by Chuck Rogers
Lalli ground her face against my chest and wept. "Tell me you are not going to do what I think you are going to do."
"I'm going to join them."
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
As above, so below.
"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND?"
Mar-J was appalled.
"Colin?" Alice jerked her head at me. "Hit him."
Colin looked at me with genuine respect. "Serious fucking balls, dude."
I told the Malibu Council of Elders the whole story of my walkabout. Penny gave us everything she knew, but being a blind slave a lot of things like numbers, territory and firepower were sketchy. What she knew of Ged culture was from the perspective of a blind sex-slave.
Everything she could tell us fell under the classification of NOT GOOD.
I told everyone what I intended to do.
Just about everyone thought this was a very bad idea.
It wasn't like they were going to elect me mayor. Alice seemed to have become an authority figure out of nowhere, but they wanted their community murder machine close at hand in case someone cried havoc.
The RV King of Malibu finished one of my beers and cracked another. "How are you going to make your approach? You pick a direction?"
That was a good question.
"Dunno, I think coming out of LA is a no go and I don't want to come out of Malibu. As for the north? I don't know what my story is. I came out of Camarillo? Oxnard or maybe Santa Barbara? I have no idea what's happening outside of the Santa Monica Mountains and any jackhole I meet could shred my story. Maybe I'll just say I'm local, living in the woods and ran out of food."
Mar-J nodded. "Oh, that's not weak-ass shit at all."
Mar-J wasn't wrong.
"Yeah," Keith nodded. "You should go by sea."
I regarded Keith dryly. "You got a boat?"
"I got a fleet of them."
I'd forgotten the RV King of Malibu sold and rented RV's, boats and more.
"So your story is simple. You were on a boat. Which you were. You say you and some people came down the coast from the north and everything you saw was smashed to hell. Which it is. All you can report is cannibalism and getting shot at. That happened. You bailed on the boat. It went Lord of the Flies or something. Just say you stole the bike. I can drop you off at Matador State Beach and you can take the 23 all the way up. If Matador is no joy then Carillo State Park. You take the Mulholland Highway to the 23." Keith waggled his eyebrows. "Failing that, you're walking."
It wasn't bad.
Lalli shot Keith the evil eye. She'd been hoping this whole thing was dead on arrival. I'd heard her praying to Santa Muerte for it.
I'm pretty sure she wanted Colin or Mar-J to knock my ass out and tie me to a tree until I came to my senses.
"How soon can the boat be ready?"
Keith cracked another beer. What could I do? Keith was my new ship captain. Could I deny him his grog?
He regarded me smugly. "It's parked outside."
"Not to be a dick, but how do you intend to get a four-hundred pound bike on a boat? You got a crane?"
"I got a 24 foot, wheel-chair accessible pontoon boat. We just roll it right on."
"You're going to take a pontoon boat out on open water?"
"The ocean's flat as glass, Frame. We'll keep an eye on the wind."
He'd thought it out better than I had.
Check out the big brain on Braun.
Lalli left the room. She took Face with her.
The meeting adjourned and I picked my gear.
I'd seen the Sons of Ged deployed. The prospects were armed with the wooden stock stuff. Members got the black rifles. No point in showing up with the family jewels just to get them taken.
I decided on the Winchester.
The old 30-30 was the first gun I'd ever owned. Uncle Jimmy had given it to me. You, the judgmental public, would've said Jimmy was a bad uncle. Not creepy uncle, mind you. I mean bad uncle. As in he was the kind of uncle who was baby-sitting you when you were eight and well into his second six-pack when he looked at you and said "You ever shot a gun?"
You?
You wouldn't let him near your kids.
Me?
He was the best part of my childhood.
He's the one who taught me how to hunt, shoot, fish and ride a horse. He insisted on me learning our language and then that was all he would speak to me. Then he taught me hand-sign, and that would take you from California to Canada to Florida. Uncle Jimmy was the best part of the rez.
Problem was he was passed out drunk or in the rez lock-up for drunk and disorderly, a lot.
