365 Days Hunted

By Nancy Isaak

In a world where only the strong survive--What would you do to save your brothers? For fans of "The Hunger Games", "Divergent", and "Lord of the Flies"--a gripping dystopian page-turner from the pen of Gemini-nominated writer, Nancy Isaak.

They were just three teenage brothers driving through a lonely canyon when the world suddenly went mad. In a single moment, everything changed; their parents, their friends--all gone...all disappeared. There is no internet anymore, no t.v., no electricity, no phones; not even batteries work.

Now, Jacob Riker and his two brothers, Kieran and Rhys, must figure out not only how to live in this strange, new world--but how to survive.

And they better do it quickly...because the Crazies are coming!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nancy Isaak
• Release date: Mar 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370431687

Nancy Isaak

Nancy Isaak is the Gemini-nominated and award-winning author of "The 365 Days Quadrilogy" ("365 Days Alone", "365 Days Hunted", "365 Days At War", "365 Days Revealed"), "Flight 308 to Christmas", and the upcoming "Anarchy"--as well as--numerous television movies and series episodes, both in the United States and Canada. An Alfred P. Sloan Fellow, Nancy has also produced, directed, and acted in over 100 different productions.That said--she'd still rather be an astronaut.

Book preview

NOVEMBER

HOW IT ALL BEGAN

It began like a wild adventure.

Like something straight out of the movies.

Suddenly, it was just us guys and we were free to do whatever we wanted, however we wanted, whenever we wanted.

Because they were all gone—adults, little kids—girls.

In some ways it was like a dream.

Except—it wasn’t.

But I guess I should start at the beginning.

So, here's what I put in my journal, starting on that very first day—the day that would forever change all of our lives.

JOURNAL ENTRY #1

Let’s start with the basics—and basically—I’m a pretty normal guy.

Brown hair, blue eyes, 5’9", 142 lbs.

Average student, great family, good amount of friends.

Totally normal—that’s me.

* * * *

My name is Jacob Gordon Riker and I am 16-years old.

I live in Agoura Hills, which is a suburban community just outside of Los Angeles in California. I am in the 10th Grade at Agoura High, where I’m a fair-to-middling student.

Most of my spare time is spent hiking, biking, and surfing. I’m getting pretty good on the board, actually—and have placed in a couple of the smaller surfing contests around the state.

Guess that won’t be happening any more.

* * * *

I’m not exactly sure why I feel compelled to write this all down.

Let’s face it—there’s a good chance no one will ever be reading this.

Most likely, I will eventually die and these pages will wither and crumble—adding to the dust and decay of what I’m beginning to suspect will be a hell of a crazy new world.

Still, one of the things my mom is always drumming into my head is—and I can hear her voice saying it right now—‘those who can must always bear witness for those who can’t’.

You’d have to know my mom to understand what she means.

See, before she had me and my two brothers, my mom was a reporter. She kind of specialized in traveling to poorer countries and investigating the horrible things that were happening there to women and children.

In fact, one of her stories actually got her nominated for a Pulitzer Prize.

It was about this fake adoption ring in Bangladesh. Children there were actually being sold to men in Denmark for disgusting reasons I’d rather not write down here. But I just wanted to mention it because I’m so extraordinarily proud of my mom.

Because of her story, the fake adoption ring was broken up, over thirty men were arrested in five countries and—most importantly, the thing that truly mattered to my mom—dozens and dozens of children were saved.

* * * *

Sometimes, I think of those children.

I imagine them remembering my mom and loving her for the courage she showed—for traveling to dangerous countries, for going head-to-head with the worst of the worst. And even though most of them have never met her, I like to imagine those children thinking of my mom as their hero.

Because of what she wrote—because of her words.

One time, I asked my mom why she had stopped investigative reporting when she married my dad. I mean, she had been a runner-up for the Pulitzer Prize and my mom gave it all up to get married and have kids!

It just seemed so wrong to me.

But that day when I asked, my mom told me that—sometimes—when you live your life ‘in the midst of chaos and inhumanity’, there finally comes a moment when you just want everything to be normal again.

When you just want to be normal again.

I think I’m maybe starting to get it now.

* * * *

Dear Mom,

Wherever you are, please be safe and take care of dad. You know that you’re stronger than him and that he’ll need you to get him through whatever this is.

Kieran and Rhys are with me. We’re taking care of each other.

I love you Mom…and I love Dad.

And I miss both of you guys.

We all miss you.

Love, Jacob.

DEAD LIKE BETSY

The world changed on November 1st—the day after Halloween.

7:28 a.m.—the exact moment my Honda Element died.

