Chapter 5: Elektra

Chapter 5

Elektra

He killed him. I keep playing it over and over inside my head. He just shot him in cold blood, not even in the head where it would be quick. Roman suffered during his last moments and that is what I can't forgive. Jason knew who he was; maybe that's why he killed him. Not because he was infected but because he couldn't stand having a rival. F**k it.

I run towards the door. I don't look back; I want to kill all of them. I want to make them suffer; I want to inflict pain and I want to watch them die. It's their fault. It's their fault things are like this but then again, they didn't pull the trigger. They didn't kill the only person I have every trusted without doubt. I pull the handle of the door but it is jammed. I kick at it. I repeatedly attack this door but it won't budge. 

“Elektra?” Jason asks, covering my back. I don't want to talk to him but if we're going to get out of here, we need to communicate which means that I have to remove myself from my emotions. I have to remain focused on the goal in hand which is so uncertain.

I get down to my knees to see if there is something blocking the bottom of the door. I see a carcass. That was not there before. It's leaning against the door so I need to budge against it or we need to get out of the back of the storeroom.

Getting through that lot would be suicide. I align my right shoulder to the door and begin to push against it. I put my full force against it but there is no even a centimetre of movement.

“Jason, cover me,” I shout, while walking towards the horde. I need a run up if I want to stand a chance; I know I can do it. The magnitude of anger inside of me proves that I can. I just need to channel that into physical aggression. I run at the door and...it opens. I land on my arm. I can feel the skin being scrapped by the pavement. The noise I have made has alerted another mini horde outside. I struggle to my knees when Jason offers me a hand. I accept and pull myself up. We can't take all of them alone; we need to find somewhere to hide out until things tide over. I was so stupid to believe that coming here could be a good thing. This has just proved what I guess I always knew; England belongs to the dead now.

“To the left, now!” I gesture towards the row of houses on the seafront. He nods and runs ahead. I cover the tail. I run as fast as I can but it is not fast enough to get beyond the Risers. I stab as many as I can without further delaying myself. I stumble over my a piece of debris and end up landing on my already battered patella. I scramble to my feet, wiping the fresh blood off of my jeans. They can smell blood; an open wound is not something that I need now. I can only walk with a limp but it should get me where I need to go in the amount of time that I have.

A loud noise radiates from a nearby source. I hide behind an abandoned auto-mobile. The noise is a blessing but who the hell sent off an explosion. Another explosion occurs on the sea front. I hold my breath, covering my mouth. I just have to bide my time. Wait...there is something not quite right about this. First, although the explosion has bought me time and made enough noise to draw all the local Risers, who the hell did it? Second, where is Jason? I didn't notice where he was going; I probably lost him at some point. I am trying not to care what is to become of him but I just...can't. Simple as that. I guess I am going to have to find him then. I break from my cover for a few seconds. S**t! There has to be over a hundred of them now; all of them have been brought down on us. Wait, these explosions are not a good thing at all. It may attract them to the sea front but it will also draw them to the Invalid Crew. We may look like nothing but between us, we have three eyes, four legs and three arms. But what is the fatal flaw? Where the f**k has Jason gone?

I return to my cover and establish my next plan of action. I leg it in the planned direction and hope for the best. Now, we have something that works to our advantage. A distraction. I take a deep breath and count to three. One...two...three. I run forward, ducking. I don't think about where my feet are landing; I just have to get to Jason and then get the hell out of this little piece of God's waiting room... or Hell. There is really no difference.

A few Risers come at me. I could take them, I know that, but I duck and keep running forward. My leg is beginning to burn but I cannot change my course or my destination. I notice a figure a few meters away. They are in a black hoodie and appear to be lighting some kind of fuse. Oh s**t. 

“Hello?” I yell. They turn back. They have a balaclava covering their face but I can make out the gender and their skin tone. He is a dark skinned male. I run towards him gaining as much speed as I possibly can when... it finally blows. I can see the billowing, expansive flames, travelling to engulf me in a moment of agony. The fire that keeps burning. I feel arms wrap around my waist and pulls me into a nearby shop.

