by Chuck Rogers
Then I locked up.
I'll admit it.
Between a stint in combat and a stretch in prison?
I have PTSD.
Not as bad as a lot guys and gals I knew, but I have my dark moments. My last line of work had given me new ones. I'd gone to some meetups. They helped.
Losing Line and three months in the hole had done a number on me.
Lalli helped.
Getting torn apart by a rape bear had given me a new set of nightmares. Visions of my personal bear bête noire, or Hogzilla with a hard-on or cougars that had nothing to do with Hollywood housewives who took CrossFit classes danced through my head. I looked at the rifle and knew its subsonic rounds would be even less effective than the Uzi on burned and turned big game.
I had experienced the living, horror movie nightmare of shooting a monster that refused to die.
I started freaking out.
Maybe I should take the M-14 after all.
But that was a just as much weight as the AR rig and I would lose the grenade launcher and sound suppressed fire. Besides, a .308 round would explode a rabbit or a squirrel. Every shot would announce me to the world. Maybe I should pack the .44 Magnum as bear insurance. But that was a lot of weight, too. I could pack the sawed-off but that was no lighter and only had two shots. Joran's eight shot .357. Did that weigh less? Damian. Damian's Glock was a 10mm. Wasn't it? No. Wait. Lalli traded it. No.
Wait. That was Brock's. I--
I chased these thoughts in circles around my head until I broke into a sweat, froze up, and had a mutant-rape-bear induced, Lalli, I don't want to go in the woods , gear obsession meltdown.
Face smelled it. She gave me a concerned yip and wagged her tail at me.
I blinked at her and had my epiphany.
The answer was right in front of me.
If I met Winnie the Penis or any other moon meteor related abominations in the woods?
I'd just shoot 'em in the chest with a 40mm high explosive grenade and make red, red rapefetti out of them.
Shwew!
Problem solved.
I regained my normal, cheerful, can-do attitude.
Good dog, Face.
Therapy animals.
They're a thing.
I gave her a ration cracker.
I packed my binoculars. Heavy as hell but absolutely required. Battery operated devices aren't usually good to bet your life on in outdoor survival situations, but I was taking the dosimeter and I had the US Rand McNally Road Atlas and Topo maps of the Lower 48 on my phone. That meant USB cables and the personal folding solar panels. Bobby's rig was semi-flexible and actually strapped onto your pack so you could charge devices as you trudged. That was pretty cool. I broke out my trusty G.I. lensatic compass.
You guessed it.
Spinning like a top.
No more Magnetic North.
Thanks Deathstar.
Oh, well.
If I couldn't find the Ventura Freeway with a road map and dead reckoning then it was time to turn in my RECON tabs.
PPK.
Nordic knives.
Spare socks.
I was out the door.
Clarice came by. She was still an absolute mess but Lalli got bacon and eggs into her and we took that as a good sign. The sight of Face actually made Clarice crack a smile. Then she started crying again. She sat in the middle of the kitchen floor and sobbed into my dog for a long time. Face took it very stoically for a puppy and gazed at Clarice in glass-eyed, dog empathy.
Therapy animals.
They're a thing.
Clarice blew her nose, there were hugs all around and she gave my face and my ass a final once over. She also gave me a letter Sophina had written to her friend Alice up in Agoura Hills. It also contained a letter from Clarice about what had happened, and there was Sophina's letter of introduction for yours truly. No one had heard from Agoura Hills in weeks but the letter might get me some local cooperation.
I felt bad about leaving Lalli alone. She informed me that another domestic. (Can you even use that term now, should you have ever?) Another member of the Latina Maid Mafia, Nona, and her grown son Manolo would be staying at the house until I returned. I had assurances from Mar-J, Ted and the Hauser boys they'd be dropping by frequently. I asked Lalli to join me in the dining room.
I came in with a pile of school supplies.
I spoke in English. "I made you something."
"Oh?"