With my two brothers—Kieran and Rhys—I was driving back from an early morning surf session at Zuma Beach in Malibu. We had camped the previous night at Leo Carrillo State Park—Rhys in the back of the Honda, Kieran and I in our sleeping bags on the ground outside.

Now we were tired, smelling of surf and sand—and looking forward to a shower, Dad’s waffles, and a couple of hours of shut-eye.

It wasn’t to be.

Coming through the westernmost canyon tunnel along Kanan-Dume Road, my Honda didn’t just cough and sputter—it simply stopped.

Dead—immediately.

Although it did continue to roll—straight down the hill!

* * * *

Kieran and Rhys started yelling; meanwhile, I frantically clicked the ignition key back and forth.

"Dude, put it in neutral!"

Kieran, it doesn’t work that way, I barked, flipping the sun visor up, so that I could see better as the car gathered speed, heading into the downward curve.

"We’re going to crash!" screeched Rhys, from the back seat.

We’re not going to crash, I said. Just chill, you guys. We’ll slow down when the road starts curving up.

Pull over now! ordered Kieran, from beside me. He was fourteen and always thought he knew better than anyone else.

I can’t, I said. "I’m going too fast. If I hit the gravel at this angle we might flip over. Just give Betsy (yes, that was my car’s name) a moment."

Sure enough, we curved into the upgrade and the Honda immediately began slowing down. When I was certain that we wouldn’t flip, I maneuvered the car onto the gravel at the side of the road.

Are you far enough over? asked Rhys, worried. I mean, it looks like the tail end is still in the road. You’re gonna’ get us hit.

We’re fine, I said, placing the Honda in park and setting the emergency brake.

You probably need a new battery, Kieran told me.

What I need, I sighed, is a car that isn’t Mom’s old tank.

It never died on Mom like this, Rhys said. And she drove it just fine for ten years. I’ll bet you did something wrong.

I turned around and gave Rhys a dirty look. He was sitting in the back seat of the Honda, our surfboards jammed up near his head.

Just saying, said Rhys, holding up his hands.

Kieran leaned over to check the gas gauge. You’re probably out of gas.

I filled up yesterday. The tank’s three-quarters full. Reaching across the dashboard, I pulled my phone out of the charging outlet.

Who are you going to call? Reception is bad in the canyon, warned Rhys. You know you probably won’t be able to get anyone.

Sighing, I turned around to face my youngest brother. At 11-years old, he was at that irritating stage where he truly enjoyed being a thorn in my backside. You got anything good to say, bud? I asked. Because you’re kind of becoming a bit of a Debbie Downer back there.

Well, I do need to take a piss, he grinned.

Dude, there were crappers on the beach! You said you didn’t have to go.

I didn’t then, he shrugged. I do now.

"Go for it." I motioned to the semi-wilderness all around the car.

Rhys looked horrified. He said just one word—Bugs!

Kieran broke out in laughter. You’re such a wuss!

They’re disgusting! Rhys said, angrily. They poke and they bite and, if you’re not careful, they can climb up that little hole straight into your dick.

That’s ridiculous, Kieran scoffed.

It’s not! Rhys insisted. I read it on the net.

While they continued to argue, I turned the ignition key back and forth.

Click, click.

Sorry, Rhys, I sighed, giving up. But you’ve got no choice. It’s outside or hold it until Triple-A gets here and gives us a jump.

You think it might be the battery? Kieran asked me.

That would be my guess.

My wallet was in the side pocket of the Honda’s door. I pulled it out and turned to the sleeve that held my AAA card.

In the back seat, meanwhile, Rhys groaned, Kieran, come with me!

We’re not girls, said Kieran. You can take a piss by yourself.

"But you can watch for bugs."

Hitching a ride on your dick?! I don’t think so. Kieran wadded up a piece of paper and threw it back at Rhys, hitting him in the face. Just go behind those bushes there. You’ll be fine.

Reluctantly, Rhys got out and walked slowly toward the chaparral just in front of the car. As he passed around the other side of the bushes, Kieran waited for exactly the right moment. Then, he leaned out of the door and yelled at his younger brother. Don’t forget about the ticks! You know those blood suckers can jump from a bush to your dick in about half a second, right?

Rhys practically fell over in his rush to finish and zip up his pants.

Meanwhile, Kieran burst into hysterical laughter, turning towards me. Man, that was too easy.

I wasn’t laughing, though.

Seeing the look on my face, Kieran turned serious. What is it? he asked, concerned.

I held up my phone, so he could see the empty screen. It’s dead.

Like Betsy?

Exactly like Betsy.

Is that even possible? Kieran asked, frowning. Could Betsy have maybe drained it when she died? They were both, like connected through the charger.

