JOURNAL ENTRY #31

 

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything down. Guess it’s time for me to catch up—starting with Zuma Beach two days ago.

I wish we could have taped what happened that sunny afternoon. No doubt it would have gone viral.

Sometimes I really miss social media.

 

* * * *

 

When the longboats landed, our guys rushed forward, helping everybody out and onto the sand. Some of the freed slaves were in pretty bad shape and Josh immediately sent a runner back to alert Porter and Connor to be ready for patients in the new medical center. Two other runners were assigned the task of readying the block and tackle to move any badly wounded up the side of the cliff.

Meanwhile, Pauly and Kieran were surrounded, with guys clapping them on the back, congratulating them on the success of their mission. Kieran—surprisingly—looked a little uncomfortable with all the attention. Pauly, however, seemed to be drinking it in. He held up his arms in triumph, grinning widely and shaking his hands above his head.

“Look at Rhys,” said Ian, coming to stand beside me. He motioned to where my younger brother was jumping up and down with excitement, right behind Kieran—reaching out every few moments to touch our brother’s shoulder, as if to reassure himself that Kieran was actually there.

“Rhys is relieved,” I said. “So am I.”

At that exact moment, Kieran looked over at me.

Our eyes met and he nodded; I nodded back.

A simple gesture between brothers that meant so very much.

 

* * * *

 

The freed slaves all had different reactions on reaching dry land.

For some, it was relief; for others, it was joy.

Some of the guys fell to their knees on stepping out of the longboats, praying their thanks to God on having finally reached sanctuary. One of the older guys actually bent down and kissed the sand. Another kid, probably 8-years old, simply sobbed.

Eventually, though—they all grew quiet.

Waiting…

 

* * * *

 

We had surrounded the freed slaves, watching them as they were now watching us. I could see hope in the newcomers’ eyes—but fear as well.

“Welcome,” I said, moving in front of them. “My name is Jacob Riker and I lead this tribe. For those of you who don’t know where you are—this is Zuma Beach and we live up on that cliff over there.”

I motioned to the Point to the left of us and heads turned to look.

“We call ourselves the Locals,” I continued. “And you are welcome to stay with us or go your own way. It is your choice. But know that we are a community of brothers here—a tribe. We work together, we live together—and we protect our own. If you choose to join with us, we will find you a home and a position in our tribe. If you decide to leave, we will find you a backpack and fill it with food and water and wish you ‘safe journey’. Until you make your choice, however—please allow us to welcome you as our guests.”

When I stopped talking, Wester and Ethan immediately came forward, stopping in front of the little guy who had been sobbing. He was still sniffling and close to tears.

“I’m Wester and this is Ethan.” Reaching into the pocket of his board shorts, Wester pulled out a lollipop. Its stick was bent and its paper torn.

“I got a little water on it,” Wester told the kid, “so you probably got to suck off the wrapping, but it’ll still taste good.”

Slowly, the sniffling boy reached out and took the lollipop. He didn’t unwrap it, though—just held it in his hand like a piece of treasure.

“Come on,” said Ethan, reaching out and grabbing the kid’s free hand. “Me and Wester are gonna’ walk with you to our home. You’re gonna’ like it here. You’ll see.”

And, pulling gently, Ethan eased the kid away from the rest of the newcomers.

 

* * * *

 

Jonny was next. Holding out his hand, he approached a tall, dirty blond guy who was probably around fifteen. “Dude,” said Jonny, pleasantly. “Glad you could make it.”

The blond smiled, shaking Jonny’s hand.

“Come on, bro,” Jonny continued. “Let’s get you up the cliff and get you fed.”

At the mention of food, a murmuring ran through the crowd of newcomers. Without my even having to say a word, my guys immediately began to pull chocolate bars and bottles of water and juice out of their backpacks. Moments later, it seemed like every newcomer had a Local beside them—shaking their hand, placing a piece of chocolate in it, and helping them toward their new home.

It filled me with pride—the way my guys responded.

 

* * * *

 

Except for Damien and Goran.

As we walked up the hill toward our compound, I noticed that the twins kept to themselves. They were positioned on the edge of a large group of guys—newcomers and Locals—but they weren’t contributing to any of the conversation. Instead, they just walked along, heads down—talking quietly.

I remember thinking that perhaps it was one of those ‘twin things’—where they really only communicate well with each other.

Or maybe they were just shy.

But, honestly—I don’t believe that.

And that has me worried.

 

 

 

TRUE GLADIATORS SAVE

 

Not a single newcomer chose to leave Point Dume and, over the next few days and weeks, we managed to integrate each and every one into our community. At times, it wasn’t easy. There were arguments over living arrangements, jobs given, or simple differences of opinions, but—eventually—each of the newcomers settled into their new homes and became part of our tribe.

Unfortunately, our population also decreased by five during that same period. Two of our original Locals and three of the newcomers disappeared on their eighteenth birthdays. Each of them left us—as had become our custom—from inside the cage, holding desperately onto the hands of the people who were closest to them.

But—no matter how tightly we held on—they still left.

In a blink of an eye.

Gone.

 

* * * *

 

That first afternoon of the newcomers, I was kept busy—along with Josh and Porter—assigning sleeping arrangements and getting the new guys fed and checked out medically. There was some concern that the freed slaves might be carrying something contagious so—after much discussion—we decided to house everybody in the new medical center.

After seven days, if no one showed signs of sickness—the guys would have complete freedom to move around the compound. In fourteen days, we would move them into their own homes.

