by Nancy Isaak
And that’s when their tribe knew that Mateo was right.
The only way to remain on earth was to take a soul.
And the only way to take a soul?
Consume it.
* * * *
“You realize that everything you’re telling me is stupid?” I told Quentin.
He was seated in his spot—handcuffed to the filing cabinet. I had just brought in a bottle of water and some cookies and he was munching away happily.
“It’s true,” he said, biting into an oatmeal cookie. “I’ve seen it happen. The ones who don’t eat disappear.”
“On their eighteenth birthday?”
“Exactly.” He nodded.
“And how do you know it was their birthday?” I asked.
“Pardon?”
“These guys who turned eighteen. Did they show you their driver’s license?”
“No.” Quentin shook his head, reaching one-handed for the bottle of water. He took a long drink, then burped. “But why would they lie?”
“Dude,” I said, “are you really that naïve? They lie because they’re eating people, man!”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“What doesn’t make any sense is that you honestly believe that you can eat someone’s soul?” I practically shouted at him. “Do you seriously not see how wrecked that is?!”
“Mateo said that—”
“Mateo said!” I interrupted. “Bud, the guy is manipulating you! He’s using your religion or your superstition or whatever it is to control you guys.”
Quentin shook his head. “No, you’re wrong,” he insisted. “You’re gonna’ see, too.”
“And how is that?”
“I’ve got a birthday coming. Turning eighteen in two days.” He thought about that, frowning. “No, maybe one day…or three.”
“And you think you’re going to stick around, even though you’re turning eighteen?”
“Because I ate the soul.” He held a cookie up to me, emphasizing the point. “And guess what?”
“What?” I sighed, giving up.
He grinned. “Souls taste like chicken.”
THE SLAVES
“They’re here!”
I raced to the window. Sure enough, Ru’s guys were coming up the drive. I counted quickly—seven of our guys and five strangers.
They were moving slowly—and there was blood.
* * * *
Connor and I both raced outside. Ru was struggling—half-carrying, half-dragging a skinny 10-year old toward the house. The boy was wearing a pair of dirty sweatpants and a ripped hoodie and there was blood over both of them. Ru was weaving badly, and the kid was struggling to stay conscious.
“Give him to me,” I told Ru, reaching for the boy.
I placed one arm under his legs and the other under his shoulders. He was lighter than I expected, relaxing into my arms and leaning his head onto my shoulder.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, thank you.”
He kept whispering those words over and over—all the way into the house.
It broke my heart—and made me very angry.
* * * *
Because we didn’t know how many guys Ru’s people might be bringing back, Connor and I had simply made up every bed in the house. There were six bedrooms with a total of ten beds—one California King, seven Queens, and one bunk bed.
I carried the kid into the room with the California King and laid him gently on one side of the bed. As Connor rushed in to check on him, Ru sank onto a chair in a corner—exhausted.
“Tell me none of our guys got hurt,” I told him.
“None of our guys got hurt,” he yawned.
“Seriously?”
Ru nodded, yawning again. “Well—not true exactly. Some bumps and bruises but nothing to worry about.”
“How many slaves did you rescue?”
“All of them,” he grinned, giving me a thumbs-up.
* * * *
Connor pulled a thermometer from the kid’s mouth, then placed a blood pressure cuff around his arm. There was a stethoscope around his neck and Connor used it now, while he pumped up the pressure cuff.
“When did you learn how to do that?” I asked, impressed.
“Porter and I figured it out a couple of weeks ago. It’s not that hard once you know what you’re listening for.” As he undid the cuff, Connor turned and looked at Ru. “I don’t see any cuts on you.”
Ru shook his head. “I got lucky.”
“So, where did all the blood come from?”
Looking down at his bloody clothes, Ru shrugged. “Not worth discussing.”
“The guards?” I asked.
He nodded. “Idiots wouldn’t surrender and they wouldn’t give up the guys. So stupid—they chose option three.”
I looked over at the kid on the bed. Connor was using antiseptic to clean off his cuts. The boy’s eyes, meanwhile, were struggling to stay open.
“Go to sleep,” I told him. “You’re safe with us.”
His lips turned up slightly, then relaxed completely as he closed his eyes and—almost instantaneously—fell asleep.
“Have the rest of the guys gone back to the Point?” I asked, turning back to Ru.
But he didn’t answer—Ru was asleep, too.
I reached out and poked him slightly. He groaned a little, but didn’t wake.
Moving slowly, I maneuvered my arm under his, lifting him off of the chair. He didn’t struggle, didn’t even open his eyes. Placing my other arm around his back, I dragged him two feet over to the bed and angled him down, so that he fell back—onto the mattress, his head gently hitting the pillow.
Connor and I left the two of them there—side-by-side—snoring away.
* * * *
I found Frank Gornman on the other side of the house.
He was sitting in a chair by the window—staring—not outside, but off into space. I hadn’t noticed him previously, when the guys were walking up the drive—because his hair was gone.
