Sanctuary (9 page)

“I’ll show ya, no worries. Keep yer voice down. We’ll go soon. Maybe even Samantha-girl will tag along. It’ll be bonza.”

“What do you do in Compton?”

“I’m poaching,” he winked. “Or at least, I will be soon. Still getting the lay of the land. But I’mma try to reduce Martin’s
special
army.”

“How?”

“Kidnap’em if I can. Else…” He drew a line across his neck. “That’s usually Samy’s job. But she’s a bit busy these days.”

Samy. He called her Samy. Hilarious. Her head would explode if she heard.

“Where else did you say you’re staying? Santa Monica? That’s over an hour away. Why’d you rent a room there?”

“Heard it’s a great watering hole!”

I looked at him blankly.

He clapped me on the back. “You’re a right grommet, you are. Surfing, mate!” he clarified. “I love to surf. Especially at night. Let’s go this weekend, it’ll be aces!”

Croc might be the coolest person in the world.

I stayed after practice to work on the game plan with Coach Garrett and Coach Keith, our offensive coordinator. Our veteran running back had graduated, and our hopes weren’t very high for his replacement, a bruiser named Gavin.

When I arrived home, Samantha Gear and Dad were sitting across the kitchen table from each other, intently focused on bits of metal in their hands. Gleaming hardware littered the tabletop surface. They were using plastic oil bottles, cotton swabs, and copper wire brushes to clean and polish the already perfect metal. Neither looked up. Neither spoke.

“Are you two…cleaning pistols?” I asked, bewildered.

“And your father’s shotgun,” Samantha said. “An Ithaca 37. Unfortunately.”

“Standard issue weapon,” Dad noted, still bent over his brush. “It gets the job done.”

“Not against the Chemist’s super goons, it won’t,” Samantha shook her head. “You need more firepower.”

I asked, “Sooooo…did anybody make dinner?”

Dad was amused and he asked, “What shotgun do you recommend?”

“You don’t want a shotgun at all,” Samantha said, and she blew the hair out of her eyes without breaking focus. “If you’re close enough to use a shotgun, you’re dead.”

“Your friend Samantha is an impressive gun expert.”

I nodded. I knew this. Dad, however, probably shouldn’t.

Samantha shot me a discreet look and said, “My father taught me about guns.”

“Yes,” Dad mused, rubbing his chin and peering at her thoughtfully. “I spoke to him. Nice guy.”

My head was spinning. “You…you spoke to Samantha’s…
dad
?”

“Something wrong with that?”

“No,” I said quickly. “Nothing. I guess…not. Did you guys already have dinner?”

Samantha ignored me and said, “I’ll tell you what you need, Richard.”

“Don’t call him Richard.”

“You need an assault rifle. And you need grenades.” She started jamming metal parts together and the mess in front of her coalesced into a pistol. “A handgun is useless, unless you’re a Hyper Sapien like them; his goons are too quick. A shotgun is better, but still not ideal because you’d be too close. Your best chance is to stun or injure them with grenades, and then fire long-range with the assault rifle.”

Dad, to his credit, was not dismissing her opinions. “That’s the theory we’re operating under too. It sounds like you’ve seen the classified videos of our failed Compton operations.”

“Everyone has, Richard.”

“Stop calling him Richard.”

Samantha continued, “There’s no such thing as classified once it hits the internet. At least that’s what a hacker told me. Your troops lost because they tried traditional tactics. But those tactics are based on being able to hit slow targets with short bursts. That’ll never work.”

Dad finished reassembling his gun, and rammed the clip home. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“No. Listen.” Her jaw was set. “Don’t bother with crowd dispersal techniques. Don’t bother with non-lethal munitions. They’re worthless against the monsters. Trust me. Throw grenades in large numbers, Richard. Better yet, park attack helicopters a half-mile off your strike zone and unleash hell.
Then
send in the infantry with grenades.”

Dad shook his head. “Too many civilian casualties.”

“You can’t outfight them,” Samantha said, serious and grim. “You’ll lose. But you can outgun them. That’s your advantage. Better firepower.”

“Your ideas are surprisingly sound, coming from a high school senior. But we do not risk civilian lives. Not even as a last resort.”

“Then you only have one option left,” Samantha shrugged.

“Which is?”

“Send in your own monsters.”

I texted Katie that night.

Having a hard time with your letter. I have, “I love you because I want to love you.”

