The Hunted

by Matt De La Peña

  They ducked down a narrow residential street, and Shy kept glancing back, expecting to find the SUV on their heels, the driver leaning out his window aiming a gun at them.

  But it never happened.

  The street behind them remained empty.

  Eventually Shy quit looking.

  30

  Union Station

  There weren’t any trains running.

  That much was clear right away.

  During their hour-long walk to Union Station, Shy had prayed there might be something. But Marcus was right, it was a pipe dream. The roof of the tall, iconic building was half caved in, and a train that had apparently crashed into the station lay wrecked on its side across several tracks.

  Shy studied the sloppy red circles painted all over the walls and doors and windows. The mess of flies buzzing around the exterior. There were more bodies inside. Probably a grip of them.

  He watched Carmen and Marcus approach the high arcing front doors, thinking about the last time he’d been at the station. The day his old man dropped him off at the curb with a one-way ticket back to San Diego. The station had been packed with people coming and going, wheeling their luggage around, hugging loved ones.

  Now it was a ghost town.

  Carmen waved for Shy to join her and Marcus, but he was done with dead bodies. Anyway, he needed a minute to himself. He was still shook from getting shot at like that. Out of nowhere. And he kept replaying what his dad had told him about back home. Which made him question everything.

  What did he expect would happen when they made it to Arizona? If they made it to Arizona. Yeah, they’d pass along the vaccine to scientists. And maybe it would save some lives. But would those people be any more deserving than his mom and his sis and nephew? Or what about all those innocent babies in the nursery?

  Then there was the issue of Carmen.

  He’d have to tell her what he knew. That everyone back home was gone. Including their families. But how do you break that kind of news to the girl you’re trying to protect?

  Shoeshine sat against a palm tree behind Shy, writing in his journal. The guy looked so peaceful. His pen moving methodically across the page. The tree’s large fronds swaying in the wind above him.

  Shy wondered how Shoeshine had become so emotionally detached about everything. Was it a trait that came with age? Was it his time in the military? Or were some people just born that way?

  “Jesus!” Carmen shouted.

  Shy turned and watched her rush out of the train station and lean over the cracked concrete and throw up. Marcus was right behind her. He slammed the door closed and marched away covering his mouth.

  “Are there a lot?” Shy called to them.

  “They’re stacked on top of each other,” Marcus said. “Must be thousands, man. It’s even worse than the hospital.”

  Carmen was on her hands and knees, staring at the concrete in front of her face.

  Shy turned back to Shoeshine, who was still just sitting there, writing in his journal. He probably hadn’t even bothered to look up.

  Now that his family was gone, Shy needed to become more like this.

  Callous to the world.

  It was the only way he’d be able to keep going.

  31

  Billion-Dollar Companies

  Shoeshine led them east along the train tracks that emerged behind Union Station. The sun beat down on Shy’s face and his thick mess of tangled hair. The air was so dry his lungs were on fire. If he started coughing, he’d never be able to stop. The plan was to walk the tracks until they were past the congested part of the city. Then they’d jump over to the 10 Freeway, which also ran east, and look for a car with keys and gas or some older model that Shy might be able to hot-wire.

  But for now they just walked.

  Shy’s shirt was soaked with sweat, especially the patch trapped between his backpack and skin. He held the pack away from his body for long stretches to air his shirt out, but eventually he gave up and let the sweat streak down his ass and the back of his legs. Shoeshine limped in front of him, using a gnarled stick he’d found as a makeshift cane, the duffel slung over his shoulder. Marcus carried his radio, which played DJ Dan just loud enough so they could listen. Carmen tightrope-walked on one of the metal rails.

  Shy watched how she’d wave her arms around every so often to keep her balance, like he imagined a little girl might. Seeing her this way made his secret about their families turn his empty stomach.

