by Nancy Isaak
* * * *
“He didn’t come with us from Santa Monica,” explained Ru. “We picked Pauly up in December—on one of our trips down near City Hall. A couple of the guys wanted to go down into the Malibu Colony on the beach—where some of the really rich people live—take a look at their houses, scavenge around. You know how that goes.”
I nodded. “It’s fun seeing how the other half lives.”
“Exactly,” said Ru. “And Pauly comes from the other half. His family owns one of those huge houses on the beach that comes with its own pool even though the ocean is right outside their front door.”
Down below, a herd of deer suddenly came into view. We were quiet for a moment, not wanting to scare them. There were three does, each with fawns, and a giant buck.
“It’s so ridiculous,” whispered Ru, leaning toward me. “The Crazies—eating people. I mean, there’s wild game everywhere these days.”
“Connor says that it’s because society is breaking down,” I whispered back.
“I don’t know,” he continued. “I think maybe it’s something else. I mean—haven’t you always wondered why some people can do such incredibly horrible things when other people wouldn’t even think about doing them?”
“Before my parents got married, my mom used to be an investigative reporter and she traveled to all these third world countries. She said that some of the things that men do are beyond comprehension—her words, not mine. So, she came up with a way of explaining them. She said that helped her deal with it better.”
“What’s that?”
“My mom says that there aren’t just men and women in the world. She says that there are men and there are women—and then there are rabid beasts disguised as men and women. She says that they’re the ones who do all the horrible things. And she says that they should be put down like the rabid beasts they are.”
Ru grinned. “I like your mom.”
“She’s pretty special,” I admitted.
Our voices must have been too loud, because one of the does looked up and caught sight of us. Spooked, she flicked her tail and stamped her hoof on the ground. Immediately, all of the other deer went rigid, their noses up, searching for the threat.
Moments later, they were gone.
“So—back to Pauly,” I suggested.
Ru took a deep breath before continuing. “We found Pauly in his family’s beach mansion. He was scared, but trying to be tough, you know—holding a gun on us and telling us to get out of the Colony.”
“What happened?”
“Well, Joe wanted to kill him,” said Ru.
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“But I told the guys to head back out to the gate. You know, the one that keeps all the lowlifes like us out.”
I nodded—knowing exactly what he was talking about.
The Malibu Colony is a gated community on the beach in the center of the city. It’s accessed through one road—and an armed security post. Inside the Colony are the homes of some of the biggest movie stars and richest industrialists.
I’d been in there once, at a bar mitzvah for the son of my dad’s boss. The bizarre thing was—it wasn’t even the guy’s real home. The family just used it when they went to the beach. Their real home was up in the canyons, on top of one of the hills (hmm—I wonder if it’s this one). And—when they didn’t use their Colony home, they rented it out—at $20,000.00 a month!!
“When it was just me and Pauly,” Ru continued, “we sat down on the curb and talked—just like we’re doing now. I told him that I understood that he was protecting his home, but he had to realize that the world had changed. We would give him proper respect and not scavenge his house and the ones on either side. But everything else, I told him—we were going into. Then I told him that he could either join us and be part of my tribe or he could continue on by himself.”
“And he chose to be with you guys.”
Ru nodded. “Went back into his house, packed up a few things, grabbed some guns and left—just like that. Never looked back. And he’s been a good part of our tribe ever since. Always ready to protect it. Good with a gun. Not lazy or—sorry—stupid, like some of the guys.”
“I like Pauly,” I said.
“I like him, too,” said Ru. “But that doesn’t change what he did down at the Fire Camp.”
“What did he do?”
“Pauly was telling the truth when he said that the guards didn’t give up,” said Ru. “They came out of that cabin shooting. One of their guys even had a submachine gun.”
“Connor and I heard a lot of gun shots.”
“That would have been him,” Ru nodded. “We thought that there were only three guys in the cabin, but there were actually five. You heard about the one who came at me with the machete, right?”
I nodded.
“That was brutal,” he said, looking down at the ground. He shook his head, grimly, remembering. “I want you to understand this because it’s important. That kid with the machete—no more than fourteen, maybe fifteen—and I put my gun right up to his chest and I took his life away. I literally shot him in the heart.”
“It doesn’t seem like you had any choice, Ru.”
“I don’t think I did either,” he agreed. “But it was the single worst moment of my whole life. In my head, I understand that it was self-defense. But in my heart—in my soul—it’s like I killed a little of myself right along with the kid.”
“Ru,” I said, quietly. “Dude—you know that you did the right thing.”
He nodded; then, he took a deep breath. “But there’s something else…someone else.”
“At the Fire Camp?”
“There was another kid inside the cabin—another guard we didn’t know was there. He came out with his hands up and Pauly saw him before any of us. And he cut him down—just lifted his gun and shot him dead.”
“Maybe he didn’t realize that the kid was surrendering,” I suggested.
“He knew,” said Ru.
“How can you be so sure? Pauly said that it got pretty gnarly.”
