by Debra Dunbar
Bea would have told me that was bull, that I was just as deserving of happiness as anyone else.
“Good.” Nevarra sighed. “I feel safe with you, Eden.”
The door slapped again. This time the footsteps raced with an eagerness that made me smile.
“Can we play with the balls, Eden? Can we?”
I stood and turned in one motion, scooping Sadie up in my arms and setting her down next to Nevarra. “Until dinner. If anyone manages to hit me, I’ll buy them chocolate.”
Sadie shrieked, and even Nevarra grinned. In a flash they were off, running to gather the balls from the fence. For the next hour the girls tried to pelt me with the balls and I attempted to deflect them before they got to me with only a wave of my hand. The girls were fast and had gotten good at strategizing, and I found myself spinning around, having to actually dodge a few of the balls that came at me too fast to magically redirect. Bea and the girls were the only ones who knew I could do this minor kind of telekinesis. I kept these skills carefully hidden from the rest of the world.
I kept my other magical abilities hidden even from Bea and the girls. Early in my childhood, I’d sensed that normal humans couldn’t do these things. Now I knew better. Some humans could do magic. Some could turn into animals. Some humans weren’t even human. Still, something made me hide my abilities. Even in this new world, I didn’t want to be a freak.
I kept playing with the girls and by the time Bea called us for dinner, we were all sweating and laughing. Sadie launched one last ball at me, taking me unaware and hitting me as I climbed the stairs to the kitchen.
“Yay! Gotcha! Now you have to buy me chocolate. I want M&Ms. The ones with the peanut butter in them.”
Nevarra scowled. “The game was over. That doesn’t count.”
It didn’t, but I was in a good mood. All the adrenaline of the game, plus being here with the people I loved had sent my spirits to the sky.
“Peanut butter M&Ms it is,” I promised, thinking that I’d put aside a little of the money I got tomorrow and get the girls a special treat. Once we were across the border, I’d get them chocolate every night. And all the candy they wanted.
“I’ll share.” Sadie put her arm around Nevarra. The elder girl’s face softened, and she returned the embrace.
One more night, I thought. We’d eat soup. I’d stay here tonight with Bea and the girls. Tomorrow I’d be at the raid, waiting to salvage what I could. Then I’d cash it all out with Bags, come collect my family and the money, and we’d run for the border.
Then we’d be safe.
Chapter 3
We ate soup and bread, and talked about all the things we’d do once we were out of Los Angeles. Nevarra wiped the bowls with a rag she’d dipped in a bucket of water, then lined them up on the counter, the rag folded beside them. Out of habit, she turned the faucet and squealed in surprise when water spurted out.
“Hurry.” Bea clapped her hands together. “Draw water for a bath, and don’t forget to wash your clothes before you drain it out. I’ll do the dishes.”
The girls raced to the bathroom, and I helped Bea gather all the dishes from the last week. She washed, I rinsed. And when we’d drained the dirty water, we refilled the sinks with fresh. Yes, we planned on leaving tomorrow night, but it was always good to have water in case we were delayed. And if we did leave as planned, we could scoop this into all the plastic bottles we’d saved and take it for our trip to the border.
The sun was setting as the girls came back, dressed in clean pajamas and carrying laundry baskets full of wet clothes. I motioned for Bea to sit, then took the baskets outside, hanging the clothes on the line. A light breeze caressed my face and sent the lighter weight garments to swaying. Quite a few were pushing the limits of what the girls could squeeze into, and I made a mental note to look for children’s clothing as I scavenged. Or teen clothing. Nevarra had just turned fourteen. She’d be wanting something more mature than the striped T-shirts and elastic-waist jeans I was hanging up. I fantasized for a moment about finding the girls nicer clothes.
Soon. Soon we’d have that and more.
I came back in with the empty laundry baskets to find Bea reading to the girls. The lights flickered and went out, and Bea sighed.
“Time for bed.” The woman stood and pulled a flashlight off one of the kitchen shelves, handing it to Sadie. “Keep it by you in case you need to get up in the night.”