I gave her one of the Men-in-Black's tactical radios. "Don't use this. Make no attempt to contact me. If you transmit, they'll track you. Do you understand?"
She looked at me like I was an idiot. "Of course."
"Turn it on once a day at midday. Once at midnight. Leave it on for one minute. Just listen. If I make contact? It'll be an emergency. Don't transmit back unless I tell you too. If you do, they can triangulate on both of us."
"I understand."
"Do you know Morse Code?"
Lalli shrugged. "S-O-S?"
"Right." I laid out her new communications binder and gave her page one. I'd written down the Morse Alphabet. I gave her a note pad and a pen. "Let's play a game."
Lalli made a bemused noise.
I began to tap out dots and dashes on the table with my finger.
Lalli printed them.
I started going faster.
Lalli lashed dots and dashes onto the pad with the speed of an old-time court stenographer.
Face climbed onto a chair and put her front paws on the table. She sniffed and puppy-growled at my tapping finger and Lalli's scribing hand. I let Face stay.
Lalli might have to do this under stress.
I stopped. "Translate."
Lalli assigned letters beneath the symbols and recited.
Lalli was fast.
"Lalli is beautiful."
Lalli smirked.
"Lalli smells like angels ought to smell. Lalli looks good. Real good. Lalli feels good. So good. Lalli tastes good. Mmm good. Good for you. Good for me. Good for everybody." Lalli perked an eyebrow. "I want to eat Lalli bones and all until there is nothing left of her but butter on the bed and then eat that with a spoon."
I shrugged.
It was true.
Lalli scritched Face beneath her erupting schnauzer beard and read the last line. "Face is a good dog."
Face wagged her tail.
That was true too.
"You're good."
Lalli made a noise. "My people invented mathematics, astronomy and built pyramids. This is a child's game."
I'd heard the Aztecs invented the concept of zero. As for inventing math and astronomy . . .?
I sure as hell wasn't going to contradict her. I handed Lalli another sheet. "Let's have some fun."
Lalli shrugged. "That was fun."
"Yes, but this?" I tapped the new alphabet. "This is the language of my people."
Language of my people . . .
You have my permission to vomit. I'm only a quarter, but I'd spent a lot of time on the rez, I was tribal enough, and I had no shame whatsoever about milking my aboriginal bona fides in front of my ancestry militant Aztec girlfriend.
Lalli's eyes went huge.
Score.
I'd entered the Marine Corps Education Program on the glowing recommendation of several of my superior officers, particularly my blonde, divorced Captain with USMC ONLY tramped stamped over her tailbone. MECEP was a program to give poor enlisted men who'd had no college, and even a few non-high school graduate savages like me who showed promise a chance to rise through the ranks and make officer.
Of course I washed out.
I always show such promise right before I crash and burn.
But I'd written a paper on the Native American code talkers of WW II, and for my in-class presentation I'd provided an alphabet of my own language and this vary same Morse code translator. I had to dumb it down. Some of my people's letters were actually syllables and we had a few extra vowels but for the purpose of the clas
s it worked like gangbusters. I called on some well-chosen volunteers and we sent and translated some rather ribald messages about our classmates that I'd devised. That was a lot of fun.
I got an A!
"So," I nodded at Lalli. "You'll have to translate my message twice."
She nodded. "A cypher code."
I was surprised. "Um, yeah."
Lalli's eyes went maximum inscrutability.
"You remind me of my father."
One of these days I was going to have to ask Lalli about this machine pistol toting, James Bond Mondragon, world's most fascinating man, father of hers.
We did a few rounds of translation just for fun but she already had it down cold.
"You want some homework?"
"I would love some homework."
"Make one in Aztec."
"You mean make one in Nahuatl."
"Right, make one in Nahuatl."
"I will make one." Lalli rose. "Get your things. Go to the car. I will be right there."
It was time for me to go.
I looked at Face. "Bad news? You're never going to be allowed up on the dinner table again."
Face wagged her tail.
