The Effacing (Book 1.5): Valley's End (2 page)

 
 
You could hea
r
the golden age gears low grinding as the driver shifted the car in park and opened the door. A good example of a leading impression would have to be a G.I. No, stepped out with the youngest member of his crew, a twelve year old hood apparently under the influence; his eyes wide and glassy while he fidgeted to construct an intimidating pose with his AK-47. So small, sitting in between two men, he was never spotted by any of the girls until that moment.

  Ann compelled her smirk back. “What’s your name, kid,” she asked the pint-sized assault rifle wielder.

  “Itchy,” the minute kid shook, his timid voice barely caught over the crackling of burning wood from a nearby home.

  “Itchy?” Ann repeated, unconvinced, expecting for him to blurt out his government moniker. “I understand. If you’re not up for this it’s completely fine. Y-You’re too young anyway.” Then she cackled underneath her breath before she admitted, “You look cute though. Like a baby gangster.”

  A shook up, obviously extremely distraught Itchy sipped around as if his glassy eyes were opening up for the first time, new to his surroundings. His legs trembled through his baggy jeans, his index finger violently twitched as he tapped it repeatedly atop the trigger of his rifle. Clearly, he was not in the right mind to be amidst the group. He belonged back in the car, without the gun.

   Rebekah extended her slender arm and politely asked him to hand it over.

  “Hell no!” he immediately rejected, holding his weapon tightly against his chest. “
Then
what…”

  Her arm, still out to him, her demeanor remained the same. She said, “You’re scared... and it’s fine. We’re all scared. But you
need
to hand over your rifle before you accidentally hurt someone.”

   Rebekah had been tackling the cities problem head-on since the event kicked off, and was not scared in the least. In fact, she was sure as shit stunk about making it to their destination in one piece.

   She insisted her group travel in the direction they were headed, to lead them through a safe route and link up with the others after they’d completed their search and rescue mission back at the hospital. It was her duty to make sure the people of her entourage were safe and sound, remained in one piece until they made it to Maison, or the docks if they could. And after that, she figured everyone could do whatever they wished, whatever their hearts preferred.

  “Itchy,” the husky driver added, with force. “Get back in the car.” Then looked to Rebekah, spoke in the same tone. “Listen lady, we’re here to make sure our people are safe on this little
bon voyage
journey to the docks, Maison, or wherever the fuck it is we’re headed. We’re all in this shit together for the time being… and we ain’t giving up our protection to be protected by a total stranger… let alone chicks, know what I mean?”

   What a jackass. If he knew what the girls had been through over the past four days he would not have been talking recklessly. If he knew what Rebekah was capable of doing by herself he would have swallowed his spit. If not for the girls’ efforts and hospitable demeanors, it was quite likely none of the survivors would have made it as far as they did. Ann, rather the rambunctious type, ready to say what she felt at the drop of a dime, while Rebekah on the other hand, patient and direct, more action than words. And Maria, well, a combination of them both, only without the gut instinct; she had to be on the ropes, or with Dale Ashe – the one she so much thought about. 

  Itchy sat back in the taxi, gripping his assault weapon, twitching like a dope fiend in need of another mortar hit; the side effects after smoldering a half gram of synthetic Mary Jane – Potpourri that can have you in the zany container if consumed often. Spice, word is that it makes you dumb. And bath salts, the shit that’ll transform you into a hallucinogenic nut that can’t shake the Mighty Ducks ice hockey team chasing you down 42
nd
and Miracle Street during the scorching hot summer, or having you chow down on someone’s four-legged friend like it’s your favorite Orange Park Crystal burger. 

  Rebekah looked at the taxi cab driver and asked, “Who
are
you? How old is
he
?”

  “What the heck is he on?” Ann questioned.

  “The name is Trivo, chick. And
he’s
old enough, on whatever he on.” grabbed a cigarette out of his blue jeans pocket, lit it up and let it dangle from his crusty lip.

  Trivo pressed hard on Rebekah’s buttons, as if, in fact, contesting her. But the group meant more to Rebekah than giving up their position by splashing his hollow head through the thick windshield of that antique taxi cab just because she could. She laughed underneath her breath, shook her head in the negative, and looked off at their entourage trying to wipe the thought of Trivo’s head in the glass, off her brain. Then looked to Ann and wondered if
she
thought of doing the same thing.

  “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.

  “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.”