365 Days Hunted

by Nancy Isaak

  BRAVO TEAM

  Pauly jumped at the chance to go on another secret mission. Even though I still had reservations of Kieran being able to control him, I agreed with my brother. Pauly was the perfect choice.

  The two of them left a week later—in the middle of the night.

  Porter and I walked with them as far as the junction on Dume Drive—my armed guards trailing behind. From the junction, Kieran and Pauly would cross the Point—over fences and through backyards—until they eventually reached the Pacific Coast Highway. Where they would then cross and how they would travel up to Agoura Hills would be a decision they would make on the spot.

  “Do you have enough bullets?” I asked them.

  Kieran was rooting around in his backpack, making a final check of his supplies. Pauly, meanwhile, waited patiently to one side, his pack already on his back—his machete hanging from one hand.

  Both guys had guns—Kieran’s in a fanny pack and Pauly’s attached to his belt. They were also carrying rifles over their shoulders and their faces were blackened with charcoal.

  “I’m good,” said Kieran.

  “What about you, Pauly?”

  “Rock and roll,” he said.

  “You don’t take any unnecessary chances,” I ordered. “Your job is merely to watch, to follow, and to report.”

  “We’re going to be fine,” Kieran assured me.

  “And you don’t go back to our house—not for any reason,” I added. “I’m serious about that, Kieran. If Brandon suspects that you might be in Agoura Hills, that would probably be the first place he’d look.”

  “No tourist trips,” my brother nodded.

  “And you don’t need to get up close. Go high, instead—maybe on a hill. You can see everything from there without having to get in their faces.”

  “Dude,” Kieran sighed, “we know already.” He stood up and hoisted his pack onto his back.

  Porter, meanwhile, reached out and shook Pauly’s hand, then Kieran’s. “Good hunting, guys.”

  And—before he could object—I grabbed Kieran and pulled him into a bear hug. “You get hurt, I’m going to kill you,” I promised.

  “Yeah, I love you, too,” he said, pushing me away.

  Turning to Pauly, I gave him a quick hug, too. “Take care of my brother,” I whispered into his ear. “And don’t you do anything foolish, Pauly. We need you back here.”

  “Roger that,” said Pauly.

  And—moments later—Bravo Team disappeared into the dark.

  * * * *

  “So, just out of curiosity,” asked Porter, “how long before you start worrying about them?”

  “I’m already worrying,” I admitted.

  We were walking back toward the mansion. Our guards had fanned out—in front, behind, and on the sides.

  “Does Rhys know, yet?” Porter asked me.

  I shook my head. “Kieran didn’t want me to tell Rhys until after he was gone.”

  “Why?”

  “I think Kieran was afraid that Rhys might try and go with him,” I explained. “Or maybe even try and follow him.”

  “That would be bad,” said Porter. “I love Rhys but, sometimes, his common sense is even worse than Andrei’s.”

  We both had a chuckle at that. The day before, Josh had caught Rhys and Andrei trying to operate the block and tackle. They were attempting to lower themselves to the beach below to go surfing. The only problem was—they hadn’t secured the end of the line. If Josh hadn’t stopped them, they both would have fallen—most likely to their deaths.

  Needless to say, Rhys and Andrei were both immediately banned from going anywhere near the block and tackle. If they wanted to go down to Zuma Beach, they were going to have to walk down the hill—just like everyone else.

  * * * *

  Once inside the compound, Porter and I passed by the empty cage. As we did, we saluted. It was a tradition that some of the guys had started after Ru—a way of honoring our disappeared.

  “He was a good leader,” I said, quietly. “Ru really cared about this tribe.”

  “Smart, too,” Porter added. “The way he had us take in Connor was genius.”

  “Saved Connor’s life most likely.”

  Porter stopped, turning back to look at the cage. We could just barely see it in the darkness—the moonlight reflecting off the steel of the bars. “Do you ever wonder where Ru went when he disappeared out of that cage,” asked Porter. “Where they all went? Or did they really just all disappear into nothingness?”

  “I wonder all the time,” I admitted. “One of the joys of being a short-timer, I guess.”

  “How many days do you have left?” Porter asked.

  “Way too few. My birthday’s in October. You?”

  Porter sighed. “Man, this sucks.”

  JOURNAL ENTRY #28

  It’s been a week since Kieran and Pauly left for Agoura Hills. I know that I agreed not to start worrying until two weeks had passed—and not to send out a search party before three weeks—but I’m still worried.

  And I’m scared.

  Mom will absolutely kill me if Kieran doesn’t come back.

  Which is stupid since Mom obviously isn’t around. But I still worry about what she’d think.

  Bravo Team—I feel like such a dumbass for sending them out.

  Why did I ever listen to Kieran in the first place?

  * * * *

  Rhys is also having a really hard time.

  I think if Kieran had headed anywhere else Rhys wouldn’t be so upset. But because our brother has gone up to Agoura Hills—where both the Crazies and Brandon are—well, Rhys is just as scared and worried as me.

  I just hide it better…I hope.

