Hope (9 page)

Neal advanced with the rifle still against his shoulder just in case anyone else came out. He stepped up to the second man and kicked his body off the steps. He leaped over the first man and entered the house. The house was dark, so it took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust, and when they did, the true carnage was evident.

The first body he came upon was an attacker.

He stepped into the living room and found Ricky and Natalie lying facedown in a pool of blood, with gunshots to their heads.

Neal had seen bodies and death, but this was different. These were people he knew and cared about. He took a deep breath and pressed forward. In the hallway he found another attacker. In the first bedroom he discovered Natalie’s father; he was sprawled on the bed with several bullet holes in his chest. Neal’s heart rate was off the chart and his breathing was becoming rapid. He went a few more steps down the hall but stopped short of walking into the master bedroom. He paused and took several slow and deliberate breaths. The last thing he wanted was to hyperventilate. “You got this,” he reassured himself. Feeling better, he took the last remaining steps and turned into the master bedroom.

Carlos was sitting up in the bed. Two holes in his chest and one in his forehead told the story of his fate.

Neal’s guts tightened. Nausea raced from the pit of his stomach and into his throat. He blinked and rubbed the stinging sweat from his eyes.

A note was stuck to Carlos’ chest.

Neal walked over to his dead friend and removed the paper. He unfolded it to discover the registration for the Lincoln. In red ink Carlos’ address was circled.

They had discovered the car and added two and two together. It was easy for them; Carlos didn’t think to remove any trace of the car’s owner. Somehow in his hubris he had missed that little detail. It was a fatal mistake, and Carlos would never get a do-over.

Neal touched his friend’s hand and said, “Oh, Carlos, I’m so sorry. I’ll miss you, my friend.”

“Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is not to stop questioning.”
– Albert Einstein

Guatay, CA

Charlotte rolled over and covered her ears with the down pillow to block out Drew’s snoring. To her utter disgust, Drew had decided to sleep in the same room. He was honest with her and said it was for their safety. It was the first time she believed his intention. She knew the other men were savages and couldn’t be trusted, especially after what Drew had done to one of them.

The early morning light crept into the room, and for Charlotte came the promise of gathering more information to aide in her and Hope’s escape. Unable to tolerate Drew’s snoring, she snuck out. The musty hallway of the barn was wide, with five other doors that led to similar rooms. Were there others being held? She hadn’t heard anyone, but who knew. She stealthily slipped out the back door. The outdoor air was unexpectedly crisp and cool. The back of the barn faced a tall eight-foot retaining wall with the hillside sloping away from it and out of sight. What was on the other side? Trash cans, tools, wheelbarrows and just junk sat alongside the back. A small plastic armless chair was next to the door, surrounded by dozens of cigarette butts.

She walked to one corner and looked to her right. There, a small alley separated the main barn and one of the side buildings. Behind the other building she saw similar stuff. Beyond that the ground sloped towards the chain-link fence.

A man armed with a rifle walked parallel to the fence line.

She hadn’t seen anyone the day before guarding the fence, but it made perfect sense.

She turned around and looked back. The retaining wall stretched just a few feet past the smaller building on the other side of the main barn then turned left at a forty-five-degree angle. The slope of the hill above her was steep and heavily treed. Going that way to escape seemed difficult at best and impossible at worst. Being twelve, she might make it, but for Hope it would be too much.

Going anywhere near the main gate seemed foolish, as it also took them past the main house and garage, where she noticed most of the men gathered. She faced back down the hill towards the chain-link fence and said, “That looks like it’s the way. Now how can I know for sure?”

“You smoke?” a raspy voice asked.

She jumped and twisted around, fear racing up her spine. Just a few feet from her was an older man; she hadn’t seen him before. He stood with his arm outstretched towards her with a pack of cigarettes.

“You smoke?” he asked again.

“No.”

“You kids don’t really smoke, do you? All that antismoking stuff,” he quipped as he lit the cigarette.

She watched him take a long drag and exhale.

