City Center, The (5 page)

“Bye, sis,” I sobbed, clenching her small hand.

The law required the reporting of deaths, but when my sister passed, we buried her in the backyard. The house got quiet. I cried for my little sister who had her innocence snatched away before her first kiss, before her first dance. Rags and I stayed in bed with Mom to stay warm during those springtime months. Spring was supposed to be about rebirth. Those days were anything but. Dad remained in seclusion in his office, making lists and writing meticulous notes. He suggested we start our own journals to keep a record.

My Dad passed on a Tuesday morning. We buried him next to my sister in the backyard.

“Bye, Dad,” I cried, sitting next to the pile of dirt.

“It’s time to go, my little Lillian,” Mom said, holding me close as we shivered together under the giant oak tree.

“Are we gonna use Dad’s escape plan?” I asked.

“Yes. We’re going to Temescal Canyon. There are others like us. Ones who refuse to go to the death camps, or to work on the new Los Angeles center.”

Tears blurred the world around me. I buried my face into Rags. I didn’t want to stay behind, but I didn’t want to leave my home of fifteen years. I loved my home and the neighborhood I grew up in. But everything I loved was gone.

We collected survival items based on Dad’s list and put as much as we could fit into two suitcases. During our packing, I found a photo of my family when my sister was a baby and a more recent one taken before my brother shipped off. I placed them in between the pages of my Bible at Psalm 23.

The days prior to our journey we walked around the ghost town our neighborhood had become like thieves in the night, siphoning gas from abandoned cars until we had enough to get us to the Palisades. Sometimes we’d spot a person frantically pedaling by on a bike with backpacks and bags attached to every limb. They had the same instinctual sense to get the hell out.

“Survival of the fittest,” Mom muttered under her breath.

One night we walked for a few miles until we reached a dark alley. We stood at the back door of the underground surplus store and Mom knocked three times in a row, waited and then knocked once more. We waited in silence. After a few minutes, a burly man wearing head-to-toe camouflage opened the door and gestured for us to enter the pitch-black stairwell. I held Rags in my left arm and guided myself through the darkness with my right. We reached the dingy cellar at the bottom lit up by a few lanterns. There were rows and rows of shelves jam-packed with surplus equipment and non-perishable food.

The large man led us down an aisle containing various sizes of guns and rifles.

“Find one that feels comfortable and fits your body,” he told us.

At the age of fifteen I had never seen a gun in person, let alone touched one. I put Rags down on the cement floor and studied the nearest rack. I ran my fingers along the cold barrels of the shotguns. I didn’t want to lift any of them up. I was terrified. I cringed at the idea of firing a gun, but it was clear we’d either be the hunted, or the hunters. I had no other choice.

“It’s okay, honey. We’ll need them for protection,” Mom said.

I lifted one off the rack. A long and heavy shotgun. I mimicked how actors held guns in the movies. A wave of intense energy surged through my veins.

“This is the one,” I told the man.

He patted my head and handed me a much smaller one.

“Try this,” he said. “It’ll be easier to handle, and you can slip it into your backpack.”

The man set out two giant backpacks and helped us transfer only the necessary items from our suitcases. He put my Bible off to the side, but I tucked it into the side pocket when he was busy writing down the route.

“Avoid Sunset and Pacific Coast Highway. Otherwise you’ll hit the barricades. Park the car at the top of the street, and walk to the address. You’ll cut through the backyard. The entrance to the woods is behind this row of bushes.” He handed Mom a hand-drawn map. “The Temescal campsite is located a few miles up the trail. Whistle three times when you get to the top of the slope. Someone will meet you and guide you to the campsite. There will be a group gathered. From there, you’ll make the journey north.”

The day of our escape, or “our extended camping trip” as Mom called it, we loaded the family sedan with our giant backpacks stuffed with the essentials for survival—camping gear, non-perishables, first aid, firearms and ammunition. And, of course, our journals to record everything. So we’d never forget, so that future generations would never forget. Mom pulled away from our home. I noticed tears in her eyes.

“Bye, home,” I whispered.

“We’re still together. Home is where your heart is, right?” She wiped away her tears and focused on the road.

