“Raze,” she screams. “Someone tried to burn down my fucking salon!” Oh fuck me, could this day get any worse?
Living on the streets isn’t exactly my idea of fun, but I am surviving. The first few days I spent rummaging around in the abandoned house looking for supplies but I found nothing. My ribs ache continuously, but there’s nothing that I can do to subdue the pain until I figure my shit life out. One saving grace is that the house still has running water so I can at least stay clean and wash the clothes on my back every couple of days. Not to mention the fact that I don’t have to resort to using a bucket as a toilet. Just thinking about the smell of that primitive bathroom fixture during a hot Californian day makes my stomach roll. I’ve never been so thankful for water in my entire life.
Each night, I sneak out of my hidden abode and roam the nearby streets looking for clothing and food. Luckily for me, there is a local mom and pop diner down the street that has decent garbage to dig through for food. It might be half-eaten, but it still fills my grumbling belly. Having water at the house at least ensures that I won’t go thirsty. One of the first things I did was pick up a couple of used Styrofoam cups from the diner’s trash. It sure beats having to contort my head under the sink for a drink of water, and it spares the additional pain in my ribs. A few more of my adventures elicited a very worn but clean blanket and couch cushion that now adorn my makeshift bed, a few extra shirts, a partly broken comb, and three bent metal forks. Their previous owners may have considered these things trash, but they are treasures to me.
Tonight’s been a particularly good night for dumpster diving. The diner threw out a few bags of apples and oranges that are only soft in a few spots. I grab the bags as soon as I see them and immediately rush them back to the house, stowing them just inside the door for later. They will last me a couple of days at least so I don’t have to worry about food. Returning to my wandering, I start down a different street and find a few more household items to add to my stockpile, including a nice blanket for my bed which I stuff into a trash bag I collected to keep it clean. I continue to search the street, finding an old shirt that is clean enough that I can use it to bind my ribs until I figure out what to do with them. Medical help is out of the question for a magnitude of reasons, so I need to make do until I find out what I can do to fix them. God, I’d kill someone for an Advil or hell, even a mallet to the head to knock me out right now.
Giving up for the night, I slink back to the house before the sun comes up. Rounding the corner, I see a tall man lingering in the shadows by the salon’s back door. I can’t make out his features as he stays in the shadows, but I can make out orange and green writing with a white skull on the back of his jacket. Just like the one that my captors were wearing. Shit! I need to hide now before he catches sight of me. Sliding behind a set of trash cans to avoid detection, I watch as the man jiggles the lock on the door before raising his foot and kicking it in. Using a flashlight he retrieves from his pocket, he steps into the building, shutting the door behind him. I can hear glass breaking and hard objects hitting the walls before he exits the building, tossing a match behind him. Fire bursts from the ground behind him, moving quickly toward the interior of the structure. He jogs past my hiding spot and peels out into the street in a beat up, gray pickup truck, leaving the scene of the crime.
Knowing that his fire will attract attention to the area, I need to try to put it out or I risk being discovered. Rushing toward the burning building, I pull out the blanket from the trash bag and begin to smother the flames as fast as I can. The smoke begins to fill my lungs with each toss of the blanket while the fire singes it. Coughing my way through each strike at the growing flames, I know that the air in my lungs will soon be replaced by smoke if I continue much longer. Pulling my shirt up over my nose as a makeshift mask, I beat down the flames until I can reach a hair-washing sink. Turning on the water, I use the sprayer to douse the last of the flames. The charred wood sizzles from the heat and water now being sprayed over it. The sound of sirens trickles into the air, growing closer by the second. I need to get out of here before they arrive. Grabbing the burnt remains of my blanket, I dart out of the door and slide into my house just before the fire trucks pull up to the smoking building.
Sliding the wood slat over my secret entrance, I slide my body to the floor. My lungs heave for fresh air as I force myself to catch my breath and slow the adrenaline pumping through my body. With each calming breath, the exertion of trying to put out the fire is taking its toll on my damaged ribs. The adrenaline was enough to mask the pain temporarily but as it leaves my body, it is replaced with searing pain that nearly cripples me with each breath. I really need to take care of these soon.
I watch the firefighters buzz around the semi-burnt structure for hours before they finally leave the scene. With their departure, I can finally rest easy knowing that I will not be discovered. Rising from the floor, I pad into the old kitchen and wash my face and hands. I pull the smoke-filled shirt and shorts from my body and deposit them into the water-filled sink to soak. God, I wish I had some good soap. I’m pretty sure my only pair of shorts is now ruined so I will have to figure out how to replace them. Pulling on one of the old worn t-shirts I found in my nightly scavenger hunts over my head, I drink a couple of glasses of water before heading to bed. My breathing seems fine, so I doubt I need to worry about smoke inhalation. I slide onto the soft but worn couch cushion and pull the blanket around me. Falling asleep comes easily, but I drift into a restless sleep.
I rest for hours before a voice startles me awake. Scrambling to hide, I slide off the bed and run to the closet under the stairwell as quietly as I can. Shutting the door behind me, I hope and pray that I am not discovered as I huddle as far into the darkness as I can. Heavy footsteps enter the room as the voice from earlier grows louder.
“Do you see anyone, Voodoo?” a feminine voice calls from what I assume is the kitchen.
“No, Maj. There’s a bed in here, though,” a male voice responds as the heavy footsteps move closer to me. “It’s still warm, so whoever this belongs to is not far away.” I hear the cot’s metal legs scruff against the hardwood of the floor. Heels click into the room as the noise from the cot stops.
“They’ve got to still be here, V. The soot footprints led into this house. Are you sure you’ve checked everywhere downstairs?” she asks.
“Yes, Maj. I’d check upstairs but I’m afraid those steps are rotted out, and I don’t want my ass to fall all the way down to the basement. Can we go now? Maybe they’ll come back.”
“No, Voodoo. I know they’re still around. You’re not leaving until you find them,” she barks.
“What-the-fuck-ever, Maj. Why in the hell isn’t Raze or Hero here doing your bitch work? Why did I get assigned this job?” he howls.
“Do it, V,” she snarls as the heels click closer to my hiding spot. “Have you checked in here?” she says as the door is flung open and I am exposed.
A middle-aged woman with dark hair stands before me. My eyes travel up her jean-clad legs and I discover a familiar face. It’s the drunken woman from the bar the night Ricca tricked me into working for Red. “Well, what do we have here? Voodoo, she’s over here. Help me get her out,” she yells behind her. The burly man walks over to her and shoves her aside. Thrusting his hands into the closet, he captures my arms as I try to press as far back into the closet as I can away from him.