Sure hope so, I said.

Because the alternative was terrifying.

* * * *

Man, this is weird, said Kieran. We haven’t seen one car coming either way. Not even the Beach Bus and that should have passed us by now.

Maybe they’ve stopped the traffic at both ends of the canyon, I suggested. They do that sometimes when there’s been a bad accident.

The three of us were walking up Kanan-Dume Road toward Agoura Hills. On either side of us were semi-arid slopes covered with chaparral and spindly trees. In the distance, we could see houses—the mini-mansions of actors and entertainment industry executives that dotted these canyons.

I hope our boards are okay, fretted Rhys.

They’ll be fine, I said. They’re locked in the car.

Behind us, Kanan-Dume curved and angled, downward toward Point Dume and the Pacific Ocean. In front of us, the road meandered through the Santa Monica Mountains—up this hill, down that one—before it finally coiled down into the Conejo Valley and our home in Agoura Hills.

Kanan-Dume Road—from ocean to valley, a distance of approximately twelve miles.

And we still had almost eight miles to go—2 ½ hours walking, tops.

* * * *

It’s really quiet, added Kieran. Have you noticed that? Like creepy-quiet. I don’t hear any traffic noises anywhere.

It’s deceptive in the canyons, I told him. Sometimes things sound like they’re miles away, sometimes they’re right next to you.

Yeah, but I don’t hear anything…nothing at all.

I hear birds chirping, said Rhys. Lots of birds.

Kieran reached over and whacked him on the head. I’m talking about cars, dumbass.

It’s still early, I suggested. And it’s the day after Halloween. Maybe it’s just a slow day.

But I didn’t believe it.

Frankly, I was just as creeped out as Kieran.

* * * *

My feet hurt, Rhys whined.

We had just crested a hill, beginning our descent to where Mulholland Highway eventually crosses over Kanan-Dume. I could see Rocky Oak Park on one side of the intersection, across from one of the area’s many vineyards.

If you need the bathroom, I suggested, there’s a john in the park.

A little late for that, Rhys said. But maybe if there’s a ranger there, we can use their phone to call Triple-A.

We’d have a better chance just knocking on someone’s door, said Kieran. There’s hardly ever a ranger in that park.

Suddenly—we heard a loud CRASH!!

It was followed by a tinkling noise—as if glass was being shattered.

What is that? asked Rhys—his head whipping around, searching.

I think it came from down the hillside, on the left, said Kieran.

There were boulders spaced all along the edge of the road. We shimmied through them to peer down at a large gabled house in the valley below.

A flash of orange immediately caught our attention.

Oh-oh, murmured Rhys. That doesn’t look good.

"Get down!" I grabbed my brothers—one by each arm—and pulled them toward the ground. We knelt there, hidden among the rocks, watching.

Are those guys who I think they are? asked Kieran—keeping his voice low.

It looks like it, I nodded.

Down below, a big Hispanic guy in his late teens, picked up a rock and chucked it through one of the gabled house’s enormous front windows.

CRASH!

Two other guys—one white, one African-American, also in their late teens—stood nearby, laughing and cheering him on.

How come they’re wearing orange, Jacob? asked Rhys. Like even their pants are orange.

They’re criminals, doofus, hissed Kieran. Don’t you know anything?

"Criminals?!" Rhys looked terrified.

They’re from that juvie camp, the one over where Mulholland turns into Encinal Canyon, I explained. They must have escaped or something.

If they’re juvenile delinquents, asked Rhys, shouldn’t we call the cops, then?

Sure, moron, said Kieran. With what phone?

Oh, said Rhys, in a small voice.

"Crap!" I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. "Look—over there. You can see them through the trees. There are more guys coming up from Mulholland."

* * * *

A group of seven or eight teenage boys emerged from a strand of alders—all dressed in orange—walking toward the first three. They were laughing and pushing each other, their excited voices echoing off the canyon’s walls.

As we watched, one of the biggest guys suddenly turned and cold-cocked a smaller kid beside him. The boy went down, staggering under the attack. Moments later, the other guys in the group surrounded the smaller boy—kicking and punching.

What the hell?! cried Kieran, horrified.

The same boy who threw the first punch suddenly pulled out a large knife. He slashed downward, again and again. From our angle and distance, we couldn’t see exactly what he was connecting with, but each time his knife rose up—it was redder and redder.

Beside me, Rhys began to whimper.

We have to do something, he sobbed. They’re killing him, Jacob!

There are too many, I whispered. They’ll kill us, too, if we try to interfere.

Then, what are we going to do?!

We need to get help. Find a phone somewhere and call the police.

