365 Days At War

by Nancy Isaak

  “How do the needles hold the color?” I asked.

  “Wyatt’s wound thread around the needles, down near the base,” explained Cherry. “The thread sucks up the ink, then it drips down from there.”

  “How long does it take to do a design like that?”

  “Forever,” groaned Connor, his voice muffled and tense with pain.

  “Wyatt’s been working on it for a week,” said Cherry. “This is the new Lightning Bolt design, so we wanted to be extra careful with it.”

  I leaned down and tapped Connor on the shoulder. “Look at you—one of the Craziest.”

  “Shaddup,” he muttered.

  “Now…now,” Cherry murmured, soothingly. “You be a big boy, Connor, and when you’re finished, Mama will give you a lollipop.”

  “You shaddup, too!”

  Chuckling to myself, I moved across the room to where Porter was handing out small bottles of hand lotion to the rest of the spies. “You put it on three times a day. And stay out of the water and sunlight wherever possible.”

  Pauly peered closely at his lotion—a grin lighting up his face. Josh (who would be leading the Agoura Hills group) burst into laughter.

  “It’s for the tattoo, deviant,” he razzed Pauly. “Not your personal entertainment.”

  Porter looked confused.

  “Jerking off,” I explained.

  “Oh, come on!” cried Porter, turning bright red.

  “I would love to come,” grinned Pauly. “Thought that was the point of you giving us this.” He held up his bottle of lotion.

  The rest of the guys burst into laughter. Even I had a hard time keeping a straight face.

  With a frown, Porter walked off, slapping at Josh’s hands as he passed. “Stop scratching your back,” he growled at him. “You’ll only make it worse.”

  “But the tattoo itches!” Josh complained.

  * * * *

  As Wyatt and Cherry continued the finishing touches on Connor’s back, I gathered the guys around me for some final instructions.

  “All right, we’ve got two teams here,” I began. “Josh, yours is heading up into Agoura Hills. Pauly, your team is going to the country club in Calabasas. While some of your priorities are the same, your ultimate goals are different.”

  Reaching into a bag I was carrying, I pulled out some papers, handing them to Josh. “Pass these around,” I ordered. “Every guy gets a copy. These are the whistle codes. You’ll need to know them to get by the checkpoints. Memorize them, then get rid of the papers. You can’t be found with them on you.”

  “How far before the checkpoint do we need to whistle?” asked Josh.

  “Pauly?”

  “As soon as you see them,” advised Pauly. “And you keep on giving the code until it’s answered. Wait about three seconds in between tries.”

  “What happens if we don’t give the code?” asked one of the guys on Pauly’s team.

  “They’ll shoot.”

  “Remember, these guys are Crazies,” I said. “They might look like kids, they might act like kids—but they’re kids with guns who are on the lookout for us, who’ve been instructed to hunt us down and either kill us or take us prisoner.”

  “For a quick trip to the Arena,” muttered Pauly.

  “And trust me…that’s one place I can assure you that you don’t want to go.”

  A couple of them shook their heads; others just looked grim—a combination of anger and fear.

  “Now, Josh,” I continued, “your group’s primary goal is infiltration. Brent and Han know that you will be coming and will help set you up in a safehouse. We need you to feed us as much information as you can about the Crazies’ plans—if and where they plan to attack us, how they’ll do it, how many guys do they have, what sort of weapons, that kind of thing.”

  “Are we sure that we can trust these Star guys?” asked one of the guys on Josh’s team.

  “Right now, we’re not certain who we can trust,” I answered, honestly. “But Brent and Han have been there for us in the past, so we have to assume that they’re safe. After that, it will be up to you guys and Josh to determine. Okay, now…Cherry?”

  From her spot next to Connor, Cherry held up a sketch pad. She turned to a page that had a drawing of a stern-looking girl, her hair short, her face pinched.