 

* * * *

 

It was almost midnight before I finally had a chance to talk to Kieran and Pauly. We walked out to the edge of the cliff, taking our coffees with us. Choosing a spot away from any prying eyes or listening ears, we sat on the ground—drinking our coffee and talking.

“Sorry, you had to wait so long,” I apologized. “Took a while to get everybody settled.”

“You’re kind of a bureaucrat now, big brother,” Kieran teased. “Looks good on you.”

“Shut your mouth,” I growled. “I hate all this administrative crap.”

“Probably only going to get worse,” Pauly predicted. “More guys we get.”

“Well, hopefully,” I said, “if we organize everything correctly, the camp will almost begin to run itself.”

They both just laughed.

“It could,” I insisted.

They laughed even harder.

“Dumbasses,” I muttered under my breath.

Still chuckling, Kieran elbowed me, pointing farther along the cliff to a large, dark rectangle leaning out over the edge of the rocks.

“What the heck is that?” he asked.

“Porter and Connor’s new invention,” I said. “A portable crapper.”

“But it’s over the end of the cliff,” said Kieran.

“That’s the whole point,” I explained. “There’s that empty field down at the bottom and Porter assures me that it doesn’t drain anywhere near the creek or where we swim.”

“So, you’re telling me that we have to climb out on that thing and squat over a hole that’s, what, a hundred feet in the air just to take a dump now?"

“It’s a sanitation thing,” I shrugged. “So we don’t all get cholera or something like that. You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t think so!” said Pauly, looking absolutely horrified by the idea. “There is no way on earth that I’m going out on that thing!”

“It’s really not that scary,” I assured him.

“A hundred feet up,” he asserted. “Over a hole!”

I chuckled. “Someone’s afraid of heights, I take it.”

 

* * * *

 

The three of us talked until the sun rose the next morning.

Kieran and Pauly told me their tale in bits and pieces, starting with how they made their way up into Agoura Hills.

“We figured on cutting across Pacific Coast Highway around Paradise Cove, but there were guys on the other side of the highway,” said Kieran. “We couldn’t tell how many, but we could see their campfire.”

“Do you know if they were Crazies?” I asked.

Kieran shook his head. “But we figured that it was stupid to take a chance finding out, so we just kept on walking.”

“There was a campfire at Winding Way, too,” said Pauly. “That kind of cut us off from that trail that goes over the mountains there.”

“Big coincidence,” I muttered. “Two campfires—right where guys might try and cross over and head up into the Valley.”

“That’s what we figured,” agreed Kieran. “So, I climbed one of those tall trees—on the other side of Paradise Cove. Looked down the highway toward L.A., far as I could. Saw at least two other campfires, spaced pretty equal.”

“So, it looks like the Crazies are cutting us off,” I said—not happy. “At least from going south or getting into the Valley.”

“Somebody is,” said Kieran. “Or maybe they’re using those spots to grab guys coming north up the highway from Los Angeles. Taking them to use as slaves—or worse.”

“We’ve had Alpha Teams go out and they haven’t seen any sign of the Crazies,” I said. “But they’ve been concentrating on the area around Encinal Canyon.”

“That’s where we finally crossed over,” said Pauly. “It meant backtracking and cost us a couple of hours, but it seemed the smartest move. Wound up spending the first night up at that safehouse on the hill.”

“And you didn’t see any Crazies at all around there?”

They both shook their heads.

“Not on Encinal,” said Kieran. “Maybe we should consider it our territory now.”

“Might be a smart idea to set up guards along it,” I mused. “If we could hold it, Encinal would be a good escape route for us, if we need it. Plus, it would give us a way to get into the Conejo Valley.”

 

* * * *

 

Kieran and Pauly had waited until the following evening before they made their way into Agoura Hills by circling around through Westlake Village.

“It’s real quiet there,” said Kieran. “Very eerie.”

“Almost like everyone’s gone,” nodded Pauly. “I don’t mean like disappeared. I mean, like anyone who was left is gone, too. Like there wasn’t a sign anywhere that someone was living there.”

“What do you think?” I asked. “The Crazies?”

Kieran shrugged. “It’s right next to Agoura Hills. We know that the Crazies have been grabbing guys to use as slaves. Maybe they went through Westlake and snatched all the survivors. It was weird, though. I went up high—on one of the roofs there—and couldn’t see a single light in Westlake Village, not anywhere. But over in Agoura Hills—there was light.”

“A lot of light,” added Pauly.

“Electric?” I asked, hopeful.

“No.” Kieran shook his head. “More like a lot of torches, big campfires, that sort of thing.”

“So, the Crazies must have a lot of guys.”

“Not including slaves,” said Kieran, “we counted eighty-nine. There are probably more. Guys were always coming and going. But eighty-nine is what we counted all in one place at one time.”

My hackles began to vibrate. I really didn’t like the sound of that. “Where did you see eighty-nine guys in one place?”

 

* * * *

 

“You did what?!” I was absolutely furious that Pauly and Kieran had disobeyed my direct orders and had gone back to our house in Agoura Hills.

“We waited until it was dark,” Kieran assured me.

“You were specifically told not to go there,” I complained.

“And you also told us to use our own judgment—and Pauly and I judged that it would be okay.”

“We were really careful,” added Pauly. “We took the long way round, came down through Oak Park into Agoura Hills. Didn’t even see a single Crazy along that route.”

“Probably already took all the Oak Park guys as slaves,” I grumbled.

“No doubt,” agreed Kieran. “Although I know that some of the Oak Park guys have joined the Crazies. There are a couple of footballers I recognized in their tribe now.”

