The Effacing (Book 1.5): Valley's End Read online

  “The name’s Rebekah… Trivo,” she mocked. “Not chick.” she grunted, nodded toward Itchy. “He can’t be more than eight.”

  “Yeah… well he’s older’n dat.”

  “You should be ashamed.” Ann jumped in.

  “Who asked you?” Trivo responded, taking a drag of his stogie, hard, on his way to menthol; rat poison heaven.

  Rebekah finally made her only request, adapted to Trivo’s delivery. “Tell ya boy, Itchy, it’s a good thing that gun has a safety… otherwise he woulda already alerted the guys he’s skurd of…” She stopped mocking and got serious, “compromising our location.”

  Trivo looked into the cab at his frightened, fellow gang member, rocked his head from side-to-side knowing Rebekah was right. “Itchy … gimme da gun, boss.” he demanded, in fact, asked. He really didn’t care if Itchy gave him the gun or not.

  Itchy’s eyelids wrinkled before the fluid trickled. He scratched at his neck, but finally complied after a few seconds, crying, “What about me? It ain’t right. It ain’t fair.” and kicked at the seat as a spoiled child would do. Then scraped at his left sleeve, around the forearm area.

  “Oh, that’s so cute.” Ann confessed, of his temper tantrum, only adding more fuel to the fire by dropping funnies at the wrong time. Then she acknowledged his scratching. “He has an addiction!”

  A frustrated Trivo slammed the door shut. It was not the most thoughtful thing to do in their situation. The noise transferred the entire group’s attention up the street, hoping they weren’t made out.

  The enemies’ estranged shadows ceased movement, the women and children lay still and together, the gunmen took aim.

  “Not yet!” Rebekah exclaimed, low, as she attempted not to draw their antagonists’ full and undivided attention, raising her voice only to catch it, after the not.

  Ann stared down the street, whispered, “What are they doing?”

  “It looks like they’ve found something more exciting than us.” Rebekah implied.

  “Might be a jumpy,” Trivo cracked.

  Rebekah’s brows lowered as she looked to Trivo. “Was that a joke? It might be someone you know,” she insinuated.

  Trivo did not have a chance to respond, but his eye-opening facial expression and drop-mouth-no-word reaction stated he wanted to take back his immature comment.

  “They’re moving.” Maria said, walking up beside Ann.

  “Yeah… they are.” Rebekah added. “I’ll go scout through The End on foot, make sure the path is clear, if not find another route. I can get to the top of the apartments and get a view of what’s up ahead and around us. Anyone else dare to join me?”

  “Yeah, I’m wit’ it.” Trivo stepped forward, not trying to be outshined by the opposite sex, knowing in reality he was frightened to death.

  “Great. Can I get two more volunteers while the men stand guard here?” Rebekah looked toward Ann and Maria.

  “They’re leaving!” Maria said of their adversaries. “I don’t think we should split up.” She looked to Ann for her recommendation.

  Ann didn’t flinch.

  “Okay…” Rebekah said. “Then you can stay here with the group while I go through the projects with Trivo and Ann.” she simplified. “It’ll be nightfall soon. If we’re not back in twenty minutes, take off and find someplace near Maison, get off the streets and we’ll find you.” She looked at Trivo. “You ready big boy.”

  Trivo hardened, took a deep breath. “Now or never—”

  “Then why not wait twenty minutes with the group?” Maria argued.

  “Because there can be more survivors inside. Rally as many citizens, right?” Rebekah added, reminding Maria of what the original group missionized.

  Ann grasped her silver custom made .45 caliber handgun with laser sight and red leather grip from the holster, checked her ammo. “Locked and loaded,” she confirmed.

  “Okay… three rules. Everyone stay tight. Be as quiet as you possibly can. No gunfire unless were out of options.” Rebekah said, before she turned to Ann. “I didn’t think it was going to be that easy. I was expecting some type of rebuttal from you too.”

  “Yeah…” Ann retorted, “You like it rough, don’t you?”

  “Depends,” Rebekah answered.

  “On what?”

