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salasalasalamander · 20 days

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I WROTE A BOOK pt1

this is the first book ive written

¹Chapter 1

Sniff sniff sniiifffff. My eyes cracked open—a stray dog was sniffing my face. Shluuurp. The stray dog seemed to enjoy the smell of someone who has been on a bender for a week. Well, that's one way to wake up. I stood up and cans clinked across the sand. I felt like I had been through a motorcycle crash.

I realized I was lying in a hole on a beach with singed clothing and a broken watch. I checked my pockets for clues to where I was, but only found half a pack of Mallgorillas and an empty pack of Oldsea matches from the bar down the corner from my home. I started looking for the car wreck I must have windshield-cannoned from, but I could only see a rusted-out pickup truck in the distance.

I walked along the beach and up some stairs. I figured I must be really far out into the country because there was a truck here; you never see a vehicle this close to a city. Beyond the truck there was a wooded area that looked maintained enough that it could be a park, so I headed in that direction, really hoping for a forest ranger station.

I walked through the park for a while until I saw two people sitting on a bench. One was a muscular goth chick and the other was a scrawny greature of a man. There was a six pack on the bench next to them and more cans in a backpack at their feet.

Looking back, maybe I should have been suspicious of their lack of horns, but on the other hand, maybe they both just had Male Pattern Hornlessness. (There are two types of hornlessness: Type I is physical abrasion, while Type II is a degenerative disease. With your donation, we can put an end to Brittlehorn.)

I walked up to them and said: "Hey, I have two questions: can I have a light? Also, where the fuck am I?"

The goth chick replied, "You can have a light if we can have a cig."

"Hell yeah," I said, handing them each a cigarette.

"Thanks, man," the goth chick said as they lit all three cigarettes. "We're in Throwweptain Park."

"Oh, I meant that more generally," I said. "I've never seen a grainy beach on the mainland before."

"No, we're in Salttray Park," the scrawny guy chimed in.

I looked past them and saw a sign hanging from a tree that said "Cheesecliffe Park".

"Hey, I'm still on the mainland, right?" I asked.

"Yeah, we're in Florida," the scrawny guy said. "What mainland do you mean?"

"You know, Dregg?" I said. They both looked at me like I had three heads.

"What are you talking about, man?" the scrawny guy asked. "Did that mai tai do some damage?"

"Yeah, are you good?" the goth chick said. "You're like, bleeding a bit, dude."

I put my hand to my forehead. There was a trickle of blood going into my left eye. "Oh yeah, I woke up in a hole today. Pass me a beer."

"Oh yeah, I know those days," the scrawny guy said as he handed me a can of Brockman's.

"So what happened to you? You look like you fell out of a car," he continued.

"I think I got my ass kicked, y'know…" I said, trying to remember. "I think it was at a party. I'm not sure how long ago. I'm not sure what happened but I was having a blast."

"You don't seem too concerned," the goth chick said. "Does this happen to you often?"

Oh man, did I have strange dealings with the bridgeman, that guy who's always under the bridge? What's his name again? The guy who makes various white powders? I must have been really off the rails…or on them I thought. Or at least, I thought I had thought it, but it turns out I said it out loud. I must have hit my head pretty hard.

They were both staring at me. "This isn't the first car wreck I've woken up in," I told them. "But this wasn't as bad as the time I went off the bridge into the ocean. It was co-o-old. I probably would have died if I wasn't wearing winter hunting gear."

"And I thought the winters at home were bad," the goth chick said.

I took a drag of my cigarette. "No shit." I wiped the blood off my eye. "Anyway, my name is Deer. What's yours?"

The scrawny guy began to answer first. "I'm Anthony—"

"JANE." The goth chick interrupted him in a loud, strange tone. Then they smiled awkwardly and wiped a bit of lipstick off their teeth.

I returned the smile and wiped a bit of blood off my own teeth. "So, how are you guys getting back into town? Come on down to my home-bar."

"You have a bar in your home?" Anthony asked.