  —

  In an hour they were in the heart of downtown LA, and Shy was blown away by the devastation he could see. Skyscrapers fallen on their sides, creating massive craters in the earth. Streets with gaping holes. Traffic lights shattered on the sidewalks, and large stretches of scorched concrete and asphalt. Little shantytowns had sprung up in some of the empty lots, tents packed tightly together, heads bobbing in shadows behind them. A few smaller tent clusters rested right on top of a fallen church.

  About a mile outside Chinatown they passed a group of little kids running in and out of a large overturned Dumpster that had been torched by fire. Shy saw motionless bodies lined up along one extended stretch of sidewalk, and he saw two kids in a nearby alley, standing over a large, bloated man, poking him with sticks, and he saw the Staples Center, where the Lakers played, covered in spidered glass, the glare coming off the massive building forcing the four of them to shield their eyes. All the red spray-painted circles told Shy that the home arena of his old man’s favorite NBA team was now a giant coffin.

  —

  Shoeshine led them onto the 10 Freeway, where several cars were flipped on their hoods, many of the driver’s-side-doors flung wide open where people had escaped. They checked inside all the vehicles that were still upright, but it was rare that they found keys, and when they did, the gas tanks were always empty.

  At the point where the 10 intersected with several other freeways, Shoeshine broke the silence. “You all should know we’re being followed.”

  Shy turned around to look, but all he saw was a sea of abandoned cars and the back view of the ruined city.

  “I don’t see anything,” Carmen said.

  Marcus turned down his radio and looked all around. “By who? The Suzuki Gang? Wouldn’t we hear their bikes?”

  The city beyond downtown was quiet. Even when Shy closed his eyes and concentrated, the only thing he heard was the wind.

  Shoeshine peered straight ahead as he walked with his stick. “We knew that company would eventually start looking for us.” He glanced at Shy. “Going on the radio like you all did just narrowed the search.”

  “LasoTech?” Marcus said. “Nah, man. They probably think we died on the island with everyone else.”

  “Not when a ship with their men never returned,” Shoeshine said. “Think about it from their side. There’s a letter out there that explains everything they’ve done. And there are syringes full of a vaccine that backs up the letter. Maybe all this is at the bottom of the ocean somewhere, but billion-dollar companies don’t operate on maybes.”

  Shy kept glancing behind them. He’d told Carmen the same thing, that the company would be looking for them, but hearing Shoeshine say it made it more real. He fingered the good-luck ring inside his pocket hoping they were just being paranoid.

  But then another thought occurred to him. “Are you saying those guys that busted into the lots this morning were LasoTech?”

  “That’s right,” Shoeshine said.

  Carmen shook her head. “You didn’t hear what Darius told us, Shoe. They’d been having problems with people on the outside all along.”

  Shy pictured the two gunmen hopping out of the SUV. They’d shot at everyone, but they went after him and his old man first. What if he’d been their actual target?

  “You told them exactly where we were,” Shoeshine said.

  Marcus shook his head. “On the radio? Nah, man. We purposely didn’t use our names.”

  Shoeshine stopped walking. “Who cares what y
our names are? Think about it, boy. Group of kids goes on the air talking about leaving the Sony lots. By choice. Because of an important trip they have to take.”

  Shy glanced at the freeway behind them again. He still didn’t see anything, but he knew Shoeshine was right. Which made him feel like an idiot. They’d gone on the radio to try and connect with their families, but their families were gone. So all they’d done was tell LasoTech where to find them.

  “Shit,” Shy said. “So what now?”

  Shoeshine stared at the freeway ahead of them. “We need to make a stop in San Bernardino.”

  “San Bernardino?” Carmen said.

  “Thought we were in a hurry to get to Arizona,” Marcus said.

  Shoeshine pointed his stick east. “It’s on the way, about sixty miles from here. We don’t find a car that runs, we’re looking at two-day walk at least. So it’s best we get moving.”

  “What’s in San Bernardino?” Shy asked.

  Shoeshine turned to him. “I know a guy there who stores weapons. We need to be able to protect ourselves.”

