No Refuge

by Richard Bard

  “It was an explosion,” Strawberry had said with an unusual gleam in her eye.

  That was seven hours earlier. Since then, we’d all had our faces glued to phone screens, to the videos and streaming news broadcasts about the so-called global terrorist attack in Lake Tahoe, and the courageous bikers who battled to protect the inn’s guests. I knew the twisted stories bore no semblance to the truth of what must have happened, but that didn’t matter. My family was under attack. Someone had obviously recognized one of us. I thought back to the biker staring up at our window earlier in the day.

  It was me he’d seen.

  It’s my fault.

  I’d wanted to scream, but somehow Ellie’s phone had ended up in my grasp, and my fingers were swiping and tapping from one image to the next, my mind reeling through videos, photos, and posts, searching for any evidence of everyone who meant anything to me in this world. Ellie had placed her hand on my arm, and from her wracked expression, I knew she felt my pain.

  Finally, I’d come across the video of the red pickup racing up the slope away from the scene. Uncle Tony was in the truck bed. He would never have left unless the rest of them were with him, and I grabbed on to that glimmer of hope. But it wasn’t until other reports confirmed that none of them had been killed or captured that I allowed myself to finally breathe easy. Though they were still being chased because of the doctored videos of my dad and the others, at least I wasn’t there to make things so much worse. The government would discover soon enough I’d run away and would be coming after me, but I could handle that.

  All I needed to do was get my hands on a computer.

  The kids in the front half of the bus had remained lively for most of the rest of the drive, giggling, playing. A few had even joined in a song or two. It had been subdued at the back, though, with a few conversations about movies or TV shows, and recollections of some of the outings back at the lake. Strawberry liked to fill the space with imaginings about what it would be like to do this or that, like dancing at a masquerade ball, or singing from one of the floats during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. The real surprise came when she spoke about her excitement over the fact that July 4 was only a few days away, and she couldn’t wait to set off the fireworks she had stashed. She’d claimed to be an expert, and had wiggled her half-missing little finger as a badge of honor.

  The pudgy boy I’d met when I first got on the bus had joined the conversation. He wore a T-shirt emblazoned with an anime scene of a fierce boy warrior breaking through an ancient wall to escape a world of demons. The iron-on image was mesmerizing, with intricate details and coloring, and I was impressed when I learned he’d created the graphics himself using a tablet computer. It was obvious he was a good friend to the girls, and I could understand why. Despite his underlying sadness, his friendly demeanor was contagious. His name was Simon, and he liked to toss funny quips into Strawberry’s stories. Every once in a while, I’d catch Ellie’s mouth twitch into a smile during one of Strawberry’s meanderings, but mostly she’d seemed lost in thought.

  I’d expected to be bombarded with questions about why I was there, but while all three of them seemed curious, they never asked. It was pretty strange. It gave me time to concoct what I’d hoped would be a believable story, though it made me uncomfortable doing so. My brother and sister shaded the truth once in a while to avoid getting into trouble, but it was hard for me. I was good at a lot of things; lying wasn’t one of them. So I was relieved when I opened my mouth to volunteer the story I’d crafted about abuse, and Ellie had stopped me before I got two sentences in.

  “We have two rules,” she’d said. “We don’t talk about family—”

  “And we don’t talk about illness,” Strawberry had finished for her.

  They were the strangest rules I’d ever come across. In light of my situation, though, they couldn’t have been more perfect. So I’d asked them about where we were headed, and after a few stealthy Google searches using Ellie’s phone, I was pleased to learn the isolated ranch in Ojai had all the high-tech access I’d need.

  But my gut had gone hollow when I read on.

  “We’re here,” Ellie said, her soft voice bringing me back to the present.

  The bus turned off the highway onto a long private drive under an arch of limbs and foliage from the gnarled oaks lining the approach. A white, wooden fence skirted either side of the road, and horses grazed on the rolling terrain beyond.

