by Nancy Isaak
“The freeway?” Jay’s words were mumbled, distracted.
I turned to find her staring at the office building opposite us. It was large—two storeys—with an area for parking cars along the front.
“There's no direct access around here to Agoura except the way we came or the 101,” I told her. “Our only other alternative is to go down Malibu Canyon and then cut across on Mulholland Drive through the hills.”
“That would take forever,” she murmured.
“And it'd be even more dangerous than using Agoura Road or the 101. If we take Mulholland, we'd be traveling through State Park territory and that's where the mountain lions definitely are.”
“So then I guess we don't have much of a choice.”
Jay still hadn't moved, just kept staring at the building across the street. It was beginning to get on my nerves.
“What is it?” I finally asked. “What do you see?”
“I'm not sure,” Jay said. Then she lifted up a finger and pointed. “But that window there, two storeys up, third from the right. I keep thinking that I see movement inside of the building there.”
The hackles immediately sprung up on the back of my neck.
And a moment later—I saw it!
* * * *
Incredibly quick, the tiniest of movements—as if a single slat of a blind had been angled to one side, then back again.
“Did you see it?!” Jay screeched. “Tell me that you saw it!
I nodded.
She grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly. “It’s just the wind, right...I mean, it has to be the wind.”
“That's an office building. I don't think those windows even open.”
Jay began to shake. “Ohmigod, Kaylee...that means someone’s in there…watching us! What if it's one of the criminals from the jail?!”
“It could just be one of the office workers.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so. If they were just office workers, they’d come out and talk to us? I mean, it's not like we're exactly threatening people.”
“Should we go over there?” I asked.
Jay let go of my hand and took a step back, horrified by the suggestion. “I don't want to. If it was a good person they would already have come out.”
“Then do you want to just get on our bikes and go?”
Not even answering, Jay simply leapt for her bike and—a moment later—she was pedaling fast up Agoura Road toward the 101 onramp.
Meanwhile, keeping my eyes on the window, I bent down to pick up my own bike…and saw the blind move again!
Oh crap...
But then I realized…
* * * *
I caught up to Jay just as she reached the top of the onramp.
“It's okay,” I yelled. “It wasn't anybody! I know what it was.”
Jay slowed down—but only a little. “What?”
“It was the flag.”
“What flag?”
“The American flag in front of the Sheriff's Station. It was waving in the wind. We were looking at its reflection.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, hopefully. “Absolutely sure?”
“Absolutely…it just needed a big gust for its reflection to hit that particular window.” I crossed my heart. “Swear.”
Jay was so relieved, she looked like she was about to cry again.
“It's so weird,” she sniffled. “First the groan in the cell, then the flag in the window. I don't know what's become scarier—that we won't find anybody alive or that we will.”
* * * *
I've been a California girl all of my life and have spent much of it on the many highways that intersect all over Los Angeles County. This was the first time, however, that I had been on a highway when I wasn't riding in a car.
It was so bizarre.
We biked around all these empty vehicles—their seatbelts still fastened, keys in the ignition. And even though Jay and I knew that there was nobody inside, we kept ducking down to peer into the cars—just in case.
About halfway up the hill that would eventually lead us to Chesebro Road (our exit), there was a big rig on its side. Two smaller cars—smashed and broken—were jammed underneath. It was hard for Jay and me to know exactly what had happened, but we supposed that the driver of the rig had ‘disappeared’ just as the semi was heading up the hill. When the rig had rolled backward, it had done so right on top of the smaller cars.
Reluctantly, Jay and I got off of our bikes to check the accident site out. We didn't really expect to find anyone in any of the vehicles. But if there was someone stuck alive underneath all that mess, we simply couldn't live with ourselves if we had just left them there to die.
Luckily, our search didn't take more than a few moments.
Just empty cars—like always.
* * * *
Because it was so late in the afternoon, Jay and I decided that we would begin our search for pets on the left side of our complex first. Tomorrow, we would search the other side.
The first townhouse that we came to was a single-level on the corner. Jay and I stood at the front door, trying to decide how to enter.
“I guess what we should probably do first is be polite,” I suggested, heading up to the front door and knocking.
Of course, nobody answered.
I put my ear to the door, listening.
“Hear anything?” Jay asked. “Any barks....meows?”
I shook my head.
With an exasperated sigh, Jay moved past me to peer in through a window. “There's definitely a dog living in there,” she called over to me. “I don't see it, but there's a dog food dish on the floor in the kitchen.”
“Big dish or little dish?” I asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters. Little dish means little dog. Big dish means,” I held up my cop-sock, “big dog.”
It was a little dish.
* * * *
We walked around the townhouse, carefully trying the doors and windows.
All were locked.