Uncle Jimmy liked to fight. When he fought white people he fought dirty. His name was James Walker Utsidihi. You've all seen Indians on TV with names like "Standing Bear," "Rain Tree," and "Native American Stereotype." Utsidihi means "Mankiller," and no one used the English translation of his name in public. Around the rez he was just Uncle Jimmy.
Mr. Utsidihi to you.
Imagine your kid coming through the kitchen door with a bloody nose and a black eye and you drop everything and say "Oh my God! What happened to you?" And your kid grins up at you and says proudly "I was fighting Uncle Jimmy! He said when I'm older he's going to teach me to use a knife!"
He was my first, best sensei.
He got shot to death in a parking lot in Tulsa.
My mother hated the name Mankiller. She kept the name Frame even after the divorce. Every once in a while I thought about changing my name back, but given my record, legally changing my name might bring unwanted attention. Mom thought Wynona Frame sounded like the dancer she'd dreamed of being all her life. She did end up doing some dancing professionally off and on, but not in any place or way she wanted the family to see.
I put those thoughts aside.
I looked at my ride.
Bobby's hog was a 2018 Harley Sportster. Now the Sportster gets laughed at enough by real bikers, but Bobby had taken the poor, defenseless motorcycle that had never done anything to him and gone full custom café racer. Lowered handlebars, rear-seat foot controls, dinky mirrors at crotch level, the whole bit. I mean, who wants to lean forward on a Hog? A Harley is supposed to vibrate your crotch, not your sternum.
On top of that it was way too shiny.
It'd get me laughed at or beat up by 1%'ers, but what the hell. Beggars couldn't be choosers. At least it had the right name painted on the tanks, and it was very likely fast. My old jacket, gloves and boots wouldn't get laughed at. They were the real deal and had been across this great land more than once.
Bobby's bike had saddlebags, which kind of defeated the purpose of a café racer but it was useful for me. I packed light. One of Brock's little pals had dropped a GI .45 with two magazines and I took that as back up. I put in a few MREs and some clothes. It was awkward but I managed to bungee on two one-gallon plastic gas cans. I tied a bedroll to the handlebars and tucked my rifle and my Halligan bar in it.
And I was ready to go.
I looked at Keith. "Give me a few minutes."
"Is there more beer?"
I sighed and nodded. Keith went to my refrigerator. I went outside. Lalli stood near the BBQ looking out over the mountains. It was approaching noon. It was a bright day but out over the patch of ocean there was a dark line of weather I didn't care for. I looked at the garden barometer. The needle was at 30.20 and falling. The wind was south to east. That meant rain in the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours, if barometers meant anything anymore after the beam.
"Lalli."
Lalli whirled on me. "How could you?"
"I . . ."
"You just got back!" She began slamming her hands against my chest. Lalli could hit. "Now you leave again! To join them!"
"I have to. They should be off balance right now. They'll be recruiting, and I want to beat the rain."
"You do not understand! These are bad people!"
"No, I'm a bad person." I took her face in my hands. "The SOG? They're not ready for me."
Lalli stared at me for a very long time before speaking. "Frame, you and I, we are not good people. But these Sons of Ged? They are pure evil. They are the children of El Rayo. They have chosen it. They have embraced it. If you join them I fear what they will make you do. I fear for what you might become."
Her voice dropped low and into Spanish. "For people like you and I, it does not take much for us to fall all the way, and for the darkness to eat us."
It appeared there were still some secrets between us.
I had a few.
"Then we run."
"We cannot run, not without a place to run to or a plan." A terrible look crossed her face. "There is no easier prey than a refugee."
Jesus . . .
I switched to Spanish. "Little priestess, what do you want me to do?"
"What I want does not matter. That is why I am upset."
"I wish there was something else I could do."
"There is one thing."
"Anything."
"Tell Señor Braun to wait half an hour."
Lalli and I broke in the RV's fold out master bed.
Braun ended up waiting an hour and a half.
* * *
THE PACIFIC OCEAN FINALLY LIVED UP TO ITS NAME.