Along the eerie drive toward Pacific Palisades I stared out my window, looking at the charming homes. The yards, no longer landscaped, looked messy with tall grass and overgrown bushes. Mom bulldozed through the intersections. I turned on the radio to break the silence. The announcer read from a script.

“Evacuations for all Westside residents are now in effect. Buses will be continuously transporting any remaining people to the emergency camps. Demolitions are scheduled to start tomorrow at noon, please be sure to arrive…”

I turned off the radio and stared at the street corners, memorizing every sign and taking mental photographs of the neighborhood I’d never see again.

We parked down the street from the address and waited in the car all afternoon until the sun set over the Pacific Ocean. We adjusted our backpack straps securely and grabbed the smaller bags from the backseat. I shut the door of our family car one final time.

“Bye, car.”

The streets were dark without the glow of street lamps. I kept Rags tight on the leash and we walked toward the Adobe-style house. We pushed open the wooden gate and crossed the overgrown backyard. The swimming pool was full of swampy water and leaves, and a few lawn chairs. We got to the row of bushes at the far end of the yard and wedged ourselves through the shrubbery. Branches scraped our cheeks and tangled in our hair. On the other side we found a narrow dirt path leading into the pitch-black woods.

“It’s a few miles to the first checkpoint,” Mom said.

Rags squatted next to a tree leaving behind her scent, and we hiked up the hill. We trudged along slowly; it was tough lugging our equipment. I stopped every few feet to catch my breath and wipe sweat off my forehead. Mom used a tiny flashlight to illuminate the path. I followed the outline of her shadowy silhouette. Her strength and determination amazed me. I prayed for safety and comfort, but mostly for the courage to carry on. We made it to the rocks at the top. Mom looked at the map.

“This is it,” she said, and whistled three times.

We waited, holding hands. Rags sniffed the air. After a few minutes, a flash of light struck our eyes, blinding us. We held hands waiting for our eyes to readjust.

“Joe sent us,” Mom called out.

A man stepped closer toward us.

“Mary and Lillian?”

“That’s us,” I answered with my best brave voice.

“I’m John. Good to have you join the group. Let’s get to camp. We’re just a few hundred yards away.”

We walked in silence. I noticed a glowing campfire come into view. We reached the site. I couldn’t wait to set down my bags. John pointed to an empty spot under a tree where we could station ourselves. I collapsed to the ground. Every muscle burned like acid. I opened up my sleeping bag and climbed inside, pulling Rags down into the cocoon. Mom joined the group, and I fell asleep to the murmur of their voices.

The next morning I woke up to Rags licking my cheek. It was before dawn because it was still dark and silent. The air was icy cold. I scanned the campsite to assess what was going on. Mom stood next to the fire holding a mug. She talked with John. He looked strong and confident and I immediately trusted him with my life. A younger guy stood next to John. I figured it was his son because they had the same messy dark hair and warm brown eyes. They were kind eyes. I counted a total of seven people, including my Mom and me. I inched my way out of the sleeping bag, still wearing my boots. Rags and I found some bushes to pee in. Steam rose from the cold ground, warming my legs. I couldn’t wait to stand next to the fire.

Mom waved me over. Her rosy cheeks were all scratched up from the night before. She handed me a cup of coffee and winked. That was my first cup of coffee. I didn’t care for the smell, but appreciated the warm mug in my freezing hands.

“I’m Lillian. And this is Rags,” I said to the group standing around the fire.

John pointed to the young guy. “This is Aaron, you’re probably the same age.” Aaron glanced up and looked at me. My stomach flipped over. He was so cute. I turned away, afraid he’d notice my cheeks blushing. I took a small sip of the piping hot coffee and gagged. The sharp bitter taste was too much, but I wanted to look mature, so I forced it down.

“We’re going to hike north to a location where we can set up headquarters. It’s a big hike, and will take most of the day. But it’s a safe zone and only five miles from one of the plantation sites we’ll be shipped off to.”

“Plantations?” I asked.

“Where we’ll be put to work to supply food for the elites and their families.”