  “If it’s rough enough…”

  Trivo took a long drag of his cigarette and plucked it, slightly grinned to the girls bicker.

  Ann’s rolling eyes and enigmatic smile suggested she was either appalled at Rebekah’s answer or flattered; it was that hard to see a distinction between the two. Either way, Rebekah had her assumptions about Ann’s carnal desires since they were back at her house in Diamond Manor days ago. She played on them to bring what was in the dark to the light, and Ann knew it, even though she played along with Rebekah’s little inside joke.

  Rebekah smiled in return. Maybe she was hiding the same dark incantations of pleasure, only she would have been pushing them away instead of accepting who she was, like she assumed of the cousins.

  CHAPTER 3

  “I’m going with you too.” Baker said, appearing from behind the cab.

  Trivo looked down at Baker, laughed. “You sure, boss?”

  “I said it, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah… and you don’t have to say it twice, boss.” Trivo kept his teeth showing as he held out Itchy’s AK-47. “Hope you’re a good shot, partner.”

  Ann’s face wrinkled the wrong way. She grabbed at the rifle, stared feverishly into Trivo’s eyes, turned and advised Baker to stay and help out with the women and other kids. Trivo sniffed, his upper lip touched his nose and he kept it there, mad as hell, under the assumption Ann was taunting him, which she was.

  Rebekah’s right hand relaxed, she arched her wrist toward her XDM, kept a simple stare and hoped she didn’t have to bop him upside his temple in front of his boys just to burn down his energy, although she wanted to do just that – embarrass his ass in front of his subordinates.

  Then, Ann turned back to face Trivo. “I can’t let you give him a gun.”

  Baker snapped, but kept his voice low. “You ain’t my moms, yo! And the fuck you mean ‘other kids’? I ain’t no fuckin’ kid, shorty!” he said, upset and traumatically pained, relentlessly fighting to keep his frustration under control.

  Baker was only fourteen. He was big for his age but still had the baby booty face. He’d been through a lot in those past days, and it all started when two of his buddies decided to break into Pops Gun and Tackle. They used Baker as the burglar while they played lookout. Their plan backfired, and that’s how he fell into Ann and Maria, Mike, Dale and Pops; he was caught in the act. The same night his accomplices were handcuffed and thrown into separate paddy wagons for curfew violations by the forces who circumference the city. And the next day, Baker discovered his mother, maliciously attacked – and sadly – brutally executed by a bilious neighbor.

  Without Baker knowing his father or having any other blood kinsfolks, he hopelessly turned to the street hoods as his innovative transitional family. He was aggressively pressured entirely by his own pure-intended, extremely violent thoughts to avenge his dearly nurturing mother’s death, by surviving in battle, and – without question – confronting the person responsible for her effacing… if he ever had even the slimmest opportunity.

  “It’s too dangerous. It’s safer with the group.” Rebekah added.

  “I’m responsible for him.” Trivo announced. “That’s my lil soldier right there.”

  “I’m responsible for me. And I’m going.” Baker fussed.

  “You can do more for us here.” Rebekah said.

  Ann continued to hold the rifle’s nose.

  Baker pushed the rifle into Trivo, shifted his sight on Maria. “Why I gotta stay here and she don’t even like me?” he pleaded.

  “What? Me?” Maria asked, pointing to herself. “You were just in the truck with us. What are you talking about?”

  Baker stormed off, back to the
4x4.

  They watched as Baker jumped in the truck. They watched the door as it lightly creaked shut.

  Maria knew what Baker was speaking of. Her parent’s Hummer had been stolen a day prior and she caught Baker behind the wheel. She was about to get in his young ass before Mike Ashe stepped in between them. Her anger subsided, but she never forgave him or apologized for the way she reacted, even after he explained the situation. She’d been a stuck up, nose-dried bitch to him ever since.

  “Well, I guess that’ll do it. I’m ready whenever you ladies are.” Trivo cracked.

  “Sure…” Rebekah said, with her eyes fixed on Neshia. “I need to grab a few things first.”

  CHAPTER 4

  The motorcade’s engines idled in the distance.