  “There’s Charlie,” Strawberry said, pointing to a pale horse that walked over to the fence. It had a wide blaze of white that extended around its eyes, and its ears perked up as the bus drove past.

  “It’s still a working ranch,” Ellie said.

  “And we’re allowed to ride some of the horses,” Strawberry added.

  As we drove on, I saw cars parked between the trees. Doors opened, and parents stepped out and waved at us. Several of the kids in the front of the bus waved back, but most of the kids in the back looked away.

  The road widened into an expansive cul-de-sac where more parents waited, the drive circling a garden bounding with color, with a five-tier fountain in its center. Up ahead, wide steps led up to a two-story mansion sitting on a grass-covered knoll. It was huge, and the colonial style, with its white pillars, green shuttered windows, and manicured landscaping, reminded me of homes I’d seen only in some of Mom’s magazines. It was surrounded by sprawling shade trees, and there was a swing hanging from one of the lower branches. The entire setting was beautiful. Peaceful.

  “It looks like something from Gone With the Wind, right?” Strawberry asked.

  She was right. The movie was one of Mom’s favorites, and I felt a twinge of regret at the thought I’d never cuddle up with her on the couch to watch it again.

  “It may feel like it’s something out of the past,” Ellie said, “but it’s nearly brand new. The man who founded this place built it six years ago.” Her voice softened. “In memory of his son.”

  Both buses pulled to a stop, and the aisles filled as kids jumped from their seats to grab their backpacks from the overhead racks. The chaperone, Belle, stepped outside and stood by the front door as her charges shuffled past. She smiled to each as everyone disembarked.

  The two kids in the seats beside us grabbed their things and moved into the aisle, slipping past Simon, who came back to wait with the three of us. He had a gleam in his eyes.

  I stood up and asked, “Are you guys sure about this?”

  “First off,” Strawberry said with a flick of her head scarf, “we’re not guys.”

  “We want to do it,” Ellie said.

  “Are you kidding?” Simon whispered. “We’re The Card Club. We’re ready for anything.”

  “The Card Club?”

  Strawberry elbowed Simon. “Shut up about that,” she said. “We’ll tell him later.” She looked at me. “Maybe.”

  Ellie stood up. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” Simon said, looking over his shoulder. “Deondre hasn’t left yet. He’s one variable we don’t need right now.”

  “Don’t worry,” Ellie said. “I’ll handle Deondre.” She tilted her neck to one side and then the other, as if loosening up before going on stage. Her entire countenance shifted. Suddenly she seemed less a girl, more a woman. Her eyes flattened as she slid past Simon and glided three rows up to where Deondre was hunched over in the aisle, fiddling with his backpack. She bumped into him, dropping her backpack, then grabbed a chair back as if she were woozy.

  “Hey!” Deondre said, spinning around. “What the—” The words caught when he saw her, and he reached out to steady her.

  “I-I’m sorry,” Ellie said meekly. “Maybe I just got up too fast. Or something…”

  Deondre’s normally angry face pinched in concern.

  “Here,” he said. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and picked hers up from the floor. “Let me take that for you.”

  “Thanks,” Ellie said. She walked to the exit with Deondre on her heels.
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  “I guess he’s not all bad,” Strawberry said.

  “Oh, yeah?” Simon said, rubbing his shoulder. “Tell that to the bruises I get every time he clocks me just for the fun of it. Anyway, the coast is clear. Let’s go.”

  Simon exited first. After getting a nod and a smile from Belle, he stepped to one side and asked her a question. While she was distracted, Strawberry and I quietly stepped past them.

  As the rest of the “normal” kids greeted their families and left in their cars and SUVs, Strawberry and I entered what I’d learned from Google was named Billy’s Home, a privately funded hospice for terminally ill orphans.

  And just like that, my three new friends, members of The Card Club, whatever that was, helped me complete phase one of my plan to find a way to the jungles of Brazil.

