Sole Chaos

by William Oday

  Beth moved her hands back and forth in the golden sunlight, examining them with detached interest. Measuring them. “Depending on how she’s doing, I may have to sit out the weekend trip.”

  “Your dad will be pretty upset. And not just because he won’t have his favorite free vet checking out the new chicks.”

  “I know. But if I can’t get her feeling better, I’m not letting her out of my sight.”

  Her heart was still so raw, always just under the surface.

  He wrapped her in a bear hug and squeezed. He leaned down and touched their foreheads. Strands of wavy, black hair framed her sunlit amber eyes. They mesmerized him now as much as they ever did. Maybe more. At thirty-four, she was more beautiful than ever. Small lines had crept into the smooth curves, the ripeness of youth had started to show signs of wear.

  The imperfections made her more tangible. More precious. Again, he wished she didn’t have to leave for work. He could comfort her with more than just hugs. Before the derailed train of his thoughts totally crashed off the tracks, he gave her a peck on the lips and pulled back.

  “Get to work, doctor,” he said with an authoritative voice. His work voice. The voice he used when he wanted to get someone’s attention and make them comply.

  “You’re not the boss of me,” she said, her eyes mocking and grateful all at once.

  “Never pretended to be. If you do have to stay with Jane, I’ll take Theresa. Tito can’t get too mad if she’s there.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Beth hugged him again and turned to grab her helmet. She slipped it on and popped the visor up. “I’ll call when I know more.” Without another word, she dropped the visor and kickstarted the engine to life.

  He glanced behind her to verify the driveway and street were clear, checking for anyone that might not notice or care about a motorcycle pulling out. He worried any accident would turn out like a crash test boxing match where her opponent had the advantage of about three thousand pounds.

  There were no other moving vehicles.

  He watched her pull out and waved at her back.

  Max bounded out of the open front door and howled as she rode away. When she didn’t respond to his off-key howls, he moped over and begged until Mason offered him a scratch under the neck.

  The old bike paused at the stop sign at the end of their block before continuing. Mason was about to head back inside to begin the business of scraping the egg pan when the sky to the north caught his attention.

  Far away, the blue sky above turned a murky brown at the horizon. A darker hue than the usual smog that habitually hung over Los Angeles. A forest fire probably. A massive one. The darker brown band stretched from the ocean to the northwest to the mountains to the northeast.

  He made a mental note to check the news as it appeared to be directly between them and their possible weekend visit to Tito and Mamaw.

  Max sat on his haunches and sniffed the air. Mason glanced at him as if he might answer an unspoken question.

  As smart as Max was, he didn’t bark any answers. Mason couldn’t blame him. He’d never seen anything quite like it either.

  Theresa popped out the front door.

  “Earth to Dad. I’ll incur the wrath of the Los Angeles public school system if I’m late again.”

  “Got it.”

  He gave one last look at the unsettling sky in the distance, and then headed back inside.

  4

  Mason glanced in the rearview mirror of his tan 1978 Bronco to see Max’s blocky head obscuring most of the traffic that extended forever behind them. His tongue hung out the side as he panted in the early morning heat. Mason reached back and scratched his neck while trying to avoid the long tendril of drool that dangled from his mouth.

  Cars backed up into the intersection as horns blared and people jockeyed to get through. Too many people loved Los Angeles. They loved it to death.

  A foul stench assaulted Mason’s nose.

  “Max,” he said as he cracked the window.

  The red light governing the intersection of Venice and Lincoln stayed red. Glared red like it enjoyed his growing irritation. This one, in particular, lasted twice as long as any other that he regularly drove through.

  He looked over to the passenger seat and watched his daughter’s fingers fly over her phone screen. She was a wonder with the thing. He admired the long black hair that looked like a time machine reflection of her mother. They shared the same jaw that could shift from warm laughter to frozen silence so fast he’d be left confused and wondering what happened.

  He noticed her shoulders tense and she thumbed out of the texting app.

  Busted.

  She turned to him with lips twisted up in obvious irritation. Jaws tensed and nostrils flared. “Dad, you’re snooping.”

  “No. Not really. Just daydreaming. Passing the time. Praying this light decides to change.”

  “It’s bad enough you put that tracking app on my phone so you can spy on my every—“

  “It’s only for an emergency. It doesn’t do anything unless you or I activate it.”