"Nah, my home IS the bar," I replied. "It's a dive on the second storey of a ramshackle building in the toxic waste part of town. There's a lot of fake mahogany in it. I sleep in one of the booths with a blanket and a heater. I 'work' full-time security for the guy who owns it. It's a deal I worked out—he lets me live there and gives me food and beer all day and I bounce people for him."

"Sounds like a pretty sweet setup," Anthony said. "We're pretty far from the nearest town, though."

"Do you want to sleep on my couch tonight?" Jane asked.

"That sounds warmer than a cubicle," I said.

"We're hosing you down on the front lawn first," Jane said. "It's like chipping paint."

"What do you mean by that?" Anthony asked.

Jane said, "You know when you can see the layers of graffiti on a wall? Just tags on tags? That's what the crust on you looks like."

"That's fair," I replied. "It's hard to find the motivation to shower when the shower is a sink in a bar bathroom."

"Sometimes I just use the soda gun behind the bar. You can use a lime instead of soap in a pinch, and bar towels get the job done. It's more refreshing than you'd think."

Jane snorted, but Anthony nodded sagely in understanding.

"Ah, yes," Anthony said. "I used to bathe in rivers, I get it."

"I think you have a concussion," Jane said. "Let's get you home."

"Do you know a good doctor?" I asked.

"There's only two kinds of doctors in this world, man," Anthony said. "Good doctors and cheap doctors. And we can't afford the good ones."

"I know a guy who sews up bullet wounds for five dollars a pop," I said.

"That sounds good, let's do that," Jane said.

We walked out of the park to the parking lot to find Jane's car. Jane's car was a rusted dark green Chrysler New Yorker that had been lifted, but it was an old lift kit so the frame was beginning to sink again, giving the entire car an off-kilter appearance.

"The car sits even when it gets to over 40, so as long as the cops don't see us while we're in an under 40 zone, we'll be fine," Jane assured us.

"Yeah, but it starts rocking at 80," Anthony said. "So you have to keep it between 40 and 80 because that's as smooth as this car drives."

"Partymobile," I said. "At least it has all 4 doors still."

As I said this, I tried to open the door behind the driver's seat. The entire door came off in my hand, clattering to the ground making me step back in dodge.

Jane just said, "I got this. Hold the door for me, would ya?" They went to the trunk and got a hammer and some nails, and then with one hand picked up the door put it in place nocked a nail between her fingers and hammered the nail halfway in held the door with her knee and hammered it the rest of the way down

We got in the car and started driving. As I looked out the window, I started thinking, Man, I must be really far out in the country. I've never been here before. I didn't know there was still this much island left that I hadn't seen.

I started to feel carsick and the rocking didn't help. "I think that head wound did some damage," I said. "I just need to sit in the dark of a bar." I didn't know where my home was, but I figured anywhere that's dingy and skunky is home.

Jane pulled over at the first roadside bar that we came across. It was called The Shady Ox. As we walked in the door, I watched Anthony bump into someone on their way out and steal their wallet. He opened the wallet and looked at the ID once we sat down.

"Hey, I think that guy stole this wallet," Anthony said, holding up the ID. The person in the picture looked nothing like the guy who he had bumped into.

"Who are you to judge?" I asked. "You just stole his wallet."

"Yeah, but it still has cash in it!" he said, giving me and Jane each a share of about 10 dollars. I looked out the window and saw the guy getting into an unmarked white van.

"I think he was a cop," Anthony said. "I've been busted by undercovers before."

"Who, them? Outside in the car?" said Jane, he would have busted you if he was a cop

We all leaned over to look out the window. "What the hell is that?" I asked. There was some kind of bizarre animal sitting on top of the garbage cans outside of the bar. It looked like a little hairy man with a mask and black gloves. "He looks like a small burglar."

"That little felon man is called a raccoon," Jane explained.

"A racket?" I asked. "Wait… you don't normally see a dog with all four legs together like that. It's too symmetrical. Someone must have made that rocket dog."