  Shy looked up at the clear sky as the four of them continued walking. No helicopters. And he still didn’t hear any trucks or motorcycles. He didn’t understand why Shoeshine was so convinced they were being followed.

  32

  East into the Desert

  By the time the blazing hot sun was directly overhead, they were a good distance outside the city limits. The freeway lost a lane on either side and there were fewer cars to check and the towns they passed were smaller and more spread out but they were just as devastated by the earthquakes and fires. Shy wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his wrist and studied their surroundings. He was aware of even the slightest sound in the distance.

  They had been taking turns ducking their heads into each car they passed, but so far none had both keys and gas. Eventually Shy told Carmen: “Let’s face it, we’re hoofing it all the way to Arizona.”

  She looked annoyed but didn’t say anything.

  He wondered if now was a good time to talk about back home. The longer he waited, the harder it would be to explain why he hadn’t told her right away. He cleared his throat. But when he opened his mouth, he couldn’t find the words. So he looked ahead again and continued walking in silence.

  —

  The farther east they got, the more spread-out things became. A strip mall on the right side of the freeway here, a Cineplex there. Big signs promised fast-food joints and coffee shops and hotel chains, but nearly every place they passed was caved in and abandoned. They didn’t stop anywhere to investigate. Instead they ate on the move—granola bars and crackers—and took baby sips of bottled water. Shy stared at the road in front of them, trying to swallow his emotions like Shoeshine, but his mind kept circling back to everything he’d lost.

  —

  They’d been walking for hours when a helicopter appeared like a tiny dot in the sky.

  “Whoa,” Shoeshine said, putting a hand up for them to stop.

  “What is it?” Carmen asked.

  Shy pointed to the sky, watching Shoeshine scan the freeway around them.

  “There,” the man said, motioning them toward a wrecked white Suburban about twenty yards away.

  Shy looked up again as the four of them hurried toward the Suburban. The helicopter was heading directly toward them. Shy held his breath and climbed underneath the car with the others to hide.

  They waited in silence for several minutes, listening to the sound of the chopper grow louder and louder, until it was directly overhead, stirring up everything on the road. Shy’s heart climbed into his throat, and he looked at Carmen and Marcus.

  But then the chopper seemed to continue on its way.

  Shy craned his neck so he could watch it move west along the 10 Freeway and then veer north, toward a small town they’d passed earlier. The chopper dipped closer to the ground and just hovered in place for a while. Suddenly the side door slid open and a man wearing a Red Cross jacket appeared with a large wooden crate, which he began lowering by rope.

  Shy let out his breath, relieved.

  Carmen started to climb out from underneath the Suburban, but Shoeshine stopped her. “Just hang tight for now.”

  There was a bit of a commotion underneath the helicopter as the man in the Red Cross jacket let the crate fall to the earth, then reeled up the rope. He tied it to another crate and began lowering that one, too.

  “It’s just a food drop,” Carmen said to Shoeshine. “Not everyone’s out to get us like you think.”

  Shoeshine nodded, pulling the duffel closer to his chest.

  After dropping the second crate, the helicopter continued farther west. When Carmen made a move to slide out from underneath the Suburban, it wasn’t Shoeshine who stopped her this time. It was Shy. The helicopter was clearly making relief drops. But Shy figured it was still best to wait until it was completely out of sight.

  33

  Marcus’s Decision

  As soon as the sky grew dark, they began looking for a safe place to spend the night. Without the sun the desert air was chilly, and they had to break out their jackets. Shoeshine led them to a deep, tree-covered gutter on the opposite side of the freeway, and Shy climbed down into the dry gut of the thing with the others and ate another granola bar and sipped his water. From a sitting position, the gutter walls reached just over their heads. Between the walls and the scrawny trees overhead, it seemed unlikely that anyone would spot them in the dark.