I take a few moments to compose myself, breathing, trying to remove the soot from my apprehensive lungs. I cough, trying to remove the scratchy feeling from the back of my throat but it does nothing but amplify it. I feel an arm tapping my back. I turn around and finally look. Jason. I can't help but hug him. I genuinely thought I'd lost him back there. This doesn't mean I forgive him by any means but now is not the time to hold animosity. We can discuss this once we know that we are safe and that we aren't going to be blown up. He tilts my head up to face him. 

“Did you get a look at whoever is blowing this place sky high? Are you alright?” he examines my face, trying to see any wounds. I move away from him. 

“I'm fine. I did get a look but it wasn't good enough to get an idea of what we're dealing with. What do we do now? We are covered from every angle. Every Risers for miles is going to have heard those explosions; we need a plan.” 

“Okay. We need to head north. Find a place to haul up for a while and then...I do not know. Head west? The only option we have is to have no plan and hope we don't die.” 

“Really?” I pause and look out of the nearest window,” It's a crappy plan but...it's the best we have. Is there a back door? If the explosions have been around the front, maybe most of them have been drawn in that direction. The person doing this must still be around the front. If we can sneak out the back, we may give ourselves a few second head start,” I remark, walking towards the back of the shop. I hadn't noticed until now but it appears to be an old furniture outlet. It's almost quite sweet, rustic in some respects. 

“I checked the back already. Nothing. There is a window but breaking that could be suicide considering the situation,” he anxiously announces, awaiting my response.

“Any less suicidal than what we do all the time to survive? At least if we break the window, we at least have a chance out there. If we stay in here, that door won't hold should any pressure be put against it. Better to die with the thought of life than live with the thought of death,” I muse, surveying the floor for something to smash the window with, a crowbar. Heck, a bloody chair and I'd be happy. Jason walks up behind me and places his hand on my shoulder. 

“That was actually quite poetic Lex. Are you sure you want to do this, with things as they are outside?” he asks, sensing the increased tension in my shoulders. 

“Yes, I am. Stop questioning me for God's sake,” I mumble under my breath. I bend down, staring underneath an old leather recliner. Get in there, you beauty. There's a hammer. A blood stained hammer but a hammer all the same. I get onto my stomach and crawl towards it. I stretch my arm as far as possible. I can't reach it. S**t. My arms are too little. I continue to stretch until my arms begin to ache but it is all to no avail. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jason standing there with his arms crossed. Is he...is he smiling? Is that b*****d...smiling? I'm glad he finds my suffering so amusing. 

“Oi, wanker! You want to try this?” I say. I can feel my face getting redder and redder. 

“Lex, move,” he says, trying to hide a giggle. He walks over to the chair and pushes it so the hammer is free. He picks it up and twirls it. “I was actually just about to do that so...just shut up, you cocky b*****d,” I remark, skulking. I had not though of moving the bloody thing. I thought it was fixed. But he still let me struggle for a while before letting me in on that fact. Tosser.

“Would you like to do the honours?” Jason says, offering me the hammer. I take it. It may take a few attempts to destroy the glass but it should be sufficient. I run to the window and it cracks. It cracks and then seems to explode into a million tiny pieces. I stand back. There are a few shards on the window but it should be safe enough to climb through. I look back at Jason; he looks impressed. 

“Ladies first,” he gestures. I look back towards the window and climb out. I feel in my front pocket. My knife is gone. S**t. I must have dropped it out in the street at some point. On the upside, I have a hammer...I should be fine. A Riser run at me and I crack their skull with one hit. I've still got it. I hear a thud as Jason follows me. We run, with Jason covering the rear. He has his knife and his gun. I begin to lose my breath. My lungs feel sticky as if my trachea has had every inch of it covered in thick mucus. I suddenly hear the ricocheting of bullets from around us. Snipers, of bloody course.

