David Robbins - Anaheim Run

“Listen!” exclaimed the oldest of the trio, an elderly man with a shock of white hair and gray brows. A strong breeze from the west, from the Pacific Ocean, stirred his brown woolen shirt and baggy green pants. The air was exceptionally chilly along the West Coast, even for January.

“I don’t hear nothin’,” commented the youngest of the party, a skinny youth barely out of his teens. Brushing his long black hair from his brown eyes, he scanned the vestige of a road they were following to the north.

Potholes dotted the buckled asphalt, and the surrounding vegetation served as a verdant wall. The wind seemed to shear right through his blue short-sleeved shirt and black trousers. “There’s nothin’ out there,” he commented.

“I knew we should have stuck to the main roads!” complained the young woman lagging slightly behind the two men. Her shoulder-length black hair was being lashed by the gusts, and her blue pants and blouse provided scant protection from the cold.

“Will you quit gripin’, sis!” countered the youth.

“We should have stayed with the main roads!” his sister reiterated.

“You know how dangerous it is to stray!” She paused, shivering. “And why didn’t we bring an extra set of clothes? Warm clothes!”

“It was nice when we left yesterday,” the youth said.

“It’s not nice now!” his sister groused.

“Quiet! Both of you!” barked the elderly man.

“What’s with you, Grandpa?” the youth demanded. “Everything is cool.”

“In more ways than one!” interjected his sister bitterly.

“I tell you there’s something out there!” Grandpa insisted.

The youth gazed up at the darkening sky, spying several stars in the firmament. “Let’s find a spot to camp for the night. We’ll start a fire. If there’s an animal in those woods, a fire will scare it off.”

“What if it’s not an animal?” the sister asked.

Grandpa glanced at the young woman. “Don’t fret none, Tess. We’re only about thirty miles from Los Angeles. The damn Raiders don’t ordinarily come in this close to the city. They’re afraid of running into a Free State patrol.”

“But the soldiers only patrol the main roads,” Tess noted. “And who knows where the hell we are?”

“I know,” Grandpa asserted. “And by this time tomorrow, you’ll be safe and sound at your Aunt Betty’s.”

“We never should have left Rincon Springs,” Tess muttered.

“I haven’t seen my sister in ten years,” Grandpa said. “If your folks were alive, they’d agree this trip was a good idea.”

“Grandpa, what’s that?” the youth inquired, pointing to the southwest.

Grandpa turned in the indicated direction. Visible above the trees in the distance, reflecting the fading glow of the vanishing sun, was an imposing edifice consisting of white spires and towers with slanted blue roofs. Even from afar, he could distinguish a dilapidated aspect to the structure. “That used to be an amusement park. I forget its name. My father told me once, but that was fifty years ago. Nobody goes there anymore.”

“What’s an amusement park?” the youth queried.

“I’ll tell you all about it later,” Grandpa said. “Right now, Johnny, we’d better find a place to camp.”

They hastened to the north, their ears alert for any sound from the woods.

“Hey! Look at that!” Johnny cried.

To their left, perhaps 15 yards from the ancient road, was a tumbledown frame house, long since abandoned. The windows had been broken and the front door was dangling from one rusted hinge. Weeds choked the yard and partially covered a cracked cement walk leading up to a collapsed wooden porch.

“How about there?” Johnny questioned.

Grandpa stared at the steadily dimming sky. “We don’t have any choice. At least there will be a lot of wood we can use for our fire.”

“Let’s get out of the wind!” Tess urged.

Grandpa, his right hand on the Astra Model 357 strapped to his right hip, took the lead, cautiously advancing along the walk to the house. The sagging green wooden steps creaked as he stepped up to the porch. “Wait here,” he directed.

“Be careful!” Tess warned.

Johnny drew his machete from its sheath on his hip. “I wish I was packin’ a gun,” he commented.

“I wish we’d never taken this shortcut,” Tess mentioned.

“You’re the one who wanted to reach L.A. as fast as possible,” Johnny noted. “Grandpa was just doing you a favor.”

“Me and my big mouth,” Tess said.

Grandpa skirted the gaping hole in the middle of the porch and sidled closer to the door. He peered into the gloomy interior.

Tess nervously glanced at the nearby trees. “Why is it I feel like something is watching me?”

“Because you’re a jerk,” Johnny replied.

“Up yours!”

Gandpa disappeared into the house.

“I hope nothing happens to him,” Tess said.

“You should of thought of that before,” Johnny stated.

“Why the hell are you getting on my case?” Tess inquired angrily.

A branch snapped in the encircling forest.

“What was that?” Tess blurted in alarm.

“Don’t crap your pants,” Johnny ridiculed her. “It could have just been a rabbit.”

“And it could have been a mutant!” Tess rejoined anxiously.

“The mutants have all been killed off from around here,” Johnny said.

“The wild ones, anyway.”

“They’ve been exterminated close to the cities,” Tess declared. “But we’re thirty miles from L.A.”

“Like Grandpa said,” Johnny remarked. “The Raiders don’t come around here anymore, and the same goes for the wild mutants.”

“I hope you’re right,” Tess said.

“Trust me, sis,” Johnny stated reassuringly.

“Not on your life,” Tess said.

Grandpa appeared in the front doorway. He beckoned for them to join him.

“What’s inside?” Johnny asked.

“See for yourselves,” Grandpa said.

They entered to find the home had been ravaged, with broken furniture scattered all over the floor. A few cobwebs hung from the ceiling.

“Go on up,” Grandpa instructed them, motioning toward a flight of stairs to the right.

Johnny went up first, Tess on his heels. The second floor was in marginally better condition, and there were two chairs and a bed still intact in one of the rooms to the left of the stairs.

“Tess can use the bed,” Grandpa said.

“Sleep on that cruddy thing?” Tess griped.

“It’s either the bed or the floor,” Grandpa told her. “Take your pick.”

Tess walked over to the bed and patted the pitiful remnant of a mattress. She coughed as a swirl of dust enshrouded her face.

“We’ll be safe on this floor,” Grandpa said. “You stay here while I check the kitchen.”

“The kitchen?” Johnny repeated quizzically.

“Sometimes you can find old pots and pans in these deserted homes,” Grandpa explained. “There might be something I can use to contain a fire.

You’ll see.” He walked off.

Tess sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. “I’m sorry I ever agreed to go see Aunt Betty.”

“I’m lookin’ forward to gettin’ there,” Johnny said. “L.A. is the big time.” He slid his machete into its sheath.

“Who cares?” Tess yawned.

“What a dork,” Johnny stated, shaking his head.

They waited in silence until Grandpa returned bearing a huge metal pot and a large marble square.

“What’s this?” Johnny asked, reaching out and tapping the marble.

“They used it to chop vegetables on, and they placed hot pans on it to prevent the kitchen counter from being scorched,” Grandpa detailed.