In a few buildings, the windows had been boarded up, evidence that someone either lived there now or had lived there in the past. He hadn’t seen another soul for more than an hour – he wasn’t sure whether that was a good or a bad thing. Finally, according to his count, he reached the spot.
“Nine blocks east, twenty blocks north,” he said. “I hope.”
It resembled every other block he’d passed – empty buildings and dusty streets. After twenty minutes scouring the area he’d found nothing. There was no indication that Danny had ever been there, and no sign of any of the landmarks Danny described in his journal.
Richard sat down on a broken curb with his head in his hands. All that had happened – the train, Keller’s shooting, the trek through the wilderness – all for nothing. There was the possibility that he’d gotten the block count wrong. He considered returning to King George station to try again.
Another thought occurred to him – a horrifying one. What if he’d been mistaken about the initials – KG? What if they didn’t stand for King George after all? The journal never explicitly mentioned King George. What if the journal entries had nothing to do with this place? He sat for several minutes, a black cloud of disappointment and failure descending on his mind.
Finally he made a decision. He was here. If he was right about the initials and had just gotten the block count wrong, the place he was searching for should be nearby. If he was wrong he’d have to deal with that, but first he’d exhaust every option. He chose a direction at random – north – and started walking. After about ten minutes he came across several gravel hills topped with crumbling cement structures. He climbed the nearest one to scout around.
Below him, to the north and west, were a series of lanes and abandoned buildings – a mixture of private residences and storefronts. To the east was a distinctive section of open ground that might once have been a parking lot or bus stop. In one corner stood the remains of a tiny boxlike structure fronted by a cement slab, and in the center of the slab lay a pile of unrecognizable debris. A few yards to the left of the debris stood a rusting metal pole about twenty feet tall.
Nothing matched any of the entries in Danny’s journal, but he climbed down anyway. He walked around the boxlike building which, like most of the others in the area, was plastered with fading graffiti. There was nothing.
He climbed another hill to the north to view the area from a different angle. The ground under his feet was uneven; stepping on a loose rock near the top he lost his balance and tumbled several yards down the slope. As he stood up and brushed off the dust, he glanced down at the tiny structure below and noticed something from a height that had escaped him earlier.
It was difficult to separate what must have originally been painted there from the graffiti, but he could make out the petals of a flower, and a thin green stem curling toward the ground. Richard smiled. He hauled off the pack and dug out his notes. The painted flower on the building matched the one he’d copied from Danny’s notebook perfectly.
Ecstatic at his discovery, the first concrete evidence linking the writings in Danny’s journal with something real, he bounded down the hill, kicking up gravel as he went. On reaching the wall he ran his hand slowly over the faded markings, as if hoping to coax some psychic insight out of the bricks and mortar. He was so preoccupied that it was as if he was awakened from a dream when he became aware of movement somewhere above and behind him.
Two Kidnappings
He heard a low growl and turned. Not more than ten yards away, partly up the gravel hillside so that they were about even with his head, stood a pair of wild dogs.
The leader, a huge Pit-Bull/German Shepherd cross, glared at him – muscles flexed, nape hair standing straight up, purple lips pulled back to expose a massive set of drool-glistening fangs. The pair stood motionless. Chilling snarls continued to emanate from the leader. Fixing his eyes on the lead dog Richard carefully removed his pack, opened it and groped blindly for the gun.
His hand had just touched it when the leader exploded down the hill and sprang for his throat. Desperately he held out the pack like a shield. The dog clamped its jaws on it, shaking it violently and almost tearing it out of Richard’s hands. The impact knocked the gun from his grasp; he lifted pack and dog together, all the while groping for the precious gun.
Finally his fingers made contact with a hard metal object, and he gripped it like a holy crucifix. Maintaining his hold on the gun, he swung the pack with all his strength, and flung both it and the dog several yards away. His attacker immediately released the pack and pounded back toward him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the second dog moving into position. The safety… he thought as he lifted the gun.
Frantically he released the safety and fumbled to aim just as the first dog launched itself into the air, fangs bared. He pulled the trigger – the monster was so close that he was firing straight down its throat. His arm was thrown back by the recoil and the attacking dog collapsed in a heap at his feet.
The second dog slowed its approach and slunk toward him, wary after the gunshot and the death of the leader. Richard backed up slowly, tracking its path with the gun in his violently shaking right hand. The second dog leapt and again Richard fired. The bullet grazed its shoulder but it continued its attack, bounding over the body of its dead companion. Richard scrambled to his left and the dog overshot its position, landing a few yards away.
It circled back quickly, preparing for the next attack. Desperate to control his shaking, Richard grasped the gun with both hands straight out in front of his chest. The dog rocketed toward him and he fired. It yelped pitifully as the bullet snapped its body backward and blood gushed from a massive wound in its chest. With a final whimper, it collapsed and died.
Still shaking, Richard braced for the next wave of attackers he was certain would come at any second. To his relief none appeared, and after several minutes he began to relax. He lowered the gun and shoved it into his belt.