  “This is a girl named Alice,” I told the guys. “She’s one of the Foxes’ inner circle. Keep an eye out for her. It’s possible that she’s a member of the Stars, but we’re not a hundred percent certain, yet. So, if you get into a situation where you come into contact with her—keep that in mind.”

  “Maybe good—maybe bad,” joked Josh.

  “Or maybe a double agent,” added Connor from over on his cot.

  “Stop moving!” demanded Wyatt, giving him an extra hard tap of the needles.

  “The other thing about the Stars,” I continued, “is that we need to learn about these soldier cells of theirs. You guys have to find out exactly how many Stars there actually are—where they’re located in the sense of the tribe, how they’re armed, and whether they’re willing to fight with us if we go to war.”

  “Do you think they’ll help us rescue the slaves at the country club?” asked Pauly.

  “That’s my hope,” I nodded.

  “Are we still checking out that house in the Foxes’ compound—the one you said had the younger girls?” asked Josh.

  I reached into my gym bag and pulled out another paper. “This is a map of the compound,” I explained, handing the paper to Josh. “Peyton drew it up and labeled it, so you would know where everything is. She says the best way in will be up the stairs that lead up from Thousand Oaks Boulevard. I’d tell you to take the culvert up to there, but I’m worried that Brandon might have placed guards in it by now.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” said Josh, studying the map.

  “And remember…I’m not asking you to rescue the girls—unless you’re absolutely certain you can get in and out without anybody getting hurt. Otherwise, just get us the numbers of the girls and their guards. We can figure out everything else later.”

  I motioned to Cherry again. She flipped to a second page in her sketchbook, holding it up for everybody to see.

  “Some of you already know Brandon,” I said. “For those of you who have been lucky enough not to meet him, he’s the meaty kid on the left. The one on the right page, with the scar down his cheek, is Mateo. Both of them are dangerous—they’ll cut you up just for kicks. And Mateo, in particular—he’ll eat you—and I’m not joking about that, by the way. Remember…Brandon is just taking advantage of the situation. Mateo is the true believer.”

  Most of the guys groaned in disgust. A few looked like they were about to gag.

  Cherry turned another page.

  “Okay, the ladies,” I continued. “On the left is Orla. She’s the one with the red hair and will probably appear to be in charge. But it’s the one on the right page—Tray—who you really have to watch out for. Of everybody, she’ll be the most dangerous.”

  “She’s gorgeous,” murmured one of the guys.

  “Without a doubt,” I agreed. “But don’t fall into her trap. Her looks are part of her weapons. She will use them to catch you, then she will hurt you…then she will kill you. I can’t state this strongly enough—this girl is a psychopath.”

  “What a waste,” said the same guy.

  “When we’re finished with this meeting, I want you all to take a closer look at these drawings. Memorize all the faces. It could make the difference between you coming back home or going into the Arena.”

  “Have we decided on a timeline for messages?” asked Josh.

  “I think it’s going to have to remain fluid,” I answered. “You guys aren’t going to know what your schedule is like until you get up there and settle in. What we’ll do on our side is check the water tower every second day. You leave messages whenever you’re able.”

  “Roger that,” said Josh.

  Next, I t
urned to address Pauly’s team. “Your primary goal is reconnaissance. We need to know the exact layout of the country club, where they’re keeping the slaves, how many guards—all that stuff.”

  “Any chance we could borrow the beautiful Cherry to come and draw a map for us?” grinned Pauly.

  “And be chained to you?!” snorted Cherry, from her side of the room. “Not a chance, straight boy.”

  Everyone laughed; Josh elbowed Pauly, snorting at him.

  I rapped my knuckles three times on the table. “Focus guys,” I urged them, regaining their attention. “Now, listen…there’s something I want both teams to keep an eye out for—horses—as many as we can get. If war with the Crazies is coming, having horses will give us the ability to move quicker and farther.”

  “Plus, we can build a cavalry,” said Pauly, excited by the idea.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I warned. “But if you do come across horses, try and take them. If you can’t, note where they are and we’ll send up a team later.”