“Elektra run!” Jason yells, taking cover behind a waste disposal cart. No, I planned on skipping my happy way to Mordor. Seriously, I'm not stupid. I have my moments. The chair and the hammer being an example, granted. But still, I have a brain cell inside my skull. I run towards the nearest thing that serves as a form of cover; a wall that has been blown up. I kneel behind the debris. I still have a clear view of Jason which means if there is a sniper in my vicinity, they can see him too. What is he doing? He takes a crumpled box out of his pocket and reloads his gun. The same gun he used to kill Roman. Focus Lexi. Focus. Now is not the time. I take out my gun from my belt. It's a .99 calibre pistol. I look to the rooftops. I catch sight of the figure. I shoot, hoping to hit my mark but I miss by a few centimetres. I got the shoulder from what I can tell. They look at their wound. I take this chance and land the head shot. Jason hits another one on the rooftop adjacent. Jason raises three fingers to me. Silent countdown. When he hits one, we both head north. The sound of bullets follow. A path of shell casing leading our direction.

There is no cover between here and the first house. 

“We have to run for it,” I shout. Jason just nods and continues shooting those snipers that he can. I run ahead, surveying the surroundings. My lungs are on fire. I have one of the worst stitches I have ever had. But, the strange thing is, I have never felt more alive. I am near to the fence, leading into the back garden of the bungalow. I look back. At first glance, I can't see Jason. He should be close behind me. That's when I look at the ground. I see him lying face down. S**t, s**t, s**t! I run back to him; I was so emerged in getting out that I didn't even think of him. There is a sniper around here; I can hear them, clear as a bell. They are still attacking us. What is their f*****g problem? I examine his face. He must have knocked himself out but the bullet wound isn't to the head. He has a gunshot to the leg. In some cases, this type of injury is worse. They also said if you don't want a fatal shot, just slow them down, go for the legs. What a load of Taurus faeces. There are major arteries in the thighs that could cause death by blood loss. It's cruel but you'd be better off going for the gut. It will cause a lot of pain to the victim, as I would know, but at least there is less of a chance of hitting a major blood vessel.

I look up. To the left, I can see the top of someone's head. They are waiting. Waiting for me to make my move. Waiting to die. Oh wait, they are the same thing. I crawl forward and find my mark. The sniper pops up and commences shooting at me again. I fire, hitting her in the throat. She staggers forwards and falls from the roof onto the cold, hard concrete. I hear the crunch as her head smashes against the pavement. One less b*****d to deal with. I drag Jason by his feet to my hiding spot. I look at the house. The gunshots have stopped; at least the gunmen have ceased. But that sniper...there was something about them. They were smaller than the others. I crawl over on my stomach to the place where the assailant landed. I stand and analyse them. I turn them onto their front. I remove their mask, struggling against the pieces of skull that sit in the front I pinch at it. It may come in useful but it is grim to look at it. Bits of bone and brain. I put it in my rucksack and take a closer look....at her.

It's a girl, I can tell that much. She was pretty. She has wavy brown hair. Matted wavy brown hair. She only looks young. She's what I could have been if things had been different. A sniper. Part of a group who are trying to survive this. Maybe we weren't so different, all things considered. Her eyes are still open. There were a weird blue, green colour minus the blood that seems to colour the bit around the iris.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper as I close her eyes. At least it was relatively quick. I gave her a mercy in her last minutes, apart from the bullet to the jugular. I need to figure out how to get Jason from here to that house. He's not moving anywhere on his own, the state he's in. I bend down, grab his arms and throw him over my shoulder. I can do this. I can do this.

I run towards the gate yet again. He isn't exactly light but I am so hyped up on adrenaline right now. I notice the gate at the end of the fence; I just have to get him to the gate and then I can drag him. I just need to get in there.

