365 Days Hunted

by Nancy Isaak

  “You think they’re piping the water down?”

  “That would make sense,” he said. “And maybe these Crazies are using the guys they capture as workers—farm slaves, that kind of thing.”

  “Denny didn’t tell you what they had him doing?”

  Ru shook his head, sadly. “Dude only made it as far as Zuma. Sorry, Jacob.”

  * * * *

  “Denny’s dead?”

  “A couple of days ago,” I said. “They’ve buried him over on the Nature Preserve.”

  We were sitting in the living room, having a house meeting. I had called the guys together to discuss what I had just learned from Ru. “He said that these Crazies are raiding guys from other tribes and using them for slaves. They took Denny and Frank Gornman from just outside of Ralphs.”

  “Do you think that it might be Mateo’s guys?” asked Kieran.

  “That was my first thought,” I acknowledged. “It would make sense, especially since Denny was found on Encinal.”

  “Are they coming here?” asked Wester. He and Ethan were sitting side-by-side and they both looked small and scared.

  “I don’t know,” I answered, honestly. “But Ru and I have decided to find out.”

  “How?” asked Rhys.

  “We’re going to follow the PVC pipe—see where it leads.”

  “But what if they catch you?” asked Ian, looking horrified at the idea.

  “We’re going to head up at night,” I explained. “See if we can sneak up on them. Find out what they’re doing. Get the guys out—the ones they’ve got as slaves.”

  “I think this is a stupid idea,” said Porter.

  “I don’t like it either,” agreed Andrei. “We should just leave the Crazies alone.”

  “Come on, guys,” I said. “They’re keeping slaves.”

  “I’ll go with you.” It was Connor who spoke. He had been sitting quietly, tucked back into a plush recliner, his bum leg up on an ottoman.

  “Dude, you can’t,” I said. “No offence, Connor—but your leg.”

  “If they’re hurting guys, you’re going to need someone to do the first aid. That means Porter or me. Ru doesn’t have anyone who does medical.”

  Porter quickly put up his hands. “I’m not going.”

  “See,” said Connor. “That means me.”

  * * * *

  Ru didn’t like the idea any better than me.

  But Connor did have a point.

  After Porter, he was the closest thing we had to a medic. It did make sense to take him along with us.

  It just meant that we would have to move a whole lot slower.

  * * * *

  While I was gone, it was decided that my guys would move into Ru’s compound. There was an empty house just outside the primary wall. It was right on the edge of the cliff and had a direct view of Zuma Beach. Although it was separate from the rest of Ru’s houses, it was close enough that it could be easily defended.

  Rhys was ecstatic about the move. As much as he got along with Andrei and Ian, he was looking forward to having a whole new set of friends. In fact, he had already agreed to go surfing down at Zuma with Nate and Xavier.

  Porter—of course—immediately began creating new classroom plans. With Ru having so many guys, he figured at least some of them would like to return to school. On my suggestion, he was also going to be teaching a general first aid class. It was time to get more guys medically trained.

  * * * *

  The night before I moved the guys over to Ru’s compound, Kieran found me inside of Kaylee’s room—sitting on the bed, thinking.

  “Figured you’d be in here,” he said, sitting down beside me.

  “What’s up?”

  He sighed. “Look, Jacob—I still think I should go with you. Let Porter take care of the guys here.”

  I shook my head. “Nothing against Porter, but I need someone who can defend them, not teach them multiplication or put a bandage on their boo-boos.”

  “Ru’s got a lot of guys,” he insisted. “What about one of them?”

  “And they’re probably great guys,” I said. “But they’re not our tribe.”

  Irritated, Kieran picked at some fluff on his shirt, flicking it away between his fingers.

  “Besides,” I continued, “if Brandon shows up—”

  “Okay,” he sighed, interrupting. “I get it.”

  “But I do have to ask you for one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The booze and the weed.”

  Kieran stood up, brushing off his pants. He did not look happy. “I’m not going to lie to you, Jacob. I can’t say that I won’t drink or do weed ever again. But I can promise you this. Until you get back—no worries.”

  “That’s all I ask, bro.”

  Nodding, Kieran exited the room.

  * * * *

  After leaving Kaylee’s room a few minutes later, I stopped in at Ian and Andrei’s just down the hall. They were busy packing up their belongings into two large backpacks.

  “Hey, guys,” I said. “Just checking up on you.”

  “All good,” said Andrei, as he shoved a carton of bullets into the front pocket of his pack.

  “What about you, Ian?” I asked. “This has been your home for a while.”

  He shrugged. “My home’s up in Bend, Oregon. Well—it was up in Bend.”

  “So, you okay, dude?”

  “My mom says that family’s the thing, not the house.”

  “Your mom sounds pretty smart.”

  “Yeah well,” he grinned. “We live in a trailer and my aunt in a mansion—so what does my mom know, right?”

  * * * *

  Wester and Ethan, meanwhile, were in the midst of a fierce battle—whacking each other in the face with teddy bears. I recognized the stuffies they were using—they had come from Kaylee’s room. I watched the two boys for a moment, chasing each other around—whack, whack, whack.