In the end, Jay and I simply grabbed a couple of bricks from a nearby garden and started tossing them at a window until it broke. After that, we just stepped through the window and we were in the front foyer of a nicely, kept home.
“Hello?” I called out loudly. “Sorry about breaking your window. I'm Kaylee Michelson from down in Section L. Is there anybody here…hello?”
Beside me, Jay leaned over, whispering—her voice timid and scared. “Here, puppy, puppy.”
The townhouse was decorated in what we in California call Craftsman-style—lots of simple wood slats on the furniture, not much decoration, that sort of thing. A small dog's bed sat to one side of the couch. The name ‘Fildred’ was embroidered on it in pink thread.
“Fildred,” I giggled. “Maybe she ran away from home with a name like that.”
“At least it's not a gazillion syllables long, like some names,” Jay muttered.
“Jayalakshmi Sitipala,” I teased, “shall we go find our Fildred?”
And—holding very tightly onto our cop-socks—the two of us took a step forward.
WHERE DID ALL THE PUPPIES GO?
I kept count that day.
We searched through four sections of townhouses. In thirty-six of them, we found evidence of dogs; in forty-two units, there were signs of cats (some people owned both, of course).
But it was in our seventy-eighth townhouse that Jay and I finally gave up the search for our non-human companions.
Because that’s where we found the aquarium.
* * * *
The townhouse was a double-level, with what was probably an ‘authorized’ attic room. A family obviously lived there—mom and dad in the main bedroom, two young boys in the second bedroom.
It was in that second bedroom that Jay and I made our ‘revelation’.
Like with most young boys, the bedroom was full of toy cars and Legos and a whole lot of stuffies trapped in one of those net-things they
had strung up in a corner. The walls had been painted blue (of course) and there were luminescent stars on the ceiling.
I searched through the main floor of the house, while Jay looked through the bedrooms upstairs. As with all the townhouses we had searched before this one, we found no little furry creatures in any of the cupboards or drawers. Neither was there any pet hiding behind the sofa or loveseat.
On the second floor, however, I found Jay in the boys' bedroom, standing quietly before a giant aquarium. It was built into the wall, at an equal distance between the two boys' beds. On one side of the aquarium's sandy floor was an amazing pirate ship, surrounded by long, waving sea grass. On the other side of the tank was a miniaturized version of an amusement park, complete with a tiny roller coaster.
“How cool is that?” I said, admiring the tiny track that circled the entire tank. “It looks like the roller coaster goes all the way around.” Squatting down, I peered closer through the glass, searching the blue water for the aquarium's little inhabitants.
“Don't bother,” said Jay. “I've been watching for five minutes now. There's nothing there.”
“Well, maybe they've got those little eel-things. They live in the coral. Or those fish that hide in holes and only come out to feed.”
“Watch this.”
Jay picked up a small container of fish food from a nearby dresser. She shook it over the top of the water and little bits of food floated lazily down toward the aquarium's sandy bottom.
“I've tried this three times. Nothing comes out to feed. Not one thing.”
“Maybe there wasn't anything in there to begin with.”
“I don't think so. Big aquarium, very clean, lots of fish food nearby. Why would they waste their time?”
“So, what are you saying?” I asked.
Jay looked at me, her face sad and drawn. “I think that there were fish in here when whatever happened. I just think that they disappeared with everyone else.”
I sat down heavily on one of the young boys' beds. Something bulky pinched my bottom and I reached under the blankets and pulled out a Star Wars TIE-fighter.
Meanwhile, Jay sat down on the other bed and faced me.
She sighed—a big sigh full of sadness. “They took the pets, too.”
* * * *
“So, they just left us?”
“It doesn't make any sense,” Jay said. “I mean, are we that evil that even the pets get to be taken before us?”
“Maybe it was just an accident,” I suggested. “Maybe we were supposed to be taken, but there was some sort of mix-up.”
“Oh, great,” sighed Jay. “Metaphysical-bureaucracy.”
We thought about that for a moment.
Could some greater-being simply have made a mistake and left us behind?
Or were we possibly being punished for something that we didn't even realize we had done?
Or maybe the reason we were still here was because we were in some sort of experiment—two lab rats in an empty world?
It was disheartening.
Then—I remembered.
“Wait, Jay…I'm pretty sure that I heard a dog bark at night. Haven't you heard dogs barking, too?”
Jay shrugged. “I thought I did, but maybe it was just coyotes. You know how they sometimes bark and it sounds just like dogs.”
“So, you think that everyone's gone…and their dogs…and their cats?”
“And their fish.” Jay lowered her head, trying not to cry.
I sighed. “Should we even keep looking through the townhouses then?”
“It doesn't make much sense, does it?”
JOURNAL ENTRY #6
Ohmigod!
