365 Days Hunted Read online

  On the other side of me, Kieran leaned over and whispered in my ear. “We should move.”

  I shook my head. “Not until we’re sure they’re gone. We’re only a quarter of the way up this hill and Wester and Ethan can’t move fast enough. If they see us climbing, we’re done.”

  Kieran didn’t look happy, but he reluctantly settled down to wait.

  * * * *

  It was a good two hours before we felt it was safe enough to begin climbing the hill again. Mateo’s boys—or whoever was down on that freeway—had taken their time with whatever mischief they were accomplishing. There were more gunshots—bright flashes of light—assorted laughter, and dark figures running back and forth.

  Then, it finally got quiet—no movement.

  * * * *

  We advanced slowly, moving up and over the hill—crawling on our hands and knees. If someone was still on the freeway and looked up, it was my hope that they would think our lowered shapes to be coyotes—and not a group of scared boys.

  A few feet from the top, we heard another gunshot. This one was farther away, though—its report faint and echoing.

  “I think we’re good,” I whispered, as we began to move down the other side of the hill. “But remember to keep your voices low. We’ll be coming up on Cornell Road soon. If there’s anybody on the road, we don’t want them to know we’re there.”

  Our plan was simple—we were going to take Cornell Road down to Mulholland Highway. From there, we would decide to go either left to Malibu Canyon—or right to Kanan-Dume Road. Either canyon was capable of taking us down to Malibu.

  The complication was—which route would be the safest?

  * * * *

  We expected to be halfway to Malibu by the time the sun rose.

  Fate chose otherwise.

  Coming down that first hill, Porter twisted his ankle on a rock. He went down hard, his knee smacking against the ground. My first, big fear was that he’d broken it—especially when I heard him groaning in pain.

  “You okay?” I asked—fingers crossed—as I helped him up.

  He took a tentative step, putting pressure on his right leg. It immediately crumpled beneath him. If I hadn’t been there to catch him, he would have fallen to the ground.

  “Damn it!” he muttered.

  “Is it broken?” I asked—terrified of the answer.

  “I don’t think so.” Porter lifted up his right leg and moved it in a slow circle. “No…not broken,” he said. “Hurts like a son of a bitch—but not broken.”

  I breathed a little easier.

  If it was just a sprain, we could deal with that. But a broken leg—that would be way beyond our abilities. It made me realize how vulnerable we all were—physically. If one of us got really sick or broke a leg or needed stitches—we were going to be in big trouble.

  “Let me take your backpack,” I said to Porter. “It’ll make it easier for you to walk. Kieran will help you down the hill.”

  Porter handed me his pack. Lifting it, I suddenly had a good idea of why he had tripped. His backpack was at least double the weight of mine. “What the heck do you have in here?!”

  “Just some books.”

  “You put books in your backpack?!” I asked, astonished. “I told you to only bring necessities.”

  Porter looked at me like I was an idiot. “There’s a “Merck Manual”, a first aid book, and an anatomy text. Jacob, those books are necessities! It’s not like we’re going to be able to Google anything.”

  And, of course—he was right.

  The world had changed.

  Books were a necessity once more.

  * * * *

  Even though Porter’s knee wasn’t broken, it was definitely bruised—and swelling up more by the minute. He was trying to be brave and tough, but I could tell that the small amount of walking that we had already done was making his knee much worse.

  There was no way that he could walk all the way to Malibu.

  I called a halt at Cornell Road and Mulholland Highway. It was still pitch dark and, as we sat on the ground, we could barely see each other’s faces. Overhead, an owl hooted in a tree—chastising us for being out so late.

  “We’re going to hole up here,” I said. “Porter needs to rest that knee.”

  “I’m okay,” Porter insisted.

  “No, you’re not. And you’ve got to be honest about that. We all have to be honest from now on,” I said. “If we’re hurt, we need to let each other know right away. Because there aren’t any doctors anymore, or hospitals. So, we have to take care of everything immediately—before it gets worse.”

  “Makes sense,” said Brandon.

  Everybody else nodded. I looked at Porter—waiting.

  “It is getting worse,” he finally admitted, so quietly that I had to strain to hear him.

  “Okay, then,” I said, standing back up and looking around. “First thing is—we need to find a safe place to hide until Porter’s ready to move again.”

  * * * *

  The house was enormous—probably around 10,000 square feet. It didn’t have a bowling alley, but it did have a small theater.

  With no windows, the theater room was perfect. We could use a hurricane lantern and nobody would be able to see the light from the outside. Plus the massive leather chairs were extremely comfortable and leaned back so Porter could put his leg up.

  I left Kieran in charge of settling everybody into the theater room. Meanwhile, Brandon and I checked out the rest of the house.

  With the small tea candles we were carrying, Brandon and I couldn’t really see much as we traveled from room-to-room. Mostly, we just wanted to make sure that nobody was there—that we were alone in the house.

  That we would be safe.

  After assuring ourselves that the house was empty, Brandon and I went into the kitchen. We searched through the cupboards and the pantry, finally returning to the home theater room, our arms full of chips and cookies.