She replied quickly,
>> =) =) =) I like that one a lot. It’s probably deeper than you realize.

I smiled. I’m deep.

>> Where did you eat lunch today?

Outside. Our table was full.

>> Silly. You’re the reason we all sit there. You can always sit with me!

For reasons I couldn’t explain, my heart filled to bursting and tears seeped out of my eyes.

Thanks. But it looked like you had your hands full with flowers.

>> Yeah

A long pause.

>> Chase, you’re perfect. And you deserve someone who treats you that way. My situation is so complicated. I don’t deserve your affection.

Katie, keep in mind, I don’t love you because you deserve it (even though you do). I love you because I want to. It brings me joy and peace.

>> That cannot possibly be true. Just the thought of it makes me want to cry.

>> And make out. =P

That can be arranged.

>> But I feel like I’m hurting you. Daily.

Then break up with the bozo.

>> It’s not that simple. I wish it was.

What did the card say? With the flowers he sent you?

>> You don’t want to know stuff like that, Chase.

Sure I do.

>> It said, ‘In a world of fool’s gold, you’re the only treasure that’s genuine.’

Wow. That’s not bad, actually.

>> I was surprised too.

Was Tank developing real feelings for Katie? How could he not be? She’s perfect. For a long time he’d just faked it to hurt me, but now?

I sighed and I pulled out the Outlaw’s phone on a whim. I texted Natalie North.

Hello Natalie. Are you back in Los Angeles?

She texted back after a minute.
>> Yes, last week. Filming was behind schedule.

Still dating Captain FBI, Isaac Anderson?

>> He’s here right now!!

Tell him the Outlaw says Hi.

>> I will NOT. He’s trying to relax. He cannot know that we text like this.

I told her. The girl that I love, I told her.

>> Good! How’d it go?? (I’m a little jealous)

>> (Okay, a lot jealous. But I have a boyfriend, so it’s okay.)

She's very conflicted. But I knew she would be.

>> She

>> Is

>> INSANE

Just then, Croc knocked on my window. I nearly had a heart attack, and my phone went clattering into the far corner. My bedroom was on third floor! I opened the window and he gracefully climbed in, like a gymnast.

“Sorry to scare you, mate,” he laughed, looking at my stuff with interest. “I can’t reach Samantha’s room. She wouldn’t let me in, anyhow.”

“What are you
doing
here??” My heart was about to pound out of my chest.

“I brought her flowers and lollies.” He held up a bouquet. “To surprise her.”

“Okay,” I said, although this made no sense. At all. “I’ll take them to her.”

“Ah, good on’ya, Chase, but I’ll take them. It’s a special day.”

“A special day. Why?”

Samantha Gear burst into the room, wearing athletic shorts and a t-shirt, and nearly breathing fire. “Because it’s my birthday,” she growled.

“Too right!” Croc laughed. “There’s my girl.”

I cried, “It’s your
birthday
?? How could you not tell us?”

“Croc,” Samantha said, covering her eyes in obvious vexation. “You are exhausting me.”

I asked, “How old are you?”

“Chase, I’m a senior in high school. That’s what matters.”

“It’s the big one,” Croc said, presenting the flowers, which she ignored. “She the dirty thirty. And isn’t she a beauty in those shorts!”

Samantha glared at him. “You’re like a gnat that I can’t get rid of.”

“Hey. Be nice. What’s the matter with you?”

“Thanks mate,” Croc said, although the harsh treatment didn’t appear to affect his spirits.

“We should have a party!”

“Chase.” She held up a finger in my face. “If you throw me a party, I swear I will move out.”

“Aces! And move in with me!”

“Croc,” she said, and she took a firm grip on his chin. “Mitch. Sweetie, listen to me. It’s not going to happen. Ever. Please believe that.”

I asked, confused, “Why not? Croc is great!”

“The lad’s got a point, you ask me.”

She said, “Because. Because of everything. Infected just don’t work like that. At least not with each other.”

“I brought you all your favorite chocolates,” he smiled. The man had relentless optimism. “Happy birthday, love.”

“Thank you, Croc. Now go. You’re driving me insane.”

Dad appeared at the doorway. We all froze, like guilty little kids. His piercing scowl had been strengthened by years on the job. It didn’t help our resolve that he was wearing a badge on his belt. He stared hard at all of us, but mostly Mitch.

“G’day, sir,” Mitch said. “Sorry ‘bout barging in. I’m mates with Chase.”

