“What’s the point of that?” Flash sniffled. “Why do they do it?”
“Because they can,” Elle replied. “This is the world we live in, now.”
“You don’t seem too concerned about this,” Georgia snapped.
Elle shrugged.
“Sorry, but Pix is gone.”
“No. We have to rescue her,” Jay cut in. “We can’t let her die.”
“You have to,” Elle told him. “The Klan has her. There’s nothing you can do now.”
“Where are the Pits?” Flash asked quietly. His eyes were red, but he hadn’t shed a tear. Not yet. “Do you know where we can find them?”
“You don’t want to go to the Pits,” Elle stated, “unless you have a death wish.”
“We’re not leaving Pix to the Klan,” Jay answered.
Elle was dumbfounded. These kids would really go on a suicidal rescue mission to save one person from their group? Didn’t they know any better?
She was annoyed, but deep down, she was impressed. Something deeper than mere survival instinct held this group together. Something stronger.
“The Klan outnumbers you a hundred to one,” Elle pointed out.
“We have to try,” Jay replied.
“You really are clueless,” Elle answered.
“Please, Elle,” Georgia interjected. “You don’t have to come with us. We’re just asking you to tell us where it is… if you know.”
Elle met Georgia’s piercing blue eyes. She weighed her options. She could take off right now and leave these kids behind her, never thinking about them again. She had already wasted enough time trying to teach them how to find food — and look what had happened. They’d almost gotten killed.
Or she could tell them where the Pits were, and they would leave. Of course, they would die, because the Pits were in Klan territory and a group of naïve bunker survivors didn’t stand a chance of pulling off a successful rescue. Either way, Elle didn’t have to worry about them anymore. They’d be out of sight, and out of mind.
But as Flash stood there on shaky feet, Jay’s strong arm around his tiny shoulders, something grabbed her heart. For the first time since she’d come to the city, she felt sympathy. It had been a long time since she’d felt anything for anyone… even herself. Her world was cold and dark. Unfeeling.
“I can show you where it is,” Elle said at last. “But don’t expect to come out of this alive.”
She wasn’t being cruel. She was just being honest.
“Thank you,” Georgia breathed. “This means a lot.”
Elle shook her head.
Georgia had no idea.
The Klan’s territory spread through Hollywood, Culver City, Santa Monica and Malibu. Elle had spent months exploring the abandoned segments of the city, the parts that weren’t under Omega’s strict control. She knew every street, every building. She knew where the Klan spent most of their time, and she knew how they thought. How they operated.
“How far?” Georgia asked.
They had been walking for a long time. Elle shook her head.
“A while,” she answered.
Georgia sighed.
Flash hadn’t said a word since they’d left, and it was late afternoon.
Elle tried to talk to him.
“So, you’re nicknamed after a flash drive,” she said. “Why?”
Flash shrugged.
“My sister and I…we spent a lot of time on computers.”
“Doing what?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then, “Learning.”
From the tone of his voice, Elle had a feeling there was a lot more to the story than he was willing to talk about.
“You were in juvenile hall,” Elle said. “Were you a hacker?”
Flash looked up sharply, a mysterious light coming to his eyes.
“Maybe,” he replied. “Maybe we were.”
He refused to pursue the conversation, plunged deep into his own fear of losing his sister to the Klan. Elle lapsed into silence again. She didn’t feel like talking anymore.
As they moved through the city, Elle became more uptight. Every creak, every echo was suspicious. They were deep into Klan territory.
“Where are we going?” Georgia whispered, falling into step with Elle. “Elle? Please talk to us.”
Elle felt a twinge of guilt, keeping them in the dark like this. She wasn’t used to negotiating social situations, and her conversational skills were…lacking. She turned to Georgia and said, “The Pits are right in the heart of Klan territory. Like, the dead center. We just follow this road—” she pointed to a street sign that said Sunset Boulevard, “—and take it to North Highland Avenue.”
“Street names don’t mean anything to me,” Jay muttered.
“Well, they better,” Elle replied. “Pay attention to your surroundings. You never know when you might get lost.” She turned to Georgia. “So to answer your question, we’re about a mile and a half away.”
Elle was hoping that once they actually saw the Pits, they would abandon their plan to rescue Pix. Because the Pits, to Elle at least, represented hell itself.
The time dragged by. Moving quietly and slowly, it seemed to take an eternity to reach their destination. As they drew closer to the Pits, signs of Klan inhabitation became obvious. Buildings had been painted with the Klan symbol; a blood red X. Each point of the X looked like an arrow. It symbolized death and destruction.
It symbolized a new era of neo-civilization. A barbaric society.
Windows were painted with the X. Old billboards were covered with giant red X symbols. The boulevard widened and the street had been painted with big, red letters:
Below the words, blood stained the road. Elle turned to the others. Jay and Georgia looked terrified.
“You still want to go through with this?” Elle asked.
They didn’t answer. She took that as a yes.
They continued. They traveled under a freeway overpass. The bottom of the road and the support beams for the highway were covered in graffiti. Bright, vulgar phrases and warnings were painted along the walls and ceiling. Grotesque artwork snarled at them.
“Don’t look,” Elle warned. “It’s bad.”
But it was too late. Jay, Georgia and Flash were staring at the graffiti, mesmerized. Elle hurried on, reaching the end of the tunnel. An off ramp from the freeway slid onto a large boulevard. There was a park here. It was pretty — maybe the only pretty thing left in the entire city.
Elle dropped to a crouch behind a wall of foliage. There was a huge park up ahead. Barbed wire wound haphazardly around the outside of the park, dotted with sharp, pointed stakes. It was archaic. A sign sat on a protruding piece of concrete, once prominent in the never-ceasing flow of Los Angeles traffic. The words were difficult to make out.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Georgia hissed.
“Welcome to the Pits,” Elle whispered.
They had reached the Pits:
The Hollywood Bowl.
Chapter Seven
The Hollywood Bowl belonged to the Klan. From their vantage point near the off ramp, Elle and the kids could see the tip of the half dome that enclosed the world-famous stage. The seats around the stage were filled with hundreds of Klan members. They were screaming and yelling, throwing trash and bottles and crude comments. A huge bonfire lit the scene, tossing distorted, leaping shadows across the stage.
“The big stage is where they pit the toughest fighters against each other,” Elle explained.
“What about the Pits?” Georgia whispered, horrified. “Where are those?”