"'Too symmetrical'? What does wildlife look like wherever the hell you're from?" Jane asked.

I took a picture of my childhood dog out of my wallet. He had two heads and mostly straight legs, though the third back one was on a pretty serious angle. "All in all a pretty standard dog, right?" I said, showing them the picture. "The second head breathed fire sometimes. That was pretty cool. I'd always lose my lighters so the lil bastard came in handy. Man, I loved that dog."

Jane and Anthony stared at me in stunned silence. The waitress came by and placed our beers on the table. "So what childhood pets did you have?" I asked.

"...I had a chow…" Jane said.

"I had a cat with a missing leg," Anthony added, nodding sagely.

"So… where did you say you were from again?" Jane asked.

"Dregg," I said.

"I've never heard of a Dregg," Anthony said. Jane looked at their phone.

"I just looked it up but all I could find was a rap-metal fusion band," Jane said.

"So is that a 'sold to One Direction' kind of situation or what?" Anthony asked.

"What is that?" I replied.

The look on Jane's face shifted from confusion to excitement.

"Would you call yourself a traveler?" they asked.

"What?"

"Are you from another dimension?" Jane pressed.

"I mean, I could be? I don't really know where I am now!" I said. "It's too far away from the ocean here. I don't like it."

"We were just at the beach," Anthony said.

"I'm used to ALWAYS being able to see the ocean," I said. "The land to ocean ratio here is wack. There's only supposed to be like three islands on the whole planet and there's just so much, where did you guys get all these continental plates from?"

I started to clean myself off with bar napkins.

"Uh, guys? I think I just heard someone say 'deploy the ferret'," Anthony said.

"Deploy the what?" I asked. I felt something sharp dig into my skin and crawl up my leg. The next thing I knew, there was a gigantic furry worm attacking my face. "Aaah! Get it off!"

Jane threw a punch, which connected with both the worm and my head, resulting in a mighty crash as we both fell backwards off the bar chair. I got to my feet a second before the "ferret" did. I squared off with the ferret and prepared to fight it. It hissed at me viciously.

I stepped to the right, then dodged to the left and threw a punch, but the ferret jumped onto my arm. It started running towards my face.

Jane ran up to me and tried to kick the ferret off my arm but ended up kicking me in the head instead. I fell and the ferret was launched behind the bar, straight through the swinging doors to the kitchen.

Jane's half-court kick knocked me flat on my ass and I got up seeing stars. "Can you take me to your couch now?" I slurred. And then I passed out again.

—

Chapter 2

I woke up and pulled the pillow off my face; it was glued with blood. Looking out the buckshot holes of Jane's garage, I saw that the rusted-out red truck was parked down the street again.

I poured instant coffee into a kettle which I'd filled up with water from Jane's garden hose and walked into the living room. Jane was already there, staring out the window.

"That's the same truck I saw when I got here," I told Jane. "I'd think it was following us, if it looked like it could move."

"Let's keep an eye on that," Jane said. "ANTHONY!"

"What?" Anthony responded from the next room.

"Raise the paranoia meter one—no, two notches. We're on high alert," Jane said, and lazily saluted.

"On it boss," Anthony said in a 20s mobster voice.

Anthony walked into the living room with a red bag with a white cross on it in one hand and a sewing kit in the other.

"That ferret did a number on you, buddy," Anthony said to me.

I touched the back of my neck and felt warm blood.

Anthony pulled a beer from the red bag. Inside the bag there was a box of bandages, a roll of gauze, scissors, a bottle of disinfectant, and a six pack of Lucky. "Yep, we're gonna have to stitch you up."

I took off my shirt and opened my drink. "Welp, can't say this is my first time doing this," I said with a sigh.

"Got enough barbed wire tattoos," Jane said.

"I think I need one more," I responded challengingly.

"Allright, don't move." Jane stood behind me and threaded a needle. "Just look at the pretty trees and hold still."

"I can see a couple inches of ocean, I'll be fine." I could see the tiny patch of ocean in the distance between the trees across the way, so I focused on that while Jane sewed up the back of my neck.