"Uh, Jacob…" Kieran’s voice had become small and shaky. His hand snaked out and squeezed my arm. Look down, he said, urgently. Look down now!

* * * *

They were coming for us!

While our attention had been focused on the second group and the horror they were perpetrating, the first three juvies must have caught sight of us up on the road above them.

Now, the three of them were scrambling up the hillside—pulling themselves up through the chaparral, their faces grim and determined.

As I peered down, the largest of them—the Hispanic—looked up at me and grinned. He was just close enough for me to see the thin scar that ran from his right ear across his cheek to just underneath his chin.

There was a large knife in his right hand and he held it up.

Looking directly into my eyes, he drew it across the air, just in front of his throat.

The implication was obvious.

My brothers and I were in deadly trouble!

* * * *

The severe angle of the slope was to be our saving grace.

That, and the disintegrating granite, kept tripping our pursuers up—making them backslide and stumble.

Still, I figured we had, at most, maybe two minutes.

It would have to be enough.

Come on! I yelled. Run, Kieran…run, Rhys!

Grabbing both of my brothers—one by each arm—I started pulling them.

But I didn’t pull them away from the hillside. Instead, I tugged them along the rocks at the side of the road, threading among the giant boulders—always in view of the three boys below.

As we ran, I could hear other boys begin to yell.

The second group had seen us now. They were racing toward the first three, eager to join in the pursuit.

But we’re heading back to Malibu! gasped Kieran, confused. Why are we going back?!

We’re not. That’s just what I want them to think, I explained.

A few moments later, I pulled Rhys and Kieran away from the edge of the hillside—and the sightlines of the boys down below.

Quickly! I urged. Across the road—into that ravine!

I let go of my brothers and, together, we raced to the other side of Kanan-Dume Road. There was a small rift in the rocks there—where the bases of the two hillsides met. It was no more than a few feet apart and difficult to see behind the bushes and boulders that fronted it.

But I knew it was there—one of the upsides of spending hundreds of hours hiking throughout the area.

We moved quickly, pushing in through the bushes. A large boulder barred our way, but I knew from past experience that—if we ducked low—we could shimmy our way past the rock, using a small opening to the right.

Follow me, I ordered. Hurry!

I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled through the opening.

On the other side, I turned back and bent low. Rhys had just entered the small tunnel. I reached in and grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him quickly through.

Behind him, Kieran knelt down to follow.

"Where’d the bitches go?!"

The voice that had spoken was harsh and gasping for air.

It was also directly across from us—in the middle of Kanan-Dume Road—with only a few bushes between its owner and Kieran!

I quickly looked through the rocks at my younger brother.

Kieran had frozen, his head and shoulders in the opening, his butt and legs exposed. When our eyes met, I motioned with my hand parallel to the ground—urging him to lie flat.

Silently—looking terrified—Kieran sank to the ground, remaining motionless. Behind him, I could see splashes of orange through the bushes as figures scurried about on the road.

"They run up there…up the hill," another voice said. I seen them.

"Little chickens," said the first voice. Someone needs to pluck them good.

Suddenly, there were more footsteps; apparently the second group had joined the others.

Beside me, Rhys gave out a little terrified hiccup. I quickly jammed a hand over his mouth, shaking my head at him to keep quiet.

"Hey, Mateo," said a new voice. Which way, bro?

"You take care of the rat?" asked the first voice (obviously ‘Mateo’).

"No worries. He don’t be squeaking no more."

My hand was becoming wet; Rhys was silently crying—terrified tears that ran down his cheeks and onto my fingers.

I smiled at him slightly—hoping to reassure him.

"Hate them rats," growled Mateo.

"You think those others," asked the new voice, you think they’ll tell?

"Not if we don’t give them the chance."

Slowly, I reached my hands between the opening in the rocks. Moving carefully, I placed one hand over each of Kieran’s shoulders, latching my fingers around to grasp him just under his armpits.

Kieran raised his head, looking up at me—expectant.

I shook my head—not yet.

He slowly dropped his cheek back down to the ground.

On the other side of the bushes, meanwhile, the conversation continued as Mateo waited for the last of the second group of boys to arrive.

"They gonna’ find out we’re gone soon enough," said a voice. Then they’ll be coming for us. Maybe we should just get going.

"No witnesses," said Mateo. (I figured this had to be the Hispanic kid with the scar on his cheek.)

"Maybe they didn’t see nothing," said the first voice.

"Well, we’re just gonna’ make sure of that, aren’t we?" growled Mateo. Or maybe you got a better suggestion?

The first voice squeaked as it quickly responded. No, man. I’m chill.