  I was expecting that Rhys, Ethan, and Wester would fall upon us the moment we came through the door. But all three of them were fast asleep—curled up in their big, leather recliners.

  In his own chair, Porter was also sleeping.

  Kieran, however, stepped out from behind the door, startling me. He had been hiding there, his Glock in his hand. “Any sodas?” he asked, pulling a bag of chips from my stack.

  “There’s lots of crap,” said Brandon. “This place is loaded.”

  “They’ve got a big pantry,” I added. “Sodas, cans of veggies, meat. Bags of rice and potatoes.”

  “Looks like you were right to let Wester choose the house,” Kieran said.

  It appeared that Wester wasn’t quite asleep after all because—over on his chair—I saw a little black hand raise a few inches and give us a thumbs up. Then, just as quickly, it fell back down again.

  I sat down in one of the big chairs and opened up a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips. Taking a handful, I began chewing. “How’s Porter doing?”

  Kieran shrugged. “Sleeping. Guess he’s okay.”

  Brandon headed for the door. “I’m going for some beer. You want some?”

  “I do!” said Kieran, brightly.

  “No, he doesn’t,” I told Brandon. “He’s too young.”

  “That’s not fair,” Kieran said, angrily.

  “I’m not having any either,” I said. “I’m too young, too.”

  Shaking his head in amusement, Brandon turned and left.

  “Great,” said Kieran, irritated. “Now he’s going to think we’re both wusses.”

  “Who cares what Brandon thinks?”

  Ignoring my question, Kieran stood up and headed for the door. “Where are you going?” I asked, suspicious.

  He turned to me, angry. “For a soda. Is that okay with you?”

  “Fine.” I held up my hands. “Don’t have a cow.”

  Muttering to himself, Kieran walked out of the theater room. As the door closed behind him, Porter lifted his head o
ff his chair, looking at me.

  “What?” I said, irritated.

  “Nothing.” He put his head down, closing his eyes, and going back to sleep.

  * * * *

  We really liked the house.

  It’s probably the reason we stayed as long as we did.

  Apart from the fact that it was well-stocked with food, the house also had a ‘recreation room’; there was a half-basketball court, a ping-pong table, two foosball games, and a dartboard. Plus, there were board games and exercise equipment scattered throughout the room.

  Rhys, Ethan, and Wester spent a lot of their time in the rec room. Porter usually stayed in the theater room at night and one of the downstairs bedrooms during the day—where he could rest his knee and read books (the house also had a large library).

  Although I didn’t like it, Kieran seemed to spend most of his time with Brandon. He followed the bigger guy around, talking guns and football and multi-player video games.

  There were times when I’d walk in the room and Brandon and Kieran would immediately stop talking—as if I was intruding. And, although I had no proof of it—I had a good suspicion that Kieran was drinking alcohol with Brandon.

  It really bothered me.

  I just didn’t know what to do about it.

  * * * *

  Of course, I was busy with my own secrets.

  I didn’t want anybody to worry, but I was going outside during the day and—sometimes—during the night. It wasn’t anything dramatic; I just wanted to check out Mulholland Highway—try and figure out which way we should go—what canyon would be safest.

  And I suppose—if I was being truly honest—I was also trying to give us a reason to go down Kanan-Dume. I desperately wanted to go back and find Betsy—and our surfboards.

  After all, we were going to Malibu.

  We needed those boards!

  THE ROAD TO MALIBU

  On the seventh day of our layover, I finally crossed Kanan at Mulholland Highway—threading slowly through the bushes on the far side of the road. I took my time, wanting to remain invisible from anyone who might be on the hillsides around me.

  Slowly, I worked my way through the scrub, toward the spot where my brothers and I had witnessed Mateo’s boys knifing the smaller kid. I was hoping that there wouldn’t be anything there—that somehow we three had been mistaken about what we had seen.

  But—a hundred yards away—the odor was unmistakable.

  There was a dead body ahead.

  I decided to turn back. There was no reason for me to continue.

  But then I suddenly heard it.

  A growl—coming from the bushes just to the right of me.

  I froze immediately.

  * * * *

  There were actually two of them—a mother and her cub.

  As the mountain lions came out of the bushes, I moved slowly—carefully removing my jacket. Then placing a hand in one of the sleeves, I lifted it up—high over my head—trying to make myself appear larger.

  My other hand, meanwhile, went for the gun in the holster at my waist. I pulled it carefully out, cocking it.

  With a little rumble in his throat, the baby started walking toward me.

  “No,” I whispered. “Please don’t make me do it.”

  As if the mother heard, she suddenly made a clicking noise—deep in her throat. Immediately, the baby spun around and returned to her. As he did, I noticed that the mother was wearing a collar with a small metal box on it. She had been tagged.

  Her baby, however—was untouched.

  I hoped fervently that he would remain that way.