  Chapter 9

  Billy’s Home, Ojai, California

  “THIS IS A FIRST,” Simon said, before taking another big bite from his banana muffin. With his mouth full, he added, “We’ve never had a stowaway before.”

  “Yeah,” Strawberry said. “People want to escape from here, not to here.” They all looked at me for a second, then Simon stuffed the rest of the muffin in his mouth.

  They’d snuck me into Ellie’s private room upstairs. It had a ritzy, old-world feel to it, with carved dark wood furniture, lavender walls, matching rose-pattern curtains and bedspread, and a clutter of decorative accessories. It felt like a room out of Downton Abbey. Something about it felt staged to me, though. Maybe that was because—except for a propped-up frameless photo on the nightstand of Ellie holding hands with someone who had to be her twin sister—I didn’t see any personal touches.

  Or a computer.

  We were all on the plush, full-sized bed, Ellie and Strawberry with their backs against the headboard, and Simon and I sitting cross-legged in front of them. Ellie leaned forward and swiped the crumbs from Simon’s muffin off the bedspread. “I asked for English Country style and this is what I got,” she said, as if reading my mind.

  “It’s nice, but I don’t see much of you in it.”

  She looked around, her gaze lingering on the photo. “I suppose that’s because not much of me is here right now…”

  Simon and Strawberry exchanged a furtive glance. There was obviously more to the story, but neither of them was about to tell it. Strawberry said, “We all get to choose what style we want when we first arrive. It’s one of the perks of being a dying orphan.”

  I cringed. She shrugged and kept talking.

  “I chose Early Country, because that’s the style my Gammy had back in Mississippi. She passed away, I won the lottery, and now I’m here.” She broke off a piece of muffin and put it in her mouth, using her nubby pinky to wipe a crumb from her lip.

  The lottery, I thought. I’d read on the bus about the wealthy benefactor who’d built this place. He’d lost his ten-year-old son, Billy, to cancer. During treatment Billy had befriended a fellow patient, and the two boys had become brothers in the fight of their lives. Billy’s new friend was an orphan, and he’d begun to fade because the state healthcare system wouldn’t provide for the advanced treatments he needed. So Billy’s father had paid for them, the boy had gotten better, and he’d stuck by Billy’s side through it all. Because of it, Billy’s time on earth had been extended by nearly a year. In an ironic twist, his friend had survived and been cancer-free since Billy’s death.

  The orphans at Billy’s Home were provided with the best care available, in an environment that catered to their individual tastes, with the goal of inspiring friendship among them. And hope. But there were only thirty-five rooms, and even though the turnover rate was high, that still wasn’t nearly enough for the number of terminally ill orphans in America. So the lucky few were chosen by lottery.

  “What about you?” I asked Simon. “What style did you pick?”

  He wiped his mouth. “Are you kidding? Star Wars theme, of course.” He waved an imaginary lightsaber in the air, making swooshing sounds. “What about you? What would you pick?”

  “Well, I love computers,” I said, grateful for the opportunity to lead the conversation in that direction. “So—”

  “Dude,” Simon said. “We’ve got the coolest computer and gaming room ever.” He slid off the bed. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

  “No way,” Strawberry said, grabbing my foot before I had a chance to move. “It’s dinner time and we need to keep you hidden.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Simon said. “She’s right. But we can’t all stay in here, either. We’ll be missed.”

  Ellie said, “You two go to dinner. Tell Belle I was too tired to eat after the long day. I’ll stay here with Alex, and later you can bring us both something to eat.”

  “Sounds good,” Strawberry said as she scooted off the bed. “We’ll be back in an hour or so.”

  Simon opened the door, peeked outside to make sure the hall was clear, and then he and Strawberry left the room.

  As soon as the door closed, Ellie crossed her arms. “So, what the heck was that thing you did with your mind? You know, back in the coffee shop?”

  It wasn’t a good idea to open that Pandora’s box. I needed to find a way to get back on the road, and it was important not to leave a trail about some kid with a super brain. It was interesting, though, that she’d waited until we were alone to ask.

