The Hunted (11 page)

Shy cracked open his eyes, wiping the drool from the side of his mouth. He sat up and looked around, surprised he'd actually fallen asleep. Carmen and Marcus were
still
out cold. Shoeshine was in the trailer now, too, sitting against the far wall, writing in his journal. The duffel bag, which Shy had carried in with him, now lay open by the man's feet.

The sun was already setting. Shy didn't see how that was possible. It wasn't even noon when they'd arrived at the trailer. The post-chili plan had been to go outside and talk to people, gather information, find out about the other Sony building and if there were any trains running east. It wasn't to fall asleep.

Shy went over to Shoeshine. “They fix you up okay?” he asked in a low voice.

The man lifted his pen from the page and looked up. “One night of rest, young fella, and I'm good.”

“That's what the doctors told you?”

“That's what I told the doctors.” The man went back to writing.

Shy shook his head and glanced at Carmen and Marcus. He'd have to explore on his own. “If they ever come out of their comas,” he told Shoeshine, “tell 'em I'll be right back.”

Shoeshine nodded without looking up.

Shy spoke to a few people on the fringe of the crowded lawn, but nobody knew much about the outside world. Some even asked
him
questions. Were people still dying? Were there really marked zones now and people on motorcycles patrolling the streets? The only useful bit of information Shy got was from a middle-aged man dressed in fluorescent-green swim trunks. Last he'd heard, one train a day still left out of Union Station downtown. Whether it ran east or not, he couldn't say. And he didn't know anything about the DJ.

Shy wandered around a few of the lots, brainstorming what he'd say on the radio. Shoeshine thought the whole thing was a bad idea, of course. But he didn't understand. If Shy wasn't going straight home, he had to at least reach out to his mom.

He explored a few of the lots, tripping out on the elaborate set pieces and camera cranes. It was amazing that a place like this even existed. On the long sailboat ride back to California, he never imagined ending up in a place where people shot movies and TV shows.

Eventually Shy found himself standing in front of the large Cruise Ship set, which sat right up against a tall barbed-wire fence that separated the lots from the outside world. There was no bottom to the ship, and the main deck was quite a bit smaller than what you'd find on a Paradise Cruise liner, but the flood of images it brought back was overwhelming.

He remembered leaning over the side of the Honeymoon Deck, losing his grip on the comb-over man's shirt, watching him disappear into the dark sea below. He remembered the man in the black suit following him around the ship, drilling him with questions. He remembered Rodney. And Kevin. Supervisor Franco. He remembered wandering past Carmen's cabin in the middle of the night, standing in front of her door, unable to knock—and then when he'd turned to leave, she opened the door and called his name.

And then he remembered the end.

Him standing there frozen in front of that Normandie Theater window, staring at the first tsunami wave as it rose and rose, right before his eyes, till it was twice the height of their ship at least, and how the air was sucked right out of his chest when the wave exploded into them, shattering windows and caving walls and sending passengers flying through the air in slow motion, and how he couldn't hear a thing.

Shy turned away from the make-believe ship, suddenly nauseated and short of breath. He kneeled down and put his hands on the concrete to try and ground himself. He was still in this position, staring at a trail of ants marching in a crooked line, when he heard a familiar-sounding whistle.

He stood and looked around.

He recognized the melody of the whistle from back home. The sound rose and fell, twice. A Mexican thing. But he didn't see anyone.

A few seconds later, he heard the whistle a second time. It was coming from behind the barbed-wire fence, he realized, and he took a few steps forward to get a better look. Trees and thick bushes mostly blocked the tall fence, but a few sections of bush had been thinned by fire and in the fading daylight Shy spotted the figure of a man sitting on a motorcycle.

His heartbeat quickened.

What if it was someone from the Suzuki Gang?

But they were separated by a fence. And it shouldn't matter anyway—it was a guy from the Suzuki Gang who'd sent him here in the first place.

“Hey,
cabrón
!” the man called to Shy in a muffled voice. “Come over here a sec! I got something for you!”

Shy's first instinct was to bail. To go back to the trailer so he could grab food with Carmen, Marcus and Shoeshine. But he took another couple steps forward instead. He noticed the guy's gas mask was green. There was a tear in the arm of his jacket, too. It was the man who'd told them about the Sony lots. The man who'd given him the fat envelope full of cash.

Shy glanced over his shoulder.

No one else around.

A tree had fallen into the barbed wire at the top of the tall chain-link fence, and Shy wondered if anyone had ever tried sneaking in that way.

“What's going on?” Shy called to the man.

The biker kicked out his stand and swung himself off the motorcycle. “I'm shocked,” he said through his mask. “You actually listened for once.” He went right up to the fence and linked his fingers in the chain link.

“What are you talking about?”

“You came like I said.”

Shy shrugged.

So
that
was it. The guy felt like a hero for giving a kid a safe place to wait out the disease. Little did he know Shy would be back on the road in less than twenty-four hours.