“Because he thought it was funny,” said Ru, shaking his head. “Pauly laughed when the kid went down.”
* * * *
Ru wants me to keep a watch on Pauly.
And not just him—some of the other guys, too. He’s worried that they might enjoy killing too much.
That it might just become a game for them.
THE KING LIVES
We waited until three in the morning—hoping that the Crazies would be less active at that time—then rushed down Encinal, carrying two of the rescued still too weak to move quickly. At the highway, we stopped momentarily at the beach mansion. I had my Picasso to pick up—the others, their own booty.
While we packed up our treasures, Frank took a moment to walk around the house. He eventually wound up in the living room, where I was using wire cutters to take down my picture.
“That’s funny,” he said, not laughing.
“What is?”
“You taking the Picasso.”
“I like it,” I said. “Not as if I’d have a chance to get near one in the real world.”
“Makes you wonder what’s happening to all the art and stuff in the LACMA,” he mused.
“Well, hopefully,” I grunted, snipping the final wire, “the museum is being scavenged by someone who will really appreciate it.”
“And not being used as a source for firewood.”
“Thank god we live in Southern California, right,” I grinned. “Where it’s usually warm enough that fire is a bad thing.”
He finally smiled—a little.
“Denny liked Picasso’s work,” he said, quietly. “He didn’t like to admit it because guys teased him and everything. But he really liked that war painting—I don’t remember what it’s called.”
“Guernica?”
“That’s the one. He had one of those little magnets with the painting on it—in his locker. Did you ever see it?”
; I shook my head.
“Brandon always made fun of that magnet…because he thought Denny was just a big, dumb jock, you know—so why would he ever waste his time on something like a stupid painting.”
“Brandon makes fun of everyone,” I said.
“He does,” Frank nodded. Then he moved closer, lowering his voice. “Listen, Jacob. Just so you know…if I get a chance…I’m going to kill Brandon.”
I stared at him—shocked.
He shrugged, like it was no big thing. “And it’s weird,” he continued, “because I don’t want to hurt anything ever again. So, please don’t ask me to pick up a gun or a knife or do anything like that, because I just want to live in peace now, you know. I just want to be left alone.”
“Okay.”
He held up a finger. “Except for Brandon. Him—I’m going to kill.”
As Frank turned and walked away, I remember thinking that he would have to get in line. Because—as much as I didn’t want to kill anyone either—I was planning on making an exception for Brandon.
Sorry, Frank—I had called dibs first.
* * * *
It seemed like everyone was there—lined up along the path—waiting for us to return to Ru’s camp. The guys cheered as we entered the compound, rushing to take our packs and help with the wounded.
Wester and Ethan practically knocked me to the ground, jumping at me from both sides. They had black tattoos across their cheeks—twin chevrons that stretched from their ears to the sides of their noses.
“You didn’t!” I frowned—holding them off so that I could see their faces better.
They immediately burst into hysterical giggles. Suspicious, I reached out a finger and drew it down Wester’s cheek. My finger came back black, covered in charcoal.
“We got you, Jacob!” they both yelled. “We got you!”
“You got me,” I conceded. “Dirty little rats. You know, I’m going to have to find a way to get you guys back now—so, watch out!”
A hand suddenly clamped down on my shoulder. “About time, big brother,” drawled Kieran. “I thought we would have to come and save your useless butt.”
“Hey, bro,” I said, turning to him. “Where’s Rhys?”
I received a brutal shoulder check to my left side—Rhys trying to tackle me to the ground. That I remained standing at all was a combination of luck and Rhys’ lack of training. A few more lessons in fighting and I could see that my kid brother would have had me—as my dad liked to say—‘butt over teakettle’, pretty darn quick.
“You are late!” yelled Rhys. “You were supposed to be home yesterday!”
“Yeah,” said Kieran. “Where the heck were you?”
“Sheesh, dudes,” I cried. “A little respect, why don’t you?!”
Ian pushed his way through, handing me a bottle of lemonade. Beside him, Andrei was carrying a plate of Oreos.
“Now, that’s more like it!” I said, grabbing the lemonade and a handful of cookies. Then I reached out and poked at Andrei’s hair. “Look at you…I swear that afro grew two inches since I’ve been gone and it’s only been a couple of days.”
The kid stood up taller, running a hand over his hair. “I’ve been picking it,” Andrei told me, proudly. “One of Ru’s guys gave me a comb.”
“And it’s annoying,” said Ian. “Pick, pick, pick—all day long.”
“You’re just jealous,” said Andrei, sticking his tongue out at Ian. “Because my ’fro is so amazing.”
“So amazing that if I do this,” said Ian, reaching out and pushing down on Andrei’s hair, flattening a side of it, “you look like Urkel.”
“Hey!” yelled Andrei, offended.
Ian immediately took off running. With a grunt of disgust, Andrei pushed the plate of cookies into Rhys’ hands and took off after him.
“The funny thing is,” said Kieran, watching them race away, “Andrei doesn’t even know who Urkel is. He’s never seen “Family Matters”, not even on YouTube.”
