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Authors: Matt de la Pena
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Shoeshine holding a gun in each hand, both aimed at the remaining men whose faces were hidden by gas masks.
And then they were past it. Running east. Fast as they could down a narrow, buckled street.
Toward the rising sun.
15
Someplace Safe
Shy, Carmen and Marcus raced through the maze of destruction they found in the first major intersection. Deserted cars. A wrecked big rig jackknifed in the center divide. A flipped-over FedEx truck with all its doors flung wide open and a grotesquely bloated face framed in the windshield.
Shoeshine knew what he was doing, Shy told himself as they rounded the big rig. He wanted Shy to get the duffel bag as far away from those Suzuki guys as possible. To be safe. Then he’d catch up. It was all part of his plan.
Still.
Shy had a sick feeling as they cut down the narrow road on the other side of the intersection. How could they leave Shoeshine behind? He’d saved their lives on the island. And he’d sailed them all the way back to California on a boat he’d fixed himself.
You don’t leave people like that.
But what if they
order
you to?
Just put it out of your head, he told himself.
And run.
The early morning was quiet aside from the subtle hum of a few distant helicopters. And their shoes hitting the pavement. And their furious breathing. But then Shy heard something else.
Another motorcycle.
He looked back, still running, watching the thick smoke rising off the burning motor home. Watching a helicopter several blocks away just hovering there as a man pushed out supplies attached to a rope. Based on sound alone, he worried the bikes were headed toward the DMV. And Shoeshine.
Shy spun back around to tell Carmen and Marcus they had to go back, but just then a man in a suit and no mask stepped right into their path. He held up his hands and called for them to stop.
They tried to sprint right past him, but at the last second the man reached out and grabbed Carmen by the arm, jerking her back. “You have to come with me!” he shouted. “I can help!”
“Yo, get off her!” Shy shouted, marching back toward the man.
Carmen ripped her arm free just as Shy lunged at the man, cracking him in the side of the face, the impact jarring Shy all the way to the bone.
The man hit the deck. Hard.
Shy stood over him, fists still clenched, daring him to move.
Carmen pushed past Shy and kicked the man in the legs.
“What are you doing!” Marcus shouted, pulling Carmen away. “He’s a priest!”
The man looked up at them, cowering slightly and holding the side of his face.
Shy refused to budge. No way was he going to let someone put his hands on Carmen. He didn’t care
who
it was. But he also saw what the man was wearing. Black suit jacket over a clerical collar. Nicked-up briefcase on the pavement beside his feet.
“Please, I can help,” the man said. “Those men have been terrorizing anyone they see on the road for weeks. It’s not right.”
“You really a priest?” Shy asked.
The man nodded and sat up. “I’m the pastor at Saint Augustine’s,” he said. “Or I was, anyway. My church burned down after the earthquake.”
Marcus helped the man to his feet, apologizing.
Shy and Carmen apologized, too, though Shy still didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust
anyone.
Not all the way. Even if the guy did seem like a legit church person.
“I can take you someplace safe,” the pastor told them.
“Where?” Carmen asked.
“A psychiatric clinic across from the hospital.” The man picked up his briefcase. “I’ve got several people staying with me already. No one’s sick, I promise.”
Shy eyed the man, skeptically. “Why? What’s in it for you?”
“He’s a priest, dumbass,” Marcus said. “He’s
supposed
to help people.”
“What about Shoe?” Carmen said.
Shy peered back down the street. What would happen when that new motorcycle guy found two of his own men dead? Shoeshine couldn’t hold off
everyone.
Marcus nudged Shy to get his attention.
And then they were past it. Running east. Fast as they could down a narrow, buckled street.
Toward the rising sun.
15
Someplace Safe
Shy, Carmen and Marcus raced through the maze of destruction they found in the first major intersection. Deserted cars. A wrecked big rig jackknifed in the center divide. A flipped-over FedEx truck with all its doors flung wide open and a grotesquely bloated face framed in the windshield.
Shoeshine knew what he was doing, Shy told himself as they rounded the big rig. He wanted Shy to get the duffel bag as far away from those Suzuki guys as possible. To be safe. Then he’d catch up. It was all part of his plan.
Still.
Shy had a sick feeling as they cut down the narrow road on the other side of the intersection. How could they leave Shoeshine behind? He’d saved their lives on the island. And he’d sailed them all the way back to California on a boat he’d fixed himself.
You don’t leave people like that.
But what if they
order
you to?
Just put it out of your head, he told himself.
And run.
The early morning was quiet aside from the subtle hum of a few distant helicopters. And their shoes hitting the pavement. And their furious breathing. But then Shy heard something else.
Another motorcycle.
He looked back, still running, watching the thick smoke rising off the burning motor home. Watching a helicopter several blocks away just hovering there as a man pushed out supplies attached to a rope. Based on sound alone, he worried the bikes were headed toward the DMV. And Shoeshine.
Shy spun back around to tell Carmen and Marcus they had to go back, but just then a man in a suit and no mask stepped right into their path. He held up his hands and called for them to stop.
They tried to sprint right past him, but at the last second the man reached out and grabbed Carmen by the arm, jerking her back. “You have to come with me!” he shouted. “I can help!”
“Yo, get off her!” Shy shouted, marching back toward the man.
Carmen ripped her arm free just as Shy lunged at the man, cracking him in the side of the face, the impact jarring Shy all the way to the bone.
The man hit the deck. Hard.
Shy stood over him, fists still clenched, daring him to move.
Carmen pushed past Shy and kicked the man in the legs.
“What are you doing!” Marcus shouted, pulling Carmen away. “He’s a priest!”
The man looked up at them, cowering slightly and holding the side of his face.
Shy refused to budge. No way was he going to let someone put his hands on Carmen. He didn’t care
who
it was. But he also saw what the man was wearing. Black suit jacket over a clerical collar. Nicked-up briefcase on the pavement beside his feet.
“Please, I can help,” the man said. “Those men have been terrorizing anyone they see on the road for weeks. It’s not right.”
“You really a priest?” Shy asked.
The man nodded and sat up. “I’m the pastor at Saint Augustine’s,” he said. “Or I was, anyway. My church burned down after the earthquake.”
Marcus helped the man to his feet, apologizing.
Shy and Carmen apologized, too, though Shy still didn’t trust him. He didn’t trust
anyone.
Not all the way. Even if the guy did seem like a legit church person.
“I can take you someplace safe,” the pastor told them.
“Where?” Carmen asked.
“A psychiatric clinic across from the hospital.” The man picked up his briefcase. “I’ve got several people staying with me already. No one’s sick, I promise.”
Shy eyed the man, skeptically. “Why? What’s in it for you?”
“He’s a priest, dumbass,” Marcus said. “He’s
supposed
to help people.”
“What about Shoe?” Carmen said.
Shy peered back down the street. What would happen when that new motorcycle guy found two of his own men dead? Shoeshine couldn’t hold off
everyone.
Marcus nudged Shy to get his attention.
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