Frank was completely bald now, his head covered in thin red cuts, some still seeping blood.
Like the others who had been rescued, Frank was extremely thin. His collarbones stuck out and his face was drawn and skull-like. If I hadn’t known that Frank was seventeen, I would have sworn that I was looking at a 50-year old man.
“Hey, buddy,” I said, quietly, pulling up a chair and sitting down across from him. I had brought him a bottle of water and held it out.
Frank turned slowly toward me, his eyes distant and unfocused. His hand reached for the water but then—as if the distance was too far—he pulled his hand back again.
Quickly, I leaned over and placed the water bottle directly in his hand. He didn’t resist and I helped him to lift it to his mouth. Frank took a small sip, then another—then began to drink greedily.
“Hold on, Frank,” I said, pulling the bottle back. “You don’t want to drink too fast or you’ll make yourself sick.”
His eyes seemed to focus at the sound of my words. He turned toward me—really looking at me this time. “Jacob?”
“Hey, Frank,” I said.
Tears swam into his eyes; he began to sob. “They beat him, Jacob. They beat Denny and then they made me throw him away. I didn’t want to do it, but even Denny said I should. He said at least one of us had to survive. So, we could tell.”
“I know, Frank…I’m sorry.”
“They left him by the side of the road—like he was garbage. They made us walk away. I tried to go back. I swear to God—but they had chains around our necks…and they tied us to the horses. They dragged us away and, every time I looked back, Denny was just smaller and smaller and then—he was gone.”
He put his head in his hands, sobbing, shoulders heaving in despair.
“I’m so sorry, Frank.”
“Like a piece of garbage!” he cried. “Denny died like a piece of garbage at the side of the road…he died all alone!”
I put a hand out, touc
hing him gently on his back. “Denny died on Zuma Beach, Frank. He died looking at the waves and the blue sky. And he didn’t die alone. Denny died in the arms of people who cared about him.”
Frank looked up at me then, a sudden hope flaring at the back of his eyes. “He wasn’t alone?”
I shook my head. “Ru’s guys found him…Denny was with friends.”
* * * *
Frank fell asleep soon after our conversation—exhausted and mumbling.
Carefully, I steered him toward a bed and helped him lie down. He felt so insubstantial in my arms—a shadow of his former self.
I tucked the sheets around him, noting the blood that dribbled from one of his head cuts onto the pillowcase. Making a mental note to ask Connor to bandage the wound up, I slowly withdrew from the room, closing the door behind me.
* * * *
Pauly was in the kitchen, chewing on a piece of beef jerky. I walked by him to the cupboard, reaching in for more bottles of water.
“Making the rounds, are you?” he asked.
“Just making sure everyone’s comfortable,” I answered. “How are you, by the way?”
He shrugged. “Could do with a burger. Other than that, I’m fine.”
“I’ve got some fish and rice left in my pack. It’s yours if you want.”
“Nah,” he shook his head. “I’ll wait until we hit Burger King on the way back.”
We both chuckled at that.
“How’d it go down?” I asked, after a moment.
“Pretty gnarly,” he admitted. “We got the guys on the horses first. One ran off, but two of them fought us pretty bad.”
“Are they dead?” I asked.
“Pretty sure,” he said. “But we got the horses. Josh and a couple of others took them down Kanan-Dume to our place. We were gonna’ use them to carry the sick guys here, but Ru was worried that the Crazies might follow their hoof prints.”
“That was smart of him to think of that.”
Pauly nodded. “After we took down the guys on the horses, we joined up with the second wave. They were already at the camp.”
“Ru said that the guards didn’t give up easily.”
“They didn’t give up at all,” he said. “Ru tried to give them a chance, but the dudes just came out blasting. We didn’t have no choice but to cut them down. Then this one Crazy—he comes at Ru with the machete. It was whacked, no lie.”
“But you got the slaves out.”
“Yeah, but you should of seen it,” he said, shaking his head, remembering. “It was beyond ridiculous. They had these guys all chained to their beds and there’s piss and crap everywhere. And—on one bed—there’s this dead body. Like it’s been dead for a week but nobody thought to unchain it and bury it.”
He took a big bite of his jerky, chewing at it furiously. “When we ran in, all these guys—they’re scrambling back, pulling at their chains, like they’re scared we’re there to kill them.”
“What did you do?”
“Me…I didn’t do nothing. I just stood there. It was Ru who calmed them down. Dude went to each of them—one after another—and introduced himself. Said I know I look scary because of this tattoo on my face, and I know my guys look scary but you gotta’ know—we’re the good guys and we’re here to take you to a safe place. And then Ru asks them—real politely-like—would they please like to come with us.”
* * * *
Ru found me outside, just before dusk. I was sitting behind a wall, watching the road below. “Any movement?” he asked, crouching down beside me.
“Over there,” I pointed. “Far end of the valley. I’m not sure but I think I saw a couple of guys moving through the trees.”