  “What about your rules?” I asked. “About not talking about our illnesses?” As I said it, I realized I’d never considered my abilities to be an illness. Until now.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Her expression clouded over, and once again I felt her sadness.

  I couldn’t stop myself. I stared into her eyes and projected a calming aura with my mind. She gasped, and some of her anguish leaked away. I held her gaze for a long moment, until her mouth finally tilted upward. In that moment I felt a kinship with her. She reminded me of my sister, and I knew I could trust her.

  I returned her smile and eased my focus from her. “I guess I’m not much for following rules lately. After all, look where I am.”

  “You’re really something, Alex.” She blinked back a swell of emotion. “Thank you. But how…?”

  “It’s a long story, and I’d be okay sharing with you, but what about you? From the looks of this room, it doesn’t feel like you’ve been here very long.”

  Ellie looked like she was wrestling with a decision. After a long moment, she licked her lips and words tumbled out.

  “Two weeks ago my life was normal.” She pointed at the photo on the nightstand. “Jazz and I were with our parents in Bogota, Colombia. We were there for my grandfather’s funeral, on my mother’s side. My sister and I had only met him once, when we were little. He’d visited our home in Palo Alto. But he was our family’s last living relative, so it was important for us to be there for the service. It was small but nice, and that night we went to a restaurant with a few of Grandfather’s old friends.” She blew out a breath. “It happened afterwards when we were walking back to our hotel.

  Her eyes glazed over.

  “It was late. It was dark. A van pulled up.” She hugged herself. “Men came out. Two of them grabbed me and Jazz, and two others…” She teared up.

  “It’s okay. You don’t—”

  “No, I want to tell you.” She sniffled. “It all happened so fast. We were yanked into the van, and the last I saw before the doors closed was my parents’ bodies on the sidewalk. There was so much blood…”

  My stomach twisted. I was about to reach out again with my mind, but she held her hand out.

  “No, don’t. Let me finish. As the van drove away, they stuck a needle in my arm and injected me with something. Jazz saw it happening and freaked out like a wildcat, kicking and thrashing so hard she got loose long enough to slide open the door and shove me outside. I tumbled and rolled in the middle of an intersection. A car had to swerve to keep from running me over, and when I looked back at the van I saw Jazz trying to jump out the door. But the men grabbed her and pulled her ba
ck in. The last thing I remembered was the van speeding away and people rushing to help me.”

  She was panting, and I placed my hand on her knee in the hopes of settling her. She nodded.

  “I woke in a hospital. A couple of men who said they were federal police officers were there. They acted like they cared, but something was off about them. They told me my parents were dead and my sister had vanished. And from the way they said it, it felt like they’d given this kind of news plenty of times before.” She shook her head. “I overheard a nurse say it had to be traffickers.”

  Most eight-year-old kids wouldn’t know what trafficking meant, but when you have a brain that absorbed information as fast as mine, you tend to know things. My fists balled.

  Her face clouded over. “There’s more. The policemen told me witnesses said there were no license plates on the van, so they had no clues where to find her. But I’d seen a plate. I’m sure of it. And that means the police must have been part of it, or at least some of them were. Otherwise, why lie about it?”

  It was hard for me to take it all in. I wanted to hit something.

  Ellie said, “Because I’d been drugged, the doctors at the hospital did a full workup on me.”

  My throat tightened.

  Her nostrils flared and she stiffened her back. “They discovered I have a rare liver disorder, and an even more rare blood type. The only possible cure is a partial liver transplant from a family member.”

  Her words hung in the air like a choking fog.

  “And your story got out,” I said. “And that landed you here?”

  “Yeah, I won the lottery.”

  We sat and looked at each other. It took me a moment to realize my mouth was stuck open. I snapped it shut as she opened the nightstand drawer. There was a rubber-banded deck of cards within, and one loose card upside down beside it. She grabbed the card and held it up. Four of hearts.