“Great…just great.” I grumbled. “So—did you go inside our house?”

Kieran looked down at the ground, silent. Pauly wasn’t saying a word either.

“What?!”

“Our house isn’t there anymore,” Kieran finally admitted. “It burned down.”

“There was a fire in Agoura Hills?”

Kieran shook his head. “Just our house.”

“Any chance it could have been an accident?” I asked.

“No,” said Kieran. “Ours was the only house that burned. Mrs. Holly’s had some damage, but that was only because it was next to ours. Other than that, every other house on the block was untouched.”

“It was Brandon,” I said. “He did it.”

“Probably,” agreed Kieran.

 

* * * *

 

“A secret room?!”

“In the attic,” said Kieran. “The trap door is hidden inside of the closet. Pauly found it.”

“I was scavenging,” Pauly nodded. “Looking for some new clothes.”

“And you’re sure it was Jay’s house?” I asked, astonished. “Kaylee’s friend?”

Kieran nodded. “There are pictures of Jay and her family everywhere. And in her bedroom, there’s even a picture of Jay with Kaylee.”

“And that’s where you spent the next few nights?”

“Well, days,” said Kieran. “We figured that it would be a good base to work from. It was close to where the Crazies had their main camp. And it’s next to that culvert that goes around Chumash Park, so we could use that to move around without being seen.”

“Smart,” I said. “I didn’t even think of using that culvert. The Crazies didn’t have any guards on it?”

“Not that we could see,” said Pauly. “Maybe they didn’t even know it was there. It’s kind of hidden, down along the edges of the park, behind the bushes.”

 

* * * *

 

Although I thought Kieran and Pauly had taken a big chance by staying in a townhouse so close to Kaylee’s, I still had to admire their ingenuity. Using the culvert had made their travels through Agoura Hills a whole lot safer and allowed them quick and easy movement through the center of the Crazies’ stronghold.

Plus, the townhouse complex where my brother and Pauly had stayed was only five minutes away from the 101 Freeway. If they had needed to get out of Agoura Hills quickly, that would have been their quickest route.

The thing that bothered me, though, was that their hideout was also close to Kaylee’s townhouse. If Brandon had burned down our home, then there was a very good chance that he would do the same to Kaylee’s eventually—if only to spite me.

At least, Kieran had been smart enough not to stay in Kaylee’s townhouse. Their first night in Agoura Hills, he and Pauly had actually chosen a townhouse farther back in the complex, in a completely different section from Kaylee’s. However, the next day—when Pauly decided to do some scavenging—he had found the tiny, secret room tucked up in the attic.

Which was when they had moved closer to Kaylee’s home.

That the secret room had been in a townhouse that belonged to Jay Sitipala—my girl’s best friend and close neighbor—struck me as more than coincidental.

Kaylee Michelson had disappeared along with all the rest. Yet—somehow—she was always still there, at the edges of my life. She should have been a mere wisp after so much time, an almost-forgotten memory of the girl I had once loved.

So—why did she keep appearing?

 

* * * *

 

“Some of the Crazies are camped out in Chumash Park,” said Pauly. “But most of them are in the school.”

“Agoura High...our school?!”

Kieran nodded. “They’ve set up beds inside—kind of like barracks. We didn’t get too close, but it looks like most of the slaves are kept in one of the gyms. At least, that’s where they came out of each morning.”

“They’ve got these chains on the slaves, around their wrists and necks,” explained Pauly. “Like those chain gangs in the old prison movies. They move the slaves around in groups of about six or eight—all chained together by the neck. When they get to wherever they’re taking the slaves, they undo the neck chains, but they’ve still got these other chains attached to their wrists.”

“They make them work like that,” added Kieran. “The Crazies have some gardens in back of the school and in some of the yards along Driver. That’s mostly where the slaves seem to be working, digging up the ground, planting seeds, that sort of thing.”

“So, it wasn’t just the three camps, then. The Crazies still have more slaves up in Agoura,” I groaned.

“At least twenty that we saw coming out of the gym,” said Pauly. “Who knows how many more they collect each week walking along the 101 Freeway.”

“Plus there have to be guys coming north up the Pacific Coast Highway that they’re scooping up,” said Kieran. “Not to mention that Agoura is close to the 118 Freeway. There will be guys coming along all those ways. Let’s face it—it just makes sense to come to Southern California because it’s warm and near the ocean.”

“Easier to survive and catch food,” I said.

“Exactly,” Kieran nodded. “Only they have to get past Agoura Hills first…and that’s where they’re being trapped.”

 

* * * *

 

Kieran and Pauly had taken to watching the comings and goings at Agoura High from the relative safety of a wooded hill on the opposite side of Driver Avenue. The hill was part of the townhouse complex, which made it easy to reach, and the trees and bushes had provided enough cover that they could remain hidden whenever they watched the school.

“We got lucky,” said Kieran. “That hill goes all along Driver, so we just moved through the bushes whenever we needed to follow the action across the street.”

“They didn’t have any guards on it?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Pretty stupid of them.”

“Which means they’re over-confident,” I murmured. “Good to know.”

“It’s because they’ve got so many guys in their tribe,” explained Pauly. “They know they’re difficult to attack.”

“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 and 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.”

“But did they join because they truly believe,” I wondered, “or because they were just scared and didn’t want to die?”

Kieran and Pauly both shrugged.

“Who cares?” muttered Kieran. “Either way, they’re still a Crazy.”