  A moment later, both mother and baby melted back into the bush, heading toward where the horrible odor was emanating. Almost immediately, I began to hear snorts and chomping noises. Sickened by what I was hearing, I lowered my jacket, replaced my gun—and retreated back across the road.

  * * * *

  “But why can’t we stay here?” asked Kieran, a few days later. He and I were sitting in the theater room, eating some cookies while Porter snacked on a bag of Doritos nearby. “This is an amazing house.”

  “Because we had a plan and Porter’s knee is getting better,” I said. “It’s time to go to Malibu.”

  “But this is such a great place,” he insisted. “And it’s kind of perfect. Brandon says that we can use it for a base because it’s almost equal distance between everything—the beach, the valley. So, I don’t see why we have to leave.”

  Brandon says—figures.

  “I’m not discussing this anymore. We had a plan. We’re sticking to it.”

  Angry, Kieran got up and stalked over to the door of the theater room. “You know, no matter what you think, you’re not mom and dad!” he raged. “I can do whatever I want now and you can’t stop me!” Then he stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

  “Whoo-boy,” murmured Porter, from the chair he was reclining in.

  “He’ll be fine,” I said, not wanting to discuss it.

  “Yeah, I don’t think so,” he said, shoving a Dorito into his mouth. “You know why Brandon and Kieran really want to stay here, right?”

  I turned and glared at Porter. He put his hands up. “Never mind.”

  Sitting down on a chair, I dug into my own bag of chips. “Where are the kids?”

  “Rhys took them down to the rec room a while back. I think they’re having a ping pong tournament.”

  “It’s getting late,” I said, irritated. “That room has a window. If someone sees the light.”

  “The window’s at the back and it faces the courtyard. It’s not even dark, yet. They’ll be fine.”

  “What do you know?” I grumbled.

  He put his hands up. “Once again—never mind.”

  Porter went back to reading his book. I chewed angrily on my chips for a while, then gave up and turned back to him. “Why?” I asked. “Why do Kieran and Brandon really want to stay here?”

  Placing a bookmark on the page he had been reading, Porter closed his book and gave me his full attention. “You’ve been gone a lot these last few days.”

  “I’ve had to check out Mulholland—make sure whatever route we took was safe.”

  “Well, they’ve been busy, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You haven’t heard the gunshots while you were out?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, I don’t hear them either when I’m in this room because it’s soundproof” said Porter. “But when I’m in the living room, I can hear them. They’re shooting over in Malibu Creek Park.”

  “What…practice shooting?”

  Porter shrugged. “Hunting, practice shooting…I don’t know. They go out. I hear shots. They come back.”

  “Where are they getting the bullets? We don’t have enough for that. Are you sure it’s them and not Mateo’s boys?”

  “Rhys said Brandon found a closet upstairs with guns in it. I guess there are bullets there, too.”

  “Nobody told me this,” I said, angry. “I should have been told.”

  “I am telling you,” said Porter. “And there’s something else you need to know. When they come back—they stink of alcohol.”

  “Just Brandon…or Kieran, too?”

  “Both of them.”

  * * * *

  “Let’s see it,” I ordered.

  Porter lifted up his pant leg. “See…it’s fine.”

  I examined his knee, pressing on it here and there. Porter didn’t move, didn’t wince. I had him walk around a bit, do a few jumping jacks.

  “Any pain?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Looks good.”

  “Then we should probably get out of here,” Porter said. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “Agreed.” I started for the theater’s door. “I’m going to go get the kids and bring them up here. Have them go to bed early. They’ll need to get a good night’s sleep.”

  “We’re going to travel in the dayti
me?” asked Porter, surprised.

  I motioned to his knee. “Well, nighttime certainly hasn’t worked well for us. We’ll just have to be careful. Take our time.”

  “Kieran and Brandon aren’t going to like it,” Porter warned. “I think this place has become like their own personal playground.”

  “Well, they can play in Malibu,” I muttered, irritated. “This house is too darn close to Mateo and his guys.”

  “If they’re even around anymore,” mused Porter, quietly. “Pretty coincidental, you ask me. Brandon gets shot and it just happens to be the same guys you met up with on Kanan-Dume. What would be the odds of that, I wonder?”

  “You think that was someone else shooting on the 101?” I asked, curious.

  Porter shrugged. “If that wasn’t Mateo’s guys, it would mean that Brandon probably lied about who shot him—that’s all I’m saying.”

  I thought about this for a moment. It wasn’t like the same thoughts hadn’t been turning in my own head for some time. “Well, no matter what,” I finally sighed, “Brandon’s with us now, so it’s not like we can do anything about it anyways.”

  Rising from my chair, I headed toward the door. “I’ll go get the kids.”

  “Jacob, wait. There’s one more thing.”

  I turned back.

  “If we are leaving tomorrow,” Porter said, carefully. “You might not want to tell Kieran and Brandon until just before we go.”

  * * * *

  I knew that Porter was simply giving me good advice. Still, I was annoyed that I had to pussy-foot around Brandon and Kieran. Life was tough enough without them being such dumbasses.

  But Porter was right.