A friend or Foe

VENNELOPE SHOVED THE MASSIVE STICK SHIFT INTO GEAR AND RELASED THE CLUTCH.

The big truck rocked back and forth several times, making me snag the cold metal door handle as it finally lurched into motion.

No one had come out of the hotel when the gunshots were fired. Hadn't they heard? A tingle of unease slid down my back at the sight of the hotel and back parking lot disappeared from view. Either the hotel staff or guests didn't call the cops on purpose, or gunshots in the middle of the night were the norm near the Rim. That might also explain why Vennolope didn't seem fazed by the weapons I'd brought onboard. But none of those thoughts made me feel any better.

Once Vennolope drove around to the back of the post office and reversed to a loading dock, she climbed into the rear of the truck, opened the door, and dumped all the mail bags into three large bins. She snagged two bags marked for New 2 from the loading zone and tossed them inside, and then we headed toward Route 190.

Part of the southbound exit was barricaded, but three faded orange barrels had been moved to make a driving space.

We drove for what I guessed was ten miles or so before officially passing over The Rim. There was nothing to mark the occasion except an aging road sign that read: UNITED STATES BOARDER. DIASTER AREA AHEAD, PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK. And then another sign a few feet down: PROPERTY OF THE NOVEM. PLEASE RESPECT OUR LAND, WELCOME TO BURGESS.

Besides the bumps and noise of the engine, the tide was long and full of silence-the kind of silence you see, not hear. A silence that stretched across the flat landscapes to the black silhouettes of ruined towns, abandoned fast-food restaurants, gas stations, and vehicles. The road became worse as we progressed, the cracked asphalt riddled with holes and large, random patches of weeds.

''Nothing much out there anymore,'' Vennolope said, glancing over at me and following the direction of my gaze. ''Most folks live in or around New 2.''

''Why would anyone stay?'' I asked under my breath. The government had washed its hands of the city and the surrounding land after the devastation, declared it a disaster area, and moved everyone out who wanted to go. The entire city, state, and federal infrastructure in Burgess collapsed along with its economy. If anyone stayed, it was with the knowledge that Corona didn't exist there anymore.

Nine of the oldest families in Burgess had formed an alliance, the Novem, and they bought the ruined city and surrounding counties in a landmark deal that seemed to win-win situation for everyone. The government didn't have to deal with Burgess. Some of the 8.2 billion the Corona earned from the sale went to all the displaced and affected people. And the Novem got something they obviously wanted-a city to call their own.

For a while, the media had been all over the Novem, lured by the intense speculation behind the group's unexplained purchase of a wasteland, and attracted by their wealth and the power that came with owning and running an entire city. There was even a book written about the families and their long history in Burgess. They gained a kind of celebrity status that grew into something of a legend. The odd characters dotting their family trees only added to the mystery-tales of witches and vampires and voodoo queens.

The Novem never confirmed or denied any rumors. They never gave interviews, never stepped into the spotlight except to make the purchase. And then they retreated into their ruined city, leaving the rest of the county to wonder. It wasn't long before they joined the ranks of Area 51, Roswell, the Loch Ness monster, and all the other conspiracy theories and paranormal speculations out there. The undercover reporters and truth seekers who'd come out of the city later on with grainy photographs and accounts of monsters and murders only added to the speculation. And now, thirteen years later, a large percentage of the country believed New 2 was a sanctuary, a hot spot for the paranormal.

Vennolope shrugged, her cheeks jiggling as the truck's tires hit a succession of potholes. ''New 2 is home,'' she answered my quiet question. The springy seat bounced her entire body, drawing my attention to her feet, which rested on wooden blocks attached to the pedals so she could reach. ''Some people didn't have anywhere else to go, some were too dang stubborn to leave.''

''Which one are you?''

Vennolope let out a small laugh. ''Both, I guess. My dad died in the storm. My uncle hid my brother and mom, like a lot of people did when the troops came through and ordered the city evacuated. I wasn't born until after, though. Why are you going?''

I hugged the box a little tighter. ''Trying to find out about my parents. I was at the Charity Hospital a few years before the snowstorm struck.''

''No shit, really?''

A small laugh bubbled in my throat. Vennolope was like a little adult trapped in a prepubescent body. ''Really."