“I got something you might want,” the biker said, pulling off his leather gloves and reaching into his pocket. He held a balled fist toward the fence, saying: “Go on. Take it.”

“What is it?” Shy was curious now, though he still wasn't sure he could trust the man.

“Come here.”

“Nah, I'm good,” Shy told him.

The man pushed away from the fence. “Guess I'll just keep it, then.” He tossed whatever it was up in the air, caught it and held it out between his thumb and forefinger.

Shy couldn't believe it.

His ring.

He went right up to the fence. “Yo, where'd you get that?” The words came out before he even realized it.

The biker gave a muffled laugh through his mask. “I don't even wanna
know
who you boosted this off of.” He lofted the ring over the tall fence.

Shy snatched it out of midair and looked over the diamond and its silver setting. It was definitely his ring. His good-luck charm. He flashed on Carmen's face as he shoved it in his pocket. Then he turned back to the man, confused as hell.

“Don't say I never did nothing for you.”

“How'd you get it?” Shy asked.

The man shook his head. “I told Gregory it was bullshit asking for extra. The money I gave you was more than enough.” The biker then pulled off his green gas mask.

Shy's entire body went cold.

Half the man's face had been badly burned, the skin pink and raw and scabbed. His usual bushy, Brillo-pad hair had been shaved down to the scalp, and his scruffy beard was peppered with gray.

Still.

Shy recognized him instantly.

His old man.

He took a step back, unable to wrap his head around it.

He hadn't seen his dad in over a year.

“I surprise you, boy?”

“How'd you…? What are you
doing
here?” Shy's heart was hammering away at his insides. All of a sudden he was that stupid little kid again, the one who was always nervous around his own dad. Even when he had no reason to be nervous. “You shot my friend,” he managed to say, rattling the fence a little.

“I shot a man who was shooting at me. Shot him in the leg, too, when I could've aimed for his chest.” His dad clutched Shy's fingers through the chain link. “I've been looking for you, boy. Ever since the earthquakes hit. I even went on the radio a couple times.”

Shy tried to free his fingers, but his dad's grip was too tight.

“Imagine how I felt when I lifted your mask,” his dad said. “Almost shit my pants. But when I was riding away, I told myself nothing else matters now. I got my son back.”

Shy looked away from his dad's intense gaze.

“Your mom told me you worked on a ship.” The man shook his head. “I prayed you weren't out there when it happened. Then I thought maybe I should pray you
were.
”

“I was out there.”

“Well, you're here now,” his dad said. “And I swear to God, Shy, I'm changed. You'll see.” He looked over his shoulder at the street behind him growing darker by the minute. “I'm gonna keep you in here till this shit's over, understand? Where it's safe. Then we're gonna be together.”

Shy didn't answer.

He didn't know what to do or think. He was looking into the eyes of his
dad.
His
family.
But at the same time, they were the eyes of a complete stranger. Shy had spent the past year and a half pushing these eyes out of his head. Out of his
life.
He'd stopped returning his dad's phone calls. Blocked his emails. Claimed he was busy any time his dad asked about a visit—which wasn't often.

“I'd stay in there with you,” his dad continued, “but I got a few more things to do. You'd be proud of me, boy. We're out there helping people.”

Shy finally pulled his hands free and took a step back. “What do you mean you're helping people?” he said, feeling a sudden surge of courage. Because
he
was different now,
too.
He'd been through the worst shit imaginable and come out the other side. “You shoot people. You try and set 'em on fire while they sleep.” He sucked in a deep breath, trying to think. “You got it all wrong, man. When this shit's over, I'm going
home.
”

“Home?” His dad shook his head. “Home doesn't exist no more, Shy. There's nothing left down there.”

“You think you can just suddenly be my dad again?” Shy shouted. Anger was spreading all through his veins now. He kicked the fence as hard as he could, the entire length of it rattling loudly. He ignored whatever his dad was trying to imply about Otay Mesa.

“Watch your mouth, boy,” the man said in his low, teeth-clenched growl, the one that meant he was close to exploding. Shy had heard this voice over and over during the year he'd spent with his dad in LA. But it didn't scare him like it had back then.

“No, you watch
your
mouth!” Shy shouted. “You ain't my dad, man. You never taught me shit. Not one fucking thing!”

His old man grabbed the fence with such force Shy thought it might come down. He looked up again, at the tree leaning against the barbed wire, worried his dad might notice it, too. But his dad was too busy trying to scare Shy into obedience. Like he always did.

“Shy?” he heard someone call out behind him. “Shy? Everything okay?”

He didn't have to turn around to know who it was.

Carmen.

“You still don't know shit from Shinola,” his dad growled. “Do you, boy?”

“I know this,” Shy said in a clenched-teeth growl of his own. “You don't get to tell me what to do no more.” Then he turned and walked off, toward Carmen, leaving his old man standing there outside the fence, calling his name.

“But you never even
mentioned
him before,” Carmen said in a quiet voice as Shy led her and Marcus along the dark path that would take him back to the Cruise Ship lot.

