365 Days At War

by Nancy Isaak

  It was the new girl—Miley.

  She ran to Jacob, literally throwing herself into his arms. He stumbled under her sudden weight, grabbing at her to help right himself. Miley laughed brightly at Jacob’s awkward fumble, then leaned in to kiss him on his cheek.

  Immediately—I shrank back into the shadows of the room, hiding behind the curtain. It was doubtful the two of them could see me from their position, but my heart dropped when Jacob’s head spun around to check if I was watching.

  Meanwhile, Miley was chattering away happily—lovingly—one hand reaching up to pull his face her way.

  I had seen enough.

  Heart broken—I turned from the window.

  * * * *

  For both our sakes, I decided that it would be better to not see Jacob again that day. Instead, I grabbed my team and quickly, efficiently…left.

  Because—no matter what—I still had a job to do, a responsibility to my tribe.

  That would now be my priority.

  My only priority.

  At least, that was what I told myself.

  * * * *

  The four of us stopped just above Trancas—high on a hill where we could look down upon Point Dume, jutting out from the coastline. There was barely a cloud in the sky; the sun was hot on our backs and the wind non-existent. Down below us, Malibu wavered in the heat—a mottled jewel of greens and blues. If it wasn’t for the lack of cars on the road or airplanes in the sky, it would have been just another warm fall day in sunny southern California.

  Erroll was on one side of me, Nate on the other; Wyatt kneeled on the ground, obsessively going through his backpack, checking and rechecking the supplies he was bringing.

  “Over there…see them?” Nate pointed to two tiny figures sitting on surf boards amid the waves that were cresting off Zuma Beach. “I told Xavier to take Sandeep out surfing this morning—to make it easier on both of them, you know.”

  One of the figures started to rise on his surfboard, wobbling for a second, before falling back down to a prone position again.

  Nate shook his head. “Dang it, San…I keep telling you to wait until you can pop it. Going to a knee is just gonna’ make you unstable.” He kicked a loose stone over the edge of the cliff. It tumbled down, over-and-over, finally striking ground a few seconds later. “Sandeep’s really becoming a good surfer,” Nate insisted. “He’s just too cocky sometimes, you know.”

  “Aren’t we all?” murmured Erroll.

  I turned to frown at him, wondering if he was taking a jab at my expense. There was a bead of sweat on the side of his forehead and Errol wiped it off with a finger, flicking it away. “No worries, boss,” he said, as if he could read my mind. “I’m dealing with it.”

  Wyatt stood up, concerned. “What’s going on? What are you dealing with…is it Crazies?”

  “The heat,” said Erroll. “Just the heat, dude. Gonna’ be a bitchin’ hot day.”

  “October in Southern California,” grinned Nate. “Welcome to Paradise!”

  “If it is Crazies, like you’d let me know, right?” asked Wyatt. His worried head was whipping around, his eyes searching the hills at our backs. “Because like—those guys are freaking cannibals!”

  Erroll put his arm around Wyatt and pulled him in close. “No worries, bro. They’ll go for the darkest meat first, because it’s the juiciest. So, when they come for me, it should give you enough of a head start.”

  Wyatt pushed away from Erroll, furious. “Stop it! Like that isn’t even funny!”

  “It’s kind of funny,” chuckled Nate, adjusting his own backpack.

  “And you’re all sweaty,” Wyatt accused Erroll. He wiped at a drop on his shoulder. “Like you got it on me! And I hate sweat—I hate it!”

  “Calm down, Wyatt,” I ordered. “Erroll was just joking.”

  “About being eaten by freaking cannibals?!” Wyatt picked up his backpack and struggled into it. “We should be sitting at breakfast back on the Point right now. What we’re doing is ridiculous—this expedition is so a mistake!”

  “You’re not even going the full way, dude,” said Nate.

  “You think that makes it better?” cried Wyatt. His voice was rising and I worried that, if there were any Crazies hidden nearby, they would be alerted to our presence. “I’m going to be walking back by myself and I have to worry about you knuckleheads at the same time. Thank you very much!”

  “Keep your voice down,” I said, quietly.