I've done it. I've bloody done it. I fiddle with the lock; it's rusted to hell but not impossible to open. I have a two paper-clips attached to my waistband. I picked them up when we were out scavenging once; Jason thought I was insane, hoarding paper-clips, but now who's prepared. I detach them. The first clip, I unfold the long edge and the second, I unfold completely. At the end of what remains of the second clip, I make a ninety degree bend. I place the bent wire into the lock. I move it to the right. I think that's the direction of the lock. The first clip, I insert into the lock. I feel one of the pins. I continue to jiggle the clip, trying to depress the pins in the lock. The lock clicks. Got you, you little sod. I place the lock in my pocket; you never know when it will come in useful. That's when I feel the bullet penetrate my shoulder. I scream out in pain. At least, it hasn't damaged a major organ. Just bone. Bone and flesh. Seriously? It's just not my day. Why do people keep shooting me? I swear, do I have a target on my back?

I push forward. I enter the garden and shut the gate. I place Jason on the floor and look for something to secure the gate with. I am not locking myself in somewhere that I am not yet one hundred percent certain is safe. I move an archaic looking children's slide in front and hope for the best. It was relatively heavy. I slump down at the base of the slide. I allow myself to catch my breath. To ignore my shoulder. To ignore Jason's injury. To ignore the snipers. Basically, to block out the world in general at the current. I sit and focus on my breathing. In and out. In and out. I look over at Jason. He should be fine. Well maybe not. I don't know. I just don't know.

This past week...f**k. I lost three members of my group and another person that I loved. Why the hell am I still here? Why do I keep fighting when those around me keep dropping like flies? But then again, there's that famous saying that still rings true. The weak shall rule the Earth. No decent people survive in this world. What does that tell you about me? Those not worthy of survival are those that will run the planet because others will die to protect them. It's always been the way it works. The fundamental way of the world. Jason will die protecting me or vice versa. Parents will die for kids. That's how the world will end. The sacrifice of the strong for the weak.

I finally get up after what seems like an hour. I walk over to the back door. I press against it; it's open. They went to all the effort of locking the gate, why would they be so careless. It's impossible to tell if it was abandoned. I hear a splutter and a groan. I hesitate to turn around. Jason is attempting to stand up. 

“I wouldn't do that if I were you. The bullet's still in there so it's going to be difficult for you to move,” I say, taking a step closer to the house's interior. 

“What? What happened?” he asks, dazed and confused. He probably did hit his head on the way down. 

“You got shot by a sniper. You have a bullet lodged in the back of your right thigh. That's a good thing because there is a bit of muscle and fat tissue to soften the damage but you may die of blood loss if it hit a major artery or vein which I don't think it has. I'm going to check this place out. Stay here and shout if anything happens because, let's face it, you're not going anywhere with that leg,” I remark as I enter the house.

It's not too bad. It looks pretty good considering its surrounding. The garish floral wallpaper has begun to peel from the corners, revealing a layer of cracked white plaster. The carpet floor seems viable; there is little water damage to it. The people who were staying here are either still here, or have left recently because other abandoned houses have been subjected to more damage than this one has. I look in the fridge. There are a load of tins of food, arranged in alphabetical order. Huh. I walk through to what must have been the living area. There's a mahogany dining set. The table has, what look to be, ceramic plates with silver cutlery and crystal wine goblets. This is almost what I imagined a normal home to look like. Not weapons and medical supplies taking up entire rooms and blood staining the walls. This...this just feels normal. Too normal to be unoccupied.

There's a full oak bookcase with a glass door. I have never seen one of these before. Only tatty, wood rotten shelves and books with water damage. Books with damaged spines and pages missing. This is amazing. Beautiful even. I open the door and take out the first book I can reach. 'The Lord of the Flies' by William Golding. It looks brand new. I take my rucksack off and carefully place the book in the top section, next to a box of ammunition. I smile to myself. 

“Did I genuinely use that space for a book?” I muse as I walk into the hallway. I move cautiously up the stairs. I crawl on my hand and knees. If someone's up there, there's the chance that they haven't heard me yet which could work to my advantage.