 

* * * *

 

Worried that the Crazies would show up at any moment, Kieran and Pauly had quickly unchained the slaves and hustled them out of the water facility. To head off anyone tracking them—while Pauly was moving the rescued guys across the hills toward Los Angeles—Kieran had stayed behind and laid down a false trail in the opposite direction.

Three hours later, Kieran had caught up with Pauly and his group, just as they were traveling along Mulholland Highway toward Topanga Canyon. The slaves were completely exhausted by then, dragging their feet, barely able to stay upright.

“We eventually broke into one of those big houses along Mulholland—on this side of Topanga,” Kieran told me. “Fed the guys, took care of their wounds, that sort of stuff.”

“How long did you stay there?” I asked.

“Three days,” Kieran answered. “We wanted to make sure that we weren’t being followed. Also, it gave the guys a chance to get better.”

“Because we didn’t want to have to carry anybody down Topanga,” said Pauly. “That would have been brutal with all its up and down hills.”

“Plus, it gave Pauly and me time to check out our route,” explained Kieran. “We went down Topanga while the guys rested—all the way to the bottom. Didn’t see anybody until we reached the Pacific Coast Highway.”

“The Crazies are at Topanga?” I asked, worried.

“Not, yet.” Kieran shook his head. “But they’ve definitely got guys up at Big Rock and over at Moonshadows Bar a little ways up the highway, so they’re getting close. That’s why Pauly and I decided to take the slaves by boat.”

“That was the easy part,” said Pauly. “We just rowed out past the surf and turned north.”

 

* * * *

 

“What happened to the guy you lost along the way?” I asked.

Kieran sighed. “Stupid bad luck,” he muttered. “Rock slide came down along that windy bit near the bottom of Topanga Canyon. Kid got beaned by a rock not much bigger than my fist.”

“And it killed him?!”

“Hit him in the side of his head,” said Pauly. “Guy got knocked out.”

“We tried to wake him up,” Kieran told me. “But the kid never did. Just started breathing slower and slower. By the time we carried him down to the beach, he was dead.”

“Tragic,” I murmured.

Pauly reached out and nudged my brother. “Tell him.”

“Tell me what?” I asked.

Kieran sighed. “We kind of lost another guy,” he admitted.

“What happened?”

He sighed again. “Dude hit his eighteenth birthday as we were rowing past Malibu Pier.”

 

 

 

JOURNAL ENTRY #32

 

We had Rhys’ birthday party tonight.

Hard to believe that he’s actually 12-years old.

I used to think that Rhys was so immature, that he’d never grow up. Now, though—he seems so much older than twelve. So much more mature.

But—then I guess we all do.

Even the way Rhys looks now is so very different from how he no doubt would have been in the old world. His skin is dark—beyond tanned—bronzed from the hours he spends in the sun. And his hair is lighter—not quite white, but close to it. The weirdest thing is his body, though. Rhys has become wiry—all muscle and sinew—not thin, so much as lean.

There is not an ounce of baby fat anywhere on him now.

As much as I don’t want to admit it, my 12-year old brother is definitely not the baby of the family anymore. Rhys is a fighter now, and a leader—with his own unit of young warriors—an important and vital member of our tribe.

Mom and Dad would be so very, very proud.

I know I am.

 

* * * *

 

Rhys didn’t want a big party.

Instead, he just wanted it to be the original gang. So, Kieran, Porter, Connor, Ethan, Wester, Andrei, Ian and I packed up some barbeque supplies and a chocolate cake and headed over to our old house. My guards weren’t too happy with the idea, but I set them up in one of the garages with their own barbeque and cake and that seemed to settle them down.

It was a nice evening. For once, nothing dramatic happened. Nobody got hurt or disappeared. There were no emergencies, no fights—and no Crazies.

Just nine guys eating cake by candlelight and singing Happy Birthday.

What could be more normal than that?

 

* * * *

 

Before Kieran left on his little adventure with Pauly, he and I had spent a lot of time debating what we were going to give Rhys for his birthday present. We wanted it to be special, something that he could use—that would be important to him.

Kieran immediately had an idea—something he and Brandon had discovered while scavenging a famous action star’s mansion over near Paradise Cove. I won’t lie—I was horrified by Kieran’s idea when he first told me about it. But, after talking it over—and over and over—I realized that Kieran was probably right.

It was the perfect present.

And that’s why we gave Rhys a M24.

 

* * * *

 

“You’re giving me a sniper rifle?!”

Rhys was absolutely ecstatic when Kieran handed him the weapon. He immediately started jumping up and down and giggling.

“Dude!” Kieran reprimanded him, holding one hand on Rhys’ shoulder to calm him down. “You’re holding a rifle, bro…steady.”

Rhys went stock-still—probably afraid that we were going to take the weapon away from him. “I can’t believe that you’re giving me a sniper rifle,” he whispered, grinning. Then, he started giggling again.

At that moment—honestly—I couldn’t believe it either. Just a couple of months ago, Rhys had been terrified of guns.

“It takes 7.62mm bullets,” instructed Kieran. “We’ve got a lot of them so, if you don’t go crazy with the ammo, this weapon could last you a while.”

“But you have to take it seriously,” I warned Rhys. “Because the tribe will be counting on you.”

Rhys’ jaw dropped open. He looked stunned. “You want me to be our sniper?!”

“It only makes sense,” I shrugged. “Bro, it kills me to say this, but you’re not just the best shot in our family. From what I can see, you’re the best shot in our tribe.”

Holding the sniper rifle to his chest like a baby, Rhys looked from Kieran to me, tears filling his eyes. “This is like…the best birthday ever!”