“Coming in our direction?”
“No,” I shook my head. “Looks like they were heading toward Kanan-Dume.”
“Good,” he said. “I had a couple of my guys leave a trail in that direction—heading up toward Agoura. I was hoping that they might take the bait.”
“How’s everyone doing?”
“Most are still asleep,” he said. “I’ll have someone come out and relieve you in a bit.”
“No rush.”
“By the way,” Ru said. “I found this in the office. Locked up tight to the handle, just like we’d left it. One side was empty, though.”
He held up a pair of handcuffs.
My mouth dropped open. “Holy crap,” I muttered. “Dude hit eighteen chained to a filing cabinet.”
“I guess ‘eating of the flesh’ didn’t work so well for Quentin,” grinned Ru. “Serves him right, dumbass cannibal!”
* * * *
We stayed in that house for five days.
Part of the wait was to let the rescued guys recover. The other reason, however, was that the Crazies were out there—searching through the hills. Luckily, they focused their efforts on the other side of the valley.
If they had turned our way, however, we were prepared to run.
* * * *
Frank joined me for breakfast on the second day.
He was already looking better; Connor had put a salve on his head wounds and they’d finally stopped seeping blood. His face also seemed a little less pale and his eyes were focused and clear.
“How’d you get those cuts on your head, Frank?” I asked, as he sat down across from me.
“One of the guards had this whip—like a cat o’nine tails. Guy liked to hit us in the head with it,” he explained. “Dude said he liked the way it flicked around our faces.”
“It’s a horror story, you know,” I said, shaking my head, “what you guys went through.”
He nodded. “You know we were set up, right?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, confused.
For a moment, he didn’t answer—as if he was considering how to explain something difficult to me. “Some of the guys,” he finally began, pointing to the bedrooms behind us, “the ones who saved us—they said that you’ve been living with Brandon Keretsky.”
“He was part of my tribe until a couple of weeks ago. But he did something—bad—and we sent him away.”
Frank nodded. “He came after one of your guys, didn’t he?”
I looked at him, shocked.
“That’s why we booted him out of our tribe,” he continued, “back up in Agoura Hills. Caught the bastard going at one of our little ones—kid about seven. We chased Brandon off, but he came back, shooting. Lucky for us, he’s no great shot. Denny got him somewhere in the arm or shoulder and he ran away. That was the last we’d seen of him…or so we thought.”
“My god,” I whispered. “We took him in. Brandon said that Mateo’s people had shot him.”
“He was lying,” said Frank. “It was Denny. That’s why he came back after us.”
“But I thought it was Mateo’s guys who took you and Denny.”
“They did,” Frank nodded. “But you know it was Brandon who gave the order, right? He was the one who told them where we were.”
“What?!”
“You didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
“Brandon—he’s in charge of Mateo’s tribe now…Dude’s running the show.”
“For how long?”
“Couple of months now. Way I heard it, Keretsky—he shows up and challenges Mateo to some kind of knife fight. Brandon uses that karate of his and wins and he’s the big boss suddenly.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” I insisted. “Brandon was with us a couple of months ago.”
“Well, I can’t speak to that,” said Frank. “All I know is what I heard.”
But—then I remembered.
A couple of months ago—Brandon showing up after one of his disappearances.
His neck had been cut and he had looked so incredibly self-satisfied. I even remember thinking at the time that he had definitely been up to no good.
“There’s something else you gotta’ know, Jacob,” said Frank.
I wasn’t certain that I wanted to know anythin
g else.
“What is it?”
“Dude is gunning for you, now,” he warned. “Brandon says he’s going to kill you.”
JUNE
JOURNAL ENTRY #26
After dinner today, Ru asked if we could have a man-to-man, so we both grabbed a bottle of water and headed out onto the hillside. There was a wooded area a little ways down the ridgeline and it was the perfect place to talk—private, but with a view of anyone coming our way.
Ru and I sat down on a fallen tree. It was dusk and we were aimed toward Agoura Hills. I pointed vaguely in that direction. “That’s where I’m from.”
“My home,” Ru said, pointing in the opposite direction. “Where the smog used to be.”
I looked toward Santa Monica. Ru was right. The air was completely clear, the sky a brilliant blue, turning dusky with the lowering sun.
“That’s so odd,” I commented. “I’ve never seen the Los Angeles area without a cloud of smog overhead. Even on a windy day, it’s always got like this big haze.”
Ru grinned. “It’s kind of amazing how much better the earth is becoming without humanity, isn’t it?”
Sadly, I had to agree.
* * * *
“I want to talk to you about what happened at the Fire Camp,” said Ru.
“Pauly already told me a lot of it,” I said. “About the guards not giving up and you guys having to…well…kill them.”
Ru bit his lip, looking away. “Yeah, well,” he murmured. “That’s what we need to talk about in particular.”
“The killing?”
“Pauly.”