Clearly she didn't believe it.
"Good news?" I scooped her up. "You're going for your first ride in the car, and we're going to the park."
I loaded my gear in the back of the Prius and put Face on my lap. Lalli came out a minute later and she drove me to Malibu Creek State Park. We had to take back roads and it took about half an hour. I rested a hand on her thigh and we made small talk about chicken coops and training Face. Face was head out the window, mustaches in the wind and tail wagging in overdrive all the way.
We pulled into the Visitor's Center. Jeff and Colin and some volunteers were already laying out stakes for a fence line. I waved and opened the door. Face burst out of the car and bee-lined for them barking all the way. Lalli put a hand on my leg. "Wait."
I didn't particularly want to go. If she wanted to spend the morning making out in the park I was game.
Face was in no hurry to go back home.
I leaned in to kiss Lalli.
She put a finger against my lips and stopped me. "I made you something."
I smiled. "Oh?"
Lalli handed me a small package wrapped in red tissue.
"You shouldn't have."
Lalli was expressionless. This wasn't joking around. I opened the package.
It was a silver Santa Muerte medallion. I knew it wasn't hers. She must have traded for it. I couldn't imagine any of the local believers would give one up lightly.
I stared.
The Saint of Holy Death was framed on either side by a pair of bear claws. I almost asked where the fifth claw was but I realized it was back on the Santa Muerte's offering plate. Lalli had gone to the gully where Jeff and Colin Hauser had dumped the Urus Obscenus carcass; surgically removed it's claws, bored a hole in each one and strung them for me.
I had a good idea where the rawhide she'd strung the necklace with had come from.
Goosebumps ran up my arms.
I don't know what you believe in. I don't care. I've seen enough things in my life that I can't explain. It may sound strange coming out of me, but I do not scoff lightly. If I do? I keep it to myself. I sure as hell don't say it out loud where someone or something might hear me. I think I've already mentioned once or twice that I'm tribal. I'd been in the sweat lodge. Maybe I'd really seen something. Maybe I hadn't. But in the parlance of my people? This was Medicine.
Big Medicine.
Lalli wasn't just wishing me the protection of her patron saint or giving me a symbol of power taken from my fallen enemy.
She was giving me a piece of her power and wedding it to mine.
This was Medicine. Given as a gift. From someone who was a true believer.
It didn't get any bigger than that.
I handed her back the necklace and bowed my head.
Lalli put the necklace around my neck and tucked it beneath my shirt.
I smiled at her. "May I kiss you now?"
"As much as you like."
I kissed her and whispered.
"Thank you."
Lalli kissed me and whispered back. "Vuelve a mi . . ."
Return to me . . .
* * *
I WENT WALKABOUT.
My first stop would be Agoura Hills. It was a lovely community just north and 'over the hill' from Malibu. Only two routes went all the way through from the sea to the freeway, the aforementioned Malibu Canyon and Kanan Road. The Flood had washed out both in multiple places. I was walking. Why not take the scenic route?
Malibu Creek State Park is a beautiful 8,000 acres. Lots of movies have been shot there. A whole bunch of westerns and famously large parts of the original Planet of the Apes movies. I left the creek, walked through rolling hills, skirted the open territory of some major burns and soon I was off the beaten path.
Anytime you go in the woods alone you're taking a risk.
Going into the woods alone and stepping off the trail is another order of magnitude.
But I felt good.
I'd had my moment of doubt and pain, but 40mm High Explosive grenades and the love of a good dog can do wonders for your confidence.
And if you have the love of a Priestess of the Holy Death on your side?
The Valley of Shadow's terrors recede.
It took me three days. Partially because I wasn't in a hurry, and because I didn't want to make any mistakes. My path took me diagonally across the park. The A to B distance wasn't that far, but again, this was a park in a mountain range. It's the going up and going down that adds mileage fast. I paralleled trails and access roads. I wanted to know if anyone was using the park and I didn't want to bump into any cannibalistic, the Malibu Hills Have Eyes types. Didn't feel much like stumbling into a meteor crater and getting exposed to something. I frequently went up onto high ground and picked my routes.