“But he knows it’s an insult,” said Rhys, between mouthfuls of cookie.
“Hey, Jacob…there you are!” Porter came walking toward me. “We were wondering when you guys would be coming back. Josh said everyone was okay, so we only worried a little bit—but still.” He suddenly stopped. “Where’s Connor?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” I said, carefully. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Porter’s head immediately started whipping around. “What happened to Connor?!”
“No, no,” I quickly said. “Connor’s fine. It’s something else.”
He still wasn’t convinced. “Then where is he,” Porter demanded. “Where’s Connor?”
“Well…he’s been helping someone.”
* * * *
Porter turned slowly—facing Frank.
Who—along with Brandon and Denny—had made Porter’s high school experience so miserable.
Who had never let him forget that he was a lesser human—a geek, a brain.
Who had subjected him to mocking and taunting—both verbal and physical.
And who had laughed—when the girl Porter cared about had been fired.
Frank was standing there—one arm over Connor’s shoulder for support and balance. The trip home had seriously drained Frank; he looked pale, exhausted.
“Hey, Porter,” he said, quietly.
The air was full of tension.
Looking at Porter, I suddenly realized how much he had changed since November. He was taller by at least an inch and there were muscles on his arms now. In Frank’s weakened state, I had no doubt that Porter would be able to do some serious damage.
“The Crazies got Frank up in Agoura Hills,” I explained. “Him and Denny. Took them to the Fire Camp to be used as slaves.”
Frank let go of Connor, struggling to remain upright.
Porter took a step toward him—eyes narrowed. I quickly moved forward—prepared to intervene if Porter took a swing.
“They kept you and Denny captive?” Porter asked
His head lowered—Frank nodded.
Porter took another step closer.
Kieran and I both tensed.
Then, Porter surprised us both by reaching out and placing his arm under Frank’s, moving in beside him. “Well, you’re free now,” he said. “So, lean on me and let’s get you settled.”
And they walked slowly away—together.
* * * *
This was to be my first night in our new house.
Kieran and Rhys led me upstairs—to a bedroom in the corner on the second floor. It was spacious, with a massive bed, and its own bathroom and walk-in closet. The thing I liked most about it, however, were the windows. They ranged all along one wall, overlooking the ocean.
“There are rooms bigger than this one,” said Rhys, bouncing up and down on the bed. “But we thought you’d like this view, though. It’s the best in the house.”
“You thought right,” I said, tossing my backpack into the walk-in. I noticed that someone had already delivered the Picasso—which was still tied up in a drop cloth. It sat on top of a tabletop, leaning against a wall.
“Got you a bidet, too,” Kieran joked, motioning to the bathroom. “For when you bring your lady friends over.”
“What’s a bidet?” asked Rhys. “Kieran wouldn’t tell me.”
“It’s a toilet that spits water up into your privates,” I explained.
“Right up your butt!” chortled Kieran. “Cleans you extra special and gives you a thrill at the same time!”
“That’s disgusting,” choked Rhys. “Why would anyone want to do that?”
“To keep clean,” I said, yawning. “Which you obviously haven’t been doing?”
Rhys looked offended.
“I’m serious,” I said. “Dude, you stink. Go take a bath, go swimming, go surfing. I don’t care which—just take a bar of soap with you when you do.”
“You’re bossy,” said Rhys.
“Absolutely,�
�� I acknowledged, simultaneously flopping down onto the bed and pushing him off and onto the floor.
“Grumpy-guts,” he muttered.
I could feel sleep already starting to claim me. Kieran reached down and helped Rhys up. “We’ll talk later,” Kieran told me.
Forcing myself up onto the backs of my elbows, I peered up at him. “Anything I need to know?”
“Not really. No drama.”
“Excellent.” I yawned again—falling back onto the bed. “I could deal with no drama for a while.”
* * * *
It was eighteen hours before I woke up.
The house was dark and silent—creaking here and there as I moved quietly down the staircase and into the main living room. Luckily, the drapes had been drawn and there was just enough moonlight to see by, so that I didn’t break a leg, tripping over a piece of furniture.
A quick search of the downstairs led me to the kitchen. Porter was already there, sitting at a candle-lit table, eating a bowl of what looked like stew.
“That smells good,” I said, sitting down beside him.
He immediately pushed it over to me. “Go for it.”
I grabbed the bowl—quickly—dipping the spoon into the stew and shoving it into my mouth. “Sorry…being a pig,” I muttered, between chews, “but…starving.”
“No worries,” said Porter. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Walking through an open back door, he disappeared into the night. I watched him go, continuing to eat, the food disappearing faster than I would have liked.
He was back within minutes—carrying another bowl of stew and what looked like a plastic bag with two buns.
“Is that real bread?” I asked, astonished.
Porter sat down and pushed the bag and bowl over to me. “Much better than I ever made,” he admitted. “Dude who made this is one of the little ones, believe it or not—8-years old.”
I ripped open the bag and sunk my teeth into one of the buns.
