by Nancy Isaak
As the second rider fell toward the ground, I saw that it was, indeed—Rhys.
* * * *
“Rules are simple,” said Brandon. “Kid will come in. He’ll go one way—Jacob will come with us the other way. Anyone gets in the way gets shot…deal?”
I nodded. “Deal.”
He turned around and waved to the Crazy outside of the tunnel. The kid waved back, then pushed at Rhys, aiming him forward.
* * * *
Perhaps, if Rhys hadn’t started running, things would have been different.
But he did.
And—as he ran forward and Brandon’s attention turned toward him—Pauly pulled out a knife and lunged for Brandon. He moved quickly, his thrust lightning-fast.
Brandon, however—was quicker.
His armed whipped out, sliding along the inside of Pauly’s attacking arm. With a quick jerk, he snaked it around, twisting at the same time.
There was a massive crack and Pauly’s arm shattered.
The knife dropped to the ground and Brandon leaned in, using his own forward momentum to flip Pauly up and over his shoulder. Pauly slammed into the ground and laid there—unmoving.
I rushed forward, intending to help Pauly, but Brandon spun around. Moving faster than I would have thought possible, he was suddenly behind me—one arm around my throat, the other holding my head in place.
He had me immobile—in a chokehold.
“Call off your puppies,” he whispered threateningly into my ear. “Or I’ll break your neck and then kill Rhys!”
Before me, Kieran had dropped to his knees to help a writhing Pauly. He turned now, his gun aimed up at Brandon. Meanwhile, both Brent and Mateo had their weapons trained on us—although nobody was firing—yet.
The real danger were my armed guards, though. They were racing into the tunnel’s mouth from our side, guns drawn, prepared for battle.
“Stop…go back!” I yelled. “Jonny, get everybody out now!!”
Slowly—very slowly—Jonny and the guards backed out of the tunnel.
“Good,” said Brandon, still maintaining his chokehold on my throat. “Now, Kieran…your turn.”
“Do what he says,” I coughed, twisting in Brandon’s arms. “Put your gun away.”
Kieran didn’t move.
“You’ve always gotta’ be the hard-ass,” sighed Brandon, tightening his hold on me. “Three seconds, Kieran. Look at Rhys and make your decision, because he’ll take the fall first. One—two—”
Brandon never made it to three.
As soon as Kieran looked up and saw Rhys—with a knife to his throat—being pulled back out of the tunnel by the Crazy he’d arrived with, Kieran immediately dropped his weapon onto the ground.
“That’s my Kiki,” said Brandon.
“Now let me go,” I coughed, struggling to catch my breath.
Slowly, Brandon lowered his arm. The pressure around my throat disappeared and I took in a deep, pain-filled gasp of air.
“Give us Rhys,” I demanded, somewhat hoarsely.
Brandon turned to Brent. “Get the kid,” he ordered him. “And this time, let’s not have any problems.”
Brent nodded, then turned and raced toward the far end of the tunnel where Rhys was still being held. Meanwhile, Brandon turned back toward us. He smirked down at Pauly, who was holding onto his broken arm and glaring up at him.
“Bet that hurts,” Brandon chuckled.
“You didn’t have to break his arm,” I snarled.
“Pretty sure I did,” maintained Brandon. “Besides, it’s a good object lesson. And Kieran, I’m going to count on you to get that lesson to your boys. If anyone follows us up Kanan-Dume—and I mean if I see even the suggestion of a body moving through the bush—Jacob is getting hurt. First infraction—big brother gets a broken arm. Second infraction—there goes his nose. Third infraction, I start really getting angry—Jacob’s teeth will be pulled out, one-by-one. And trust me—you really don’t want to know what will happen on the fourth infraction.”
“I get the idea,” growled Kieran.
“Good,” nodded Brandon. “Because let’s face it, Kiki. If Jacob’s going into the Arena, he is definitely going to want all his body parts in good shape and totally functional.”
“We won’t come after him,” said Kieran. “You have my word.”
“What about you, eager-beaver?” Brandon asked Pauly. “Do I have your word, too? You still feeling a little vengeful or did I cut you down to size sufficiently?”
Pauly said nothing—just glared up at him.
* * * *
Rhys looked weak and there was a yellowing bruise on the side of his head. It was difficult to know if he had been harmed beyond that, however, because there was duct tape over his mouth and his hands were tied behind his back.
Brent pushed him forward, straight into Kieran’s arms. Rhys immediately nudged his brother with his shoulder, wanting him to untie him. Kieran did nothing, looking at me, instead.
I shook my head slightly.
Rhys turned to me, his eyebrows raised in confusion.
“I’m sorry, Rhys,” I said.
Brandon grabbed me by the shoulder and pushed me toward the far end of the tunnel. I stumbled, trying to turn back toward Rhys and Kieran—to let them know that I cared, that it was okay, that this was the right thing to do. In response, Brandon pushed me even harder—farther and farther away from my brothers.
“Remember what you promised, Kieran!” I yelled back. “Don’t you forget! Nobody follows me…nobody!”