  Surrounded by fences, dying trees and backyards, lower income level family homes and fading daylight, Jim and Girder made their way through the alley desperately searching for an opening, fleeing from their pursuers through puddles of disease-tainted water.

  “We’re almost there, homeboy.” Jim huffed.

  Girder continued to stumble along, still nursing his wound. “Shit burns, main.” he rustled.

  “Make a left here.” Jim shifted his weight toward the fenceless opening, looked back through the alley.

  A shadow appeared, coming around the corner, into the alley from which they came.

  Girder stopped.

  Jim spun his head back around to see a soaking wet, red-coated, white chest, full grown Akita. It stood in their path, sniffing at the air. His dried eyes were centered by a strange, azure-greyish color. The dog didn’t bark, nor did it growl or show signs of aggression. It was just there, sniffling, nose up. And twitching as if bewitched and trying to morph back into his human form.

  Giving a first look, neither Jim nor Girder found anything out of place. The dog, clean and muscular, seemed extremely healthy. But after a couple steps forward, a further examination revealed its hairy, blood-dried paws.

  Jim extended his TP9 at the dog, nudged at Girder’s ribs and softly chanted, “We got to keep moving.”

  They moved closer, hoping not to startle man’s best friend. One disquieting maneuver could spark the animal’s kill or be killed instinct, which would for sure result in its extermination before obtaining the opportunity to sink its teeth in either of them.

  The Akita backed up.

  Girder whispered, “It’s their dog. He tracked us down.”

  “Keep moving.” Jim slipped back, vision still fixed on his target.

  They kept pushing forward.

  The dog backed away, growled.

  “Don’t make me kill you, Sparky.” Jim grunted, fixing to put a hollow slug right between the animal’s eyes if it barked or lunged forward.

  CHAPTER 5

  An abandoned, forest green, gold striped custom made van was left in the center of the street sitting on bricks, front and rear doors ajar. Across the sliding door, the word, Necropolis, written in red spray paint. It could easily pass for a rectangular Christmas tree on a gloomy, Hungarian Sunday, with the presents missing at the base. The surrounding vehicles, stripped, some with flat tires, others burnt, or the fires set within them, sluggishly burning out. Busted windows were all throughout the apartment buildings, and smoke rose from other openings at the far end of the complex in another structure.

  The explosive combined smell of rotten food, burning wood and sewage, lashed out with a warm breeze, a stomach-turning disgusting odor, like a triple scoop of Shit-Chunk on a charred Redwood cone, topped with sour milk poured like Hershey’s chocolate syrup, and freckled with hot, construction worker’s after-the-job and a company flag football game dead skin and foot-fungus, all on fire.

  “Damn!” Trivo exclaimed. “Fuck is that—”

  “Shhh!” Ann turned back, finger pressed against her lips as she walked beside Rebekah.

  Rebekah held Itchy’s AK. She’d wrapped a flashlight underneath the nose with electrical tape found in the glove box of her pick-up truck, pointed toward a busted window on the main level of one of the three story project buildings and motioned for her clique to follow with a swift jolt of the head.

  CHAPTER 6

  The rusting refrigerator and freezer doors were wide open, the sour smell of spoiled milk and bad meat bounced off the sweaty walls. The water-damaged cupboards had been ransacked; boxed food and canned goods, broken stoneware and drinking glasses spread across the filthy ceramic tiles. And the sink, filled with dirty dishes and maggots.

  In the darkened front room, overtop the old and worn out plaid sofa, a family portrait of four hung crooked on the wall; a young man and his younger wife; their son and daughter, a most happy family dressed to impress in their Sunday’s best. Dead plants sat in a pot near the fogged up naked window – fire escape just outside – the blue curtain and child-destroyed blinds, off in a far darker corner, overtop a pair of spray painted 50 pound dumbbells. The purple loveseat and orange recliner were overturned, the 60 inch flat screen, lying face down on the grey, cardboard-grinding carpet. The finger-printed metal door was kicked in from the outside, badly dented around the center.

