Summer Lane - Day One

The man still lay on the floor, unconscious. Elle guessed that he was in a coma. She had cleaned his wounds, but there was nothing more that she could do.

Elle sat down. The dog was almost as big as she was. He wore a faded collar. He was silent, pensive. Guarding the man by keeping a watchful eye on Elle.

“How long have you been here?” she whispered. “Hmm? You’re a good boy.”

She patted his head. He didn’t move. He didn’t wag his tail. He just was.

Nathan was young. Maybe twenty-five or thirty years old. Elle leaned forward and checked his pulse. Still weak. She frowned. Even in the dim firelight, his complexion was completely white.

Elle sighed. Too bad the dog couldn’t talk.

“So, Bravo,” she whispered. “You hungry?”

She opened her backpack and divided an energy bar in half. The dog sniffed it hesitantly at first, then devoured the entire thing in just a couple of bites. Elle sighed.

She needed to get moving. Jay, Georgia and Flash could be dead by now.

Her conscience whispered, You can only do one thing at a time, right?

Right.

Time ticked by. Elle wasn’t expecting Nathan to live — not with the wounds he had — but she still felt a stab of bitter disappointment. She enjoyed solitude, true… but true companionship might have been nice, if only for a few days.

Uneasy and upset, Elle walked outside, standing on the rotting porch. She had wasted enough time staring at the unconscious form of Nathan, willing him to awaken. She hated to see people die like this — she hated seeing it happen.

Elle crossed her arms over her chest. Dusk was setting in. She wanted to search the rest of the mining camp for food or supplies. It was worth a shot, anyway. She began walking, her katana on her back.

“Hey,” she said, suddenly halting.

She sensed a presence. She turned around, slowly facing Nathan’s dog, Bravo. He paused, tilting his head, gauging her reaction.

“Um.” She relaxed a little. “What do you want?”

His dark eyes sparkled.

I want to come with you .

Elle raised an eyebrow. She took one step backward, then two. He walked forward and stopped when she did. Elle’s lips curved into a soft smile.

“Okay, come on,” she said.

She turned and began walking. In a few seconds, she felt the steady, easy trot of Bravo beside her. He was very quiet, but there was something about the dog that smelled like danger.

“So,” Elle continued. “This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to sweep through the houses and look for anything we might be able to use, and then we’ll circle back and sit with Nathan until he…” She trailed off, rubbing her temples. “Well. I’m talking to a dog. I’ve finally cracked.”

Bravo chuffed under his breath, throwing his head back.

“Geez, don’t act so offended,” Elle muttered.

Then don’t offend me, kid .

Elle stared at Bravo. She blinked a few times. It was almost like she could hear him talking to her, slinging back sarcasm in the silence of the desert night. She shook her head and headed for the first shack in sight. It looked as beaten down as the rest — nothing special. Elle entered through an open window, picking her way through the wreckage within. There were broken floorboards, rusty nails. It smelled of wet earth and rotting wood. Bravo entered the building with Elle, sniffing carefully, silent as the night.

They searched the entire house. There was nothing but broken glass. They moved on to the next house, searching through the emptiness for something they might be able to use — scraps of food, maybe weapons. They came up short every time.

“Well, I’m not surprised,” Elle stated.

Sunlight was quickly waning, casting black and gray shadows through the town. It seemed ghostly at night to Elle, and lonelier, in some ways, than the streets of Los Angeles.

They began walking back. Bravo stopped, a low growl in the back of his throat. Elle tensed, drawing away. She held her arm up defensively, half expecting the dog to lunge and take out a chunk of her skin.

“What’s with you ?” Elle asked.

Bravo stalked forward, deliberate steps in the direction of the shadows between the buildings, the dirt road that curved through the small town. Elle followed his line of sight, but saw nothing. She lifted her hand above her head and closed her fingers around the katana, pulling it out of its scabbard.

The blade was light and balanced in her hands.

Bravo’s growl became louder, more urgent. He barked low. Elle’s heart began to race. What did the dog sense that she didn’t? A wild animal? Something worse?

“Who’s there?” Elle asked. “Show yourself.”

Her words came out shaky and uncertain. She sounded scared, and she hated herself for it. There was slight movement under the eaves of one of the buildings, and then there was something moving toward them. In the late hours of the evening, it was difficult to discern what it was, exactly. It was hunched over, close to the ground. It looked like a dog, larger and fiercer than Bravo.

And then Elle saw that it wasn’t a dog. It was a man.

She had never seen anyone in Los Angeles in this condition. He was stooped low, his hair was frayed and mottled with dried blood. His eyes held a feverish glaze as he stared at Elle and Bravo. She stood there, unmoving, looking at the misshapen man. He was terrifying. His face had been burned, one eye looked like it had been slashed out.

“What do you want?” Elle asked.

She felt a bolt of regret. She knew in that instant that no matter what she said or what she did, she would not be able to leave this place without dealing with the man. She couldn’t run, she couldn’t pretend he wasn’t there. He was now a threat, and Elle knew of only one way to deal with threats.

The man said nothing. He just stopped, slowing and watching the girl and the dog. And then, quicker than Elle could blink, he was running toward them. He sprinted with a manic energy, bolting across the open space that separated them. Elle was horrified. Her instincts held true, though, and she braced herself for his approach.

She drew the katana backward, prepared to swipe it through the air and kill the man if needed. Bravo barked louder, this time with menace. He ran forward and met the man halfway, striking like a bullet. His jaws sank into the man’s arm and he slammed him against the ground.

The man screamed. It was a raspy, desperate voice — it hardly sounded human. He grappled with the dog but Bravo was too strong. He tore into the man until he lie on the ground in a trembling, bloody heap.

“Bravo, stop!” Elle yelled. “Leave him!”

The dog paused, looked at Elle through eyes veiled with carnal instinct and military training. He pulled away from the man. Elle walked closer, studying him. Bravo hadn’t done more than tear his arm up — the rest of his body had been damaged by something else.

“What do you want?” Elle asked again.

The man looked up, shaking. Tears streamed down his wrinkled face.

“To die,” he whispered. “I want to die.”

Elle swallowed a lump in her throat.

“Who did this to you?” she asked.

He gazed straight through her, glassy-eyed. He went still.

Elle exhaled, looking at Bravo.

“You don’t mess around, dog,” she remarked. “You don’t trust anyone.” She cocked her head. “You and I might get along.”

Bravo stepped farther away from the now-dead man.

I get things done , he seemed to say. It’s my job .

Elle looked back at the man. She wondered what had happened to him. Why had he been wandering alone in the desert, burned and mutilated, left to die like a wounded animal? Had it been Omega? Had it been the Slavers?