“I bet if I offered you pot, you’d smoke that?” he jested.

“I don’t smoke anything.”

“I thought most of you kids were dopers. You won’t smoke a simple Camel Light, but you’ll light up a big doobie and get stoned out of your minds.”

“I don’t do drugs,” Charlotte declared.

“Ha.” He chuckled. “So tell me, what’s your story? I saw you in the yard yesterday. I’m assuming you’re one of those girls who were captured.”

“Who are you?” Charlotte asked. She refused to give up information freely.

“Bob.”

Charlotte checked him out carefully from his tired boots where the leather had worn off the toe, exposing the steel underneath, to his tattered and stained jeans and finally his thinning V-neck T-shirt. On his head he wore a trucker’s hat with the bill curled perfectly. He didn’t fit the look of the others; he was more country compared to the Latin city bad-boy look the others had.

“Damn, it’s chilly out here,” Bob complained, rubbing his exposed arms.

“You look different than the others,” she said, telling him exactly what she was thinking.

“Those guys, oh hell, I’m not one of those guys. I just work for ’em,” Bob said. He attempted to blow a ring but failed.

“What do you do for them?”

“Cook.”

“You’re a cook?”

“I wouldn’t say
I’m a cook
, like it was my career. Good God, before all this shit, I owned retail centers all over.”

“So why do you cook for them now?”

“Ha, you ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Bob laughed.

“I’m curious. What else do I have to do?”

Bob shrugged and said, “I guess that’s true. It’s just that I’ve never seen a youngster like you, so full of conversation. All the kids I knew before had their heads in their phones, but someone must have taught you the lost art of talking. Anyway, what’s your story? Why are you here?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Charlotte said.

“Then I guess that ends our conversation,” Bob said, crushing his cigarette against the side of the building. He flicked it over the wall, turned and entered the smaller building.

Bob made sixteen, she thought. Curiosity got the best of her; she wanted to know where Bob went, so she opened the same door and poked her head inside the smaller building. A dank odor struck her first. Unable to quell the desire to know what was in there, she stepped into the dimly lit space. In the center of the room was a large table. On it she found two backpacks with the contents emptied out. She leaned over and began to examine what was there. Clothes, shoes, rope, first aid kit, lighter, compass, water bottle and a folding knife. She picked up the knife and opened it up. The stainless steel blade glinted slightly when the light from a far window hit it just right. A knife could come in handy, she thought; then in the corner of her eye she saw a wallet.

The first thing she saw was a driver’s license for Timothy Brandt. He was twenty-five and from La Mesa, CA. She put it down when she saw another wallet. She picked it up too, opened it and found it belonged to Daniel Brandt; he was twenty-eight. Brothers, no doubt, she thought. An uneasy feeling came over her; she put the wallet down and stepped away from the table. All the items belonged to those two men, and more than likely they were being held captive or were dead, and if it was the former, it was at the hands of Tony and his men.

A rumbling sound startled her. She turned to see where the sound was coming from. Slowly she walked to the far corner and saw three large refrigerators and two chest freezers. She raised her eyebrows, astonished they were working. She opened the door of the refrigerator closest to her.

Cool air washed over her first; then the light from inside lit the room around her. Inside, perishable foods were stacked on the lower shelves. Tupperware containers filled with prepared food sat on the upper shelves, with labels marking days of the week.

Out of nowhere someone grabbed her from behind. She flinched and turned to see Drew.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked.

“I couldn’t sleep anymore,” she replied, stepping away from him only to bump into the table.

“Not a good idea for you to be snooping around,” Drew advised.

“Are we free, or are we still prisoners?” she asked.

“You’re free, but not so free you can go wherever you want,” Drew said, taking her arm.

She shrugged off his grip and said, “I’ll go back, but never touch me again.”

He snatched her arm but this time harder. “Listen here, I don’t know what I have to say or do, but I’m a friend. I saved your miserable life from God knows what living hell you and your precious sister would have gone through. How about some appreciation?”

