when he’s acting like a dumbass?” I growled, a little too forcefully.
Porter quickly put his hands up. “Dude, I’m just giving an opinion. Take it or leave it.”
* * * *
I knew that the thing with Brandon was fast coming to a head.
He was disappearing for days at a time now—never mentioning when he was leaving or explaining where he had been when he returned. Instead, he would just suddenly be there—a smug look on his face like he had this big secret. I knew that he was up to something.
I just didn’t know what—yet.
* * * *
Kieran’s birthday dinner was actually a lot of fun.
Porter and Connor had made a paella—using fish that we’d caught that morning just off of Little Dume. Ian and Andrei had even managed to dig up some canned clams, while Wester and Ethan had harvested mussels from the rocks.
It all had gone into the pot.
For dessert, I had visited the house with all the gourmet food, bringing back two large rum-soaked fruit cakes and a carton of chocolate bars. The chocolate was a hit—the fruit cake, less so.
After dinner, we trooped two houses down. Carrying candles and lanterns, we made our way through a myriad of rooms and into the basement, where the owners had installed a combination pool hall/bowling alley.
Rhys was beside himself with excitement.
We spent a good three hours there—a double tournament.
The best pool player—Brandon.
The best bowler—Andrei.
* * * *
Halfway through the bowling tournament, I noticed Brandon and Kieran heading up the stairs. I found it suspicious that they had waited until it was my turn and I wondered if it had been on purpose.
“Where are they going?” I asked Connor. He was sitting behind a small desk, keeping track of everyone’s scores.
“Bathroom, I think.”
“Good idea,” I said, jumping at the excuse. “I’ll be back in a minute. If my turn comes up, you can play my ball.”
“I’m not any good,” he complained in a whiny voice.
“It’s just bowling,” I responded, smacking him lightly on top of his head. “It’s not like it’s the end of the world, dude.”
We shared a quick chuckle over that.
* * * *
It was easy to find Brandon and my brother.
All I had to do was follow my nose.
They had installed themselves in a room on the second level—a bedroom with large windows that looked out over the back lawn. Kieran was sitting on a chair, tilted back against the wall, while Brandon sat on the window ledge, looking outside.
As I peeked around the open doorway, I saw that they were sharing a joint. On a table in front of them—barely visible in the sparse light from a single candle—was a plastic bag filled with marijuana.
“Man, we should have brought some beer up with us,” groaned Brandon. “I’m gonna’ get cotton mouth from this stuff.”
Kieran took a hit from the joint in his hand, drawing in the smoke and holding it. Then, he slowly exhaled—passing the joint to Brandon. “Smooth,” drawled Kieran. “Where’d you get it?”
“Trade secret,” grinned Brandon. Using a foot, he pushed the bag of weed over to Kieran. “Happy birthday, bro.”
“Seriously?!” Kieran picked up the bag, studying it. “There’s a lot here. Looks prime, too. I don’t see a single stem.”
“Don’t worry about it. There’s more where that came from,” Brandon yawned. “Or would you rather have more hair product?”
They both burst into hyper-giggling.
Feeling my cheeks go red from embarrassment, I slowly drew back, retreating the way I had come.
* * * *
Because I didn’t know how long I’d have—I moved fast.
It wasn’t easy running in the dark but—somehow—I made it from the bowling alley house to Brandon and Kieran’s guest house in less than five minutes. I had taken a couple of good tumbles along the way but, luckily, my tux hadn’t ripped. Certainly, it was covered in dirt and brambles, but I’d worry about how to explain that on my way back.
Right now—I wanted to get into that guest house.
I’m not really sure what I was expecting to find. If it was proof that Brandon was supplying my brother with drugs—well, I already knew that, didn’t I?
Truthfully—I think I just needed to know what Brandon was up to, what he was doing on those days when he disappeared. There was something nefarious going on with him and I was determined to discover it.
* * * *
The front door of the guest house was locked, but I found an open window at the back. It was higher up—leading into the bathroom—and I had to stand on the patio wall to reach it. As I shimmied through the small opening, I had a sudden fear that I would become stuck. In an hour or two, Brandon and Kieran would come walking home, only to discover my butt sticking out—my legs, no doubt, chewed off by some passing mountain lion.
Thankfully—with some wiggling and more than a little cursing—I managed to squeeze through the opening. It was tight and I lost one of my tux’s buttons along the way—but I made it inside, sliding down and landing on the edge of the bathtub.
* * * *
The smell was disgusting!
As I stepped gingerly from the bathtub to the floor, I realized that one or both of the guys were using the tub and the toilet to relieve themselves. A mixture of urine and feces was spattered in both. It had been going on long enough that a good two inches of filth layered the bottom of the bathtub. Meanwhile, the toilet was close to overflowing.
Holding my breath, I quickly moved out of the room.
* * * *
It was difficult to see in the dark.
&n
bsp; I had brought a small tea candle with me, but its light barely reached the corners of the room. Unfortunately, I didn’t dare use a lantern. Anything brighter and someone might notice.
Considering the state of the bathroom, I was surprised to find the living room in good condition. There was no trash anywhere, and when I ran my fingertip across the top of a cabinet, it came back clean—no dust.
The kitchen was similarly clean and tidy.
Dishes were washed and put away. And when I opened the drawers and cabinets, I found cans of food—all stacked, their labels facing outward.
Even the fridge was clean. I had held my nose when I opened its door, expecting to be greeted by rotting fruit and vegetables.
But it was empty.
* * * *
Kieran’s bedroom was not quite as neat and clean as the kitchen and living room. But it wasn’t in bad condition either. His bed had been made and the superhero comics he was reading were placed in a stack on his night table.
There was a pile of dirty clothes in the corner and dust bunnies were breeding under his bed. But, other than that—his room was clean.
Literally and figuratively.
* * * *