“Son,” Dad said.

I responded, “Yes sir?”

“This is unusual.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“Can you understand why this late-night visit makes me…apprehensive?” he asked.

“Yes, but it’s no big deal-”

“You don’t owe me an explanation. Even though it’s after eleven. But I expect your conduct to be worthy of my trust. We clear?” His words might as well have been chiseled in stone. All of us nodded.

“Yes sir. Absolutely.”

Samantha said, “Definitely.”

“Good night,” he said. “Keep it down.”

“Good night, Richard,” she smiled.

Dad arched his eyebrow at her and said, “Good night, Sam.” He left.

“Out out out!” she hissed and shoved Croc towards the window.

I asked, “Sam? Why’d he call you Sam?”

“Get out, Croc. I mean it. You just embarrassed me in front of Chase’s dad,” she glowered.

“I’m going, I’m going,” he smiled. “Want to invade Compton with me tonight? I need backup.”

“I can’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“I have homework.”

“
Homework
?” he hooted.

“What??” she glared. “I don’t want to fail. You have homework too.”

“Chase? How about it? Compton could use an Outlaw sighting. Give’em some hope. Could be bonzo!”

“Sorry, Croc,” I yawned. “I’m exhausted.”

“Righto, mate, you look zonked. Okay, I’ll rack off. But you two remember,” he said. “I’m here for a reason. There’s a dodgy man holding a lot of people hostage, a right dunny rat. And he needs to cark it.”

That went straight over my head. For my benefit, Samantha explained, “That’s slang for, it’s time for the Chemist to die.”

“Bingo, love.”

I said, “I agree. Let’s do this. Soon.”

“Good. Aces. I’ll ring Carter and we’ll get a plan. Ta-ta,” he grinned and he disappeared through the window.

“He’s insufferable.” Samantha slammed the window and stalked back to her room.

“He’s so cool! And why does Dad call you Sam? …hello?”

Another cargo plane landed in Compton Thursday night. I watched the live feed on television with Richard and the Outlaw, all of us frustrated.

Beyond frustrated, actually. With each shipment, the Chemist grew stronger. Each shipment gave him more ingredients for his drugs, more troops, more ammunition, and more clout within the world of zealots. Maniacs from across the globe were arriving in Los Angeles with the intention of sneaking into Compton and joining the Chemist’s cause. Some of them were apprehended by the police, and some of them were shot as they attempt to cross the restricted barriers. The rest were captured by the Chemist’s forces and put through a rigorous screening process, according to Puck.

I’ve crawled all over Compton, and I still can’t find that old man. I just want one clean shot.

On screen, the fat aircraft taxied to a stop, lights blinking red and white. Airport workers scurried out, pushing a ramp and staircase.

Richard and I stood up in disgust, as if on cue. He stormed up the stairs, answering his buzzing cellphone. The Outlaw stayed on the couch, yawning so big his jaw cracked. I stomped out of the house, cursing. The anger and the disease were rampaging through my body, threatening to overwhelm me.

I didn’t go far. To release tension, I practiced jumping over my truck. Chase had forbidden me from shooting civilians with wax bullets, which used to be my stress reliever. So now I practiced jumping, because I was indignant he could jump so much higher than me. Ten times as high.

I never go far. I’m drawn to him. I worry about his safety. I obey him. I need him. Not for any romantic reason or any other reason I can explain. Puck feels the same way. Carter does too, to some extent. I KNOW the Chemist feels it. And I bet Croc will feel it soon. He’s our gravity. He’s the center of our world now, though I don’t know why. He’s important and powerful. And kind, which is impossible in our condition. Power corrupts, and we’re the most powerful people on earth. We are heavily corrupted. But not him. The Outlaw shines like the sun. I would give my life to keep him alive, no questions asked.

Twenty minutes later, as I was leaning against my truck and panting, Mitch drove up. I groaned and hid; the last thing I needed right now was an overly eager Croc. He scaled Chase’s house without a sound and went in through his bedroom window. I suppressed a chuckle; the Outlaw was going to quickly tire of Mitch’s entrances, just as I did.

Mitch (I nicknamed him Croc years ago) is handy in a fight. He’s irrepressibly energetic and optimistic. Obviously he’s gorgeous. And rich, and charming and entertaining and fun, but none of these things matter to me. His affectionate loyalty is cloying and unprofessional, and I can’t make him stop.