Charlotte fought back the urge to strike him. To her he represented all the men who had killed her father and taken her away from her home. However, a thought came to her. If she and Hope had any chance of surviving, she would have to play nice. She lowered her head and sighed loudly. “Sorry, I’m…I’m just so sad.”

“Hey, I get it, but time heals all wounds. I know what happened to your dad was hard to see, and it couldn’t have been easy to find out the truth, but if you and Hope wish to make it out of here, you’re gonna have to listen to me.”

“I will.”

“Good. Now go back to your room. It’s not safe for you to be snooping around; some of the guys are not as nice as me.”

“Okay, but tell me how you have power?”

“Not for you to worry about.”

“And these backpacks, they belong to two brothers, I’ve seen them. Are they prisoners too?” she asked, darting over to the table and pointing to the objects that lay there.

Drew advanced aggressively and ordered, “Stop asking questions and get back to the room, now.”

His forceful approach gave her pause. Fearful, she stepped back but the table prevented her from going any further.

He pointed to the back door and said, “Out.”

“Fine, you don’t have to yell.” She stepped away from the table but not before she secretly scooped up the knife and slid it into her back pocket.

Charlotte exited with Drew right behind her.

Out of the shadows, Bob emerged. A huge grin graced his face as he said, “Aren’t you a feisty one. You’ll do, you’ll do nicely.”

El Centro, CA

Each time Neal drove the shovel into the ground, he came away with little to show for his effort. The arid climate of the desert had sucked every last drop of moisture out of the yard, and the intensely hot desert sun baked it until it was hard.

He had been toiling away in Carlos’ backyard for three hours and hadn’t been able to dig more than a two-foot-deep by six-foot-long hole. At this rate he’d be digging for days. His hands ached and his back was screaming in pain, but the worst part was the diarrhea and vomiting he had been experiencing since the early morning hours.

He wasn’t alone in being sick. Karen and Beth were also ill, but they were faring worse. Both of them had his symptoms but were also complaining of blurred vision, abdominal pain, and poor Beth was having a difficult time speaking coherently.

Neal was concerned and tried to provide them with comfort, but burying his friends was something that had to be done.

A strong feeling of nausea swept over him. He dropped the shovel and bent over next to the hole and heaved. Nothing came out but mucus and bile. He had emptied the contents of his stomach many hours ago and had been unable to eat since. Wiping his mouth, he continued with the task of digging the graves.

With each swing of the shovel, he began to convince himself that burying them in a shallow grave would work for now until he was feeling better.

After several more hours and three more interludes of vomiting, he was finished. He dropped the shovel and sauntered through the house. He stepped over to one of the attackers and wondered if more would come. He had to think that was possible; why wouldn’t they? He thought of what he should do with their bodies and decided to let them lie where they died, at least until he was capable of disposing of them.

He slowly walked to his house. His mind spun with what they might have. Was this a flu? Was it some sort of biological weapon? Was this the second shoe that was dropping? They had survived the grid collapse only to be killed by some manmade bioweapon. It wasn’t that farfetched considering the world they were living in.

He entered the house, and instantly he could smell sickness. It was thick, and it permeated everything and gave the house a somber feel.

In the back room he heard Karen coughing, or was she vomiting again? It was hard for him to tell.

A cold sweat clung to his brow. He felt horrible.

When he reached the hallway, vertigo hit him hard. His vision blurred and he lost his balance. As he fell to his knees, he unsuccessfully grabbed for anything to keep him upright. His body slammed into the floor hard, with the side of his face smashing into the floorboard.

“Karen,” he mumbled.

She didn’t respond.

All he could hear was her coughing loudly.

He tried to crawl but found each inch to be excruciatingly difficult. Tired, sick, dizzy and on the verge of blacking out, he used what energy he had remaining to roll onto his side and rest. The last thing he remembered was taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.

“Dada,” Beth cried.

Neal opened his eyes. It was dark. He must have been asleep for hours.