I walk into the first room on the left. It looks like a young person's room. Yes, definitely a young person's room. They are still in here. A teenage girl with her skull cracked open like a walnut. There are black holes where eyes used to be, replaced with maggots. She must have been so young. Most of the flesh has retreated from her bones. I'm guessing that she cracked her head open, killing herself. Probably a stupid accident but that's the way most things happen these days. A stupid accident. Carelessness. The smell radiating from her is intense. Oddly intense. The rate of decomposition does not match. She can't have been dead for more than a month but it would appear something has heightened the rate of bacterial decomposition.

I walk out of the room, trying to stop myself from gagging. She was young. Her parents brought her into this world, knowing full well that this was lying ahead of her. The piss and the s**t and the vomit of this. They had a child in the apocalypse. Of course she was destined to die. She was lucky to last as long as she did. But that raises the question; where are they? Where are her parents and, if they are alive, why do they have their daughter's festering corpse, still in her bedroom? Why?

I walk into the door, furtherest away from the stairwell. I wish I hadn't as soon as I enter. The smell. The smell. The odour of decaying matter. The second it settles into my nostril, I vomit. The severely lacking contents of my stomach are now lying on the floor. Just a few metres away from them. I found her parents. They are fresher. Much fresher than their daughter. From what I can make out, the cause of death was the result of eating a bullet. Joint suicide. They took the easy way out.

They are fresher. Much fresher than their daughter. From what I can make out, the cause of death was the result of eating a bullet. Joint suicide. They took the easy way out. From what is left, one shot the other and then turned it on themselves. How do I know this? There's only one gun and the angle is wrong. A right handed person wouldn't shot themselves in the left side of their head. It doesn't make sense. One ate the bullet and the other took a bullet to the skull. Elementary. Maybe they couldn't accept what happened to their daughter? Maybe they were just tired of fighting and decided to go on their own terms. Whatever the reason, they are just two more victims of this world. Just another two humans dead.

Maybe that's what I should do. Put a gun against my head. I mean, it would be the easiest and least painful. Just a few seconds then...lights out. For good. No more of this...this bullshit. Jason would be fine; he can do more than I can. I can't use many weapons and my judgement is severely impaired. He could make it; I believe that fully. I want to die. I want to die. I'm certain. Everything is s**t. I could just do it, right here...right now. Just take my gun and end it. No one to stop me. No one to even care. It would be easier; so much easier for him. Jason has made some stupid decisions on my account. He is reckless and impulsive when I am concerned. If I die, I give him the best chance of survival. I am just so tired. So tired.

“Elektra! Elektra!” Jason yells from outside. Thank you for alerting everyone in the local area to our current location. Nice move dumb-a*s. I walk to the window, trying not to vomit. He is looking around, surveying the area. That's when he looks at the window where I am. He waves and beckons me down. I could go down there. See what he has to say and continue on the path I have set upon or...I could stay here. I could kill myself and let him find me. He'd be an emotional wreck for a few days, weeks or maybe even months but he would get over it. He'd find another group. Another girl. He'd settle down and have a family. Killing myself would be kinder to him. He continues squawking away. I take my gun out. I place it against my temple. I breathe in and out. In and out. I block his voice out. I can do this. Just have to pull the trigger and all of this ends, like a bad dream. Eternal sleep. I just want to sleep.

I can't do this. I can't. Not right now. I stand up and walk out of the room. One day I will kill myself, of that I am certain, but today isn't that day. I walk out into the garden. He isn't there. Where the hell is he? 

“Jason!” I shout. He's already given away our location by now, I am just letting them know that there are two of us. Jason appears from an old shed. He is limping but he has bandaged his leg. Where he got bandages from, I have no idea. He is grinning like a bloody Cheshire cat. 