  “And this is going to be a really hot day!” he continued ranting. “Plus, my backpack weighs like a hundred pounds, because I’ve got all this stupid tattooing equipment in it!”

  I grabbed Wyatt by the front of his shirt and pulled him close, nose-to-nose. “Keep…your…voice…down!” Wyatt’s eyes went wide; I wound my hand in his shirt, bringing him even closer. “Understood?”

  He nodded, quickly—up and down, up and down. When he spoke, his words were so quiet I could barely hear them. “Sorry…I’m just…I…understood.”

  “All right, then.” I unwound my hand and let Wyatt go.

  There were tears of humiliation in his eyes, and it looked like he was about to cry. Part of me wanted to hug and comfort him; the other half wanted to smack him across the face and tell him to grow a pair.

  I settled for turning away, toward the coastline…one last look at home.

  Good-bye, everyone…good-bye, Jacob.

  Pray that I come back…pray that we all come back.

  Because if we don’t, you need to…

  …RUN!

  * * * *

  For the next few hours, we traveled overland—hiking under the cover of the trees, skirting around rocks and cliffs too sheer to climb, slowly making our way up and over the Santa Monica Mountains toward the Conejo Valley. It was a difficult hike, because we were staying clear of the obvious trails—instead pushing our way through the chest-high undergrowth that had grown up unchecked since the world had changed.

  Wyatt and I—being less physical than Erroll and Nate—had it the worst. After only an hour of trekking, we were both covered in scratches—sweat dripping down our faces, our muscles aching from the ever-increasing incline.

  At one point, we had to stop when Wyatt nearly passed out from over-exertion. In fact, it was only through Erroll shouldering Wyatt’s backpack and carrying it along with his own that we managed to continue.

  Even so—we moved slowly forward.

  Wyatt had to be poked and prodded into movement; he became increasingly skittish the farther we went up the canyon. He seemed to stop every few seconds, his head whipping back and forth—searching for Crazies—jumping at every whisper and crackle from the bushes around us.

  It also didn’t help Wyatt’s nerves that Nate was quietly going over the Crazies’ whistle codes with Erroll as we climbed.

  “They’re going to get us killed!” Wyatt hissed at me. “Can’t you get them to just shut up?”

  “You’re talking louder than them,” I told him. “Besides, the stuff Erroll is learning could save our lives.”

  Irritated, Wyatt mumbled something under his breath.

  Before I could ask him what he had said, a small ferret burst out of the bushes to our left. It leapt straight toward us, doing an odd little jump-dance that ended with the ferret latching onto Wyatt’s shin.

  “EEEEAAAHHH!” screeched Wyatt, shaking his leg, which only caused the ferret to climb even higher.

  “Crap!” I cried. “Wyatt—shut it!”

  But Wyatt was too far gone to respond; his mouth was gaping open as he yelled, the pupils of his eyes so dilated that I couldn’t see any color.

  THWACK!

  I slapped him across the face. At the same time, the ferret jumped from Wyatt’s leg and ran across the ground, disappearing with a crash into the bush next to us.

  Wyatt’s screeching slowly mutated into a whimper.

  Nate and Erroll, meanwhile, were staring at us—horrified.

  “Guns off safety…everyone!” I
ordered. “Nate, go out to the left. Erroll, you take the right. Find a hiding-spot fifty yards out and park it. I’ll take Wyatt and head straight up for fifty and hide out there.”

  “You don’t think we should run for it?” asked Nate, looking around.

  I shook my head. “Not until we know if anyone heard. I’d rather be safer than sorry. What we’re doing is too important.” I grabbed Wyatt by his arm. “Nobody moves out of their spots for at least an hour. If nobody comes by then, we’ll head on.”

  Nodding, Nate and Erroll took off in opposite directions.

  “Oh god,” whimpered Wyatt. “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry!”

  “Keep your mouth shut or you will be sorry,” I promised, physically dragging him farther up the hill.

  After some searching, I found a small depression at the base of a rock face; it was just big enough for the two of us to crawl inside. We laid side-by-side, facing outward, and I dragged a large brush in front of us that would hopefully hide us from any passersby.