Anyone who's lived on the West Coast knows the Pacific Ocean is anything but. Magellan's "Peaceful Ocean" was now calm. In fact Keith was right. The water off Malibu was flat as glass.
It was creepy.
It was a calm, cool spring day, no wind to speak of, and with no wind and no tide there was barely a ripple on the water. The biggest visible oceanic event was the pontoon boat's wake. Without a billion churning refraction points the water took on a strange brassy color from the sun. There was an unhealthy, oily sheen to it. Not a lot of seabirds in the sky, but without human beings and their trash around? The gulls, much like the pigeons, had to work for a living.
Keith took his auspiciously named Unsinkable 2 pontoon boat and we his jolly pirate crew down to the east Malibu shore in his Ram 3500 Mega Cab. We were all geared up. I was in the back of the truck with the grenade launcher and Alice had her carbine. Mar-J was in the boat with Colin and Ted. Raj stood up in the Mega Cab's sunroof with one of the AR's I had donated to the Malibu Hindu Temple irregulars. If there were scalawags on land or sea they'd better pack a lunch and bring friends.
Captain Keith and crew would be a big job and might take all day.
Jeff Hauser and some cowboy friends followed us to guard the truck and trailer until Keith and crew came back.
The only non-combatants aboard were Penny and Face.
They were the only happy people aboard.
I didn't think it was a good idea but Penny had asked, Keith had said yes and it was his boat.
Penny lay on one of the couches basking in the sun and engine vibration. Lalli had gone out and gotten Penny some clothes. She was looking nothing short of adorable in a tight sweater and jeans. Almost too adorable. Every man on board including me was noticing. Lalli had also gotten Penny a walking cane and I had seen Lalli give her one of the Men-In-Black's folding tactical knives.
Face stood with her paws on the prow, her snout in the breeze and was the current front-runner for happiest dog on Earth.
Keith's "pontoon guns" consisted of a beauty of a stainless steel Marlin 45-70, (That was the buffalo round of the Old West, and short of a burned-and-turned orca it would put paid to anything in North America.) and an equally shiny, nickel-plated 12 gauge. It even had a bayonet attachment.
He kept both weapons in reach of the wheel.
He kept his eyes on the line of weather to the west.
Captain Keith gave me confidence.
I needed it.
It's going to sound strange for a Navy man much less a Recon Marine but I'm not a big fan of the ocean. I never liked serving aboard ship or combat swims where I couldn't see the bottom. I could do it, I did it all the time, but I didn't like it. I much prefer jumping out of airplanes, fast-roping out of helicopters and then misbehaving in the rocks and trees behind enemy lines.
The Pacific was creeping me out.
The empty Malibu coast slowly passed by. No piers, no bars, no restaurants no PCH and not a multi-million dollar beach mansion in sight.
No signs and no signs of life.
What hadn't been erased down to the cement slabs was ghost wreckage. People drank my beer but for a party boat things got quiet and introspective fast.
It was only about fifteen miles around Point Dume and up the coast to the beach Keith had in mind, but we were only doing ten miles per hour about a click off shore.
Keith nodded at me. "Take the wheel."
I took the wheel and Keith put a couple of deep-sea fishing rods in the holders on the stern and hooked them up with small, blunt-headed trolling lures. "Throttle up a bit."
I took it up to 14 miles per hour.
"Right there!"
"What are we fishing for?"
Keith scowled at his lures and the skanky water. "Oh, I don't know. I always prefer bait, but the water is flat. The lures are swimming true at 12 knots. A dorado might mistake them for flying fish. A really dumb yellow tail might take an interest."
Mar-J grinned. "Tuna steaks sound good!"
Keith nodded. "That is a fact."
Penny sat up. "I love mahi-mahi!"
I loved it too.
I'd noticed a tailgate-party sized hibachi and a sack of mesquite in the back of Keith's truck. I hadn't had fish in months and I was going to miss it. My worst going to miss out on the feast jealousies and concerns were confirmed as one of the tips started flailing.
Mar-J shouted. "Fish on!"
The second rod began doing the herky-jerk.
Alice whooped. "Get some, Colin!"
Raj clapped his hands. "This is fun!"
