365 Days Hunted Read online

  “We were in a couple of classes together last year,” I said. “And sometimes I’d see her during football practice. She’d sit in the stands with her friends.”

  “Watching you?”

  “I didn’t think so at the time.”

  “You never asked her out?”

  I shook my head. “Too shy, I guess. I was always afraid that she’d say no.”

  Ian replaced Kaylee’s picture and stood up. “I think she probably would have said yes,” he said. “Sorry, you won’t ever be able to ask her.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Me, too.”

  “Um, Jacob…I have a serious question to ask you.”

  “Shoot.”

  Ian stuck his head out into the hallway, checking to make sure that no one would overhear. Then he turned back to me. “Are you afraid,” he asked, quietly, “that Brandon might do something to one of us? I mean—sexually?”

  For a moment, I considered lying to him. But—only for a moment.

  “Yes.”

  He nodded, thinking carefully about that. “Is that why you walk by our bedroom doors during the night so often?”

  “Yes.”

  “We thought so.”

  “We?”

  “Andrei, Wester, and me.”

  “You guys have talked about Brandon?”

  Ian nodded. “Not Ethan, though. He’s too young. I know Wester’s the same age, but Ethan’s different, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “But Andrei, Wester and me—we want you to know that we understand about Brandon. And that we lock our bedroom doors now—every night. And I know you probably won’t like it—but we’ve all got guns in our room. Even Wester. He keeps it hidden so Ethan doesn’t know where it is. But Wester’s got one, too, and he’s watching. So, now you know. So, you don’t have to watch us so hard,” he said. “So, you can relax a little. Because we’re watching, too.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Ian, wait.”

  I was so proud of him at that moment—proud of all of them.

  “Thank you, little brother.”

  Smiling, Ian left—closing the door behind him.

  * * * *

  I had never noticed it before.

  Because Kaylee’s door had always been open.

  But there it was—on the back of her door—Kaylee’s growth chart—from the age of 15 months all the way up to 16 years.

  Running my hand along it, I watched her grow before my very eyes.

  15 months—a little over two feet in height and twenty-eight pounds in weight—barely above my knees.

  5 years—three and a half feet in height and forty-five pounds weight—just right for patting on the head.

  7 years—closing in on four feet in height and fifty-six pounds in weight—still a little girl, but beginning to dream of those ‘tween’ years.

  16 years—5’4”, 108 lbs.—exactly the right height to walk beside me, to place her hand in mine, to fit perfectly under my protective arm.

  I sat back down on the bed and just stared at that chart.

  It had four little pictures in it—from baby Kaylee to my Kaylee. Leaning forward, I studied those pictures closely—the honest face, the genuine smile.

  What was it about that girl?

  Even at that moment—knowing that I would never see her again—I still felt a warmth in my belly looking at her picture and, I will not lie—other parts of my body. Kaylee was so pretty—all blond hair and green eyes and an amazing soccer-girl butt.

  But it was more than that to me.

  For Kaylee Michelson, from the moment I first saw her—she was mine.

  JOURNAL ENTRY #16

  Ethan and Wester’s hair is starting to grow in. It’s kind of funny, too, because it’s growing in so differently on both their heads. With Ethan, the hair is this silky strawberry blond fluff that lies completely flat. On Wester, it’s this curly, black coarse hair that kind of pokes you back when you touch it.

  Wester got Porter to shave chevrons into the sides of his head, which actually looks pretty good. Ethan wanted the same design, but it just doesn’t work with his hair. Even though he’s got the chevrons, you can’t really see them because his straight hair hangs over top of them.

  My hair is about an inch above my shoulders right now. I’ll probably cut it in a day or two. It’s getting so long that it keeps falling into my face and annoying me.

  Porter says that he’s going to set up a barbershop day. We can all get our hair cut then.

  Kieran says that he’s not going to cut his hair at all. He says that he might even grow it all the way down his back.

  I couldn’t care less.

  My brother is being such a dick right now. It’s always about ‘him’—or Brandon—who is also a dick—but that’s not really anything new.

  Right now, Brandon’s big complaints are about losing muscle. Which doesn’t make any sense to me, because he looks exactly the same size as before ‘it’ happened.

  And I mean exactly the same size!

  * * * *

  Porter thinks that Brandon is still doing steroids.

  Where he could have gotten them is a mystery to both of us, but I suppose Brandon could have found them in one of the houses around here. There are also pharmacies—one on the Point near Pavilions and others farther away, up and down the coastline. Maybe he and Kieran made a midnight trip to one of them to bring back the drugs.

  That would certainly explain Brandon’s size, the slight case of back acne, and his constant raging for ‘more protein’. Kid is always complaining about not having enough meat in his diet.

  (I mean, sorry dude—but if you want more meat, get off of your lazy ass, pick up a fishing rod or gun and go get some. Just stop bitching, because it’s so annoying!)

  * * * *

  Meanwhile, the rest of us really are getting skinnier.