 

* * * *

 

I’m still not comfortable with the idea of Rhys having the rifle. I know that he’s the best shot that we have. And, no doubt—he’ll make a great sniper. But do I really want my younger brother put in a position where he has to kill someone?

Of course not.

But the horrible truth is—sooner or later—the Crazies will be coming.

And that’s how Kieran finally convinced me to give Rhys the rifle as a birthday present. By asking me one question—do we want Rhys fighting the Crazies up close or from as far away as possible?

So—Rhys might think that we’re giving him a weapon.

But, honestly—Kieran and I are just trying to keep him away from the war.

 

 

 

FIRE BREAKS

 

The next morning, I was back inside the Local’s compound. Rhys was off with his unit, doing war maneuvers up and down Dume Drive. Kieran had gone over to the medical center to spend some time with the newcomers.

I had no idea where Ethan, Wester, Andrei, and Ian were, however.

The moment we had reached the inner walls that morning, they had taken off, vanishing into different corners of the camp. I had desperately wanted to run right after them. Or maybe even go surfing down at Zuma.

Instead, I had meetings—one after another.

Connor was first—along with Josh and Pauly, we spent a good two hours, going over the topographical maps of the area, circling any place that was beside a water source. We were searching for the third slave camp.

Over the next few days and weeks—using the list we were preparing—we planned on sending the Alpha Teams out to search for the slaves. If they found them, the Alphas were to report back and we would then figure out how to best mount a successful rescue.

 

* * * *

 

Porter showed up in the conference room after lunch. He wanted to discuss his needs for both the school and the medical center. With the rise in our population, Porter was finding himself stretched to the limits of his capabilities.

“It’s not just that I need more help,” he complained. “It’s that I need more education.”

“I can certainly get you some guys to work in the medical center and the school. That’s easy. But…well…I’m not really sure how I can help you with your own education,” I said. “Let’s face it, Porter. You’re the teacher asking to be taught more.”

“Which makes it so darn frustrating!”

“Have you asked around?” I suggested. “Found out what all the guys know? Maybe there are some who have knowledge that you can use.”

“I’ve been logging everybody as they come in,” he said. “You know that. And I ask everybody what they know. So, we have a list in case we need something. But it just isn’t enough!”

“Well, I don’t know what to say, then,” I conceded. “I’m kind of at a loss at how to help you.”

Porter took a deep breath. “I do have an idea,” he offered.

“Why do I have a feeling that I’m not going to like this?” I groaned.

“Just hear me out,” pleaded Porter.

“Go on,” I said, warily.

“What do you think about sending some guys to the library? We’ll take some carts and bring back as many books as we can carry. Create our own library here. Then, if we need to know something, we can just look it up.”

“Porter, the Malibu Library is in Crazy territory! Plus they’ve got lookouts all along Pacific Coast Highway now. Kieran and Pauly saw them.”

“But not in the other direction,” insisted Porter. “And not going up Encinal. Which means that the libraries in Westlake Village or even Oxnard could probably be safe.”

“Could be…”

“But it’s worth a try, don’t you think? There’s so much that we don’t know, Jacob. So much we absolutely need to know.” Porter was practically begging now. “And it’s going to be all there—in the books. We just need to get to them.”

“I’m sorry, Porter,” I finally said. “It’s just not a good idea right now.”

“But it’s books,” he said. “Books!”

I shook my head. “It’s just too dangerous. Maybe in a couple of months, if the situation with the Crazies changes. But right now, I just can’t let you take out a crew. The libraries are too far away.”

Porter looked heartbroken. “You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? The Crazies—they’ll burn down the libraries. Because that’s what savages do. That’s what they always do!”

“I’m so sorry, Porter.”

 

* * * *

 

As a disappointed Porter walked out through the door, Frank came in, carrying another one of his wrinkled, spotty lists. I motioned him toward a chair. “What’s up, Frank?”

“We’re having a little problem with squirrels getting into some of the seedling beds?”

“You want to check the stores for some poison?”

Frank looked horrified. “God, no!” he exclaimed. “I just need some guys to go with me to the other side of the Point. According to Porter’s list, there’s a house there that has enough of the mesh that we need to cover up the beds. It’ll keep the squirrels out plain and simple…no animal needs to be killed.”

I felt stupid. And—oddly—like I had embarrassed Kaylee’s memory.

“Of course,” I nodded, quickly. “Talk to Josh. He’ll assign you a couple of guards and some helpers.”

“Three of the newcomers are interested in farming,” Frank suggested. “I’d like to take them with me if that’s okay.”

“As long as they’ve been medically cleared by Porter or Connor, I don’t have a problem with it.”

Frank checked his list, moving on to his next concern. “You also are going to have to talk to the tribe about not going into the farming fields.”

“Why not?” I asked. “Are they trampling on the plants or something?”

“Worse,” he said. “They’re picking the vegetables. We’re finding carrot tops on the ground.”

“Could it be the squirrels?”

“Considering the teeth marks, they’d have to be mighty big squirrels.”

“I’ll take care of it,” I groaned. “Guess it is time for some rules.”

 

* * * *

 

After Frank, there was a dispute between two guys and the ownership of a crossbow that had to be mediated. Following that, four of the newcomers came in, determined to return home to Woodland Hills. Despite the threat of Crazies controlling the territory all along their route, the four couldn’t be persuaded to stay and ultimately left with a supply of food and water and our crossed fingers.

 

* * * *

 

Just after four p.m., Josh entered the conference room, carrying a clipboard.

“No!” I said, shaking my head, dramatically.

