365 Days Hunted

by Nancy Isaak

  “And you watched the school for three days?” I asked.

  “From that spot,” nodded Kieran. “And that’s where we saw the cart coming…on the third day.”

  “Like one of those old wagons from a Western movie,” added Pauly. “It was being pulled by a couple of horses.”

  “They’ve got a lot of horses,” admitted Kieran. “We counted at least a dozen of them being ridden around and that’s not even counting the ones that are pulling carts. We saw three carts go through town while we were there. Two with only one horse pulling them, and the one cart coming down Driver that had two horses. That cart was bigger than the other two.”

  “What was in the big cart?” I asked.

  “Guys,” said Pauly. “Four of them. Big dudes, maybe sixteen, seventeen years old. Like all muscled and steroided up—like maybe they were athletes in the old world.”

  “But they were slaves now,” said Kieran. “We knew because they had chains around their wrists and necks like the other guys.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “They took them to the football stadium,” whispered Pauly. “It was horrible.”

  * * * *

  Because it was almost dusk, Kieran and Pauly had felt confident that they could move in closer without being seen—following the cart of slaves to its destination. The cart had moved slowly down Driver Avenue, turning onto Argos Street, and finally coming to a stop in front of the gates to the Agoura High football field.

  “You should have heard the yelling when they pulled them out of the cart,” said Kieran.

  “From the slaves?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “From the Crazies inside of the stadium. They were seated up in the stands—that’s where we counted the eighty-nine of them. When the slaves got pulled out of the cart and dragged onto the field, the Crazies just started screaming.”

  “Kind of like football fans at Super Bowl,” said Pauly. “Only more mental.”

  “We couldn’t really see too much from where we were, so we went up on that hill, the one on the other side of the school,” added Kieran. “Not the one with the ‘A’ on it. The one with the houses. We hid in one of the backyards that had a good view of the field.”

  “What did you see?” I asked.

  Kieran shook his head, frowning. “Dudes were seriously Mad-Maxing.”

  * * * *

  Like in the series of “Mad Max” movies, the Crazies had decided to live up to their name. They looked like true savages now, according to Kieran and Pauly—their clothes ripped and torn, some wearing only chaps and loin cloths. There were guys with bones stuck through their noses and others wearing fierce homemade masks. While some guys had jackboots or tennis shoes on their feet, others went barefoot, with only bracelets and leather straps around their ankles.

  Many of the Crazies—like a lot of the Locals—were now tattooed. Others had shaved their heads completely or were wearing mohawks adorned with feathers and studs. One guy Kieran and Pauly saw had been covered from head-to-toe in a pattern of scars that could only have come from branding.

  And—all of the Crazies had been well-armed.

  Guns and rifles had been everywhere. Most of the guys also had machetes or long knives stuck in their belts. A few had even carried spears and whips.

  * * * *

  The four slaves from the cart had been chained to a fence railing that ran along the side of the bleachers. There were Crazies seated nearby and they had taunted them, spitting on the guys or poking at them with their machetes.

  One of the biggest slaves—a blond with a crew cut—had been cut repeatedly, small slices that had dribbled blood onto the field at his feet.

  * * * *

  “It was like a big party for them,” said Kieran. “They were all hopping around, yelling and singing.”

  “Some of them even went out onto the field and started dancing,” said Pauly. “Plus they were drinking. We saw lots of beer cans getting thrown at the slaves.”

  “That Mateo guy was there,” said Kieran. “Remember that kid we saw down at Encinal, the one that came after us?”

  “Was he in charge?”

  “Kind of,” said Pauly. “Like a second-in-command. Most of the Crazies listened to him when he told them what to do, but some of the guys—we saw them talking behind his back. Like maybe they don’t respect him too much.”

  “Did you see anyone else from his gang?”

  Kieran nodded. “That Brent guy, the one he sent running up Kanan-Dume to look for us. He was there. I didn’t see anyone else from the gang, but they could have been in the crowd. There were also some guys from Oak Park that I saw. And a couple of guys from Agoura High that I recognized.”

  “I didn’t know anybody,” admitted Pauly. “Except Brandon.”

  * * * *

  As the sun had set and the dancing had gotten wilder, torches were lit all around the field. Moving from shadow to shadow, Kieran and Pauly had edged closer, coming down off of the hill until they were kneeling right up against the fence to the left of the bleachers.

  They had crouched there, peering through the chain link.

  “There was like—this trumpet blasting—da-da-da-DAH,” said Kieran. “When it went off, all the guys in the stands went quiet.”

  “They all turned to look over near the bathrooms,” explained Pauly. “That’s where Brandon came out from.”

  “Dude’s seriously buffed,” Kieran conceded. “I mean, he’s always been ripped, but he’s got like those veins sticking out of his arms now and everything. Looks like a fricking beast.”

  “He’s a gladiator,” whispered Pauly, actually looking a little fearful.