  The golden door knob twisted, the door opened, and Jim and Girder lurched through. Jim, locking the door behind them, made way to the couch, finally taking a load off opposite his friend.

  “Yo, man, what the fuck? Shit went straight through.” he thundered, tossing the guns down in between himself and Girder.

  Girder threw his hands out, bloody palms up. He was hardly bleeding anymore. “What I supposed to know? I’m hit. The shit burns. End of story.”

  “You was actin’ like a lil bitch about it… cryin’n shit.”

  Girder looked around the room. “Main… whatever, dog.” he drifted. “Yo… whose crib is this?” he asked, rubbing his hands clean on the sleeve of his sweater.

  “A partner mines.”

  “What? You partners with the enemy?”

  “Nah, it wasn’t like that, G-man. He ain’t rock with the hard knocks. Dude worked an had a family an shit.”

  Girder did not believe Jim in the slightest. They were complete opposites on the same team. Jim, considerate of others and well liked, AKA, the good guy. Girder was an out-of-control live-wire and loose cannon; the bad guy. They might have been friends since kindergarten, Jim, three months older – only separated through jail stints – but Girder didn’t trust him. More-so, Girder had envied him for just that long. The icing on the death-cake was when Jim took off after they were being hunted down earlier that day. Jim left Girder to get shot and never turned back, not even once, to make sure he was alive. Girder held a lot of animosity toward Jim behind that, although he didn’t show it. And what Jim didn’t know, Girder, Girder planned on get back, a most terminal form of breaking even… even though the unsuspecting Jim was a good friend.

  “Yeah, sure you’re right.” Girder huffed, and then changed the subject. “Ya boy need a maid… like yesterday. Did they get him, where is he?”

  Jim knew the answer to that, but he wasn’t saying. “Ain’t nobody here, man… just chill out… an try to keep it down.” stood up, peeped out the window and headed toward the apartment’s hallway.

  Girder continued his observation of the room. Soiled couch pillows near a half-empty box of Huggies diapers, yellow cracked vase by the hallway. Smaller portraits with their gold plated frames, glass shattered, over by the China cabinet next to the front door, a white, slim unused candle near the overturned coffee table.

  He quietly slid off the funky couch and stretched for the candle, spotted a Ziploc sandwich bag that housed a fluffy ounce of weed. He picked it up, smelled it and smiled. “Found a bag of that good shit, Jimbo!” he called out, ear up.

  No response.

  He grabbed the candle.

  When Jim finally returned, he held an ace bandage and alcohol, needle and thread in both hands. He was also upset – a candle lit, Haze clouded in the atmosphere – Purple Haze, clouded the air.

  “Yo! W
hat the fuck you doin’? You want everyone to know where we at?”

  Girder tried to pass the blunt. Jim tossed the medical supplies into his friend’s open chest.

  “What you mean… the light? Everything is burning ‘round here! Ain’t nobody gonna think we in here, main! Plus, this shit gets rid of that funky ass smell. So shut the fuck up an take the blunt!”

  “I’m talking ‘bout the weed! We gotta campout here until they pass. And when the shits clear… we’re outta here, ya feel me? I ain’t about to be killed over no goddamned weed, man, I’m telling you.” Jim slightly lowered his head and bucked his intimidating brown eyes, anticipating his partner’s response.

  “Where we gonna go? We can’t leave the city. We might as well just stay here, away from the bullshit outside. Them chumps ain’t gonna smell this shit from up here.”

  “You need to listen to yourself. The place on fire! We need to go link back up with Rain. He got a connect with an escape plan. If it ain’t too late we still gotta chance to catch up with him before this thing gets any worse.” Jim paused. A tingly feeling beneath him disturbed his thought. His head lowered, swung in every direction, and then he looked to his childhood friend. “You feel that?”

  The floor began to throb as if a locomotive were moving its way through the city – but there weren’t any tracks on that side of town, not even underground. Maybe it was a tank engine. Silverware begun to rattle, the crooked family portrait fell behind the couch, and then the vibrating flower pot in the windowsill crashed to the carpet.

  It became silent.

  Girder put the blunt out. “Hell was that?”