“We need to talk about setting up a Tribunal,” he insisted. “You put this afternoon aside specifically for organizing that, remember?”

Grumbling, I settled down for another long, boring meeting.

 

* * * *

 

Ian and Andrei rescued me five minutes later. They came tumbling into the conference room, excited by their discovery. “Jacob!”

“We’re having a meeting here, guys,” Josh advised them.

Ignoring him, Ian held up a key, swinging it in front of my face. It looked like any other key—utterly normal—but I knew immediately what it was.

“You found it?!” I exclaimed.

“And you’re never going to believe where!” grinned Andrei.

“Jacob—about the Tribunal…” began Josh.

I waved him off, apologetic. “We’ll start work on it tomorrow. I promise. But, right now—I’ve got a garage to visit!”

 

* * * *

 

“So, two questions—where did you find the key and what’s in the garage?”

“We couldn’t find the key anywhere,” said Ian. “And we went through every room in the mansion!”

“That was a lot of rooms,” nodded Andrei.

“So, then me and Andrei, we thought about it,” continued Ian. “Like where would we put the key? What would make sense?”

We were walking down the big staircase in the entry hall, heading toward the door that would lead us down to the lower level. Josh had already left us, intending to let the others know that the final garage was about to be opened.

“Where did you find it?” I asked.

“It was kind of obvious if you really thought about it,” teased Ian.

“You put the key where everybody can use it!” interrupted Andrei—jumping up and down in his excitement.

I stopped walking, turning to face them. “It was in the garage all this time?” I asked, astonished.

“Well, not exactly in it,” said Ian. “But it was just outside. At the gate.”

“Where? I thought we had searched all through that area.”

“We did,” Ian nodded. “But you had to really think about it.”

“Like you want to put the key where everybody can use it,” added Andrei. “But not where everybody can find it.”

“It was hidden,” I guessed.

“Behind that piece of board that goes all around the sides and tops of the gate,” said Ian.

“The crown molding?”

“I think that’s what it’s called. There was this one piece that looked weird.”

“It had lines through it,” Andrei explained. “Like it had been cut.”

“We twisted it and the piece came out, just like in the movies.”

“Well, what do you know,” I chuckled. “And what did you find in the garage then?”

They grinned at each other. Truth is—they didn’t go in.

In fact, all Andrei and Ian did was to make sure that the key worked and that the gate could be pushed up. Then, they pulled it back down and locked the garage up again.

“You didn’t go inside?!” I was surprised.

Ian shrugged. “You’re the car guy. It’s important to you. Me and Andrei just wanted to find the key.”

We reached the front of the metal gate, where Ian handed the key over to me with a ta-da! Word must have traveled fast that I was finally about to unlock the mysterious garage, because a handful of Locals were already there—excited to see what amazing automobiles we were about to uncover.

Kieran came racing down the stairs, carrying a couple of lit hurricane lanterns. He handed one to me, but kept the other for himself. “How long are we going to wait?” he asked, looking around impatiently. “Do you think there might be a DeLorean inside? What if the prince actually has the original one from the “Back to the Future” movies? Or maybe even the Batmobile! Like that would be so amazing!”

More guys came flooding into the area; some were carrying lanterns, others candles.

“Seriously,” said Kieran, pulling at the bars of the gate, “how long do we have to wait?”

“Just a few more minutes,” I said—although I was feeling just as impatient as he was. “We should probably give everyone a chance to get here.”

 

* * * *

 

Rhys showed up thirty seconds later. He was with the twins, Damien and Goran, and they were all dragging boogie boards behind them.

“You found the key,” said Rhys.

“Andrei and Ian found it. We’re about to open up the garage.”

“Cool.” He motioned to the blond brothers standing beside him. “We’re heading out to Little Dume for a bit. The twins have been after me to take them down there for a couple of days now. You guys interested in coming?”

I looked at him, dumbfounded, holding up the key and waggling it in front of his face. “Think I’ve got better things to do,” I boasted.

“Whatever,” he said, looking a little hurt. “We’ll be back when we’re back, then.”

As he stalked off, I turned back to the gate, studying the metal bars intently, wondering once again what amazing treasures the garage would reveal.

Kieran, meanwhile, leaned over to whisper in my ears. “Those twins give me Children of the Corn-creeps,” he said, quietly. “I don’t know what it is, but something feels off with those two.”

“Damien and Goran,” I murmured, not really paying attention. “They’re okay.”

But—I was so wrong.

 

* * * *

 

The gate didn’t even squeal when we pushed on it. Well-oiled and maintained, it slid up smoothly, catching and holding at the top. That made me even more excited. If the prince had spent that much effort just on a locked gate, I could only imagine what he must have put behind it.

“Ready guys?”

Excited faces grinned all around me.

“Okay,” I almost giggled. “Let’s go see our new cars!”

 

* * * *

 

A few minutes later, Wester and Ethan raced through the open space, from one end of the garage to the other—whooping first one way, then the other.

The rest of us just stood there—staring.

Because the garage was empty.

As in—there was nothing in it.

Nothing.

 

* * * *

 

“Well, this sucks,” murmured Kieran.

“Why in the heck would they lock up an empty garage?” I asked, confounded. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Porter and Connor were standing beside us. They both looked like they were trying not to laugh. Needless to say, I was highly irritated.

“Lot of space,” mused Porter. “I wonder what it could be used for.”

I gave him a dirty look.

“Just wondering,” he grinned.

“JACOB!!”

We all turned, peering through the dark behind us, to where a shadow was hurtling its way through the opened gate.

“JACOB!!”