Penny clapped her hands. "Don't lose them!"
Keith looked back. "You guys got it?"
Mar-J and Colin went to the rods and looked like they knew what they were doing. I grabbed the gaff and tossed Ted the net. "That was fast."
Ted nodded. "Well, without the tide? Life in the ocean is most likely like life up here. There's a lot of re-ordering going on. Probably a lot of hunger going on, and a lot of dying off. Plus no fish off of Malibu has seen a lure in months. They're probably not as wary as they used to be."
"Whoah!" Mar-J's rod bent hard and he started his fight. He was good. "Oh, that's a tuna! I can tell, and it's a big one!"
Penny clapped her hands and jumped up and down. "I want mahi-mahi!"
The dorado was a beautiful flash of iridescent yellow and green as it shot ten feet into the air on the end of Colin's line. Everyone except Penny and Face ooh'ed and ah'ed like they had seen a particularly spectacular moon meteor.
Colin whooped. "Whatever the little lady wants!"
I whipped around. "Keith, how many rods did you bring?"
"Two."
God damn it.
Colin "Whoo'ed!" as his dorado leaped again.
"Motherfucker!" Mar-J staggered a step as his line bent straight down to the water. He wasn't wearing a fighting belt and he grimaced as the rod rammed into his bladder. I grabbed the back of his belt. He put a foot on the rail and tried to let out line.
Keith called over his shoulder. "You're snagged!"
"No, it's fighting me! It's a big one! It's--" Mar-J's rod recoiled to attention as his line snapped. "Motherfucker!"
Ted clapped him on the shoulder. "You had a hitchhiker. Probably another really big fish. Maybe a shark or a sea lion."
Colin's dorado leaped. He furiously reeled in slack. "Whoo!"
Colin's dorado was not fighting his line. It was leaping and running for the boat. The dorado hit its apex and fell into the water.
The giant black fin came knifing up out of it.
The maw opened up to reveal rows of huge white teeth that snapped shut on Colin's dorado. Mar-J's line whipped vertical and leviathan dove with its prize.
"Killer
whale!" Raj literally squealed like Penny and jumped up and down clapping his hands. "A killer whale!"
Mar-J scowled and slammed his empty rod back in the holder. "What the fuck are you so happy about?"
"I love killer whales! A killer whale kissed me once at Sea World!"
"Good for you!"
That's when the black fins came out of the water.
One, two, five, ten, a dozen, two dozen, I counted thirty.
"Jesus . . ." Motherfucker was Mar-J's favorite word but he was an ordained minister. He only called on his Savior or the Creator during aerial bombardments or when confronted by a platoon of the ocean's apex predator.
I echoed the sentiments.
Jesus was right.
It got real quiet on the boat as wolf-pack orca followed the boat in formation.
"Frame . . ." Raj had lost that orca-kissing feeling. "What do they want?"
How the hell should I know?
"I don't know, Raj! More fish?"
"Frame? Can they tip the boat over?"
Jesus! Why was he asking me? Probably because these were marine killing machines and I was Malibu's terrestrial Marine killing machine in residence. "I don't know, Raj! Maybe?"
I looked to Keith.
Keith looked pale.
Alice spoke. "Orcas don't attack people. They never have."
"Yeah? Well then what do they want?"
"You said it, fish, and they're curious animals. This is probably the first boat they've seen in months."
I watched them shadowing us. None of them looked burned and turned. I don't know. I don't know anything about whales. Maybe she was right. So maybe it was the Santa Muerte medal on my chest trying to tell me something. I was getting a very bad vibe.
"Keith? Can we outrun them?"
"If I didn't have nine people and a motorcycle on board Unsinkable might do twenty-five."
"Orca's can do thirty."
Well thank you Animal Planet Alice.
Keith made grim calculations. "For long?"
"Man," Mar-J shook his head. "If we run we're acting like prey."
Mar-J was not wrong.
He almost never was.
God damn it.
The only thing that might do some real damage was Keith's rifle, and that might just be a genuine 'Smooth move, Frame-o. Now you've pissed them off' situation.