  “You guys good?” I asked, when they took a moment to catch their breath.

  “Roger that,” said Ethan.

  “Roger that,” said Wester.

  “You taking the teddy bears with you?” I asked.

  “Cherry and Shawnee?” said Wester. “Roger that.”

  And he took his teddy bear (Cherry/Shawnee?) and whacked Ethan smack in the face. As the battle continued, I backed out of the room and left.

  * * * *

  Twenty-four hours later—I was heading into my own battle.

  There were fifteen of us who left Ru’s compound for Encinal Canyon that night. We separated into two groups.

  The first six left just after midnight—carrying nothing but their weapons. These were our scouts.

  At 3 a.m., the second group of nine left—seven from Ru’s tribe—including Ru. Connor and I made nine. We moved slower than the first group—between carrying all the backpacks and having to accommodate for Connor’s leg.

  Because we were concerned that the Crazies might have someone watching the Pacific Coast Highway, both groups traveled along the coastline for the first part of the journey. However—in more than one place—we were forced to abandon the beach and head inland.

  Even though the tide was out, it was difficult to move through the sand and the rocks—in some places, impossible. The alternative, we found, was creeping silently across the massive back lawns of multi-million dollar estates.

  Just as the sun was rising—about three hours in—those of us in the second group called a halt at a small pocket beach just below the turnoff to Encinal Canyon. There was a mansion close by—visible from the road—and we planned to make it our stopover in order to give Connor’s leg a rest.

  Meanwhile, the first group—if everything was going according to plan—would already be bunking down in their own mansion for the day, halfway up Encinal.

  * * * *

  No matter how many mansions I’d scavenged through during the last few months, I still found myself amazed at the opulence under which the ric
h of Malibu lived. Even though this mansion was smaller than most, it still smelled of an abundance of money—white marble floor, 24-karat gold faucets, a 12-seat home theater and, most astonishing of all—a Picasso over the fireplace in the living room.

  Ru and I stood before the painting—our mouths open in awe.

  It had been slowly revealed to us, as the sun’s morning rays tiptoed across the floor. The rest of the guys had already found their bedrooms by that time and were fast asleep. Only Ru and I had been awake to witness the revealing of the cubist masterpiece.

  “Do you think it’s real?” asked Ru.

  I carefully pulled at the painting, trying to look at the back of the frame. It moved barely an inch. “It’s got these wires on it,” I reported, peeking behind it. “Looks like they’re attached to some sort of an alarm system.”

  “Guess it’s real,” said Ru.

  Gently, I let the painting fall back into place. I returned to my spot, standing beside Ru, admiring the work of a genius.

  “I call dibs,” I said.

  * * * *

  We began to wake up during the late afternoon.

  Guys wandered through the mansion, pulling open drawers and cupboards, looking for souvenirs. We had agreed ahead of time that we wouldn’t be carrying any extra weight on the trip up the canyon. Instead, an item of desire was given a Post-it note for collection on the way back—Jonny wants this guitar, Harry gets that container of Matchbox cars, Mike has claimed the 12-speed bike in the garage.

  And—of course—the Picasso was mine.

  * * * *

  Supper was cold fish and rice. It had been cooked before we left, packed into plastic baggies, and stored in our backpacks—along with power bars and boxes of raisins and chocolates.

  Although we were probably being paranoid, we had decided not to cook anything. This close to Encinal Canyon, we were worried about the smell drifting up—alerting any nearby Crazies to our whereabouts.

  For that same reason, as night began to fall, we didn’t light any candles or lanterns. The one exception was—as my guys had experienced up in Agoura—the home theater, where the room was completely enclosed and without windows. Guys moved in there as it got dark, using the time and the light to straighten out their packs and make sure their weapons were clean and ready.

  * * * *

  I found Connor with Ru in the theater. They were talking quietly as Connor checked through the supplies in his first aid pack.

  “How’s your leg doing?” I asked, joining them.

  “Still attached,” Connor joked.

  “Any news from the first group?” I asked Ru.

  He shook his head, looking worried.

  “They’re probably still holed up in their safehouse,” I said. “If there was any problem, they know to send someone running down immediately.”

  “Yeah, I know,” said Ru. “But I was still hoping one of them would have come down the hill to give us a report by now.”

  * * * *

  Just before midnight, we loaded up our backpacks and headed out to the mansion’s gate. It fronted Pacific Coast Highway, directly across from the turn-off to Encinal. Even in the dark we could see the road, winding up the canyon—first left, then right—before disappearing behind the hill.

  Connor and I joined the rest of the guys, crouching down behind the steel bars of the fence. “Anything?” I whispered to Ru.

  “Looks quiet,” he said. “We’re going to head out, one at a time—thirty seconds between guys.”

  “What are we waiting for?”

  “Clouds.”

  I looked up at the moon. It was full, shining down brightly. But, off to the north, a bank of dark was floating toward it.

  * * * *

  Five minutes later it was time.