  “What about those carts the Crazies drive?” asked Josh.

  “Put them on our wish list, too. That would make sense, taking them, especially since some of you have cart driver tattoos. And, finally…”

  I walked over to another gym bag I had stashed to one side. Opening it, I began to pull out gallon size freezer bags. “You’ve all got a goody-bag. One of the girls baked you a treat to eat on the road.”

  I tossed a bag to Pauly. He immediately opened it and took a giant sniff. “Brownies! Smells like home. I mean, my real home—when my grandma would visit and bake for us. Not my mom, of course—too busy getting her nails done or her wrinkles ironed out.”

  The other guys came over, eager for their own brownies.

  “It was Sophia, wasn’t it?” said Josh, tucking the bag I gave him into his backpack.

  “Josh likes the baker-chick,” Pauly tattletaled.

  I looked at Josh, surprised.

  He shrugged. “She’s nice.”

  “For a bible thumper,” Pauly teased.

  Josh turned and gave Pauly a stern look. “You know, I believe in God.”

  Pauly, grinning, reached over and ruffled Josh’s hair. “Then, you and the baker-chick are made for each other…congratulations and go with God.”

  * * * *

  It was the middle of the night when we all stood at the edge of Westward Beach Road. Josh’s group would be heading across Zuma Beach, eventually turning up Encinal Canyon, before they made their way into Agoura Hills. Meanwhile, Pauly’s group would be headed in the opposite direction—traveling by lifeguard boat down the coast before heading up over the mountains into the city of Calabasas.

  I found it difficult to say good-bye to the teams.

  These guys were so young; who knew if they would all come back again.

  “Remember,” I told Josh, “Brandon’s seen you, so you can’t take a chance of getting anywhere near him. Send the other guys up to scout out the Foxes’ compound. You concentrate on getting us the Star info we need.”

  Josh nodded. Then, he leaned in and spoke softly to me, making certain first that no one else could hear.

  “Let her know that we really appreciated them, okay,” he asked. “Sophia—tell her thank you from us for the brownies…from me.”

  * * * *

  Saying good-bye to Connor was by far the most difficult. I’d always worried about him—with his limp and his sensitive nature. He simply wasn’t made for this kind of thing. And, yet—his amazing brain made him perfect.

  Poor Connor—such a contradiction.

  “You don’t take any chances,” I told him. “I’m serious, Connor. Just take a look, get the place catalogued in your brain, and then come home and make your plan.”

  Pauly came up and draped an arm over Connor’s shoulders. “I’ll take care of the brainiac, bro.”

  “And who’s going to take care of you?” I asked—only half-joking.

  “Why—the sexy wife I’m going to find along the way,” Pauly grinned. “You think you’re the only one who gets a bride, boss?”

  “I can’t believe that we’re going to miss your wedding,” groaned Connor. “It’s so unfair.” He shrugged Pauly’s arm off of his shoulder. “And you—keep your hands away from my back…stupid tattoo hurts like a mofo!”

  Pauly leaned toward me, eyebrows raised. “I’m going to want details, Jacob.”

  “I’ll tell you all about the wedding when you get back,” I promised.

  “Wedding-schmedding...I want honeymoon details!”

  * * * *

  I waited until both teams had disappeared into the dark before I headed back into camp—my armed guards walking beside me. There was a light still on in the Medical Clinic and I went toward it, expecting to find Wyatt and Cherry cleaning up. Instead, I found Porter, sitting at his desk, looking sadly at a pile of cardboard tubes in front of him.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Just worried about Connor…and Josh…and maybe even a little about Pauly.”

  I pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. “Yeah, bro…I’m worried, too.”

  “They’re just doing reconnaissance, though,” he murmured. “I mean, it’s not like they’re going into any battles or anything…except…”

  “Except they’re dealing with Crazies,” I finished for him.

  Porter sighed. “Why do people have to be so ridiculous?”

  “I don’t know, bro,” I shrugged. “Some people just are.”