As he walked over to retrieve his pack he heard the whine of a motorbike from the other side of the hill, approaching fast. He shrugged on his pack, and was fiddling for the gun when a voice behind him yelled, “Drop it on the ground beside you.”
He spun around. A ragged man with a droopy mustache stood a few yards away, pointing a gun at his head.
“Slow,” the man said. “Try anything and you’re dead.”
Richard lifted the gun from his belt and dropped it on the ground. Seconds later another biker came screaming down the hill, did a sideways drift, and stopped within a few feet of where Richard stood.
The rider dismounted and stomped up to Richard. Like the first he was dressed in rags and covered in dust. He bent and picked up Richard’s gun. His beaten-up leather jacket bore the fading stylized image of a set of fangs tearing a beating heart from someone’s chest.
The man straightened and shoved his face inches from Richard’s own. “Who the fuck are you!” he said.
“My name is Richard Hampton,” said Richard.
The biker stared at him like he was some alien species.
“I’m out here looking for someone,” Richard continued. “You might have seen him, he’s seventeen and he’s got…”
“Shut the hell up!” yelled the biker. He straight-armed Richard in the chest, almost knocking him over. “You know this is Ripper territory.” He shoved Richard again. “You wanna die? You must, or you wouldn’t be here. Who sent you?”
“Nobody sent me,” said Richard. “I didn’t know whose territory this was. I’m not from here.”
“Well you’re gonna die here,” said the biker, waving Richard’s own gun in his face.
“Don’t kill him now,” said the other. “Snake’ll wanna talk to him. He’s gotta be workin’ for the Dragons or somebody. Snake’ll find out.”
“Yeah,” laughed his partner. “Yeah – I’ll guess he will.”
He pushed Richard toward the bike, “Get on.”
Richard sat astride the bike, and hi
s captor got on behind him. They sped off and were soon joined by the other on his bike. To Richard’s dismay, they headed in the exact opposite direction he’d come, erasing in minutes the distance he’d spent hours covering on foot. They rode through the remnants of civilization, past collapsed buildings and torn-up streets, until they finally reached open country.
They had just crested a hill when the rider behind Richard said “shit!”, and suddenly accelerated, hauling the bike sharply left. The whine was deafening. Richard glanced to his right and saw the reason for the direction change. A group of three other bikers was speeding toward them.
Richard’s added weight was too much for the puny bike, and his captor was quickly losing ground to their pursuers. Desperate to escape, he slowed almost to a stop, pushed Richard off, and screamed away in a cloud of dust. Richard staggered to his feet just as the three pursuing bikers surrounded him and all three pulled guns.
“Put your hands over your head!” One of them screamed. “Now!”
Richard did as he was told.
They dismounted. One of them, a thickset man with several days’ growth of beard, strode over to Richard and, without hesitation, drove a punch full-force into his stomach. Richard doubled over and collapsed to his knees.
“Doyle,” yelled one of the others. “Leave him alone.”
“Come on, Josh,” said Doyle, “can’t I have some fun?”
Josh strode over and elbowed Doyle aside.
“On your feet,” he said to Richard.
Richard struggled to his feet and Josh patted him down, finally saying, “He’s clean.” He nodded in Doyle’s direction and said to Richard, “This isn’t your day – his brother was killed by a Ripper.”
“I’m not a Ripper,” said Richard. “I don’t even know them.”
“You were riding on a bike with one of them,” said Josh. “What were you doing – hitchhiking?” They all laughed.
“They kidnapped me,” said Richard. “I’ve got nothing to do with the Rippers or any other gang.”
“Is that so? Then what are you doing out here?”
“I came from the city. I jumped the Food Train and walked.”
“Unarmed? Alone?”
“I had a gun. One of the Rippers took it away.”
Josh studied him for a few seconds.
“Well you know,” he finally said, “that’s a real fascinating story. So fascinating that I think we’ll just take you with us and you can tell it to some other people we know. You’d better pray you can convince them. Where we come from they’re inclined to kill Rippers on sight.”
“Why wait?” said Doyle. “I say we just kill him here.”
“Well you’re not in charge, are you?” said Josh. “I am, and I say we let him talk to Tucker. You take him on your bike.”
“Why me?” said Doyle.
“Because I said so,” said Josh.
Doyle shoved Richard roughly toward his bike. Richard staggered forward and turned, about to retaliate. Doyle pushed his gun barrel into Richard’s chest, smiling.
“Just give me an excuse,” he said.
Richard climbed onto Doyle’s bike and sped off as before, with a new set of captors, still traveling away from his original goal. After a twenty minute ride they approached a huge square building surrounded by impressive ten foot tall ramparts made from shards of shiny black rock.
A sentry stood on a platform behind the wall. Spotting them he waved and disappeared. He soon opened a small door in the heavy gate blocking the entrance, and Richard and the others passed through. Once inside, Richard could see that the vast open space had once been a parking lot. The asphalt had been torn up and used to build the wall. Every inch of the land underneath was now cultivated, and he saw numerous people out working in the fields.
