365 Days Hunted Read online

  The kid’s voice was choked with emotion when he replied. “I’m looking for my big sister. This is where she goes to school. Do you know her?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “What’s her name?”

  “Her name is Cherry.”

  * * * *

  Wester had walked for miles—all the way from Calabasas to Agoura High School. He was tired and hungry and dehydrated. To give him a chance to recuperate, we decided to spend the next few nights at Ethan’s townhouse before we continued on to Malibu.

  That afternoon, Kieran and I stood at the doorway to the townhouse bedroom, watching the two youngest of our group as they sat on the floor, playing. Wester had fit in quickly. He was a sweet but shy kid, and Ethan absolutely loved him. Together, they had spent the last two hours going through every last one of Ethan’s toys—which were now all over the floor.

  “It’s weird,” I said to Kieran, “but I feel like I should tell them to clean up their mess. I guess this is what it’s like being a parent.”

  “I can’t believe the kid came all that way by himself,” said Kieran. “Tough little dude.”

  “Well, he is Cherry’s brother.”

  “Who is Cherry, by the way?” asked my brother. “I’ve heard the name at school, but I’m not sure I know her.”

  Brandon came up beside us, chomping away on some jerky. “She’s the chick with the pink hair and the bullshit ring in her nose.”

  “The white girl?” asked Kieran, surprised—looking down on a very dark Wester.

  “They’re all adopted,” I explained. “Cherry told me once. All the kids in their family are. I think there’s another sister who’s black, too.”

  “That’s why he’s got an accent,” said Kieran, looking down at Wester. “I don’t recognize it.”

  “It’s Haitian,” I said. “That’s where he was adopted from…Haiti.”

  “Hmm—cool.” Kieran turned and walked off.

  Brandon, meanwhile, moved over to lean against the door. He spoke to me quietly. “We really taking the little dude with us?”

  “Of course,” I said. “What else would we be doing?”

  “It’s just that—well, he’s not one of us.”

  I was shocked. “You mean, not white?!”

  “Dude!” Brandon looked just as shocked. “I meant—he’s not from Agoura Hills.”

  Porter came up beside us. “S’up?”

  Looking at Brandon directly, I said very pointedly, “Brandon and I were just discussing about how we’re all in this together now. Where one goes—we all go. Right, Brandon?”

  With a harrumph, Brandon turned and walked off.

  Porter gave me a curious look.

  “Same old,” I explained. “Just Brandon being a dick.”

  * * * *

  That afternoon, I asked Porter to walk outside with me for a bit. Kieran and Brandon were in the kitchen, cleaning their weapons. Rhys, Ethan, and Wester were doing kid-stuff on the back patio.

  It was the perfect moment for a secret mission.

  “Where are we going?” asked Porter, as we threaded our way along the townhouse sidewalks.

  “You’ll see.”

  Five minutes later, we were standing in front of a row of townhouses just across from Chumash Park. “It’s one of these,” I said.

  Porter looked up. “Okay…I’ll bite.”

  “Kaylee.”

  * * * *

  It didn’t take long to find her.

  I knew it was her townhouse the moment we entered it.

  There was a soccer ball on a shelf in the living room. Around it were placed a number of trophies—Best Kicker, MVP, Top Scorer.

  And, of course, there were pictures—from baby Kaylee to little girl Kaylee to the 16-year old girl I knew so well.

  “She’s really pretty,” said Porter. “Clean-cut pretty.” He pointed to a picture of Kaylee standing with a man I assumed was her father. “You see that house they’re in front of—that’s on Point Dume in Malibu. I know that house. It’s one of the big ones over on Dume Drive. I used to take piano lessons from a guy who lived a few houses down.”

  I peered closer at the picture, studying the large blue mansion in the background. “Wow,” I said. “I had heard rumors that she came from Malibu. Looks like they were true.”

  “Who would have thought—Kaylee Michaelson is a rich girl,” mused Porter.

  Taking the picture off the wall, I pulled it out of its frame and stuck it in my back pocket. “More like her dad is rich,” I said, looking around at the townhouse. “I guess when the divorce happened, Kaylee got to live with her mom. Doesn’t look like there’s a whole lot of money here, that’s for sure.”

  Kaylee’s townhouse was small like Ethan’s, and had the same floor plan. There was a mish-mash of old furniture jammed into the living room, while the kitchen seemed to contain only the bare necessities.

  Still, everything was neat and clean.

  And it was feminine.

  There was a lot of floral everywhere—on the couch pillows, the towels in the downstairs bathroom, the potholders hanging off a hook in the kitchen.

  “You going upstairs?” asked Porter, a little bored.

  “In a minute,” I said. “I just want to look around down here a bit more.”

  “You mind if I go up?”

  “Go for it.”

  As the sound of Porter’s footsteps diminished on the stairs, I wandered through the bottom level—just looking.

  There—on the dining room table—three dinner plates, a little bit of dried spaghetti on each. I immediately felt a stab of jealousy—wondering who ate with Kaylee and her mom on that final night.