  * * * *

  “Well, what if I just go half way up the hill?” asked Rhys. “I could walk up Kanan-Dume Road to maybe where Betsy is—wait for Kieran and Pauly there.”

  “You’re not going up Kanan-Dume.” I told him. “Besides, that’s probably the worst road you could take. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Crazies are all over it.”

  “But we’ve got guys watching Kanan-Dume,” he insisted.

  “Only where it meets up with Pacific Coast Highway,” I explained. “Anything above that we’ve got to think of as Crazy territory.”

  “Well, I can head overland,” countered Rhys. “Then I won’t be anywhere near Kanan-Dume.”

  “Okay,” I said. “What then? Where will you go?”

  “I’ll find a hill where I can watch for Kieran and Pauly. In case they need help.”

  “And what if the Crazies are already on that hill? Or what if Kieran and Pauly come down Malibu Canyon or even around Point Mugu instead of along Kanan-Dume? Then, you wouldn’t even be anywhere near them.”

  Rhys sighed, dramatically. “I just want to do something,” he sulked, unhappy. “I want to help.”

  “And I know that…which is why I asked you to meet with me today. Because I’ve got a job for you.”

  My brother and I were sitting in the conference room just off the second floor landing. There was a long cardboard box in the center of the table. I pushed it toward Rhys now. “Open it up.”

  Tearing off the cardboard top, Rhys pulled out a paintball rifle. He immediately turned it this way and that, checking its mechanisms, making sure everything worked.

  “Dude,” he finally spoke. “This thing is one of the old mechanicals. It doesn’t even need batteries.”

  “I know,” I said. “We’ve got over twenty of them in the storerooms, plus lots of ammunition.”

  “I love paintball,” sighed Rhys. “I always beat both of you guys. I beat everybody.”

  “That’s the point, Rhys.” He looked up at me, confused. “You’re good at paintball. Really good.”

  * * * *

  We’ve been finding an average of two to three new guys coming along the Pacific Coast Highway every week or so. Most of these kids seem to be younger—seven through twelve years of age—a lot of them coming down from Wa
shington and Oregon, trying to escape the colder temperatures.

  They are all welcomed into the Locals.

  But the younger ones worry me—because of the Crazies.

  If Brandon’s guys come onto the Point, I know that the most vulnerable will be our small kids, the ones who can’t really protect themselves.

  And that’s where Rhys comes in.

  I want him to train the boys.

  Start them out with paintball. Make them think that they’re simply playing—running around and shooting pretend guns. Have Rhys put them into teams and run war games against each other. Later, when the kids come together as a unit—some of the older guys can introduce them to guns and rifles that shoot real bullets.

  But until that time—they will be Rhys’ responsibility.

  * * * *

  “And I’m the boss?”

  “You’re the boss,” I concurred. “But you can’t let them think that. You have to let them think that they’re just messing around, having fun.”

  “Because we’re tricking them!”

  Rhys was absolutely ecstatic about the idea. He’d always been such a master of paintballing—that kid who could race through a course and utterly slay everyone else. Kieran and I hated going up against him, because it’s one thing being beaten by your brother. It’s another thing entirely being beaten by your younger brother while he paintballs a line up from your butt to the back of your head.

  “You’re not tricking them. You’re training them,” I corrected Rhys. “You’re just not letting them know it.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Seems pretty tricky to me.”

  “And this won’t just be about paintball. Sooner or later, I’m going to ask you to train them with real guns. Do you think you can do that? I know you don’t like guns.”

  He looked at me and sniffed. “That was when I was a little kid.”

  I tried to keep a straight face. “So, do you want to take on the job or not?”

  Rhys didn’t answer—just picked up the box with the paintball rifle in it and walked out the door. From where I sat, I could hear his footsteps rapidly fading in the direction of the left wing.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” I said to the empty room.

  THE LIFE OF A BUREAUCRAT

  I didn’t see Rhys until three days later.

  He had nine younger boys in tow—all with paintball rifles slung over their shoulders—heading out toward Dume Drive. Their plan was to run search and destroy drills all the way to the Nature Preserve and back.

  In the midst of the group of boys was a set of 9-year old twins, with hair so blond it was almost white. I couldn’t remember their names, but I did recall that they had been discovered on the highway about two weeks ago, coming up from the Pacific Palisades.

  “How are those new kids doing?” I asked Rhys, keeping my voice low so that they wouldn’t overhear.

  “Damien and Goran? They’re doing okay,” he answered. “They’re a little shy. Don’t talk a lot. But they’re pretty good shots.”

  “Well, keep an eye on them,” I instructed him. “Let me know how they progress.”

  “Sure.” Rhys nodded, then—gathering up his young charges—he headed out toward the road. I watched them go, proud of my little brother.

  After a few steps, however, I noticed one of the twins turn and look back at me. When he saw me watching, he quickly spun back around, leaning over to whisper something into his brother’s ear.

  The other twin didn’t look back at all.

  If anything, he moved forward even quicker, rushing to catch up with the rest of the group. His brother followed a little more slowly, pausing once to re-tie his shoe laces—although I suspected it was actually an excuse to take another quick peek at me.