There were more footsteps.

The last of the second group must have finally arrived, because they started forward together, heading up Kanan-Dume toward Malibu. As they moved off—their footsteps and voices fading away—the last I heard was Mateo giving an order to one of the boys.

"Brent, you’re the fastest. Take the gun and go stop them. Kill them if you want or wait for us and we’ll do it. Just stop them before they talk to someone."

* * * *

When we were certain that they were out of earshot, I pulled on Kieran’s shoulders, helping him through the rift. I think we’re okay now. They’re heading toward Malibu, I whispered to my brothers. But keep your voices low, just in case.

This is insane! hissed Kieran.

Tell me about it, I agreed. Come on, we need to get out of here.

"They killed a kid!"

Kieran and I turned toward Rhys. He looked younger than his eleven years as he wiped at the tears on his cheeks.

I know, bud, I said, reaching out and giving his shoulder a squeeze. But we’ll find a cop and they’ll be arrested. You’ll see.

Do you think that we should go back onto the road? asked Kieran, worried.

I shook my head. There may be more of them that we haven’t seen. It’ll be safer if we go overland instead. We’ll arc around, catch up with Mulholland on this side and follow it up to the Valley. Then we can go straight up and over the hill and we’ll be in Agoura.

We should also try and find a phone somewhere, said Kieran.

Absolutely, I nodded. First place we come to, we call the cops. But right now, let’s get going in case they come back.

* * * *

It was difficult, moving along the ravine.

In places the scrub was thick and tangled, making it a frustrating mess to pass through. We found ourselves pulling apart branches, scrambling on hands and knees along the dirt, and pulling thorns and ticks from numerous and varied places on our bodies.

Rhys, needless to say, was having the worst time of the three of us.

* * * *

"Tick…tick…tick!"

I’ve got it, I assured him.

It was the fourth time that we had needed to stop walking just to remove ticks from Rhys. And frankly—at this point—we were all being attacked by the little bloodsuckers.

Kieran and I, however, just flicked them off as we walked along.

Rhys was a different matter.

He couldn’t even look at the ticks, let alone touch them.

Using the edge of my nail, I slowly eased the tick up from where it was about to latch onto Rhys’ ankle. As I tossed it to one side, I noticed something.

Oh-oh, I said, quietly.

"What oh-oh?!" screeched Rhys. Is it another one?!

Kind of.

I motioned Kieran over. He bent down, looking to where I was pointing.

Oh-oh, he said. They like it where it’s warm and moist, you know.

"What oh-oh?!"

Rhys started batting at his legs—whack, whack, whack!

I quickly pushed his hands back. Stop it! I ordered. They’ve already latched on. We need to get them out without breaking off their heads!

"Heads?!" Rhys looked like he was about to pass out. There’s more than one?!

* * * *

When I was younger, my mom and dad had taken us all camping up in Canada. It was amazing—with massive Douglas Firs towering above us, pink salmon swimming upriver to spawn, antlered elk wandering around our rented camper—and an enormous brown tick the size of the nail on my little finger that lodged itself just under my left armpit.

But—because it was so big—the tick was also easy to remove.

A passing ranger merely lit a match and placed it against the back of the tick. Within moments, the bloodsucker had withdrawn from my armpit and the ranger had flicked it to the dirt.

My father—his emotions so very similar to Rhys’—immediately and maliciously, had ground the parasitic insect into a gooey-mush under his boot.

I thought of that enormous bloodsucker now—as I examined the four small ticks embedded in Rhys’ inner thigh, just under the hem of his board shorts. Unlike my well-fed Canadian tick, these American ones were ‘tiny’—little asterisks with teeth, sucking away on my brother’s blood.

Too small to be burned out—these ticks would have to be teased out, slowly and gently—using the corner of my driver’s license.

Bro, I hate to tell you this, I said to Rhys, as I pulled out my wallet, but if you’ve got these ones here, there may be other ones farther up. You know they like to climb.

Rhys’ eyes went wide, practically rolling up in his head with terror.

"Just get ‘em out, get ‘em out!" he hissed, between clenched teeth.

Finding my license, I worked on biting a small triangle into the corner. That would make it easier to trap the small tick and lever its head out of my brother’s body. While I was gnawing away, I motioned to Rhys.

Drop trou, bud, I ordered. We need to make sure that those are the only ones sucking on you.

My younger brother glared at me. There were tears of frustration and fear in his eyes as he unzipped his shorts.

"Worst day ever!" he declared.

* * * *

By the time we started walking again, I had removed six ticks from Rhys, two from Kieran, and one that had somehow climbed down my sock and was sucking away at the back of my right heel. Meanwhile, the sun had risen high in the sky and we figured that—if it wasn’t already—it must be close to noon.