“Why are we going to work for them? I thought we were escaping.” I was confused. Also, I wasn’t too keen on working for the elite class. The group of untouchables who owned the government. The ones behind the economic collapse. The elites were the jerks that wanted to kill off 90% of the human pestilence, as they called us, so they could have the planet to themselves. They orchestrated and initiated the plan to obliterate everything, so yeah, I didn’t want to work for them.

“The plan is to pose as farm workers so we can infiltrate the system and gather intelligence. In the meantime, we’ll learn how to farm. While we’re working, we’ll squirrel away seeds, equipment and livestock. Once we gather a hearty supply, we’ll hike farther north and build our own free community.”

“But working for
them
?” I asked.

“We have two options. We can either go to the emergency camps and be forced to finish the construction of the new Los Angeles City Center. Or work on a plantation. At least on the plantation we’ll have fresh air. And opportunities to build underground networks in the surrounding areas.”

John finished addressing the group. I stood by the fire trying to tolerate that awful cup of coffee. I was supposed to be planning my sweet sixteen party, not discussing the end of civilization with a bunch of strangers.

Aaron must have seen the fear in my face and came over. He took the disgusting cup of coffee from my hand and wrapped his fingers around mine. I loved him for comforting me in that desperate moment.

“Come with me,” he said.

He led me down a narrow path toward a peak, to get a clear view of the Pacific. We sat on a giant boulder and stared at the ocean. The one remaining thing the elites hadn’t destroyed. The salty air brushed against my face. I scooted closer, making sure our hips touched. I needed to feel another person. I watched Rags sniff around some shrubs. I realized that she and my Mom were my only physical contact in months. Sitting together on that peak, everything looked normal—just a young girl next to a cute boy, hoping he’d like her enough to kiss her. Then I remembered why I was there.

“These last couple of years have been rough on everyone,” Aaron said.

“We lost so much. I wish my sister and Dad could be here with us,” I told him.

“We lost everything so fast. My Mom took her own life after my two older brothers were shipped off. And for what? Everything’s gone. Our families. Neighbors. Our entire past is gone. I don’t know about you, Lillian, but I’m going to fight back. No matter what it takes, I won’t let them win.”

“But how do you fight something so huge?”

“It’s gonna take a lot of work, but I have faith.”

Aaron’s courage inspired me. I made a silent promise to fight. We had lost a lot, but not everything. There was still some hope. The elites might have robbed us of that for a little while, but we’d continue onward and get it back. We’d survive.

Back at camp, everyone packed up his or her gear. Before we started our hike, we stood around the fire and John addressed the group.

“We’ve lost much. We’ve made many sacrifices. And there will be more ahead. Many tests to endure. And while many have given up faith, this group is still alive. And that must be for a reason. We must stick together to fulfill this calling. Fight against this corruption and restore humanity. They may have taken our loved ones, our property and our material belongings, but they can never take away our faith. That’s how we’ll win this battle. Everyone, please bow your heads. Father, we ask that you watch over us and guide us on this journey. We look to you for comfort and trust, to be shown the way even when it looks like all paths are closed. Amen.”

We secured our packs and headed up the path. At the highest peak we turned east. The entire Los Angeles basin burned like a forest fire. The fires charred through neighborhoods leaving behind piles of smoldering rubble. Black smoke and ashes filled the air. We covered our faces with scarves. In the distance, where downtown used to sit, I noticed a giant structure made of black solar paneling. The walls reached beyond the heights where the buildings once stood. Sunlight glinted off of the dark panels.

“That’s it,” Aaron said.

“It’s horrendous.”

“That’s where they’re gonna start their new civilization of super humans.”

“The City Center,” I said.

Most of us were unclear about the details of the New Agenda, but the overarching concept was wrong and unnatural. Breeding human beings to create a completely new civilization. I turned away from the burning basin and focused on the path ahead.

John brought us to a red bus with a sign reading “Hollywood Tours” along the side. I remembered seeing those buses all over the city, carting photo-taking tourists to the homes of movie stars. I wondered where all those tourists were now, and if their scrapbooks survived the fires. We got on the bus and drove along the back trails through the canyon. A thick layer of ash covered the trees. We drove deeper into the forest until John stopped the bus. We got out and hiked a couple of miles until we reached what John called headquarters—a metal bunker up against the side of a mountain.