  “You know…when you’re growing up and hear about all the horrible things in the world—you think…well, it’s the adults. They’re the problem…they’re the ones responsible. But now it’s just us and these things are still happening. So, we can’t blame the adults anymore. Because we’re the ones who are doing all these bad things…we’re responsible.”

  “Sorry, Porter,” I said, shaking my head. “But you’ve got it all wrong. We’re not the ones doing the horrible things. We’re the ones trying to stop them from happening.” I reached out and gave him a friendly push. “Dude, we’re the ones wearing the white hats.”

  * * * *

  “So, what’s with the cardboard tubes?” I asked, pointing to the pile on his desk.

  “Well, those are actually for Kaylee,” Porter explained. “For the bonfires she’s setting up along the coast.”

  “What are they?”

  “She and I have been working out a way to make the bonfires change color—so we could have a code. Red fire means emergency, need help. Green fire means Crazies are attacking. That sort of thing.”

  “And you and Kaylee have figured it out?”

  “Andrei and Ian have been helping, too.” He snorted, amused. “Well, mostly they like to try and blow things up, but that’s their way of helping, I guess.”

  I laughed. “Sounds like them.”

  “Anyway,” Porter said, pushing a tube toward me. “We figured out a way to melt down crayons and mix them with a few things. It was pretty easy to make the smoke change colors. The challenge was to get the smoke to hold its color long enough to be seen a couple of miles away…so we could relay the bonfires along the coast.”

  Picking up the cardboard tube, I turned it around, examining its taped ends. “The crayon mix is inside of this?”

  Porter nodded. “That one will give you red smoke.”

  “Cool.” I placed it back down on the desk, then looked around. “We all alone?”

  “Just me here.”

  I reached into my backpack and pulled out a plastic baggie. “One of the guys was allergic to chocolate. He gave me his treats as a wedding present. Care for a Sophia-brownie?”

  “Absolutely,” grinned Porter, reaching for a chocolate square. He bit into it, groaning in delight. “So…you excited about getting married?”

  “Excited…scared…impatient.”

  “I think you’re making the right choice, by the way. It’s so obvious that you and Kaylee belong together. I mean—why wai
t, right?”

  “That’s our thinking. What about you?”

  “What about me?” asked Porter, tensing up.

  “Jay or Jude?”

  Porter shook his head, lowered it in dismay. “It’s so complicated.”

  “Because you care about Jude.”

  He nodded his head.

  “But Jay is, like—your scientific twin.”

  Sighing, Porter took a big bite of his brownie. “Sometimes, I think it was so much easier when it was just us guys.”

  * * * *

  A few days later—just after dawn—my guards and I scaled the fence to the girls’ house. I was intending on a few stolen moments with Kaylee but, as we walked down the driveway, one of the guards suddenly grabbed at my arm. “There’s someone creeping around the guest house!”

  We could just barely see through the trees into the backyard—where the guest house appeared mainly as a dark shadow.

  “See him?” asked the guard.

  It took a moment for my eyes to focus.

  Then I saw him; he moved slowly, going from window-to-window, looking inside the small house.

  “How many guards are on duty right now?” I asked.

  “One in the main house, one at the back of the yard and another at the front gate. The rest are probably sleeping in the guest house.”

  “Go check on the girls in the main house,” I told the guard. “The rest of you come with me.”

  I was wearing a gun in a holster under my arm and I pulled it out now, checking that the safety was off and a bullet was in the chamber. My guards, meanwhile, did the same with their own weapons.

  “We go in slow,” I said, softly. “Fan out and keep your eyes open for anyone else in the yard. Whatever you do, don’t shoot unless you’re absolutely sure who you’re firing at!”

  * * * *

  She almost fainted when we came up behind her, guns drawn.

  As it was, Cammie stumbled backward, bouncing off a wall and falling to the ground. At her feet, meanwhile, Pugly began huffing and chuffing at us—trying in his little dog way to let us know that he meant business.