  “Yeah right. Did you also install a text logging app? Something that lets you print the history so you can invade my privacy at your leisure?”

  She had her mother’s fire.

  He looked back to the street light and tried not to let the sarcasm dripping from her words get under his skin. The last year with her had been rougher than any before. At times, it felt about as smooth as a typical street in Los Angeles—one jarring pothole after another.

  If only navigating their relationship was that easy. He could see the problems on the road coming. Could utilize skills honed over nearly a decade to navigate and avoid them.

  But top-notch tactical driving skills didn’t help a lick in avoiding the recurring blowups that were taking a bigger and bigger toll on their relationship.

  What had happened to the little girl he remembered?

  He didn’t feel like a terrible dad. He didn’t think he was unreasonably strict or overly protective. Sure, he preferred to minimize risk. But that was because risk management was priority one. And the biggest part of risk management was having good intel.

  So, yeah, he wanted nothing more than to pore through every single text on Theresa’s phone, identify possible threats and neutralize them before they could escalate into something serious.

  He was a dad. That was his job. Plus, it was his day job as a close protection officer.

  Only, it felt impossible in a way no work assignment ever had. Impossible in a way that nothing in his career of protecting Fortune 500 CEOs and diplomats from around the world made easier.

  A few clients over the years had made protection an onerous task. Famous people usually. They were the worst. He’d sworn off taking those assignments years ago. The pay wasn’t worth the headache.

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said. “I looked at you. I’m allowed to look at my smart, beautiful daughter, aren’t I?”

  “Do I look like an idiot?”

  “Not usually.”

  “Very funny,” she said as she looked out her window at the long lines of cars that extended in all four directions at the intersection.

  Mason retreated to easier ground. “Mom texted before we left. She told Tito and Mamaw we’re coming. Tito said there was one chick, in particular, he wanted to show you.”

  The clouds parted and Theresa smiled. So easy like that.

  “I can’t wait to snuggle them. Cute, fluffy little fur balls everywhere. Eeep!” The last part came out in an emotional spike of anticipation.

  “And some possible but unconfirmed bad news. Mom may have to skip this visit.”

  Concern pinched her eyebrows together. “Is it Jane? Is she okay?”

  Mason bent the truth, but only a little. For his daughter’s sake.

  “Everything is fine. Mom just wants to run some additional tests that may take longer than expected.”

  It was weak, but he wasn’t going to break his da
ughter’s heart if he could avoid it.

  Theresa huffed and blew out a breathy, agitated exhale. “We already canceled the last two times. We can’t cancel again.”

  “Nobody’s saying cancel. Worst case is just us two go.”

  Mason wanted to go as much as she did. When he married Beth, her parents were a big part of that commitment. They’d welcomed him into their family and given him a sense of rootedness that he’d longed for his entire life. Beth had brought needed stability.

  A foundation that kept him from completely sinking, even during the dark years.

  He dragged his thoughts back to the present and bristled at the mass of metal crawling by. He longed for the peace and tranquility of Tito and Mamaw’s small acreage. Their property was quintessential Ojai. Big. Surrounded by beautiful nature. Chickens and goats underfoot. The braying of a mule somewhere in the distance.

  You didn’t find that kind of thing in Venice. Not without spending ten million dollars to get it. Maybe not at all.

  “We’d better not cancel,” Theresa said.

  Mason mashed the brake with his left foot and gently tapped the gas with his right. This stoplight felt like a stop-forever-light. He glanced at the cross traffic and saw an open pocket approaching. A dangerously strong urge to punch the gas and roar through the intersection tickled his leg. “Don’t worry,” he said, as much to himself as to his daughter. “We’re going.”

  Her expression softened. He saw hints of the little girl she once was. Slowly submerging into a woman he often didn’t understand.

  He prayed Beth would have good news about Jane. At least not bad news.

  Theresa’s phone beeped and a message popped up. He resisted the urge to take a sideward glance.

  “You text more than you breathe.”

  “Very funny, Dad.”

  “Kidding. But not,” he said as he leveled a look at her.

  “Understood,” she replied, then nodded toward the road. “Green light.”

  Mason flicked a look up at the light and verified the change. He glanced at the analog clock on the dash and verified the time. Great. Theresa might be late to class. She’d already gotten a parent report about excessive tardies. He wasn’t going to be the reason she got detention.

  He dropped the hammer with his right foot while simultaneously releasing the brake with his left.