  “Best get your rest now,” Shoeshine said. “We need to be back on the road again by daybreak.” Shy watched the man take his journal out of the duffel bag and unlock it with the key around his neck.

  “What we need to do is find a damn car that runs,” Carmen said. “My feet are killing me.”

  “ ’Cause you’re the only one, right?” Marcus said.

  “I was saying it about all of us, asshole.” Carmen shook her head and looked to Shy. “This vato talks too much.”

  Marcus waved her off.

  Shy watched Carmen crumple up her wrapper and slip it inside the front pocket of her backpack. He had decided that tonight he’d tell her everything he knew about back home. He’d take her down the way a bit, where she could react to the news in private. And he’d hug her. Or listen if she wanted to talk. Whatever she needed. But he had to get the bad news over with. Tonight.

  Carmen took one last sip of water and screwed the cap back on and glanced at Shy. “Wake me up when we’re there, Sancho.”

  “Wait,” Shy said, sitting up straight. “You’re going to sleep?”

  “Humans tend to do that shit at night,” she answered.

  “And since you all are Mexicans,” Marcus butted in, “you’re used to sleeping in gutters, right? Didn’t your forefathers have to do that shit when they snuck into this country?” He put a fist to his mouth, grinning.

  “Yo, Carm,” Shy said, “you hear something? Sounds like Marcus’s voice, but I can’t see his black ass in all this dark.”

  “Soon as you locate that nappy-headed fool,” she said, “slap him for me. I’m too tired to get up.”

  The three of them cracked up a little.

  After everything they’d been through, it felt good to cap on each other the way they used to back on the ship.

  Shy watched Carmen position her backpack directly behind her, lay her head on it and gaze up at the sky. It was only a couple minutes before her eyelids slid down her eyes and her breaths grew long and heavy.

  So much for breaking the bad news tonight.

  Marcus turned on his radio, and he and Shy listened to the DJ talk about the latest death toll estimates. According to a government leak, the disease was now believed to be responsible for more than twice as many deaths as the earthquakes and fires combined.

  “Yo, Shy,” Marcus said after they’d been listening for a while. “Could I talk to you a minute?”

  “Yeah, what’s up?”

  Marcus glanced at Carmen, then S
hoeshine, who was busy writing. “I mean in private.”

  Shy got up and followed Marcus down the gutter, stepping over the occasional empty beer can or fast-food wrapper, until they were twenty or so yards away. They sat across from each other, against the angled gutter walls, but Marcus didn’t talk right away, he just looked up at the night. There were tons of stars out and a half-moon that hung so low and heavy in the sky, Shy felt like he could almost reach out and grab it. Just enough light came off the moon for him to see Marcus.

  “What’s up?” Shy asked again.

  Marcus shrugged and looked down at his hands. “I just been thinking about shit, I guess.”

  A long silence followed.

  Shy knew from their time together on the sailboat, it always took Marcus a while to say what was on his mind. At least when it was something serious. Shy would have to bring up whatever he’d been thinking about first, to get the guy talking. But everything on his mind tonight was stuff he could only share with Carmen.

  So he just sat there.

  And waited.

  Eventually Marcus turned to small talk. He told Shy for the hundredth time he should go for Carmen—even if she did have an attitude. When Shy brought up Carmen’s fiancé, Marcus waved him off and said after everything Shy and Carmen had been through together, there was no way she’d be able to go back to her old life. “Nothing bonds two people more than going through hardships together. Trust me. I even got a soft spot for that crazy old bastard over there.” He motioned down the gutter, toward Shoeshine.

  Shy knew there was some truth to that. At this point, he probably felt closer to Carmen, Marcus and Shoeshine than any of his boys back home. But he doubted it was strong enough to make someone ditch the person they planned to marry.

  “Seriously, though,” Shy said, eager to change the subject, “what’d you drag me over here to talk about? I know it wasn’t to lecture my ass on relationships.”

  Marcus sat there, shaking his head for a while. But then a surprising thing happened: he started opening up.