The visitor's center was full of helpful maps. I took one and made a lot of notes as I went.
I kept an eye out for tracks. There was a lot of deer sign. Some pig. There was definitely a pack of wild dogs. That would be a problem for ranching the park. In a year I suspected Face and her littermates might have something to say about that. Meantime I didn't particularly sweat a pack of feral dogs but neither did I want to waste my ammo or their meat fighting in the wilderness. There were some tracks of large animals I did not recognize and that gave me pause.
No sign of humanity, either shoes or wheels.
I pretty much had Malibu Creek State Park to myself for three days.
End of day one I came to the ranger station. It'd been picked over, but like I said, it's amazing what people overlook. The propane and water tanks were full and it had solar. I was tempted to cook a hot meal and sleep indoors. I marked it for later looting, made a meal of MRE beef brisket entrée with au gratin potatoes and washed it down with MRE coffee.
It was a nice night. I slept on the roof so nothing could sneak up on me.
I watched the lightshow and thought of Line and Lalli.
Breakfast was a Soldier Fuel bar and a water bottle of orange flavored carbohydrate electrolyte beverage powder.
Only two things of interest happened during the park recon. As I was passing the M*A*S*H Production Location, (They filmed the original movie and the TV series there.), I saw camels. Seven of them. One big one that I took for the bull, three does and their calves. They were one-humpers. That made them dromedaries or Arab camels. I was no camel expert but I'd encountered the beasts when I'd deployed. Besides being heavy haulers, camels gave milk and could be clipped for their hair like sheep. I knew from personal experience they tasted good braised and served over couscous.
I was relieved to have identified one of the mystery tracks. If you're worried about mutant beasts? Tracks that look like a pair of foot-long lungs with toes can ruin your sleep.
And no they don't look like women wearing tight sh
orts.
They look like foot-long lungs with toes.
I didn't like the look the bull was giving me.
He didn't have a hard-on, (Never seen a camel with a hard-on. Seen the bear. Zero desire.) and he wasn't pawing the ground. But he was well over half a ton, I knew camels occasionally killed people, and he was giving me the stink-eye.
I retreated slowly back into the trees and marked Camel@M*A*S*H on the map.
I'd leave the camel roping to the cowboys.
Godspeed you Hausers!
The other thing that happened?
Later that day it snowed.
I don't know how much you know about the weather in Malibu but it averages 0.00 inches of snow a year. The temperature dropped like a rock and clouds came out of nowhere from the North. Next thing I knew I was walking in a Malibu Wonderland. It would have been beautiful if it didn't scare me. Jaiden hadn't been lying about Deathstar related climate change. If it was snowing in April in Malibu, God only knew what the weather was doing on the rest of the planet.
I remember Ted talking about the rain killing people and I had a sudden terror of radioactive snow. I ran for the cover of the trees and fumbled out the dosimeter.
negligible across all fields.
I hadn't seen snow in a while, so I pulled on my fleece and let myself enjoy it. The snowfall lasted about half an hour. It had been a warm day. I was almost instantly walking in mud. No way to hide my tracks so I just picked up the pace and did distance. It stayed overcast and the light failed very quickly.
I'd planned on two days but decided I didn't want to climb the hill in mud and in the dark. I shot a squirrel, dug a Dakota fire hole in a culvert and spent another night outdoors. Won't lie to you. Squirrel on a stick without the benefit of an overnight marinade or at least some kind of basting fat is pretty dry going, but I rubbed it with salt and pepper and finished it off with a slathering of MRE jalapeno cheese spread.
Your local sports bar was never going to serve it during happy hour, but I got some calories in me. I brought up Rand McNally on my phone and studied the streets of Agoura Hills, focusing on Malibou Lake.
Yes, true believers.