As it got closer, the shadow solidified into a terrified Xavier. He raced up, skidding to a stop in front of me.

“Fire!” he gasped. “There’s a fire!”

 

* * * *

 

“Could it be a campfire?” I asked.

We were standing on the top floor of the mansion, looking toward the Pacific Coast Highway. A thin line of inky smoke could just be seen drifting up toward the clouds.

“It’s not very big,” said Kieran. “Maybe it is just a campfire.”

“Looks like it’s coming from around Pavilions,” suggested Porter. “Don’t we have guys stationed over there?”

“Yeah, we do,” I said, unhappy. “And they should have either sent a runner or rang the bell the moment that they saw smoke.”

“Josh should be back soon,” said Kieran, looking down toward Dume Drive. “He’ll be able to tell us what’s going on.”

When we had emerged from the disappointing basement—and on seeing the scant size of the smoke trail—I had assigned Josh to lead a team to investigate. Meanwhile, Connor and Frank were organizing other guys into firefighting brigades—just in case.

“Didn’t mom used to say that black smoke means that the fire is starting and white smoke means it’s ending?” asked Kieran. “Because that smoke is definitely black.”

“If we had an encyclopedia,” murmured Porter, “we could look it up. Books are good that way.”

I turned and gave him a dirty look. “Not now, Porter.”

He just grinned.

 

* * * *

 

Josh didn’t return from the fire. Instead, he sent Nate to give a report.

“It’s not big, but Josh wants more guys to fight it,” Nate told us, wiping a dirty hand across his sweaty brow. “We’ve got the Santa Ana’s blowing right now. Josh is afraid that the fire could get out of hand if it gets really gusty.”

“What about the guys we had stationed there?” I asked him. “How come they didn’t ring the bell?”

Nate looked embarrassed. “They were sleeping. Still were when we arrived. And they smelled like booze.”

That infuriated me. “Well, we’ll deal with them later, when we get the fire under control. Right now—where exactly is the fire?”

“There are a couple of houses just to the left of the supermarket. The fire’s behind them, coming up the hill from the highway.”

“The highway? Does it look like someone may have deliberately set it?”

“We don’t know,” Nate shrugged. “It could have been a lightning strike, though. There were a couple last night. Maybe one of them hit a tree and the fire smoldered in it. Caught up when the Santa Ana’s started blowing a little while ago.”

“That does make sense,” I conceded.

The Santa Ana winds were notorious in Southern California. They were extremely dry, hot winds that came down to the coast from out of the deserts. When you combined them with fire, inevitably disaster followed.

“How big is it right now?” I asked Nate.

“About the size of a normal front yard,” he answered. “A Valley front yard. Not a Malibu front yard.”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s not too bad. Frank is setting up teams. Let’s get them spaced out along Dume Drive, in case the winds drive it in our direction. And Porter—what’s our situation with fire extinguishers?”

“We’ve got a lot of them,” he acknowledged. “But if the fire comes, they really won’t be of much use. They’re more for close in stuff—like fires in rooms, that sort of thing.”

“Oh-oh,” said Kieran, suddenly.

I immediately turned and looked back out of the window. Even from our distance I could see a flicker of flame working its way up the trunk of a very tall Washingtonian Palm tree.

“Damn it,” I muttered. A gust of wind caught my hair, meanwhile, pushing my bangs across my forehead. The air was hot and dry, swirling around me—taunting.

“And it just got worse,” Kieran murmured.

 

* * * *

 

My armed guards didn’t like it, but I felt that I had to see the fire up close, to get a clearer idea of what we were facing. Leaving Kieran, Porter, and Connor in charge of the compound, my guards and I rode bikes down Dume Drive, moving as fast as we could.

At one point a pack of coyotes leapt over the road in front of us. They were heading south, their heads lowered, tails between their legs.

“That’s not a good sign,” yelled Pauly, who was biking beside me.

I shook my head, agreeing with him. “They’re scared.”

The wind was starting to pick up, driving the smoke from the fire toward us. The closer we got to the actual flames, the harder it was becoming to breathe. We had brought painters’ masks with us and stopped momentarily to put them on.

It helped—a little.

 

* * * *

 

As soon as we reached the Pavilions’ parking lot, we could tell that we were going to be in trouble. The fire had jumped the hill, leaping to the top of the Washingtonian Palm tree where it was now shooting out sparks that were floating down on nearby houses.

Seeing us, Frank came running over.

He was already covered in soot and dirt. Although he was wearing a mask, he still seemed to be having difficulty breathing. “We’ve got to let it burn,” he coughed. “We can’t fight it here!”

“What are you talking about?” I said, confused. “If we let it burn, it will head straight for the compound.”

“Exactly,” he said. “That’s why we need to stop it farther down. Because we don’t have what we need to stop it here. It’s already jumping over our line.”

“We’ve got more guys back at the compound. Will that help?”

“It’s not guys that we need,” he said. “We need water to fight this fire and we just don’t have that.”

“So, what are you suggesting?”

There was a giant crack!

We both looked up to see the top of the Washingtonian explode. Burning fronds and sparks flew out in all directions. I watched as one large piece fell onto another palm tree. Almost immediately, a flicker of flame began eating away at the trunk.

“We need to build a fire break!” explained Frank, his voice loud over the increasing roar of the flames. “Farther down the road—where there’s that empty lot. If we can clear that, we’ll have a better chance of stopping it there than here.”

“But if we do that, we’ll probably lose every house in between.”

“Most likely,” he agreed.