In the distance, we could see a 2-storey house—dark and silent—a large barn behind. We angled through the bush toward it.

They’ll have a phone, said Rhys, looking hopeful. I know they will.

Unless they’ve gone totally cellular, said Kieran. I know lots of people who don’t have landlines in their homes anymore.

Rhys’ face fell. He looked crushed.

Don’t worry, I told him. It’s like you said. Reception is bad in these canyons. It would only make sense for them to have a landline.

My words didn’t seem to help. Rhys still looked upset, chewing away at a hangnail as we made our way forward.

After ticks and murderous juvenile delinquents—my little brother really was expecting the worst.

* * * *

It turned out to be one of the older homes in the area.

As we neared, the three of us could see that the 2-storey was falling apart. Shingles littered the ground and the siding was peeling from the corners of its walls.

The barn wasn’t faring much better.

One side had fallen down and—when we peeked inside—it was obvious to us that the only animals living there now were rats and mice.

What a dump, said Kieran.

As long as they have a phone, I said, who cares.

Do you think they’d let us have some water? asked Rhys, hopefully.

No doubt, I said. Unless they’re douches.

But we’re strangers, said Rhys. They might be scared of strangers.

‘We’re not the strangers they should be worried about,’ I thought to myself.

* * * *

As we entered through a curiously open front door, the smell of bacon and eggs tantalized our noses.

"Hello?" I called, standing in the front hallway. Hello?

Nothing—silence.

Is anybody there? yelled Kieran. We need a little help here, people!

Rhys peered around, fearfully. You don’t think those juvie boys are here, do you? Maybe they’re holding them hostage or something.

Out of all the houses in these canyons, they choose the one we come to? I shook my head. I think the chances of that are pretty slim.

But there’s still a chance, Rhys insisted.

Don’t be such a baby, scoffed Kieran.

Shaddup, said Rhys. I’m not a baby!

"Shaddup yourself."

Shaddup both of you, I muttered. If someone’s listening, you’re not helping us make a good impression.

Slowly, I took a few steps farther down the hallway, looking through the first doorway I came to—a living room. There were two small sofas inside, both threadbare and stained, situated at right angles to each other. In front of the sofas was a large flat-screen television on the wall. A cup full of coffee stood on a side table—this morning’s newspaper on the floor beside it.

"Hello," I called out again. My name is Jacob and I’m with my brothers. I’m sorry to bother you, but we just need to borrow your phone to call the police. There’s been an—an ‘accident’ and we need to get some help.

When no answer was forthcoming, I moved onto the second doorway on the right. This one opened up into a small, but clean bathroom.

Empty.

There were two more doors remaining.

One to the left; one directly at the end of the hallway.

It took just five steps to reach the first door—it was closed.

As I put my hand on the doorknob, Kieran slunk up behind me, whispering quietly in my ear.

You should stand to the side, he suggested. Like they do on television. In case there’s somebody in there with a shotgun. Then you won’t get hit.

I turned and glared at him.

He held up his hands and stepped back. Just saying.

Slowly, I put pressure on the doorknob. It creaked as it turned—an eerie sound that sent shivers down my spine. Hating myself for it, I scuttled over to the side of the door—just in case.

When I turned to look back at Kieran, he gave me a thumbs-up in approval.

Inch-by-inch I turned the knob; expecting to hear the boom of a shotgun at any moment, I slowly eased the door open, only to find—a linen closet.

Behind me, Kieran chuckled. Dude, you were scared!

Shaddup, I responded, irritated.

You shaddup.

Slam!

Kieran and I both gasped.

We swung around quickly to discover that Rhys had just closed the front door.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" I hissed, annoyed as much at my younger brother as at the flop sweat that was now trickling down my back.

It’s scary, he said, quietly. I keep thinking that those guys are sneaking up on us. This way, they won’t be able to see us if they come into the yard.

You can’t just go around doing what you want in another person’s house, I told him.

Do you want me to open it back up? Rhys asked.

I thought about that for a moment.

The truth was—even though I knew that they were probably miles away—I was still unnerved by what those juvie guys had done. With the door opened, I knew I would keep looking outside—searching for a flash of orange among the trees.

Leave the door closed for now, I decided.

* * * *

"It’s like they just got up and left, said Kieran. They didn’t even finish their breakfast."

We were standing in the small but tidy kitchen, looking down at a table of three settings—two plates of which had strips of cold bacon and congealed fried eggs. The third setting was empty, as if the person who was supposed to be sitting there hadn’t arrived, yet.