"You weren't lying when you said you'd done this before," Jane commented, tying a knot in the thread. "We'll pop this string sucker out in a week and ya should be good."

I rubbed the stitches. Anthony slapped my hand away. "No touching."

"Hey, your mobster voice gave me an idea I've been trying not to forget," Jane began.

"Oh, what is it?" Anthony asked.

"Iiiit waaass…" Jane had apparently already forgot it and was struggling to remember.

"'On it, boss'?" Anthony supplied helpfully.

"Right!" Jane exclaimed. "Let's fire down to the thrift store, pick up a couple of suits, do an outfit thing."

"That sounds good," Anthony and I said nearly in unison. I noticed my clothes for the first time since I woke up on the beach. My worn-out jeans, denim vest, and long-faded past recognition Sledder t-shirt were gone, replaced by a cozy pair of pajamas.

"I washed your clothes for ya," Jane said. "And you, as well." I looked out the back window and saw a crushed, dirty patch in the tall grass. "How are you dirtier than outside?" Jane continued. "Anyway, you're the least drunk, so you're driving," they said matter of factly.

"Fuck yeah," I said as we walked to Jane's car and they tossed me the keys.

"Hot one today, eh?" I said, lighting a smoke off the mirror and handing them each one. "Your car makes me nauseous, man."

"You get used to it," Anthony said. He seemed zoned out in the back seat.

I noticed a mark on the back of my left hand when I put my hands on the steering wheel. "How long's that been there for?"

"I thought it was one of your tattoos," Jane said.

I examined it closer. It had 2 rings bridged together with X's and a symbol of a bird holding three keys, one in its mouth and one under each of its wings. "Ya don't see many 2 winged birds. This is strange."

"Whaddya talking about?" Anthony said, suddenly alert.

"You really aren't from around here, huh," Jane commented.

I gripped the steering wheel and focused on my hand. It started to feel hot. I moved my hand to the window; the leather under my hand was slightly melted.

I turned the ignition and it only struggled. Jane said "Feather the gas a bit," and flicked the windshield wipers on. A loud bang and a plume of black smoke from the exhaust. The car started and the right windshield wiper stuck half way while the left moved squeakily back and forth.

"I'm fuckin starving," I said and drove off, the car rocking and making hideous sounds, shedding rust down the driveway.

"Your Sledder t-shirt turned to rags in the dryer. You should pick up some new clothes while we're there," Jane was telling me.

"Man," I said, taking a second to mourn my Sledder shirt. "I'm shocked it lasted that long though."

I heard a voice shout from three houses down. "FUCK OFF WITH THE NOISE!"

Chapter 3

A few hours later, we pulled into the parking lot of the beach with our pinstripe suits and our fast food feast. I tried to brake but the pedal jammed, so I geared it to neutral and cruised into two parking spots, then pulled the hand brake.

"Another perfect landing," Jane said. I pulled the key out—or rather, the plastic top of the key, while the metal part stuck in the ignition.

"That happens sometimes," Jane said. "It's an easy fix. Pliers and some glue. Any of you got pliers? Because otherwise we're catching a bus."

"We have thirty eight cents between us," Anthony pointed out.

"I could weld ya a new key top," I said. "...If I had my torch. Goddamn, I kinda miss the little bar cubicle." It sunk in that I wasn't home anymore.

We got out of the car and started looking for somewhere to sit.

It really cooled of jane said sitting on a log

"I think it's safe to say we're not in Kansas anymore," I said. I was referring to the fictional land of Kansas, from the popular story The Oz of Wizard, but Jane later told me that in this world Kansas is in fact a real place.

"Tell me about where you're from," said Jane with barely concealed excitement.

"It's a pretty nice place. The wildlife is beautiful, but ya gotta watch out for it."

"Tell me about those birds with more? Or less? Than two wings," Jane asked.

"Well there's the birds with four wings. They're called rhythm birds. They write complex melodies; their songs are beautiful. It also gets sampled all the time into music."