Sadie nodded and turned to me.
“I’ll take them,” I told Bea. I was still in that dreamlike state of peace from the domestic chores, my full belly, and the nearness of those I loved.
The girls led the way, chattering excitedly about what they would do once we were across the border. Sadie wanted friends, school, and a puppy. Nevarra was going to pretend she was older so she could get a job.
I didn’t say it aloud, but that was so not going to happen. She was going to school. Sadie too. And they were going to college, even if I had to pimp myself on a street corner to pay for it.
“Can you do my hair, Eden?” Nevarra ask, sitting on the edge of her bed.
“Of course.” I unwound the towel from the girl’s damp hair, and gently finger combed it. She handed me a jar of shea butter, and I began smoothing it through her thick curls a section at a time, braiding and pinning the finished parts up as we all chatted. Nevarra leaned back against me with a sigh; Sadie stayed at my side with her head on my thigh. When I was done, I put a cap around Nevarra’s hair and turned to Sadie.
“Want me to do your hair too?”
She laughed. “Mine’s easy.”
“Doesn’t mean your hair deserves any less attention,” I insisted.
Sadie got up and took Nevarra’s place. I combed her long golden-brown hair, twisting sections up onto the top of her head and securing them in place with some small scrunchies.
“There. When it’s dry, you can take it down and it’ll be curly,” I told her.
“As curly as Nevarra’s?” She reached up a hand to carefully pat the twists.
“You’d need to be a whole lot browner for hair this curly,” Nevarra teased.
“It’ll be curlier than mine, but not as curly as Nevarra’s,” I told her. “Now off to bed with the pair of you. You’ll need to pack your things and help Aunt Bea get ready tomorrow. We’ve got an exciting few days ahead of us.”
The girls climbed into their own beds, and I tucked them in as if they were still babies.
“I ran more water in the tub,” Sadie told me with a smile as she snuggled into her blankets. “So you and Aunt Bea can take a bath later.”
“Thank you, peanut.” I leaned down and kissed her cheek, feeling a painful twinge in my chest as I stood and looked at the girls.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“Love you too, Eden,” they both replied.
I tiptoed down the hallway, through the living room and into the kitchen. Bea was out back, sitting on the porch with the pistol in her lap. I joined her, watching the moon rise over the mountains. Off in the distance, a smattering of lights came on. Judging from the houses around us, we still didn’t have electricity. Not that Bea liked to use it at night anyway. Ever since the demons had come, she’d claimed it was better if the house looked vacant at night.
Bea handed the gun over. It was the other Glock 17—the one I’d stolen and hid in my room when I’d still been in high school. Bea’d never liked guns in the house, but I was glad I’d had it that day almost two years ago when life in Los Angeles and the surrounding areas had turned into a nightmare.
“I kept a box of bullets from my salvage today,” I told her. “And picked up another 9mm.”
“Best keep those bullets for yourself,” Bea said. “I’ve got a full magazine in this one. If that doesn’t do the job, more bullets aren’t gonna help us.”
I shivered at the thought, but she was right. Tomorrow there was a good chance I’d need to defend myself. Pulling the 43 out of my pocket, I wished I’d used some of m
y money to buy an extra magazine from Bags. This one only held six rounds, and in a fight I wouldn’t have time to reload. But I had the other 17, and Bea was right. If that wasn’t enough, I shouldn’t be sticking around and continuing to shoot.
“What’s the first thing you wanna do once we’re out of here?” Bea asked.
I thought for a moment. “Eat a steak. Rib eye, or maybe a T-bone. Rare. Biggest steak I can get. And a baked potato with crispy skin, loads of butter and sour cream.”
“Crusty French bread,” Bea added. “Grilled asparagus.”
“Chocolate mousse after dinner.” I grinned. “Extra chocolate mousse for the girls.”
Bea laughed. “Better get three for Sadie. That girl likes her chocolate.”
“Who doesn’t?” I smiled at the thought of Sadie digging a spoon into a giant bowl of chocolate mousse. “What about you? What’s the first thing you want to do?”