“Guess what I found?” he purrs. He takes hold of my hand. He has no idea. Seriously? He has no idea what is going on inside my head. He doesn't need to know. There's a lot of messed up stuff up there. 

“What?” I query. He drags me over to the old shed. I trudge, trying to take as much time as physically possible. He then places his hands over my eyes. 

“Do we really need this bullshit for a shed? Seriously?” I inquire, trying not to whine. 

“Yes. Oh my god, yes!” he exclaims, the tension increasing in his fingers. What? What is so important that he is practically purring with delight? Bouncing around? Nothing would get that reaction out of me these days unless....he's found it. Unless he's found a ticket out of here.

He removes his hands from my eyes. In front of me sits a boat. A small boat but a boat. I don't know what to say. We have a way out of here. Things are always in the last place you look. I'm not sure I want to go out there again but this might just be worth the shot. I smile because I know that's what he wants me to do. The first thing to go right today. The first thing to go right in weeks but I'm scared. Scared that this is all for nothing. Scared that the entire world belongs to the dead and I'm scared about my continuing part in this. 

“So, how do we get it from here to the water?” I question, touching the side of the boat. It doesn't feel or look rusted. This could be a viable method of transport. 

“God knows,” he mutters, appearing slightly more dejected than anticipated.

We're in the water. It took an age to haul it from that shed to the sea front. Long story short, we walked with the boat in the same way an ant carries a leaf. Snipers fired left, right and centre. We had to keep running while protecting the boat. If it got one single hole, it was game over. Back to square one but, somehow, we made it in one piece. My shoulder was killing me, burning, but I had to keep going. I knew I could patch myself up once we were out of danger. They kept firing. Whoever these people were, they wanted us dead or gone. Maybe they were trying to protect us in some bizarre way? I don't know and I'm not sure I want to. They tried to kill us. The sick thing is...I wish they had succeeded. It would have been so much easier. This can't end well. I just can't bring myself to believe that there is anything out there.

There is something calming about massive bodies of water. Jason is sitting, steering the boat. He hasn't stopped smiling since he discovered this pathetic piece of 'hunk a junk'. I just sit, contemplating my surroundings. The White Cliffs of Dover seem to salute as we get further and further away. Well, I try and survey my surroundings but I am distracted by this feeling of nauseous. Intense and unrelenting nausea. I lean over the side and vomit once again. There is nothing in my stomach to bring up so it is just bile. Bile that burns the inside of my throat and, some of it, exits through my nasal cavity. Jason looks back and comes over to me. He begins to rub my back, encouraging me to lose everything from my stomach and gall bladder. 

“It is okay. Get it all out. It is okay,” he whispers into my eye as he moves my hair from my eyes. No Jason, it is not 'okay'. Everything is s**t but you just can't except that. We may have found this boat but that means nothing at this stage. It's bad in England but what if it is even worse elsewhere? How are either one of us supposed to handle that revelation? Obviously, I say none of this to him. Not because I want to spare his feelings, but because I cannot talk. Every-time I try, I just keep vomiting.

I finally finish being sick and sit down. I place my head between my knees, trying to regain my breath. Jason sits next to me and puts his arm around me. He looks concerned, bless him. I can feel the stomach cramps begin. I think most people get stomach pain when they have been sick many times. Muscle strain. I place my hand on my abdomen. 

“I am sure we have some travel sickness tablets if you need them. It will be fine; it should only take an hour at most to reach France,” he walks back into the cabin and brings out a world map, “if you look at that. The Channel is such a small slither of water. We should be able to make it before nightfall.” 

“Is that considering the time zone difference?” I wearily sigh. A look of confusion registers on his face. Of course he didn't account for time zones. Of course. It's only an hour but it is still something that needs to be considered.

“Damn. How many hours ahead are they?” 

“An hour, I think. There's never been much need for recording time but it might be dark before predicted,” I mutter, still trying to capture my breath. 

“We should still make it before twilight. Things are finally looking up for us, hey? I hope so at least,” he articulates. He's barely scratched the surface of what we have to consider. 