  Over there—through the patio door—a box of old soccer balls. For a moment, I thought about grabbing one to take back to Ethan, Rhys—and our newest addition—Wester.

  And there—on the fridge—a note Kaylee had written to her mother. (Don’t forget I need some new LashBlast. Love you.) Needless to say, I had no idea what LashBlast was, but assumed that it had something to do with makeup.

  There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

  My head snapped up—hopeful.

  Porter came around the corner, stopping when he saw the look on my face. “Oh my god! You thought I might be Kaylee.”

  I shook my head.

  “Yes, you did,” he insisted.

  “No, I knew Kaylee wouldn’t be here…I was just—”

  “You were hoping.”

  I sighed, nodding. “I was hoping.”

  * * * *

  “Dude, I need to prepare you for something,” said Porter, very seriously. We were standing just outside the doorway to the smaller bedroom on the second level—the one I knew would be Kaylee’s.

  “Sorry, but you should probably know,” he continued. “She’s got a picture of the guy she likes on her bulletin board.”

  My stomach dropped.

  I shrugged, trying to cover up my disappointment. “No worries…it’s not like we were dating or anything.”

  “Maybe we should just turn around and go then,” suggested Porter.

  Not a chance.

  I didn’t just want—I needed to know who my competition was!

  “It’s fine,” I lied. “We’re here…no biggie.”

  * * * *

  Her bedroom was a lot more girlie than I would have expected.

  Kaylee had a four-poster bed with one of those frilly awnings over top. A net high up in a corner of the room held a collection of stuffies, and an old dollhouse sat on its own shelf underneath. There were schoolbooks on a shabby-looking desk, as well as, a computer covered in Hello Kitty stickers.

  Above the desk was a bulletin board, pinned with athletic medals and photos of family and friends. I quickly moved forward to look at the photos.

  Porter waited at the doorway. “It looks like she might have had a friend over on Halloween. There’s an empty tub of ice cream on the floor beside the bed and there are two spoons in it.”

>   “Probably Jay Sitipala. That’s her best friend.”

  “I know Jay. She’s a smart kid.”

  “Oh my god,” I suddenly whispered.

  “You found the photo, huh?”

  * * * *

  It was a picture of me.

  I was just coming off of the football field—obviously during a practice. She had captured the moment after I had taken off my helmet. My hair was sweaty and sticking to my forehead. I looked absolutely exhausted.

  But I was also smiling—happy.

  Porter came up behind me, looking over my shoulder. “You didn’t know Kaylee likes you?”

  I shook my head. “No idea. She doesn’t even talk to me.”

  “That should have been your first clue, dumbass,” he teased. “Kaylee talks to everyone.”

  * * * *

  Porter and I walked back to Ethan’s townhouse, just as the sun was starting to sink below the horizon.

  “How come you wanted me to come with you?” asked Porter.

  “I don’t know. Maybe because of Jude.”

  “You thought I’d understand.”

  “Well, it’s not like Brandon would,” I joked.

  “Oh god, no,” he agreed. “The last thing you’d want is for Brandon to find out. He’d tease you even worse than I’m going to.”

  “You might want to rethink that, bro,” I warned. “Considering what I know of you and Jude.”

  We were walking along the ridge, just above the high school. The townhouses were on one side of us and—down the hill—was Agoura High. It looked empty and sad—with bits of paper blowing through its buildings, caught up in the Santa Ana winds.

  “In regards to Jude,” I began.

  “And the jokes already begin,” groaned Porter.

  “No jokes,” I said, seriously. “Yet.”

  “What then?”

  “Just thinking—Kaylee doesn’t know I like her. I didn’t know she liked me. Jude doesn’t know you like her. Well—”

  Porter turned bright red.

  “It’s just possible, isn’t it?” I continued. “Maybe Jude does like you that way. Maybe you’re just too much of a dumbass like me to realize it.”

  He was quiet for a moment—considering—hopeful. Then, suddenly, Porter deflated—becoming sad. “What does it matter…Jude’s gone…Kaylee’s gone. They’re all gone.”

  I didn’t agree.

  “Dude,” I told him. “It matters.”

  * * * *

  The only one awake when we got back to the townhouse was Wester. He was sitting in the living room, staring out of a window. While Porter went upstairs to take a nap, I pulled two Yoo-hoos out of my backpack, handing one of the chocolate drinks to him.

  “See anything interesting?”

  He shook his head.

  I pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. Wester’s dreads were dirty and full of crap. I started picking out little bits of leaves and grains of sand as he drank his Yoo-hoo.

  “When’s the last time you had a bath, my friend?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said, quietly. “Maybe a week.”

  “You need to have a bath today,” I told him. “Trust me—it’s necessary. And you need to clean this hair.”

  He nodded, not happy about the idea. “Cherry does my hair best,” he murmured, sad.

  “Well, I’ve never done African-American hair before, but I’ll give it a try,” I offered. “Although Porter might be better at it than me. He’s got an attention to detail that might work well here.” Twisting my fingers, I pulled out a three-inch piece of twig from one of his dreads and handed it to him. He rolled it around in his fingers for a moment, playing with it.