  The throaty V8 roared and lurched forward on oversized BF Goodrich All-Terrain 4x4 tires. Their size put all the surrounding cars on a downward line of sight. He’d seen more than a few surprising things from his high vantage point.

  The old beast resembled nothing so much as a proud and aged lion prowling the savannah. Past its prime. Rough around the edges. But strong. Still big and dangerous to the herd of sleek impalas that bounded beside.

  Mason smiled as the windows rattled and the round tuning knob on the old stereo slipped and the station crackling through the single working speaker blended into static.

  Through the static, the dull voice of a reporter bled through in sporadic bursts.

  “Fire… threatening the San Fernando… not contained…”

  Theresa punched the volume knob and turned it off.

  “Would you mind keeping us alive at least until I get to school?”

  Mason flashed a grin and winked. “That’s my job.”

  He turned back and slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop just beyond the intersection.

  Max barked like crazy.

  A man dressed in rags stumbled and fell against the front bumper. He raised his head as if suddenly aware of their presence.

  Blood streamed from his eyes, down his filth-crusted cheeks. He swiped at the fluid and lurched back, teetering on the edge of staying upright. He covered his face and screamed. “Help me! Please, help me!”

  The words gurgled out as red spewed down his unkempt beard.

  Horns honked behind them.

  A car in the next lane roared by heading in the same direction.

  Mason looked in the rearview mirror. A shiny, white Mercedes flew into the intersection, obviously hell-bent on not getting caught at the light.

  The man stumbled into the adjacent lane.

  He never had a chance.

  Sleek, white metal slammed into fragile flesh. The man’s head whipped down onto the hood and split apart. The impact flung his body through the air, pinwheeling like a rag doll tossed by an angry child. His broken form landed in a heap. Arms and legs splayed at grotesque angles.

  And just like that, whatever dreams or delusions the man harbored ended.

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  Other Works

  Extinction Crisis series

  SOLE CONNECTION, a Short Story

  SOLE PREY, a Prequel Novella

  SOLE SURVIVOR, Book 1

  SOLE CHAOS, Book 2

  THE TANK MAN, a Short Story

  THE PLUNGE, a Short Story

  Edge of Survival series

  THE LAST DAY, Book 1

  THE FINAL COLLAPSE, Book 2

  THE FRAGILE HOPE, Book 3

  The Best Adventures series

  THE SLITHERING GOLIATH

  THE BEEPOCALYPSE

  THE PHARAOH’S CURSE

  Short Stories

  THE GENDER LOTTERY

  SAINT JOHN

  SHE’S GONE

  Questions or Comments?

  Have any questions or comments? I’d love to hear from you! Seriously. Voices coming from outside my head are such a relief.

  Give me a shout at william@williamoday.com.

  All the best,

  Will

  The Goal

  I have a simple storytelling goal that can be wildly difficult to achieve. I want to entertain you with little black marks arranged on a white background. Read the marks and join me on a grand adventure. If all goes well, you’ll slip under the spell and so walk alongside heroes and villains. You’ll feel what they feel. You’ll understand the world as they do.

  My writing and your reading is a kind of mechanical telepathy. I translate my thoughts and emotions through characters and conflict in a written story. If the transmission works, your heart will pound, your heart will break, and you will care. At the very least, hopefully you’ll escape your world and live in mine for a little while.

  I hope to see you there!

  Will

  My Life Thus Far

  I grew up in the red dirt of the Midwest, the center of the states. I later meandered out to the West Coast and have remained off-center ever since. Living in Los Angeles, I achieved my Career 1.0 dream by working on big-budget movies for over a decade. If you’ve seen a Will Smith or Tom Cruise blockbuster action movie, you’ve likely seen my work.

  The work was challenging and fulfilling… until I got tired of telling other people’s stories. I longed to tell my own. So, now I’m pursuing my Career 2.0 dream—a dream I’ve had since youth—to write stories that pull a reader in and make the everyday world fade away.

  I’ve since moved to a more rural setting north of San Francisco with my lovely wife, vibrant children, and a dog that has discovered the secret to infinite energy. His name is Trip and he fits the name in four unique ways.

  WILLIAMODAY.COM

  William Oday, February 2019

  Copyright © 2019 William Oday

  All rights reserved worldwide

  All rights reserved. With the exception of excerpts for reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, dialogues, and incidents either are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Christian Bentulan.

  Edited by Walt Hunt