“Maybe he's not worth mentioning,” Shy answered.

“What are the chances, dawg?” Marcus said. “Finding out your pop is part of the exact group we're trying to avoid?”

“That's what
I
told him,” Carmen said.

Shy shrugged, thinking if he kept ducking their questions they'd eventually leave it alone. He wasn't in the mood to talk about his dad. Getting the vaccine to Arizona was the only thing on his mind now. That and reaching out to his
real
family through the radio show, which was where they were headed now.

At dinner they'd met a woman who'd been to Sony Records. She'd even been on the DJ's show. When Carmen asked for directions, the woman excitedly wrote them down and wished them luck. They decided to sneak in and out of the lots because, according to the lady, every time you entered through the front gates, security made you go through the same elaborate Romero Disease testing. And they didn't have time for all that.

Near the Cruise Ship lot, Shy pointed toward the tall fence. “See how that tree's leaning against the barbed wire?”

“You think we can all climb it?” Marcus asked, glancing at Carmen.

“What, you think I can't?” she barked a little too loudly. “You got serious gender issues,
ese.
Who raised your ass?”

“Chill,” Marcus said, looking over his shoulder. “Damn. You want everyone to know we're sneaking out?”

“For real, Carm,” Shy said.

Carmen rolled her eyes and moved toward the fence first, Shy and Marcus following close behind.

As Shy pulled himself up the rattling chain link after Carmen, he told himself to concentrate on what he was going to say on the radio show. That had to be his focus for now. Nothing else. But it wasn't long before he slipped up, started picturing his old man's burned face. How'd it happen? he wondered. And what had his old man been trying to insinuate about back home?

At the top of the fence Shy wrapped his arms around the thick tree trunk and swung his legs carefully over the barbed wire, joining Carmen on the other side. After Marcus made it over, the three of them climbed down the other side of the fence, hopped onto the asphalt and looked around.

“What now?” Marcus asked.

Shy pulled the directions out of his back pocket and studied the street names under his flashlight. “Follow me,” he said, crossing the dark street.

They walked in silence, constantly checking their backs. Soon Shy's thoughts drifted off to a particular night during his freshman year. His old man had come home drunk from the recycling plant with a smudge of lipstick on the collar of his uniform. It was obvious he'd stopped by the bar again. Probably messed with some chick. Again. Shy's mom noticed at the dinner table and knocked her water glass off the table, and it shattered on the tile floor.

The argument quickly escalated and soon they were shouting at each other. His old man pushed out of his chair, sending it to the floor. His mom screamed that this was the last time, she was done playing the fool. “Pack your shit and leave!” she shouted, shoving a finger right in Shy's dad's face.

Only this time his dad didn't make up any stories. He slapped her hand away so hard she lost her balance and fell to her knees. She looked up, tears coming down her cheeks.

Shy sat there paralyzed. Watching.

His dad shouted: “You want me to leave? Fine! I'm gone! I'm done pretending to love you!”

Shy's mom got up and the two of them stood toe to toe for several seconds, shouting each other down, Miguel bawling back in his room, Shy's sister hurrying to check on him. Shy's dad said he wasn't going anywhere, though, unless his son came with him. He turned to Shy.

So did his mom.

The only reason Shy didn't put up a fight was to protect her. If he went with his dad, maybe that would be the end of it, maybe there'd be no more fighting.

Two days later, he and his dad were handed keys to a tiny two-bedroom apartment in Mar Vista, and Shy found himself carrying boxes up unfamiliar steps, dropping them onto the stained rug of an unfamiliar living room.

It wasn't long, though, before his old man realized he didn't have time to take care of a kid. He already had a girlfriend in LA, it turned out, and he spent most nights at her place. Shy had to figure out everything on his own. What high school to attend and how to enroll and where to get groceries and how to cook enough so he wouldn't starve.

Eight months later, when his dad landed a cushy office job with the Culver City Maintenance Department, he broke the news. He was sorry, but it just wasn't working out. He was taking Shy back to Otay Mesa to live with his mom.

Shy remembered trying to act like he was disappointed.

It wasn't until he set foot back inside his old apartment, and took a whiff of the food cooking, that he realized how homesick he'd been. His grandma, who was now living there, too, gave him a hug. So did his mom and sis. Even little Miguel. They led him into the kitchen where his all-time favorite meal was sitting on the stove, waiting for him. Chile Colorado with rice and beans. A steaming stack of homemade tortillas. His grandma's famous sweet tamales for desert.

“What now?” Carmen said, snapping Shy right out of his memory.

They were standing in front of a chained glass door that said
SONY RECORDS
. This was it, their chance to reach out to their families. To tell them where they were.

“We just knock, right?” Marcus said.

“I guess so,” Shy told him.

Carmen cupped her hands up to the glass door and peered inside. She turned and looked at Shy and Marcus, shrugging, then knocked.

Shy took a step back, waiting to see if DJ Dan would come get them.