“Buy new clothes. New underwear. New shirts. Maybe a dress or two. And lots of clothes for the three of you as well.” Bea patted my arm. “You need some dresses, Eden.”
I certainly didn’t need dresses in New Hell, but it was nice to think there might be an occasion in my future where I’d want to wear a dress. I remembered before the demons came, when I actually went out on dates and to clubs with friends.
“Makeup,” I chimed in. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn makeup. It would be nice to spend time on my appearance, to style my hair, do a smoky eye, find the brightest red lipstick I could lay my hands on.
“And a hot shower.” Bea sighed. “I think I’m going to spend an hour in the shower my first night out of here. Soap this place right out of my hair and skin.”
Amen.
“Sadie ran fresh bath water for us,” I told her. “It’s not a hot shower, but it’s better than nothing. You go on up. I’m filthy. You’d probably be dirtier coming out than going in if I go first.”
Bea stood. “I won’t say no to that. Think I’ll head to bed afterward. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow getting ready.”
I wished her goodnight, then sat on the back porch, listening to the occasional car going down the block, hearing the frequent gunfire in the distance. After a few hours I went in. The girls were sound asleep when I checked on them. Bea’s door was closed. I went into my room and grabbed some clean clothes out of the dresser. Then I took a bath, the cold water feeling downright luxurious as I washed days of filth from my skin and hair. I’m sure the water was a murky gray by the time I got out, but I still washed my clothes, draping them over the shower rod to dry.
Then I bundled my hair up in a towel, put on my clean clothes, went into the girls’ room, and laid down on the floor between their beds, snagging a spare blanket to ward off the evening chill. There, I had the best night’s sleep I’d had in weeks, dozing off to the sound of soft breathing, knowing everyone I loved was safe and nearby.
Chapter 4
I was up before dawn, making my way through the house in stocking feet so I wouldn’t wake anyone else up. In the kitchen I eyed the coffeemaker sadly and tried the electric just in case.
Nothing. There would be no coffee this morning. I missed the days when that enticing aroma would reliably fill the house every sunrise. I’d give my eye teeth for a cup of dark roast right now. Instead I stuck some pimento loaf in between two slices of bread, drank a glass of milk, and packed myself a lunch of bread, cheese, and an orange, then filled a bottle with water from the sink, grateful that at least the water was still running.
Accounting day was truly a day-long affair. I had no idea when the militia intended to make their move, so I could be sitting around for a very long time. Hence the bottle of water and the snack.
Every Thursday the leader of the Gray Dogs and his top mongrels congregated to dole out cash, bullets, and other payment to their members as well as to collect the take on their various enterprises. It was the perfect time to hit them if the goal was to hit as many of the gang members as possible and grab the majority of their assets.
I had no beef with either group. The Gray Dogs and I had crossed paths a few times in the last year. If I was scavenging in any of their locations and they came on the scene, I always relinquished what belonged to them. In return, they let me take the rest, except for a few key items, without argument. They also were generous about providing me with a finder’s fee if I brought them any Gray Dog property I scavenged off someone else.
The militia wasn’t quite as amiable, but they weren’t total assholes either. They pretty much confiscated everything I’d salvaged if they came across me doing a job, but they didn’t smack me around over it. They didn’t offer any finder’s fee, so if I scavenged any militia weaponry, then I hauled it in to Bags for him to file the marks off and resell.
Over the last year the Gray Dogs had grown in membership and territory, expanding from their base in Van Nuys to Reseda and Encino. The militia wasn’t having any issues over this expansion that I was aware of, but there were occasional scuffles over the shared border along Sherman Oaks. The Dogs were a gang. They sold drugs, ran protection rackets, had a few gambling spots, and that was about it. If you ran a business in any of their neighborhoods and you wanted your customers un-harassed and your goods to remain on your property, you paid them a monthly fee and they left you alone. They didn’t bother the residents, because anything they had worth stealing had probably been stolen long ago. The only dustups came when a rival gang tried to move in, someone in the Dogs attempted a coup, or one of the members got into it with another.