  One-after-another, we sprinted across the road, making for the turnoff. There was a large drainage tube on the other side of the highway—as tall as a man—and we congregated inside of it, waiting for Ru. He was the last person to arrive, carrying Connor’s backpack as well as his own.

  As Ru reached the drainage tube, an embarrassed Connor quickly grabbed for his pack. Meanwhile, Josh, Ru’s second-in-command, lit a small candle and held it up—running its light over the wall.

  About five feet in and the same amount up, was a chalk number ‘6’, a check mark, and an arrow pointing straight up; the first group’s signal in a pre-arranged code—six scouts passed this way. Looks good. Heading up the canyon.

  Josh immediately snuffed out the candle.

  “Excellent,” whispered Ru. “Okay, listen up, guys.”

  We all gathered in close.

  “From here on in, we don’t talk unless we absolutely have to. Because of what Denny told us before he died, and from the hoof prints our guys have seen, we know that the Crazies are using horses. That means that they can travel a whole lot farther and quicker than we can and that their territory is a whole lot bigger than ours. It also makes sense that they probably have lookouts on this road.”

  “Do we have any idea of what kind of weapons they might have?” asked Jonny, a large 16-year old, with black chevrons tattooed across both cheeks.

  “No,” said Ru. “But we need to assume that they’ve got guns just like us. So, we’ll stay off the road as much as possible but—with the canyon—that’s not going to be easy. At some places, we simply have to use the road. And if I was the Crazies, that’s where I’d put the lookouts.”

  “Or on the hills above,” I added.

  Ru nodded. “Jacob’s right. So, don’t forget to look up. Now, here’s what you need to remember. If you see my arm go up like this—you drop to your knee and don’t move. Don’t make a sound. You stay like that until I stand up again. Even if there’s a Crazy walking right next to you—you do not move until you get the signal. The dark is weird that way—you can have someone two feet away and, as long as you stay motionless, they won’t know you’re there.”

  He turned toward me. “You got anything you want to add, Jacob?”

  “Just that I heard some clanking when some of you ran across the street. Whatever it was—I’ve got some duct tape in my pack that you can use to tape your stuff down, so it won’t make any more noise.”

  “Good idea,” said Ru. “Okay, guys. Let’s ninja everything up, then we’re on our way.”

  * * * *

  He was waiting for us around the first curve.

  Sitting quietly, behind some bushes.

  Three of our guys passed before he stepped out from his hiding place.

  “Boo,” he said.

  Eight guns immediately turned toward him.

  “Stand down!” hissed Ru, stepping quickly in front of the newcomer. “It’s Pauly!”

  As I stepped nearer, lowering my gun, I realized that the boy was one of Ru’s first group of scouts.

  Pauly was a 14-year old—from one of the richer families—the kind of boy we Valley kids called a ‘Prince of Malibu’.

  We moved off of the road, squatting in a semi-circle around the Prince. He was wearing dark clothes and his face and hair were covered in mud. Only his eyes were truly visible—white rounds reflecting in the moonlight.

  “They’ve got them holed up at the Fire Camp,” said Pauly, quietly. “From what we saw, it looks like the guards are living inside the main cabin. The slaves are chained up in two cabins farther back.”

  The Fire Camp was #13—a division of the Department of Corrections. My brothers and I liked to call it the Bad Girls Camp, because it was where female convicts went to learn how to become firefighters. #13 was notorious around Malibu, its lady firefighters tough and awe-inspiring—heroes of many a Southland fire.

  * * * *

  Pauly placed rocks along the ground—each one representing a building or the entrance to a road in or around the Fire Camp.

  “How many guards?” asked Ru.

  “We counted six. Three are in the main cabin right now—sleeping. Two are on horseback—from Kanan-Dume along Encinal Can
yon and down to Pacific Coast Highway. They’ve passed us four times tonight so far.”

  “They didn’t see you?”

  “The hoof beats keep giving them away,” he grinned, his teeth shining brightly in his darkened face. “Plus there was one guard up on the hill, just where Encinal does that dogleg toward Kanan. We got lucky there. Dude was smoking a cigar, so we smelled him far enough away to give us a chance.”

  “Did you take him out?”

  “He’s tied up in our safehouse and feeling pretty foolish right about now. We cut some scratches into a tree, added some blood. Made it look like a mountain lion got him.”

  “Any idea when the guys on horses are coming back?”

  “Nah.” Pauly shook his head. “There doesn’t seem to be any schedule to them. They just go wherever they want.”

  “What kind of weapons?”

  “They’ve all got guns. One of the guys on the horses has a SMG, though.”

  “SMG?” I asked.

  “Submachine gun,” explained Ru.

  “The guys at the Camp all carry guns, too,” continued Pauly. “We don’t know what extra they’ve got in the cabin, though. Plus, all of them have machetes or knives.”

  “How many slaves?”

  “Fifteen that we counted outside. We followed the PVC pipe last night. That’s how we found them. It comes out in the valley, near the Fire Camp. They’re using the water to irrigate the field there and the slaves to farm it.” Pauly broke into a big grin. “And you are not going to believe what they’re growing!”