Behind me, I could hear the muffled sounds of Rhys begging and pleading to be set free. I turned slightly, just enough to see that Kieran had Rhys on the ground. My younger brother was straining toward me, struggling with his bonds and the weight of his brother on his back.
“I love you, Rhys,” I called to him. “This isn’t your fault. No matter what—always remember that. This isn’t your fault!” If anything, Rhys struggled even harder. His face turned red under the duct tape; his movements became frantic.
“Kieran, hold onto him!” I yelled. “I love you guys. I love you both!”
“You just come back, Jacob!” Kieran yelled. “You dammit better come back!”
As I reached the mouth of the tunnel, I tried to turn around for one final look at my brothers. Brandon moved in front of me, however, hiding Rhys and Kieran from my sight. I could still hear Rhys’ muted yells, though—and it was a knife to my heart.
* * * *
At a signal from Brandon, Mateo came forward and looped one chain around my neck and another around my hands. He padlocked both of them closed, securing me against the possibility of escape.
“You Rikers have always annoyed the hell out of me, you know,” Brandon said. “I am so going to enjoy killing you.”
Meanwhile, Mateo handed the end of the chain to Brandon, who gave it a vicious yank.
* * * *
My chain was eventually attached to the saddle of Brandon’s horse. He rode steadily, pulling me along behind him. Mateo and Brent followed along on their own horses, talking and smoking cigarettes.
As we moved along Kanan-Dume, other Crazies moved in alongside us, coming out from behind bushes and rocks. Some were on horses—others simply walked or ran. They seemed to be in good spirits, laughing and joking, like they’d just won a great battle.
A few of the Crazies weren’t wearing shirts and, for the first time, I saw the ‘Lightning Bolt’ tattoo that Frank had mentioned. Whenever these particular Crazies would show up, we would immediately stop moving, so Brandon could speak with them privately—giving orders, confirming plans.
It looked like Frank had been right—the Lightning Bolts were the leaders.
* * * *
Not long after we had moved out of the tunnel, we passed by Betsy—still sitting at the side of the road. She was a blackened hulk now, an obvious victim of an intentionally set fire.
Brandon caught me looking sadly at it as we passed. “Guilty,” he
smirked. “Sorry, but I just couldn’t resist.”
“Very mature,” I told him.
In response, he gave a vicious yank on my chain and I stumbled.
The Crazies around me burst into laughter. One guy—around 14-years old and sporting a black mohawk—kicked me in the butt, while an older African-American boy spit on me.
“Should burn his Local ass,” suggested Mateo, grinning. “Serve him barbequed for supper.”
“Leave him alone,” ordered Brandon. “I told you. Jacob’s going into the Arena.” He turned and grinned at me. “Unless you really want to join us for barbeque tonight…your choice.”
Ignoring him, I just continued walking forward, trying not to stumble. Behind me, a group of Crazies broke off and surrounded Betsy. As Brandon pulled me up Kanan-Dume and around the curve, the last thing I saw was my poor car being pushed across the road and over the side of the hill.
Moments later, I heard a massive thud from the ravine below.
“Very, very mature,” I muttered under my breath.
“Did you say something, slave?” asked Brandon.
I didn’t dignify him with an answer—just kept walking, instead.
* * * *
Kanan-Dume was hot and dusty—its tarmac cracking and heaving under a year’s neglect. There were weeds sprouting everywhere, some knee-high, others tossing out long vines that were threading their way across the road.
Here and there, small animals raced in front or behind us, no doubt startled out of their hiding places as we passed. Some of the Crazies took to shooting at the mice and rats for fun. Others laid bets on how many rabbits this guy or that one could kill for our supper.
At one point, we turned a corner and two ferrets ran along the side of the highway, twisting over each other, leaping and tumbling. There was a joy to their exertions—like little puppies out for a day’s play. When one guy raised his rifle to take aim, Brandon immediately pushed the barrel down.
“Leave them,” he ordered. “I like ferrets. They’re illegal to have in California, you know.”
“Why?” asked Brent. “What’s the problem with ferrets?”
Brandon shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows,” he said. “Probably some bureaucrat got bit and decided that everyone had to suffer because of it.”
One of the ferrets turned suddenly, racing across the road and down the hill on the other side. Within seconds, the other ferret had followed him, frog-leaping the whole way down into the ravine.
“Adults can be so stupid sometimes,” said Brent, watching the ferrets disappear into the bush below. “How do you think those ferrets got here anyway?”
“Someone probably had them as illegal pets,” said Brandon. “When everything went down, I’ll bet those little guys escaped. Now, they’re free—just like us.”
“Maybe we should catch one,” suggested Mateo. “Make it our pet.”
Brandon yanked on my chain, pulling me closer. “Don’t need a pet,” he told the others, running a hand through my hair. “Already got one.”
* * * *
A few miles up from the tunnel, we took our first break—huddling under some spindly fir trees, trying to stay out of the sun. Brent moved through the group of guys, passing out water bottles and power bars.
“You owe that kid,” Brandon told me, nodding toward Brent. “He’s the one who took care of your brother, kept the nuts away from him.”