  Feeling unsettled, I watched both boys closely until their blond heads disappeared from sight.

  There was definitely something about those twins that bothered me.

  I just didn’t know what it was—yet.

  * * * *

  Later that afternoon, Porter, Josh, Connor and I had a meeting to discuss setting up a Tribunal. I was a little uncomfortable with the idea, but the other three were all pretty gung ho about setting up a court system.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It just seems a little early for something like that. I mean, it’s not like we’ve got a lot of crime to worry about.”

  “Mike and Harry went at it yesterday morning,” reported Josh. “Ed and I had to pull them off of each other before they got hurt. Something about a machete that went missing.”

  “We need to set rules,” nodded Porter. “A Code of Behavior that everyone has to follow.”

  “But we’ve all done okay without one,” I argued. “And it’s so close to Ru being gone. I just don’t want to throw a lot of things at the guys right away.”

  “And that makes sense,” said Porter. “But we can still be working on the Code while you’re getting ready to set up the Tribunal. So—maybe in a couple of weeks, say.”

  “Or a couple of months,” I suggested.

  “A month would be good,” Porter grinned. “We could split the difference.”

  “What about you, Connor?” I asked. “What’s your opinion?”

  He shrugged. “There’re a lot of new guys coming onto the Point. It’ll probably be good to have some rules.”

  “Plus, don’t forget about the sanitation problem,” added Porter. “We need to figure out some rules for that—fast. And that shouldn’t wait a month. That should be right now before someone gets cholera, because everyone’s pooping all over the place.”

  I groaned. “Whatever happened to this wild new world we were living in? Because it suddenly seems like we’re back in the same old bureaucratic, rule-filled one.”

  “We also need to find a bigger location for Medical,” Porter continued. “Every time we have a cold run through here, that hallway is being swamped.”

  “Do you have a place in mind?”

  “Well, don’t freak out, but Connor has an idea.”

  I turned toward him. Not looking happy, Connor just sat there, saying nothing.

  “What?!” I finally barked, irritated.

  “One of the garages,” Connor murmured.

  “The car garages?!”

  “They’re just sitting there,” said Connor, quickly. “And the cars inside don’t run and they’ll rust eventually. If we push the cars out, one of those garages would be just perfect as a medical clinic. There are shelves and rooms and everything.”

  “And multi-million dollar vehicles inside of them!”

  “That no one can use.”

  “I can’t use a Picasso either, but I’ve got one in my bedroom,” I asserted. “Those cars are pieces of art to some of us.”

  “Then stick them all in one garage,” suggested Porter. “It’ll be easier to look at them when they’re all in one place anyway.”

  “But you’ll be mixing up the Foreigns with the Domestics,” I complained. “It’s like car-sacrilege!”

  “Well, do you have an alternative?” asked Porter.

  I sat there for a moment—thinking hard.

  Meanwhile, across the table, Josh was trying to keep a grin off of his face.

  “You got something you want to say?” I barked at him.

  “Just that my dad’s a car guy.” He grinned even wider. “And he gets all obsessed over things like that, too.”

  “I’m not obsessed,” I grouched. “I just think Connor’s idea is—stupid.”

  “Well, you’re the boss,” Josh shrugged. “If you don’t want Porter and Connor to have their medical clinic, the cars can stay right where they are.”

  “Oh, shaddup,” I snapped. “Of course, they’ll get their stupid medical clinic.”

  “Great!” said Porter. “So, Foreigns or Domestics? Which ones are making the big move?”

  I looked at him, disgusted.

  “Domestics,” I growled. “Obviously.”

  JOURNAL ENTRY #29<
br />
  Kieran and Pauly still haven’t returned.

  It’s now been two weeks since they’ve left and I’m so worried.

  I barely sleep anymore and I know that I’m losing weight, because I keep forgetting to eat. Plus my guards are getting ticked at me, because I keep walking out to the highway to see if I can spot them.

  If I didn’t have the rest of the tribe to worry about, I swear I’d be off of this Point in a second. Just pick up a gun and a knife and head out looking.

  And what’s really irritating me is that I can’t even send out a search party, because Kieran made me promise that I’d wait until he’d been gone for at least three weeks before I took that step.

  Dumbass brother—it’s like he hogtied me in advance.

  * * * *

  Meanwhile, the Alpha Teams have come and gone twice since Kieran and Pauly headed into the canyons. Both times the Alphas reported that, while they saw signs of the Crazies being in the area, they didn’t come across anybody—not Crazies or slaves.

  Also, it looks like the Crazies have now abandoned Fire Camp #13 and the field around it. Nobody knows if it’s because the Crazies have moved the ‘grow’ to another location or if they’ve just given up farming that area completely.

  * * * *

  Speaking of farming, Frank showed up in the conference room this morning to ask for permission to begin growing crops. Porter and I were just finishing up the final details on the new bathroom area his team would be creating.

  It’s actually quite ingenious—based on a photo Porter showed me in a book on Nepal. You have to imagine this—an outhouse sitting on a platform that extends out, over a ravine. The guy takes a dump and it falls through the hole and down to the ground, a hundred feet below.