  Wester is the skinniest; the kid doesn’t have an ounce of fat on him. But he doesn’t seem unhealthy—just ripped. I mean, I envy the kid his muscles. Although I’m starting to get a pretty good 6-pack myself—Wester already has an 8-pack.

  The rest of the guys are also looking pretty good—muscle-wise.

  There’s a lot of comparing biceps and abs these days. I hate to say it—but we’ve kind of become a self-absorbed bunch.

  It’s weird, too, because I always thought that girls were the ones who were always worried about how they looked. But stick a bunch of boys together with no t.v. or internet and it’s surprising how quickly their muscles can become a constant topic of conversation.

  Except for Connor.

  * * * *

  I really worry about that kid.

  Connor’s leg still gives him so much trouble. I can see that it’s difficult for him to move sometimes, especially in the mornings—or if he hasn’t stretched his leg enough during the day. I’ve also noticed that he’s been using a lot of pain relievers—especially at night to help him sleep.

  I think I’m going to have a conversation with Porter about it. Maybe there’s something in Porter’s medical book that can help Connor.

  SCHOOL DAZE

  It was at supper one night that Porter actually asked the unthinkable. “What do you think about starting a school?”

  For a moment, nobody moved.

  Forks halfway to our mouths, we just sat there looking at him as if he was out of his mind.

  “I could set it up in one of the houses here,” he continued. “Or we could even use the elementary school down the hill.”

  Kieran was the first one to respond. “Are you out of your fricking mind?!” he practically shouted. “Why the hell would we want to go back to school? We just got out of the fricking thing!”

  Brandon held up his beer bottle. “I second that.”

  “But we’ve got young boys here,” Porter explained. “And they’ve got a right to a good education.”

  “Why?” argued Kieran. “What good will it do them? According to Max, we’ve only got until we�
�re eighteen and then we disappear.”

  “It’s knowledge,” Porter persisted. “Even if we disappear at eighteen, wouldn’t you rather go as an educated man than as an uneducated idiot?”

  “I don’t want to go to school,” whined Rhys, from his end of the table.

  “Neither do I,” agreed Andrei. “School is stupid.”

  “No, it’s not,” said Porter, becoming frustrated. “Going to school makes you not-stupid. What about you Ian?”

  Not meeting Porter’s eyes, Ian gave a half-hearted shrug. “If I have to, I’ll go. But I don’t want to…no.”

  Looking pissed, Porter turned to Wester and Ethan. “Let me guess,” he grumbled, “you guys don’t want to go to school either.”

  “I want to go to school,” said Wester, surprising everybody.

  “Me, too,” added Ethan.

  “Really?” Porter’s face lit up. “Seriously?”

  “I like school,” grinned Wester. “You get to learn lots of new stuff.”

  Ethan nodded his agreement.

  Down at the far end of the table, Connor spoke up, putting in his two cents. “I want to go to school, too. But not like at my old school. I want to learn useful stuff now—like how to become a doctor. Things that we’ll really need.”

  Porter turned to me at my end of the table. “What do you think, Jacob?”

  “Stupid idea,” insisted Kieran. “Really stupid.”

  After a moment’s thought, I shrugged. “Time for school, I think.”

  Kieran and Brandon groaned, shaking their heads. Making a fist, my middle brother slammed it down on the table, rattling all the dishes and causing a candle to snuff out.

  “But,” I continued—ignoring Kieran’s dramatics, “nobody should be forced to go to school. If you want—go to school and learn. If you don’t want—stay away and be a dumbass. It will be each boy’s choice. That will be the fairest thing, I think—considering our situation.”

  “Excellent,” said Porter, happy.

  “Whatever,” said Kieran, already dismissing the conversation since it didn’t have anything to do with him anymore.

  “One more suggestion, though,” said Porter, as if it had suddenly come to mind.

  Oh-oh…

  “What’s that?” I asked, warily.

  “Well—if we’re going to start a school,” declared Porter, “we should invite all the boys on the Point. That means—”

  “That means, you want to invite the Locals,” I groaned.

  * * * *

  Ru actually laughed when I told him that we were going to start a school.

  I had arranged to meet him at the corner of Dume Drive and Greenwater Road. We were now walking together towards the far end of the Point and a Nature Preserve that—unfortunately—was not in my group’s territory.

  “Dude, I’ll lay it out to the tribe,” he chuckled, “but I can pretty much guarantee that you won’t get any takers. I’ve got mad love for my guys but, between you and me, they’re basically all Neanderthals. Why do you think I wanted you to take Connor?”

  “I thought it was to punish us,” I admitted.

  He laughed even louder.

  “It was to save Connor, fool,” he confessed. “Dude at least had a chance with you guys. With us, he was simply done and done.”

  * * * *

  Unfortunately, Ru had been correct. The day Porter opened the school in the mansion to the right of us—not one of Ru’s guys showed up.

  Nor did they ever.

  The school consisted of Ethan, Wester, and Connor. Although—every once in a while—I would catch one or more of the other guys, hanging around the edges of the classroom—listening in.