“You include yourself in that?” I asked, sullenly.
“You bet,” laughed Brandon. “King Nut here, no doubt.”
Brent finished with the guys and came over to where Brandon and Mateo were sitting on a large rock. I was just below them—at chain’s length—sitting at the base, my back against the granite.
“You want he should have some?” Brent asked Brandon, holding up a bottle of water.
With his booted-foot, Brandon nudged my head. “Thirsty, slave?”
I reached my hand out and took the bottle from Brent. “Thank you.”
In response, Brent hawked up a loogie, sending it flying into the dust at my feet.
* * * *
Every once in a while—usually driving back from Zuma Beach—I would see people jogging up Kanan-Dume. They would be sweaty and red-faced, their arms and legs pumping away. I always wondered why they would make the effort when the wonders of the beach and the ocean were only minutes away.
Walking up Kanan-Dume that day—even with the Crazies—I finally began to see the attraction. The canyon was beautiful—all hills and valleys and mysterious curves that slowly opened up to reveal some amazing sights.
From startling rock formations to multi-million dollar mansions now being swallowed whole by twisting brambles, Kanan-Dume was alive in a way that I’d never seen it before. This was a canyon in change—adapting to a new world—a wild and feral thing.
* * * *
There...I heard it again!
A scritch-scratch in the bushes on the left side of the road.
And there—on the right side—were those bushes moving?
I tried not to look, to keep my gaze straight ahead. But, no matter how hard I tried, my eyes kept straying to either side of the road.
Left—scritch, right—scratch; in the bushes and behind the rocks. There definitely was someone there!
There had to be…they were following us.
My guys were coming!
So—how come none of the Crazies had realized it, yet?
* * * *
There were three tunnels on Kanan-Dume.
Perhaps, it was because of the heat—or maybe it was because I was just exhausted. But it was only when we entered the third and last one, did I finally realize that there was no one following us.
I was still hearing the noises, but it was obvious inside of that tunnel that it was the scritch-scratch of my imagination—or maybe my hope—trying desperately to create a rescue where there simply would be none.
Sadly—I was alone.
Except for the Crazies.
* * * *
We spent the night in a mansion high up on a hill, just off Kanan-Dume.
It was part of a vineyard—one of those white, brick wonders that are often rented out for ‘fabulous weddings’. My brothers and I had often witnessed helicopters arriving or taking off from its front yard as we drove by through the canyon below.
I had often wondered what the inside of the mansion would be like. In the back of my mind, I had even daydreamed of having my own wedding there.
How ironic that it would—instead—be my temporary prison.
* * * *
“You guys have really trashed this place,” I told them.
“So what?” Brandon shrugged. “There’s always another house waiting just over the next hill.”
The horses had been left outside, with three of the younger guys to feed, water, and bed them down for the night. From the hoots and hollers coming from the various rooms around me, the rest of the guys were figuring out their own sleeping arrangements.
Brandon, Mateo, Brent, and I, meanwhile, were seated at a large, mahogany dining room table. Before us, glass doors extended across the west wall, giving us an extraordinary view, all the way to the sun setting into the Pacific Ocean.
There was an intricate chandelier overhead, its crystal teardrops reflecting prisms of rainbow-light across the walls and along the hardwood floor. It hung over what would have been a beautiful room, except for the piles of garbage in the corners—food wrappings, dirty clothes, and lots and lots of empty wine bottles—many of which were shattered or leaking their final dregs.
“What a waste,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“This is where we kept the brat,” said Brandon, pouring a bottle of red wine into four crystal glasses. “In case you were curious.”
“Rhys was here?”
“His room was just above us,” said Brent—for the first time looking directly at me. “I was the only one who had the key.”
“Brent took good care of y
our boy,” said Brandon, handing a glass of wine to each of us.
“Thank you,” I said, truly grateful—for the news, not the wine.
“Whatever,” Brent snorted. “Just keeping the goods safe.”
Brandon burst into laughter, slapping Brent on the back. “Dude, you are too good for us!”
* * * *
Two young boys of about ten or eleven served us dinner that night. It was some sort of stew—probably venison. There were also mashed potatoes and boiled carrots. Dessert was a mixture of fruit and packaged cookies.
The four of us ate alone in the dining room. There were other Crazies nearby, armed and obviously on guard, but they left us alone for the most part. Where the rest of the tribe was eating, I had no idea.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked Brandon, when the dessert plates were finally removed. “You take me prisoner and then you feed me a meal like this.”
Mateo leaned back in his chair and let out a massive burp. “It was a very good stew,” he grunted, patting his belly.
One of the young boys came back into the room, bearing another bottle of wine. He opened it with some trouble, then handed it to Brandon.
“Just because you’re going into the Arena,” said Brandon, refilling the wineglasses, “doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t eat well.”
I placed my hand over my wineglass when Brandon brought the bottle close. He shrugged at my reticence to drink more, then sat down and filled his own glass even farther to the top. “Besides,” he continued. “It’s no fun taking on someone who can’t fight back. We tried that in the beginning and it was just a big bore.”