  “Jacob?” he said, softly.

  “What is it, Wester?”

  “How come there are no girls?”

  “Honestly—I don’t know.”

  “Do you think God took them all to heaven?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Why wouldn’t God want us boys in heaven then?”

  I stopped poking at his hair and turned him to face me. “You listen here,” I said, very seriously. “I have no idea what’s going on. Nobody does. I don’t know if it’s because it’s the End of Days or a bomb going off or a mad experiment by aliens. But what I do know is that—if there is a heaven—it’s for girls and for boys.”

  He thought about that for a moment.

  “My sister, Cherry, doesn’t believe in God—but my sister, Shawnee, does.”

  “Everybody believes different, little man.”

  “WESTER!” It was Ethan, yelling from upstairs. He must have woken up and was calling for his new friend.

  Wester quickly downed the last of his Yoo-hoo and ran to the stairway. Then—just as quickly—he ran back and gave me a hug. “Merci, Jacob. I was scared and hungry. I’m not so much anymore.”

  As Wester ran off again, I wondered how many other scared and hungry little boys were still out there. Bowing my head, I said a little prayer that those boys would meet up with our family.

  And not Mateo’s.

  JOURNAL ENTRY #7

  The water stopped when we were in Ethan’s townhouse. There was a massive gurgle in the lines, some clanging, a few pops—then it just stopped.

  “Hygiene just got a little more difficult,” said Porter.

  Rhys smiled. I pointed a finger at him. “You still have to bathe and brush your teeth.” His smile disappeared.

  “Wherever we go, we’ll need to figure out a system for going to the bathroom,” said Porter.

  “What system?” Brandon snorted. “You piss and take a dump. Seems pretty simple to me.”

  “We need to choose spots for where we go,” insisted Porter. “Otherwise we can contaminate things. Make each other sick.”

  “Seems overly-complicated to me,” said Brandon, frowning.

  * * * *

  We figured that it would take us a day to reach Malibu—perhaps a day and a half if we had to stay overnight somewhere.

  To bypass any ‘watchers’ that Mateo’s people might have had on Kanan-Dume and the other routes through the mountains, we chose to cross the 101 Freeway at night—halfway between the Kanan Road and Cheseboro exits.

  It wasn’t easy.

  We had to climb over a cement wall and a chain link fence, moving between cars and trucks to pull each other over yet another cement wall in the middle of the road. Then we had to move between more cars and trucks to climb over one more chain link fence, followed by a final cement wall.

  Brandon was actually a big asset to our group in crossing the freeway. While Kieran and I stood guard, he boosted our smaller members up and over any and all obstacles.

  You have to give the kid credit.

  Brandon’s strong.

  * * * *

  As we climbed up the hill on the other side of the 101 Freeway, we heard another gunshot.

  It was followed by two more—bang…bang!

  “What do you think?” asked Kieran, coming up beside me. “Still coming from the mall?”

  “It sounds like that to me. I guess they’ve hunkered down there.”

  “I wonder what they’re shooting at.”

  Brandon walked up, on my other side. “As long as they’re not shooting at me, I don’t care. Getting shot hurts like a bitch.”

  “How’s your arm doing?” I asked.

  “No worries.” He flexed it, proudly showing off his biceps.

  “Then, bro,” I admonished, “you’re supposed to be bringing up the rear. Someone needs to be watching our tail end.”

  Brandon groaned. “But the shorties are all so slow,” he complained.

  “You’ve only got until we’re over this hill, then Kieran will take over. Come on, Brandon. We all have to do our part.”

  Mumbling under his breath, Brandon moved back to his position, letting Rhys, Ethan, and Wester pass by him. The three younger boys were happily chatting away about Minecraft.

  I shushed them as they got clos
er. “You’re too loud! You need to keep it down.”

  Rhys opened his mouth to argue, but immediately closed it when—down on the 101 Freeway just below us—there was a volley of gunshots.

  Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!

  “Get down!” I cried.

  Everyone quickly dropped to the ground.

  Ethan began to whimper. I turned to comfort him, only to discover that Wester had already beat me to it. He was patting Ethan gently on the back, telling him quietly not to worry—that it was going to be okay.

  Did I mention that I really like Wester?

  * * * *

  We were completely exposed on the hill.

  Luckily, the dark and the distance played in our favor. Even if someone on the freeway below looked up, they would probably only see us as darkened shapes, thinking we were rocks.

  “Whatever you do, don’t move!” I whispered urgently to the others. “Not an inch!”

  Down below, bright flashes of light marked the firing of guns. There appeared to be at least three guys moving along the 101 Freeway, firing away. What they were shooting at—if anything—we couldn’t tell.

  They were definitely coming from Kanan Road, though.

  “Are those Mateo’s guys?” Porter asked quietly. He was lying in the dirt beside me.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered. “It’s too dark to see clearly. Could be, though. He was tall like that one guy there.”

  “Wonder what they’re shooting at?”

  Suddenly—we heard screaming.

  Down below, there was a volley of gunshots…bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!

  The screaming stopped.

  “Damn,” said Porter, quietly.