  * * * *

  When Brandon came out onto the field, Kieran and Pauly said that the Crazies had begun to cheer. Their shouts became like a chant—a series of hoots that got louder and louder—accompanied by the stamping of their feet on the rungs of the bleachers.

  Although his muscled chest had been completely bare, Brandon was wearing black leather pants on his legs and studded motorcycle boots on his feet. From his wrists to his elbows, his arms had been encircled with more black leather and he wore what looked like a gold band around his neck.

  “To protect it from getting cut,” said Pauly. “That was my guess.”

  “What weapons was he carrying?” I asked.

  “He had two swords, one in each hand,” answered Kieran. “Plus he had one more weapon.”

  My brother looked at Pauly then—the two of them sharing some awful, unspoken memory.

  “What is it?” I asked. “What other weapon did Brandon have?”

  It was Pauly who had finally answered. “His teeth are sharpened,” he said. “Into points.”

  * * * *

  I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  Brandon had always been dramatic.

  Even on the football field, he had to make everyone look at him. Whenever he made a touchdown, it was followed by a moronic victory dance. If he took down an opponent, it would be with an overly-loud grunting followed by an even louder, triumphant HOOAH!

  “So, is Brandon their gladiator or their leader then?” I asked—knowing instinctively that I wasn’t going to like the answer.

  “Both,” shrugged Kieran.

  “Or maybe their god,” suggested Pauly.

  * * * *

  Brandon had walked into the center of the field, swinging his two swords in circles. Kieran and Pauly said that the Crazies didn’t stop screaming or stamping their feet.

  “They were just loving it,” explained Kieran. “Then Brandon, like planted the swords in the ground and did these karate moves. That got them screaming even louder.”

  “The slaves were really scared,” Pauly added. “Like they were trying to be all brave-like, but you could tell it was getting to them.”

  “I think they knew what was coming,” said Kieran, sadly. “Maybe they had been told or maybe they just knew.”

  * * * *

  When
Brandon had finished with his little karate demonstration and picked up his swords again, Kieran and Pauly said that the yelling had died down. The guys in the stands went quiet, just watching as the big blond slave with the crew cut was unchained and brought to the center of the field.

  There were guards all around the big blond—four of them, their guns trained on the guy. A Crazy came onto the field, carrying a long sword, which he handed to the slave.

  Brandon, meanwhile, just stood in the center of the field—not moving, not saying a word. When the other Crazies left the field and it was just Brandon and the slave—that was when Brandon had finally spoken.

  “You have one chance,” he told the slave. “Live or die…your choice.”

  And then he ran toward the blond—swords swinging.

  * * * *

  The battle hadn’t lasted long.

  Even now I don’t know a lot of the details, mostly because Kieran and Pauly don’t really want to talk about it. From what I could gather, however, the slave didn’t have a chance.

  Perhaps, he hadn’t thought that Brandon would really kill him, or maybe he had been just too scared to lift his sword.

  Either way, he had gone down within moments—his left arm hanging by a thread of skin. He lost his right leg soon after that and—a second later—took a sword through his right shoulder blade that pinned him to the ground.

  The rest I can only guess at.

  All Kieran and Pauly will say is that Brandon killed the guy.

  With his teeth.

  * * * *

  I could see that Kieran and Pauly were both traumatized by what they had witnessed. But, even if they didn’t want to give me the exact details, I still needed to know more.

  “What happened to the other slaves?” I asked.

  Kieran shrugged. “Probably the same thing as the first. We didn’t stay to watch.”

  “There was nothing we could do,” said Pauly, sadly. “We couldn’t save them.”

  “No, you couldn’t,” I agreed. “But you did save twenty-four other slaves, so you guys have to be proud of that.”

  Neither one of them looked convinced.

  “It was brutal,” murmured Kieran. “When that guy got killed, the Crazies—they came out onto the field. Ran down from the stands like a football game was over or something.”

  “They used their knives,” added Pauly, his eyes wide, remembering the horror. “Cut him up, just like he was a side of beef.”

  Kieran shook his head, looking disgusted. “When they started—eating—that’s when we got out of there. We went back to the townhouse.”

  “But we could hear the others screaming,” whispered Pauly. “The other slaves. Even up in the attic—we could still hear them.”

  * * * *

  Kieran and Pauly stayed up in the attic for the next two days—sickened by what they had witnessed. When they finally came out again, they resumed their watch on the hillside above the high school.

  They didn’t have long to wait.

  That afternoon, the very same cart that had brought the slaves to their slaughter went by them again, this time heading in the opposite direction. From their vantage point, Kieran and Pauly were able to see into the back of the wagon—to the cases of beer and crates of canned soup and beans.

  Wherever the cart would be going—it was taking supplies.

  Kieran and Pauly decided to follow it.

  * * * *

  “They’ve got some guys down at the Lost Hills Sheriff’s Station,” said Kieran. “They dropped some of the supplies off there.”

  “Crazies are living in the Sheriff’s Station?” I asked.