Not happy, I turned toward my guards. “Pauly,” I called out. “Get back to the compound. Tell Kieran that I want every able guy down at that empty lot with whatever they can use to dig. Frank will meet them there. And make sure Kieran knows that Frank will be in charge of the fire break.”

“Aye-aye,” said Pauly, immediately turning and biking off.

“Where’s Josh?” I asked Frank.

He pointed toward the fire. I could just barely see Josh and his guys, desperately flinging shovels of dirt onto the encroaching flames.

“Josh!” I yelled.

A moment later, he came running over. His face was black with soot and his eyes were rimmed with red.

“This wind is killing us!” he coughed, hacking up a gray-tinged loogie that he spit onto the ground.

“Where’s your mask?” I asked.

Porter had given each member of Josh’s team a painter’s mask before they had headed off to check on the fire. Josh was now missing his.

“I gave it to one of the guys who was stationed here. He needed it more than me.”

“One of the ones who was drinking and fell asleep on the job?” I growled.

Josh nodded, looking down.

I immediately pulled off my mask and handed it to him. “Take this,” I ordered. “You’re going to be in charge of the fight here. Don’t take any chances, but try and keep the fire down here as long as possible. Frank is going to cut a firebreak down at that empty lot on Dume Drive. That’s where we’re going to make our stand.”

“Good idea,” said Josh. “The Santa Ana’s are going to be pushing it in that direction. If we can hold it off long enough, so that the fire hits the break right about the time the offshore breeze rises up, we’ll be able to turn the fire around on itself.”

“And it will eat itself right up,” Frank nodded. “That’s the plan.”

“How long until the offshore breeze?” I asked.

“It’ll probably show up around ten or eleven,” said Frank.

“Which means that you’ve got five, six hours that you’ve got to hold that fire off,” I calculated. “Do you think that you can do it?”

“Might be a good idea to send some of guys through the houses in between here and the firebreak,” suggested Frank. “Get them to rip up any vegetation they can find, throw it over the cliff or dump dirt on top of it. If we’re lucky, we might even be able to create some secondary breaks along the way.”

“Good idea.” I motioned to Nate who had been standing close by, listening. “I need you to go back to the compound. Get ten of the strongest guys you can find—anyone that Frank doesn’t need. You’ll be in charge of the brush clearance and secondary breaks. Do you understand what Frank wants you to do?”

Nate nodded, then turned and raced off. I returned my attention to Frank. “Dude, it’s going to be a long night,” I said. “You up for this?”

He grinned at me. “Up at the Fire Camp, they had these posters all along the walls. Pictures of these ladies in fire gear—fighting fires like the meanest of dudes. When they chained us up at night, I used to look at those ladies and think—if they can survive, then I sure as heck was going to.”

“You got a crush on the bad girls, Frank?” I teased.

“Fire-fighting milfs,” he grinned. “Who wouldn’t?”

The second Washingtonian gave a solid crack!

I clapped Frank on the shoulder. “I’m going to send Andrei and Ian over to you. Use them as runners. I’ll be moving between here, the compound, and your firebreak. Make sure you let us know what you need—guys, water, food. We need to get this fire down.”

Frank nodded. “We’ll do our best. But you should probably get the wounded prepared to evacuate,” he suggested. “Just in case the firebreak doesn’t hold.”

“Already thought about that, bro,” I nodded. “We’ll be meeting up on Zuma Beach if the worst happens. Down by the main lifeguard station. But let’s not let it get to that, okay.”

 

 

 

JOURNAL ENTRY #33

 

I’m about to go have breakfast with the guys, so this is going to be short. But I just wanted to write my thoughts down quickly—before I forget everything that happened last night.

Man, I still can’t believe we fought a fire!

And before I write anything else—my apologies for all the black marks on this paper. It’s ashes and soot from the fire and, needless to say, I haven’t had a chance to bathe, yet.

Or sleep.

Or eat.

How weird is it—that I’m happier than I’ve been in a very long time?

 

* * * *

 

Without a doubt, the big hero of the night was Frank. Dude was a beast, swinging that shovel of his. I know that he had a team of guys with him, but I swear it was Frank who dug most of the firebreak that saved this Point.

I mean, that guy never stopped moving!

The fire hit his break probably around 9:30 p.m.—like banging up against a brick wall. There had to have been sixty or seventy of us, stamping out the sparks whenever they jumped over the break, but it was Frank who took on the big flames—the ones that really wanted to eat us up.

With his shovel and with his feet!

Then, just after 10:30 p.m., the Santa Ana’s finally died down. The fire didn’t stop burning, but at least it stayed in one place. And once the offshore breeze started up around 11:00 p.m., it blew what was left of the fire back toward the ground that had already been burned.

And by midnight—it was out!

 

* * * *

 

We’ve still got guys there, of course, shoveling dirt over all the hot spots. And, Frank, Kieran, Josh, and I walked all the way from Pacific Coast Highway to the firebreak a good half dozen times. Took us all night, but we’re pretty sure that we’ve got any possible breakout points covered.

Plus, we’ve still got teams all along Dume, ready to go if there’s a sudden flare-up.

 

* * * *

 

I’m so proud.

All the guys really worked their butts off last night.

The older ones shoveled dirt, ripped out bushes, or dug the breaks. And the younger ones served as our go-betweens. Even the little guys like Ethan and Wester did their part. They were the ones running back and forth, keeping everybody informed. And they brought us water and food and anything else that we needed.

In the old world—I used to hate the last week of August. To me, it just meant that summer was over and we were back in school again. From now on, however, it will mean something different.

August 31st—the day our tribe fought our first true battle.

And won.