A strip of pavement had been left untouched and served as a road into the monstrous structure. As they approached more closely, Richard saw that there had once been writing on the building in huge letters over the main doorway. The letters themselves had long-since disappeared, but he could still see the faded outline where they had once stood.
The shadow letters spelled out – 'Wal-Mart'.
Lacy and Danny
Lacy pressed a damp cloth on Danny’s forehead as he tossed and turned and mumbled anxiously in his sleep. He awoke suddenly and lifted his head off the pillow. Still only half awake, he stared up at her.
“You were having a nightmare,” she said. “I think you’ve still got a fever.”
It was late in the afternoon on the day he’d first regained consciousness. He looked weak and exhausted. Without a word he simply lay down and went back to sleep. A couple of hours later he awoke again. Lacy was nearby, mending a shirt and keeping watch over him. This time he hoisted himself up on the pillow.
“I’m really lucky that you found me,” he said, smiling at her. She blushed deeply. Once again she prepared him a bowl of stew. This time he was able to prop himself up on one elbow and eat.
“What’s it like in Vancouver?” She asked as he ate. "Are there lots of people?"
“Are you kidding? There's millions of people – too many – too many for me anyway.”
“So… if you were walking down the street,” she said, gazing out the door of the shack, “how many people would you see?”
“That depends. If you were walking around where we live you'd hardly see anybody. They'd all be in their houses – unless they were out working in the garden. If you were right downtown – like at the corner of Robson and Granville – and it was the middle of the day – you'd see thousands.”
“What else would you see?”
“Traffic – bicycles, motor scooters, putt-putts, handcarts, streetcars. And it's really noisy – not like here.”
“What do people do there?”
Danny shrugged. “If you're our age, you usually go to school. A lot of kids don’t bother – it’s better to learn a trade or something. If you're out of school, and you can, you work, mostly. Work at lame jobs. Come home. Go to sleep. Get up. Do it all over again. It's really boring.”
“What about you?”
“I hang out, or go to school sometimes – come home – fight with my brother. I like it way better out here. Whenever I can I come out here with Zonk.”
“Zonk?”
“Zonk’s my dog. He’s kind of funny looking, but he’s got a great personality – and a sense of smell you wouldn’t believe.”
“What use is that?”
“You’d be surprised,” Danny smiled.
“I guess it’s useful for a dog. You talked about your brother. What about your mum and dad?”
“They died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” He put aside the empty bowl. “The guys I was running from when I jumped into the river were beating on Zonk, and they’ve probably still got him. Thanks for all your help, but I’ve got to get back.”
He tried to raise himself up, but only got half-way to a sitting position before falling back down.
“You’re not in any shape to go anywhere,” said Lacy.
She took away the bowl and re-arranged his pillow and blankets. Her life had been so simple and uneventful before Danny came crashing into it. Now an unmanageable assortment of emotions and urges churned inside her in a constant pitched battle. A part of her longed for him to stay forever, and dreaded the thought that she could ever be left alone again. Another part saw him as a dangerous threat to her self-control and her peaceful existence. The collective condition was paralyzing confusion.
Until Danny came along, she’d always believed she lived a full, contented life. His arrival had been like a bombshell, blowing that belief apart and exposing what she now realized – that she was desperately lonely. And Danny's stories of the city thrilled her. She had vague memories of her time there, but they were dreamlike and clouded in the mists of the past. She finally ventured to suggest what she’d been thinking about since Danny first arrived.
> “When you’re well enough to go,” she said, “I could go with you.”
Taken Prisoner
As Richard and his captors passed through the expansive entrance of the Wal-Mart complex, they left the bright sunlight behind for the perpetual murkiness of its interior. The entrance, once lined with a span of windows, was now boarded up except for a ten-foot gap that could be quickly blocked off by a single massive sliding wooden door.
There was apparently no electricity, but light entered the building from holes punched in the upper walls. A huge hole had also been opened in the middle of the roof. Smoke, presumably from cooking fires, wound its way slowly upwards into the opening. The space was sub-divided into individual living areas separated by crude walls framed with scraps of wood and covered with plastic or cloth. Makeshift alleyways ran between them, creating a maze of pathways that crisscrossed the entire area.
After a heated discussion with Josh, Doyle shoved Richard roughly down one of those pathways toward a tiny office, one of the few structurally enclosed ‘rooms’ in the building. He gave Richard one last shove inside, then closed and locked the door. The only furniture in the room was a single wooden chair, and Richard resignedly sat down on it and waited.
About twenty minutes later Doyle returned, with two others Richard hadn’t seen before. His knees shook as he stood to face them. The biggest of the new men, a muscle-bound giant, waited by the door and fixed him with a menacing stare. The other man, smaller and more intelligent looking, stood in front of him.
“My name is Tucker,” he said. “I’m the leader of our little group here. It’s your unlucky day. Whatever you did to piss off the other Rippers was probably your last mistake. Give me a reason not to have you executed right here and now.”
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