  “I think it’s more than that,” said Kieran. “Pauly and I talked about it. We think that maybe they’re there for when guys show up. You know, maybe looking for help or wanting to leave a message on the bulletin board for families. We think that maybe they grab anyone who comes to the station—to use them as slaves or for the arena.”

  “Or for food,” muttered Pauly, under his breath.

  “The cart didn’t stay at the station very long, though,” Kieran continued. “It just dropped off a couple of crates and then kept moving. Right down to the Tapia water facility.”

  “That’s where we found the other slaves,” added Pauly. “They had them working the fields around there.”

  “What are they growing?” I asked.

  “Lots of stuff,” said Kieran. “Vegetables—carrots, tomatoes, that sort of thing. Plus, they had one field where they were growing pot.”

  “There are these cabins there from before, like a camping place for groups of kids,” explained Pauly. “They all lived in those. The guards were in some and the slaves were in their own.”

  “How many guards?” I asked.

  “Ten,” Pauly answered.

  “How many did you kill, getting the slaves out?”

  “Well, that’s the thing,” my brother grinned.

  * * * *

  Kieran and Pauly hadn’t set out to free the Tapia slaves.

  With ten armed guards watching the guys—half of them on horses—they had known that they would have little chance of succeeding. So, instead, they had concentrated on using their time at Tapia to draw maps of the facility and figure out the schedule of the guards. Their plan had been to return to Point Dume with what they had discovered, then hopefully return later on with enough guys to mount a rescue.

  But, five days into their reconnaissance, everything suddenly changed.

  “A rider showed up,” said Kieran. “Do you know that black horse that lives in that huge front yard on Driver Avenue? I’m pretty sure he was riding that horse. Anyway, this guy shows up and he runs into the cabin where the guards were staying.”

  “He looked real excited-like,” added Pauly. “Not like scared, but like happy about something. Like something great was going to happen and he wanted to be the one to tell it.”

  “Any idea what it was?” I asked.

  They both shook their heads.

  “But I think maybe it was another Arena,” suggested Kieran. “Because when the cart left, it took three of the biggest slaves with it.”

  Pauly looked down at the ground, unhappy. “We couldn’t rescue those slaves because all the guards left with them. Plus the guys who came with the cart. It was just too many of them.”

  “All of the guards left?” I was surprised by that.

  Kieran nodded. “Ten guards from the camp and the four who came with the cart. Fourteen in total. Half of them got in the cart with the slaves. The other ones rode horses out.”

  “At first we thought it was a trap,” Pauly admitted. “Like maybe they had seen me and Kieran up in the hills and were trying to lure us down into the camp where they could catch us.”

  “We waited a couple of hours, but nobody came back,” said Kieran. “And there wasn’t anybody moving down in the camp…nobody. I mean—it was like they had completely abandoned it.”

  “It was really weird,” Pauly agreed. “Creepy…like we thought maybe they’d killed all the slaves or something.”

  * * * *

  When Kieran and Pauly finally descended from their hiding place on the hill, they discovered that the guards had indeed abandoned the camp. The slaves, however, were still there, chained to their beds—with a ‘waste bucket’, a bottle of water, and an opened can of soup by their side.

  As with Fire Camp #13, the guys were skinny and malnourished, many of them bearing wounds from recent beatings. A few of the bigger ones seemed in better shape than the others, their stomachs not as distended and their arms and legs still bearing adequate muscles.

  Later, Kieran and Pauly would discover that these slaves were being fed more than the others, to be kept in ‘fighting shape’—destined for upcoming Arenas.

  * * * *

  “You should of seen their faces when we came in,” grinned Kieran. “We thought they were going to be scared but, when they saw us—Dude, they knew who we were! They all started talking an
d laughing and calling out to us.”

  “It was because of the Fire Camp,” explained Pauly. “Some of them had overheard the guards talking about what had happened there. Then, they told all the others. I guess after that, they were all just waiting and hoping that we would eventually turn up at Tapia and rescue them, too.”

  “Any chance one of them knows where the third camp is?” I asked.

  They both shook their heads.

  “But there definitely is a third camp,” said Kieran. “A lot of them have heard the guards talk about it. And get this—it’s apparently got the most slaves.”

  “Damn it,” I groaned. “And they’ve got no idea at all where it is?”

  “Just that it’s near water. One of the guys said a guard mentioned that at least they didn’t have to lay a lot of irrigation pipes there like up at the Fire Camp.”

  “Another thing we found out,” said Pauly, “is that the Crazies are moving along the 101 Freeway in both directions, taking down smaller tribes wherever they can find them. That’s where they’re getting a lot of their slaves—besides the ones that just come walking along the highways.”

  “And they let some of the captured guys into their tribe,” added Kieran. “The ones that believe in all that Crazy-stuff—eating the heart of your enemy, demons, the Book of Revelation. Some of the guys we rescued—they said that there were guys from their own tribes that joined the Crazies when they were captured.”