  “From here on in,” I told Wyatt, “if you want to talk, put your mouth next to my ear and whisper. We need to be as quiet as possible.”

  He nodded; then, a moment later, Wyatt leaned over and put his lips next to my left ear. “I’m really sorry, Kaylee. I try to be tough like everyone else…but I’m just not.”

  I smiled at him, whispering. “And I’m sorry I clocked you.”

  “You were just trying to get me to stop yelling like a little boy. I would have hit me, too.”

  There was a rustling nearby and we both tensed.

  Our guns were both out and—while my hand was somewhat steady—Wyatt’s was shaking badly. His finger trembled on the trigger, and I worried that he might pull it accidentally.

  Moving slowly and very carefully, I reached out and pulled Wyatt’s finger out of the trigger guard, shaking my head at him. He nodded, took a deep breath, and tried to relax.

  Meanwhile—just in front of us—the ferret came prancing out from the underbrush. He came right toward us, snuffling at the bush I’d pulled in front of our hiding place. When he started to wiggle under the bush’s branches toward us, I picked up a stone and flicked it toward the animal. It hit the ferret squarely in its flanks—a glancing blow—but enough to send it running.

  Wyatt leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Thank you.”

  * * * *

  The sun was high in the sky when we finally left our hiding places to continue on with our journey. During the time we had been hidden, there had been no sign of Crazies—although all of us had heard a faint yelling coming from the northwest.

  “Do you think it was them?” asked Wyatt, as we slithered out from our depression. “The Crazies?”

  I shrugged. “Could have been. But that was also in the direction of one of our sentry positions, so it could have been them, too.”

  Erroll and Nate joined us, helping to pull Wyatt and me to our feet.

  “Did you hear the yelling?” asked Nate.

  “Barely…what about from your positions?”

  “Definitely Crazies,” said Erroll. “It was more clear from where I was hiding.”

  “Were they looking for us?” I asked, worried.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. But I’m not like a hundred percent sure. More like sixty percent.”

  That didn’t make me happy at all.

  * * * *

  I think that we were all surprised when we arrived at the winery without any further incident. Wyatt, especially, had been absolutely certain that we would run into Crazies along the way. He seemed almost disappointed when we came off the mountain and descended into the vineyard.

  Almost.

  We hid in the small copse, among the blackened trunks of the burned-out trees, watching Alice and another Crazy as they sat in the main tasting pavilion, drinking wine and eating what looked like cheese.

  “It must be that old stuff,” muttered Wyatt. “The kind of cheese that comes in those big round shapes and doesn’t need to be refrigerated. I wonder what it tastes like. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any cheese…I love cheese.”

  Erroll and Nate’s attention, however, wasn’t on the cheese; it was on the guy sitting with Alice.

  “That’s the Star we had in the cage, isn’t it?” asked Nate. “What was his name again?”

  I pushed aside an ashy branch, checking out the kid who was presently shoveling a large chunk of yellow cheese into his mouth.

  Wyatt groaned beside me. “It looks like a Gouda…do you think it’s a Gouda? But it’s been so long. I mean…would a Gouda really have lasted this long?”

  “It’s Ryan,” I told Nate. “I didn’t realize that he’d be here.”

  “You think he’s safe?” asked Erroll.

  “As safe as any of them.”

  “What if they’ve started making cheese?” asked Wyatt. “That would be like so amazing, wouldn’t it?”

  I snapped my fingers in front of Wyatt’s face. “Focus!”

  * * * *

  When we finally walked out of the blackened trees, Alice and Ryan rose up to meet us. There were nervous grins on both of their faces as they held out their hands for us to shake.

  “Do you remember me?” asked Ryan.

  “Of course,” I said, smiling. “I remember everyone I put in a cage.”

  He chuckled, shaking my hand with a firm grip. “You’re a tough chick, Mother.”

  “You have no idea,” whispered Wyatt beside me.

  Meanwhile, Alice didn’t just shake Erroll’s hand; she also gave him a big hug. “We’re so happy you’re here,” she said—beaming. “With you on board, we’ve finally got a chance!”