We just got back from Ralphs and the most amazing thing has happened.
I want to just shout it out loud but—if this is supposed to be an accurate account of what has been happening to us—I guess I need to go in order.
But seriously…ohmigod!!
* * * *
So, after searching through all those townhouses for pets, Jay and I stayed in the attic room for another six days. We would probably have stayed longer, but our food ran out.
I know that we didn’t have to go to the mall. We obviously could have found something to eat in the other townhouses but, frankly, we were both getting cabin-fever.
Even fear and terror need a break sometimes, apparently.
* * * *
When we rode our bikes down to Ralphs, we passed by the Tesla. It was still in the middle of the road, looking exactly as it had the first time we’d seen it.
(In some ways, that car has become Jay's and my way of knowing that everything is still normal—or as normal as things can be in this strange, new world).
At the corner of Thousand Oaks Boulevard and Kanan Road, Jay and I took a side trip, peering in through the windows of Baskin-Robbins.
It looked like the ice cream parlor hadn’t been open when everyone disappeared. There were no chairs pulled out, no serving containers or sodas on the tables—just a darkened ice cream counter with colored puddles of liquid slowly oozing across the floor.
And, of course, there were flies—lots and lots of flies buzzing around everywhere! (I guess this is now their favorite place, too.)
“So sad,” I said. “Guess there's no ice cream anymore.”
“Not unless you live in the mountains,” agreed Jay. “Then you could churn your own, I guess.”
“If you knew how.”
“It's kind of weird, isn't it?” said Jay. “You think you're pretty smart and that you know everything. Then something like this happens and you suddenly realize you don't really know how to do much of anything. I mean, when it comes right down to it, what you really know how to do—is how to Google for the instructions.”
“Well, people managed just fine without Google before,” I said. “Guess we'll just have to figure out how to do things by ourselves all over again.”
I placed my hand against the window, resting my head against the cool glass.
“Good-bye, my old friend,” I said, sadly.
* * * *
The bike store was just to the left and around the corner from Ralphs.
I'd actually never been in the store (probably because I didn't have a bike), but I knew that it was really popular with riders because, every weekend, there would be dozens of them—sitting outside, working on their bikes, dressed in their tight, little riding outfits, drinking coffee and bike-networking.
Jay and I had been worried that we would have to break into the bike store. Luckily, the door was unlocked.
But—it was very dark inside.
We peered in through the large display windows—trying to see down the shadowy aisles filled with bikes—worried that someone (or something) might be waiting.
After a while, Jay spoke softly. “Looks pretty quiet.”
“Everything always looks quiet these days,” I muttered.
Crossing our fingers for luck, Jay and I tried to ignore our nerves and headed into the store—straight down the middle aisle, always conscious of the dark shadows all around us.
* * * *
It was surprisingly easy to find the bike baskets. We just pulled them off of other bikes.
“These are great,” said Jay. “All you have to do is twist their handles and they detach from the bike. We’ll even be able to carry the baskets with us when we shop.”
“I feel like we should be leaving the store money or something,” I said, feeling guilty and somehow criminal.
“I know, right?” agreed Jay.
“Oh well,” I sighed. “Maybe we can just leave an IOU. Come on, we still need to get some spare tire-things and a couple of air pumps.”
“And some patch kits and...oh yeah!” Jay held up a bright pink riding shirt. It had ‘Hello Kitty’ on one side and on the other it said ‘Girlz rule’. “Like we definitely need some new clothes!”
* * * *
Once we had found everything else that we wanted (pink riding shirt for Ja
y, plus two cute little pink and green hats for both of us), Jay packed up our baskets. Meanwhile, I went over to the front register and began writing out a note.
“Seriously?” Jay called over, mocking me. “You're really going to leave an IOU?”
“We took a lot of stuff. It's over two hundred dollars’ worth.”
“Yeah, well…we've still got our Ralphs shopping to do. You gonna’ leave an IOU there, too?”
“Maybe.”
“And when we come back next week, you gonna’ leave an IOU, then? Or how about the time after that? And the one after that?”
I ripped up the note. She was right—I was being stupid.
“New laws for a new world,” I sighed. “You think this makes us criminals?”
Jay grinned at me. “I think this makes us survivors.”
* * * *
While breaking in and stealing from the bike store turned out to be relatively easy, doing it in a big food store like Ralphs—well, that was a whole different thing.
Even Jay looked uncomfortable as we stood out front of the supermarket. The enormous store was so quiet and gloomy and—to be completely honest—intimidating.
“Well,” I finally began, “I guess the first thing we have to do is see if we can even open the doors.”
I pushed tentatively on the two giant glass doors that usually just swung apart when someone neared the sensors.
The doors didn’t move.