The militias liked to think they were some sort of civilian police force, but honestly the line between the two groups was pretty thin. Most of them didn’t sell drugs, although if they came across a stash, they’d happily unload it. Militias made their money performing security, which was a more socially acceptable word for the protection racket the gangs ran.
Businesses and residents paid a monthly fee for security, and in return they were supposed to get a quick response to a crime in progress. With budget cuts and a shrinking police force, the chances of a cop responding to your 911 call in under a half hour was nil. The militias were supposed to be right there, in your neighborhood, patrolling with weapons at the ready, to serve and protect.
The reality was they picked and chose who they served and protected based on what sort of reward they might get. They might show up if the neighbor was beating the crap out of his wife, or they might not. The Southside Militia spent more time collecting their security payments, knocking down beers, and shooting cans down at the old recycling center than helping with any crime.
I got the feeling today’s rumble was because the Gray Dogs had gotten to the size where the Southside Militia saw an opportunity. Their opportunity was my opportunity. The aftermath of the fight between the two groups would spell some truly awesome scavenging opportunities. I was absolutely going to be there, even if it meant waiting all day for the action to occur.
I grabbed an old backpack out of the closet to replace the one I’d had to leave behind yesterday, stashed my food and drink in the outside pockets, then slid it on. Shoulder harness, check. Fully loaded magazines, check. Extra bullets, check. The 17 in the harness and the 43 in my pocket, check. Quietly locking the door behind me, I went around the side of the house and started my bike.
It took a while. The thing was as old as I was, but Drew had told me when I’d bought the 1989 Yamaha Fazer that the engine was damned near bulletproof. The downpipes had rusted to nothing. The rear brakes sometimes seized up. The gearbox liked to pop out of second. If I couldn’t start it in three tries, the carburetor flooded and I needed to let it sit. But all in all, it was a good bike, and best of all nobody would ever bother to steal it.
My bike roared to life. I was glad the old girl had started this morning, otherwise I would have needed to hitch a ride. Hitching wasn’t quite as dangerous as it sounded, but plenty of people were reluctant to give a woman a ride when she had a pistol in plain view.
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br /> It was twenty minutes to half an hour from our home in Sun Valley to Encino by highway. Yes, there was a more direct route weaving through the city streets, but that would have taken longer and some of those streets were no longer passable. The freeways weren’t all that great either, but at least there had been an effort to clear debris and fill in the sections that demons had blown up.
In typical Southern California fashion, I had to go a couple miles north to catch the 405 and go south. Even though the sun was barely coming up, traffic heading south was insane. LA was half the population it had been two years ago, but that still meant it was a huge city—a huge sprawling city. Lots of businesses had closed, but others hung in there, and those businesses offered employment to all these poor folks inching down the freeway by my side.
Six miles later I saw that the problem wasn’t a sudden increase in commuting, it was a tractor trailer twisted up like a pretzel and blocking several southbound lanes. I squeezed over onto the shoulder with the rest of the vehicles, and eyed the truck as I went by. The cab had been stretched out like a piece of taffy and the trailer portion was twisted around on itself then folded in half. The sides of the trailer had split open and the metal had been peeled back. Boxes littered the median.
I had no idea what the fuck had happened. Demons probably. Or maybe one of those dragons had come back. All I knew was that I was glad I hadn’t been the one driving that truck when whatever supernatural creature had decided to make the two-ton metal box into a chew toy.
Traffic opened up after that, and I picked up speed, exiting on 101 west, then hopping off the ramp. Farther south were parks and the numerous country clubs where the old money residents played. The Santa Monica Mountains stood between the neighborhood and the even ritzier neighborhoods of Bel Air and Brentwood, but unlike those neighborhoods, Encino hadn’t survived the demon wars completely intact. Ventura Boulevard still sported shopping and dining, but over half the businesses were shuttered. The quiet streets with their well-manicured houses were gone. The place looked like a war zone with torn up asphalt, blasted cars no one had bothered to move, and holes where buildings had once stood. For every house or business that had been repaired, six stood abandoned and empty shells.