"That sounds like the best pet ever," Jane said excitedly.

"Oh no, they're deafeningly loud indoors. They perch at the top of trees, which are few and far between on the mainland. A lot of the other wildlife can climb trees so the bird that could sit at the top of a tree, nest there, and still have their song heard was the one that survived."

"There's also 7 winged birds that are nearly silent and fast as the devil. They have 6 wings to the side and one rudder wing at the bottom. I got attacked by one once—their claws are sharp. The more curved scars are from that."

"Also on the island there's a lot more terrifying wildlife. There's three species of bats. One of them is about man-sized and terrifying. Pray you have a shotgun when you see those bloodsuckers. They don't come out much though and the others are tiny, maybe 6 inches long, but they breathe fire and never stop eating. The fire comes from a methane gas sack and they have flint-like fangs. Pretty much organic flint, I suppose. I found one that wormed into my engine block, chewed into the wires, then died. I made a lighter out of it with a tooth, a bone and a leather body. It was dope. I actually kept track of that thing for 2 months."

"And then there's vulture bats. They're born about three inches long but don't have a limit on how big they can grow. There's a theory that this is how the man-sized bats came to be."

I looked at Anthony and Jane to see their reactions. Anthony was stunned but Jane looked fascinated.

"Those burgers were good, man," I said before slurping down the last of my milkshake.

"I'm outta smokes and I'm starting to get angry," Jane grunted through a mouthful of fries.

"There's something in my suit sleeve," Anthony said, undoing a zipper on the inside of his sleeve. They reached into the suddenly appearing pocket and pulled out a slim jim. "Hey, score. I think I know how we're getting home."

"Put that away, dumbass," Jane snapped.

"You wanna walk home?" Anthony suggested.

"No," Jane relented, "I'll keep lookout."

We eyed the parking lot for an easy lift and chose our prey: an old white van. We oozed across the parking lot to the edge and Anthony slipped the jim in and wiggled it to the left then wiggled it to the right and still couldn't get it in place.

"Pass me that." He passed it to me. I stepped up to bat, slid down, found the groove, and popped the locks in 2 seconds flat. "Numbnuts," I said offhandedly and pried the wire plate off. "Oh shit, it's different," I said, seeing the many wires. "The cars I'm used to have like three or four wires."

"Numbnuts," Anthony mocked in the way that puts your upper lip to your nose,and started to pull the wires down.

"Look with your brain, dumbasses," Jane said opening the visor. The keys tumbled down onto Anthony's head. "Looks like you're sitting in middle," they continued, "princesses first."

Anthony and I climbed into the car and Jane followed and started the car. "It's been a while since I've done that without fiddling."

"Hey, this van's pretty bougie," Anthony said, touching the console screen with his knuckle. "Heated seats? Lets turn them up. Check the glovebox, man."

Jane started the car and I looked in the glovebox. Inside there was a pair of leather gloves and a box that took up most of the space. I shook the box gently; it made a soft thunk. I opened it and unwrapped the silk sheet. Inside there was a revolver with a note: "in case of emergencies".

I inspected the revolver. It had a pearl handle and sleek shiny body. I checked if it was loaded and it was. I took a bullet out and saw ornate runes carved into the shell and put the bullet in my pocket leaving five in the chamber so it wouldn't blow my package off if it misfires.

"Talk about a score," I said, tucking the gun into the waistband of my suit.

At the bottom of the box was another six bullets and a fifty dollar note. "Let's hit up a gas station. These are my last three smokes."

We drove, careful to not get pulled over, to a gas station and Jane smoothly backed the van in and we got out. I could have sworn I saw one of the top rear exhaust pipes move, but figured my eyes were playing tricks on me. I looked at the back of the note and saw it had the same symbol on my hand. I put it in my pocket to check later and make sure it was real and walked into the gas station.

"Heyooo," I said warmly to the clerk. "I need a few packs of smokes, man. I'll have some mallgorilla—"

"What the fuck is a mall gorilla," the cashier slurred and pushed a far too heavy tongue piercing back in their mouth. "We got marlboros," they said, eyes red and droopy.