A plate of buttered toast was in the middle of the table. I reached out and touched the top piece.

"Cold?" asked Kieran.

Totally.

I’m hungry, whined Rhys. If they’re not going to eat it, can we?

They both turned and looked at me.

I shrugged. I guess it will be okay. I’ve got a ten dollar bill in my wallet. We’ll leave it for payment. You guys start eating. I’m going to finish checking out the house.

You want me to come with? asked Kieran, already sitting down and reaching for a piece of bacon.

No, I said, shaking my head. I don’t think there’s anyone in the house. In fact, I think I’ve finally realized what’s going on.

What? asked Rhys, going to the nearby fridge and opening it. He looked inside for a moment, then pulled out a bottle of water.

There was nobody moving along Kanan-Dume after Betsy stopped, I said. Not even that special Beach Bus that they’ve got going this weekend for the maritime festival down in Malibu—and that bus has to travel on a specific schedule. It definitely should have passed us.

So? said Rhys, taking a long swig of water.

So, I think everybody in this canyon has been evacuated.

Kieran immediately looked nervous. He sniffed the air. I don’t smell any smoke.

I don’t think it’s a fire, I continued. I think they closed off the canyon and evacuated everyone because of those juvies. Because there was some sort of mass escape at the probationary camp.

That makes sense, Kieran nodded. They’d do that.

And when they closed off both ends of Kanan-Dume, we were caught in the middle because Betsy broke down.

You think there’s police in the canyon? asked Rhys, hopefully.

I nodded. They’re probably all over the place. It’s just our bad luck that we haven’t met up with them, yet. In fact, I’ll bet they’ve already caught those guys.

That would be good, said Rhys, reaching for a piece of toast. They scare me.

They scare me, too, bud, I said. But the police will get them, if they haven’t already. You’ll see.

* * * *

There were four bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs—all of them empty.

From the clothes in the closet of the master bedroom, it looked like there was an elderly couple living in the house. However, I couldn’t figure out who belonged to the third place setting at the breakfast table. From what I could see, there was nobody else staying in the home.

Perhaps, it was a yet-to-arrive visitor who was—at this very moment—stuck at the police roadblock at one of the ends of the canyon. Or maybe the mysterious third-setting had met up with the evacuated elderly couple and they were all—even now—eating waffles and drinking coffee together at the IHOP in Agoura Hills.

I liked that thought—it also reminded me that I was hungry.

* * * *

When I came downstairs, Rhys had his nose back in the fridge, looking for something else to eat. Kieran, meanwhile, was still at the table, working on his second helping. I noticed that one of them had placed four pieces of bacon and two rubbery fried eggs on the plate at the third place setting.

No one’s upstairs, I confirmed, standing at the doorway.

Kieran tapped the extra plate of bacon and eggs. Microwave doesn’t work or we’d have nuked it for you.

That’s okay. I can eat it cold, I said. But I saw a landline in the living room. I’m going to go call the cops first. When I come back, I’ll eat.

At the fridge, a smiling Rhys suddenly pulled out a large, pink cardboard box from a bottom shelf.

They got cake! he cried, happy.

I quickly went over, took the cake from him, and put it back in the fridge.

You don’t touch their cake, I ordered. It’s bad enough that we’re eating their breakfast.

But you said that we’d pay for it, whined Rhys.

And we will, but only because the bacon and eggs would go bad because they left it out. What’s in the fridge is a different matter.

But it’s cake!

I pointed a finger at him. Leave it alone. I’m serious.

* * * *

When I returned to the kitchen, Rhys was sitting at the kitchen table, pouting, his arms crossed in sullen indignation. Beside him, Kieran was too busy shoving food into his mouth to care.

I walked over to the fridge and opened the door.

Don’t worry, barked Rhys. "I didn’t touch the stupid cake.

It’s not the cake I’m worried about, I said.

Kieran immediately stopped eating. He looked up at me, concern written all over his face. What is it?

I slowly let my eyes travel around the kitchen—from the microwave to the stove, to the clock high up over the sink, then back to the fridge.

They’re not working, I said, pointing. Not one of them.

Rhys and Kieran looked curiously around at the various appliances.

You’re right, said Kieran, finally. Is the electricity out?

I nodded.

You didn’t get through on the landline, did you?

Nope. It’s not working either.

Do you think that the police turned off the electricity when they blocked off the canyon? asked Rhys. So the bad guys couldn’t use it.

I don’t know. But I think we should hurry up here and be on our way. We’ve still got a long walk ahead of us before we reach Agoura Hills. No matter what, there’ll have to be phones working there.

* * * *

But—I was wrong.