  Porter immediately began with a 3-day week—teaching math, science, and history on the first two days. On the third day, however, he taught what he called Life Skills—anything from general first aid to how to correctly gut and scale a fish.

  * * * *

  During the second week of school, I showed up just after the day’s classes had ended. Porter was at his desk, planning out the next week’s lessons.

  “How’s it going?” I asked.

  When Porter looked up, it was with a massive smile on his face. He was positively beaming. “I’m a teacher,” he grinned.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “No, you don’t get it,” he said, explaining. “I was supposed to be an astronaut. I mean, I always thought that was who I would be. And I still love space and I love science.”

  “But?”

  “But, apparently, I also love being a teacher.” He couldn’t stop smiling. “And guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I think I’m really good at it.”

  “I’d be surprised if you weren’t,” I said. “And Dude—how’s that for irony? You found yourself one of the few job positions still available in this crazy world?”

  “Never thought of it that way,” he grinned. “So, what did you want to be…back in the old world?”

  I shrugged. “NFL 1st round draft choice, then programmer at Microsoft, then marriage to the girl of my dreams and a good father to twin babies—one girl, one boy—both blond.”

  Porter’s grin disappeared. “Sheesh, Jacob.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  JOURNAL ENTRY #17

  The younger guys stink—and I mean literally!

  There’s hardly anybody who takes a bath at least somewhat regularly. An even lesser amount actually wash their clothes.

  And there are some who are just plain old NASTY!

  I called a meeting this morning to talk to the guys about it.

  Went about as well as could be expected.

  * * * *

  “But it’s stupid!” complained Rhys. “Why do we have to wash our clothes?! We can just throw them away when we’re done and go get some new ones. Some of these houses around here are full of clothes. And they’re designer clothes!”

  “Rhys,” I sighed, “that’s so wasteful!”

  “But they’re just sitting there,” he said, exasperated. “What’s wasteful is letting them just rot away. At least, if we wear them, they’ll be used.”

  Darn that kid for actually having a point!

  “Well, that doesn’t excuse you guys for not bathing or brushing your teeth,” I persisted. “You guys are getting disgusting.”

  “It’s not like there are any girls around to kiss,” shrugged Ian.

  Andrei immediately turned to him, intrigued. “You’ve kissed a girl?”

  “No!” Ian said, quickly.

  “I like having baths,” said Ethan, from his corner.

  “That’s true,” I acknowledged. “You’re not a problem, bud. But Wester—”

  “I had a bath yesterday!” insisted Wester, looking insulted.

  “That’s also true,” I said. “But you still should probably bathe more than once every two weeks.”

  “Bathing is hard,” complained Andrei. “First you have to get the buckets, then you have to put them on the wagon, then you have to take the wagon to the creek, then you have to—”

  “We get the idea,” I said, cutting him off. “It takes a bit of work to stay clean. But look at Connor with his bum leg. He still manages to bathe at least every second day and I know for a fact that he brushes his teeth twice a day at least.”

  Beside me, Connor nodded.

  I looked over at Kieran. Unlike the younger guys, he still bathed regularly. However, he was also wearing his manliner—and I noticed that he had pierced both of his ears. He was now wearing tiny gold hoops in both lobes and an extra diamond stud in the right.

  “What?!” he squawked, catching me looking at him. “I bathe!”

  “I didn’t say you didn’t.”

  “Then stop staring at me. It’s annoying.”

  “Sorry,” I said, taunting him, “but the reflection off your pretty diamond earring was blinding. It reminds me of the ones that mom always wears—with her pink dress.”

  “I’m out of he
re.” Kieran rose from his seat, irritated. He turned to Brandon who was sitting beside him, not saying a word. “You coming, bro?”

  Brandon stood up and stretched. He looked around at the younger guys. “For what it’s worth,” he yawned. “I agree with Jacob. You guys stink. Take a bath and brush your teeth. You’re not animals. Stop acting like one.”

  I have to admit, I was surprised.

  Who would have thought that Brandon and I would ever be on the same side of anything?

  * * * *

  Of course, any good feelings I had for Brandon were ruined when I heard the gunshots a few hours later. They were coming from right out front in our yard, over near the gate.

  Porter, Rhys, and I immediately grabbed our guns and raced outside.

  I’m not sure what we were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t Brandon, chasing after a German Shepherd—trying to shoot it!

  “What the hell are you doing?” I yelled. “Brandon, stop…no!”

  The dog was a skinny thing, its ears plastered back against its head in fear. Brandon lifted the rifle he was carrying and sighted down the barrel at the poor beast. Meanwhile, Kieran stood near the far fence, almost doubled over in laughter.

  Bam!

  The bullet went wide, as Porter pushed at Brandon’s rifle.

  I saw Porter immediately wince with pain; he must have touched the barrel and been burned by its heat residue.

  Brandon turned on Porter, raising his fist as if to hit him.

  “NO!!” I yelled—even louder this time.

  Behind me, Rhys was advancing on the terrified dog—slowly—his hand out. “It’s okay,” he urged, talking gently. “Come here, boy.”