“The only way things could be looking up is if the virus dies out, whatever turns Risers into Risers reverses itself and there are salvageable civilisations and I don't think that's happened in the last few minutes,” I moan, turning to look at the sea. “Ever the pessimist, Elektra? Listen, we need to talk about-” 

“No,” I interrupt, “Just no, okay. We don't need to talk about that now. It doesn't matter. He was infected. He was dead anyway. Just...I don't want to think about it, okay? I don't want to think about him because he didn't deserve to die. He was a part of my life for the longest time I can remember and it sucks that he's dead. Just drop the topic please.”

“Alright. Just know that I am sorry. He threatened me. He threatened your life and I just...I just snapped-” “Jason!” I snap, “ I said drop the topic! I don't care. I don't f*****g care okay? He is dead and I have to be okay with that! He's not ever coming back! Just go back to driving the boat and keeping your mouth shut,” I spit the words out as if they were venom. I turn away from him. He goes to say something but then goes back to the 'Captain's cabin'.

I straighten my posture and clear my throat. My eyes begin to burn. My vision becomes blurry. Not now. Tears begin to stream down my face. Great heaving breaths escape from deep within my thorax. I try and stop myself but I can't. I don't even know what I'm crying for. For the people who died? For Roman? I should have made Roman come with me. I pushed him away when I should have forced him. I should have made sure he was fine. It's my fault. It's all my fault and there is sod all I can do about it now. He is dead and gone and he suffered. I just want him not to be dead but that's not going to happen. He's gone for good and I have to live with that. He loved me and I loved him but I pushed him away to 'protect myself'. Biggest load of bullshit.

I deserve to die. It should have been me, lying dead in some crappy, little tourist trap. Gasping for breath in my final minutes. It should have been me.

I lay my head down on the edge of the bench. Maybe if I can sleep, things will seem better. Just momentarily, better. However, it just makes things worse. I am struggling for breath. I think I am hyperventilating. I place my hand over my face and allow myself to sob. I dig my fingernails into my scalp, hoping it will stop me but it hurts. Not just the marks from my fingernails, which I am pretty sure are now bloody, but this pain in my gut. It's different. The pain. It's strange but it is agonising. I close my eyes and try and calm down.

When I wake up, the sun is beginning to set. Jason is standing by the railing, looking out. We are in a harbour. We made it then. I feel slightly better but still nauseous. I stand up and stretch. I feel my bones cracking. I walk forward. He turns to face me and scowls. I give him the middle finger and climb out of the boat onto the pier. He follows closely behind. Well, this is underwhelming. There's nothing. No houses, just coastline. No sign of human life whatsoever. 

“Do you reckon we could find a car? Or something else? There is no cover here,” Jason proposes. I just stare at him. “No, I thought we fly there. Of course we find a car somehow,” I roll my eyes and keep walking forward. 

“Okay. No need to be a b***h about it,” he says, sulking. We keep walking until we find a police car. I get to the driver's side door and see the owner of the car. Bits of his flesh seem engrained into the fabric seats.

Jason slides by me and begins to hot wire the car. It takes him a while. He becomes red faced. He starts hitting the steering wheel when the engine begins to roar. He raises his hands above his head and does what I can only describe as a 'victory dance'. I'm getting embarrassed just looking at him. He grabs the cadaver and chucks him into the road. He wipes the skin and blood from the body and sits down. I just stand there, arms crossed. 

“What are you waiting for? Christmas? Elektra, please get in the car,” he implores. I walk around to the other side of the car and get in. It stinks. As most decaying matter does but it smells overly metallic. I roll the window down and take a deep breath.

I can't see this ending well.

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

You have written a amazing story. This chapter. Well-written and you brought me in. Held me to the last words. I will return in four days and finish. I'm off to work for four days. I like the way you give enough in each chapter to make it a worthwhile read. Thank you for sharing the excellent chapter.
Coyote