When we came over that final hill and looked down upon Agoura Hills and what should have been a bustling 101 Freeway threading through it—what we saw instead was astonishing. Kieran and I just stood there, gaping—our mouths wide open in shock.

Rhys, meanwhile, began hiccupping.

The 101 was crowded—dozens upon dozens of cars and trucks, stretching for miles in either direction—but they were all stopped.

Is it an accident? asked Kieran.

I don’t see anything, I answered, looking up and down the freeway. They just seem to be stopped.

This is so weird, said Rhys. Like those houses were weird.

He was talking about three homes we had stopped at on our way overland—only to discover that they were all without power or occupants.

At one—near Malibou Lake (different place than Malibu) —there had been a car in the driveway, its keys in the ignition, a wallet and briefcase on the passenger seat. It was almost as if the driver had simply parked and walked off.

The second house, just off Mulholland Highway, had simply been dark and quiet. We had moved around it, knocking on windows and doors.

Nobody had answered.

The third house had been the weirdest one of them all.

Both its front and back doors had been left wide open. There was a Fed-Ex vehicle parked in the front driveway and a package sitting on the doorstep.

Meanwhile, just outside the back door of the house, a bag of groceries had been dropped on the patio. A carton of ice cream had rolled out, creating a wet circle of vanilla pecan next to an abandoned purse and a set of house keys.

Most disconcerting of all—we found no working phones at any of the houses.

* * * *

Look at that car over there, I said, pointing to the far side of the 101. Over in the slow lane heading north.

Kieran and Rhys looked up. We were slowly making our way down the hillside and they were both watching the ground, careful of where they were placing their feet among the slippery granite.

What’s with all that stuff on top of it? asked Rhys.

I think it’s the Google car, I said.

The one that goes around and maps all the roads?

I nodded.

"Cool," said Rhys.

Kieran couldn’t stop staring.

At first, I thought he was looking at the Google car. Then I realized that his eyes were on the road just below us, the one that paralleled the 101 Freeway.

The cars aren’t moving on Agoura Road either, he said. There aren’t a lot of them, but it looks like they’re all stopped, too.

The three of us stood there for a moment—just looking—studying the cars and the roads down below.

I don’t see anyone, I finally said. "Do you guys see anyone...anywhere?"

Kieran shook his head.

But there have to be people in the cars on the 101, right? said Rhys, sounding worried. Those cars can’t all be empty.

My eyes traveled along the 101, searching. I can’t tell for certain. The cars are still too far away to know for sure.

"They’re empty," said Kieran. They have to be.

Why do you say that? I asked.

Because they’re silent, he said. The engines have all been turned off. This is Southern California. If there were people down there, they’d be outside their cars now—talking to each other and complaining about the traffic jam.

A chill went down my spine.

Because Kieran was right.

We were looking at a freeway of dead and empty cars.

JOURNAL ENTRY #2

I’m the oldest, so I’m supposed to be the strong one, the one in charge. Which means that I’m not supposed to be scared.

But I am.

Mom and Dad are gone and we don’t know where.

We don’t know where anybody went.

We don’t know what happened.

All we do know is that everybody is gone and we’re alone and there’s no electricity and even batteries don’t work.

And now Rhys and Kieran look at me like I’m supposed to have all the answers. That I can somehow protect them in this insane new world.

Yesterday, I was just a 16-year old guy riding a wave. My life was full of promise and wonder and thoughts of the green-eyed girl I loved.

Now my life is full of fear and concern.

Green-eyed girls who didn’t even know I existed, have now taken a back seat to worries over how to protect my two brothers and the youngest, newest member of our family…the boy.

* * * *

He was standing in the center of the baseball field in Chumash Park—a large green space, just the other side of the 101 Freeway.

Fist in his mouth, tears running down his face, we could hear the boy’s sobs from where we stood on the other side of the chain-linked fence that ran along Kanan Road.

(FYI…Kanan-Dume turns into Kanan Road in the middle of the canyon.)

"What are we going to do?" asked Kieran.

"We can’t leave him there, Rhys insisted. He’s just a little guy."

"Of course we can’t, I agreed. Come on. Let’s go get him."

* * * *

We moved slowly toward the boy, taking our time, following the path along the cement culvert that curved around Chumash Park. When we reached the point opposite him, we stopped. Staying hidden, we scanned the park and the neighborhood around it, searching primarily for the color orange.

"Over there," whispered Kieran.

I quickly looked to where he was pointing.

"Where? I asked. I don’t see anyone."

"I know, he said. It’s a Tesla. Over by the high school. You see it stopped in the middle of the street?"

"So?"

"So, it’s a Tesla. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Kieran, I said, irritated, do you