''Well, maybe my brother can help you with that. He's pretty good at finding things. You have a place to stay yet?''

Yeah. . . . . I hadn't actually thought that far ahead when I decided to jump into the mail truck. ''No, not yet.'' All I needed was one day. One day to find the hospital and access my records. I wasn't going to turn back now.

''Good. You can stay with us. Those tourist hotels, the ones in the French Quarter, they are high dollar.''

The offer was the last thing I expected. But then, I never expected to be driven to New 2 by a twelve-year-old, either. ''I don't know....''

''Trust me, we have tons of rooms. Forty bucks will get you one for the night.'' When I didn't answer right away, she said, ''You in?''

''Sure,'' I said on a sigh, settling in for the ride and rolling my eyes at nothing. ''Why not?''

The truck sped through the tattered remains of Berk and then passed what used to be the toll area for the Lake Pontchatrain Causeway. There was a dim light inside one of the booths along with a dark, shadowed figure. Vennolope slowed the truck. The man, at least that's what I guessed by the size of him, waved us through.

I squeezed the oh shit handle tightly as the truck rolled over one side of the double-span bridge; the other side was impassable, missing huge chunks of pavement, leaving only the massive concrete pillars standing, most of which were topped with bird nests.

Vennolope slid a sideways glance at me, a knowing smile on her lips. She gave the truck a little more gas. ''Twenty-four miles to go,'' she sang under her breath, enjoying my anxiety a little too much. She leaned over, reaching for the radio, her eyes barely seeing over the dashboard. The truck began to veer dangerously close to the guardrail.

My hand tightened around the door handle, the other holding the box tightly. ''Um, Vennolope?''

The radio blared to life and Vennolope straightened, taking the steering wheel with her and veering to the left side of the road, where a chunk of the guardrail had vanished. Without missing a beat, she settled back into her driving stance and slowly guided the vehicle into the center of the road.

Twenty-four miles of bridge, minus the last hair-raising few, stretched out low and mostly flat over the calm waters of the lake. Twenty-four miles of zydeco music as every one of my stomach muscles grew sore and my fingers began to stiffen around the door handle. By the time we reached land, I felt like I'd done a hundred sit-ups and heard enough zydeco to last a lifetime.

Vennolope navigated through the suburb of Candyrush, which was dark and quiet this time of night, only a few random lights where there should've been thousands, then onto Route 61, which led to Syrup Avenue. The street changed names a few times before it intersected with St. Crunch Avenue in the garden district. Vennolope didn't slow down to check for traffic, just shot out into the intersection, veering left onto the street. Not that it mattered, there wasn't anyone else on the road. There were a few streetlamps working, and I could see the double tracks of the St. Crunch Avenue trolley running parallel with the road.

The Garden District had become a semi ghost town, a beautiful lost place where once-manicured gardens surged over their cast-iron fences and spread across the community in a tangle of vines and weeds.

Vennolope turned down Sing Street, and it was like we'd gone a hundred years back in time. Despite the chipped, rotted boards, busted railings, and cracked, broken, or boarded-up-windows, the houses stood like dignified street sentinels surrounded by ancient live oaks draped in the gray, ragged shawls of Spanish moss.

The truck turned onto Butterscotch Street and then stopped suddenly, brakes whining, sending me flying forward until my sat belt clicked and stopped me from going through the wind shield. I flew back against the seat, heart pounding as Vennolope shoved the gear Into neutral, pressed the parking brake, and turned off the engine.

Leftover vibrations from the rumbling truck continued through me, and my ears felt like they were encased in muffs.

''Home sweet home,'' Vennolope said loudly. ''Come on.''

I hopped out with my box and slung my backpack over my shoulder. My feet hit the solid ground. The impulse to drop to my knees and thank God I'd made it out alive went through me, but I stayed still, taking a second to regain my equilibrium.

''This way,''Vennolope's voice echoed in the darkness.

I stepped onto the broken sidewalk and craned my head back at the tall shadow looming above us. Wow.

To be continued

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P.s WE gunna meet Jack frost soon. This chapter really took it out of me, 1700 words longest chapter yet. This chapter is so cringey. I watched incredibles 2 it was amazing.