  Erroll looked over at me, distressed—his face begging me to rescue him. I immediately disengaged myself from Ryan and grabbed Erroll, pulling him away from Alice.

  “No time to waste,” I told him.

  Because—we were about to become Crazies.

  * * * *

  While Alice, Ryan, and I watched, Wyatt nervously shaved Erroll’s head. Nate stood close by, giving directions. “Wider at the front. Leave about four inches across, then taper it down to two inches at the nape of the neck.”

  We were seated in one of the large rooms of the winery’s main building, waiting for two of Alice’s ghost-slaves—as we’d come to call the girls in the sheets—to finish making us dinner.

  “You sure you want to do this?” I asked Erroll, as Wyatt tentatively guided a razor around his right ear.

  “I’ll fit in better with a mohawk…ouch!” Erroll jumped as Wyatt nicked him slightly. “Dude!” he growled. “You mess this up—I’ll do the same to you, I promise.”

  Wyatt frowned. “Like barking at me really helps.”

  “Come on, Wyatt,” said Nate, running a hand through his own long hair. “Get Erroll finished, so that you can dye mine before dinner.”

  Because his light blond hair was so noticeable, Nate was going to change to a mousy brown, his hair cut to less than an inch in length. The plan was to make Nate unrecognizable—the kind of kid who looks so much like everyone else that he disappears into the background.

  It was our hope that the drab hair color would help to keep him safe. Then, Nate just had to keep his head down and not talk to too many people.

  As for me—I was going under the sheet.

  A ghost-slave.

  * * * *

  “So, how are our guys doing?” Ryan asked me. “The ones who stayed behind with your tribe.”

  “All pretty good,” I said. “Sandeep is enjoying being on the surfboard with Nate and Xavier.”

  Across from us, Nate held up his fist and gave a big thumbs-up. “San’s a great kid.”

  Ryan nodded his approval at Nate, then turned back to me. “No real problems, then?”

  “Nothing unexpected. We had some bad words on both sides, a few stupid fights,” I admitted. “But now, it’s pretty normal.” I leaned in slightly, speaking quietly. “Have you or Alice heard anything
more about our guys up in Agoura?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing…sorry.”

  I sighed—it wasn’t like I had expected anything different. “What about the Arena? Everything still in place for Halloween morning…no big changes?”

  “Just that all the challengers have to be pre-registered and are given numbers. The Arena has become, like real serious. There’s even this guy now who takes bets and gives odds and everything. Plus, they’ve got White Shirts with ledger books at all the checkpoints into the city. They check everyone’s tattoos against what’s drawn in the books—making sure that everything is copacetic.”

  “You Crazies kind of have a tattoo for everything these days, don’t you?”

  Ryan nodded. “Pretty much. Our challenger number is lucky thirteen, by the way. Can your guy tattoo it or do we need to get Cherry down here?”

  Wyatt looked over from where he was just finishing up with Erroll’s mohawk. “I can tattoo anything,” he bragged. “Well, colors sometimes are a pain-in-the-butt, but I won’t have any problem with the number.”

  “He is really good,” I agreed. “And gets better all the time.”

  “Then, you’ll want him to do your slave number before you go up, too,” Ryan advised me. “Because it will be better for you if you’re tagged—just in case you get stopped at the checkpoints.”

  “That’s why we came to the winery first,” I nodded.

  Reaching into his pocket, Ryan pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. “You and Nate both need to have this number tattooed somewhere, so you guys match up; backs or arms, it’s your choice. It just needs to be obvious that Nate owns you.”

  Over by Wyatt, Nate looked up and grinned at me.

  I shook my finger at him. “Don’t even!”

  * * * *

  We spent the evening at the winery, Wyatt working hard on finishing our tattoos.

  In the morning, Nate, Erroll, and I would continue up into the Valley. Wyatt, meanwhile, would remain at the winery until November 1st—along with two Stars to act as his guards. The afternoon of Halloween—after the Arena would be over—Wyatt would be free to return to the Point.