"I'll take a pack of that then and gimme a pack of cheap and some menthols too."

"What are you, a chimney?" said the cashier turning around and grabbing three packs from behind the counter and putting them on the table, that be all for ya.

Just then Anthony walked up, put three beers on the counter, and said "Why yes I am."

I handed the clerk the fifty and they handed me less change than I expected, but at that point I was jonesing too hard to care. I had barely walked out of the store before I had the first marlboro in my mouth and Anthony was already pulling out his lighter. I handed Jane one through the window and climbed in.

"Is it just me or does the exhaust look like it's moving?" said Anthony.

"It's probably just loose," Jane said before taking a large drag, leaning back and starting the car. She exhaled through her nose and said, "Thank god for Seven Eleven under their breath while driving out of the parking lot."

We pulled up to Jane's house and Anthony and I hopped out. Anthony went inside and opened the garage door then sat next to me on a chair while I sat on a rock in the front yard. Jane backed into her garage. Lets see if there's anything in the back she said.

"Good idea," I responded, flicking her a menthol and lighting mine and Anthony's. "Lets hang out a spell, grab the pliers and pick up our car."

"That sounds good," Anthony said.

"These taste different from the smokes back home," I said.

"Yours were smoother," Anthony responded.

"Uuuuuh, guys, we have a problem," said Jane.

Chapter 4

Jane was staring, horrified, into the back of the van. Two thankfully out of shape middle-aged guys wearing sweater vests, bowties, sweatpants and bunny slippers stared back, looking like a pair of toddlers caught with a meth lab.

I jumped to my feet, staggered two steps, and hit the ground, dizzy from the nicotine. the two guys jumped out and went for the front seat of the van. The taller one hopped in the driver's seat and the rounder one got in the passenger seat. The tall one opened the visor, looking for the keys (now in Jane's pocket) while the fat one opened the glovebox, looking for the gun (now a centimetre away from my left testicle).

"Grab the keys," the round one yelled to the tall one.

"It's not there! Grab the gun!" the tall one yelled back.

"It's not there!"

They hopped out and started legging it down the street while I carefully tried to stand up. Anthony helped me into the chair and I caught my breath.

Once I wasn't dreadfully dizzy, we carefully examined the back of the van. It had a periscope attached to the left “exhaust pipe”. There was a sofa along one side and a built-in computer/radio station along the other. At the far end of the van, there was a coffee maker bolted to a cabinet and a 24 pack of donuts that was about half eaten.

Jane entered the van first. "The donuts are still fresh," she said, putting one in her mouth and passing two back to us. She looked in the cabinet and retrieved three cups and poured still-hot coffee into them. "So what the fuck just happened?" Jane said.

Chapter 5

Scraaaaatch scraaatch. Anthony was scraping a coin across the table anxiously. We had all changed back into our regular clothes.

We were in the basement, coffee and donuts in hand, and sat down on the old raggedy sofa. Jane sat next to me and Anthony in a chewed and taped together armchair separated by a coffee table with two drawers and coated in all manner of scratches. The basement was comfortably dim and grungy enough to really feel like home.

The question of "So what do we do now?" hung in the air but no one dared ask it.

I checked the inside pocket of my vest, finding my pocket knife and a quarter of weed that thankfully survived the wash without the baggie ripping.

Jane pulled a pink and purple tray with a grinder and papers from a drawer in the coffee table and set it in front of me. I started rolling and tried to come up with a plan.

After rolling three joints I lit the first and passed left to Jane.

"So if they haven't come for us yet, they're probably waiting till dark. I'm not sure what to expect but I think they'll send someone tougher than a pair of desk jockeys. We got lucky they weren't the gnarly kind of agents."

"So what should we do?" Jane said, barely audible as she passed to Anthony.

"We can run or we can fight… most likely we'll do both one way or another," I said.

"I think the van's in better shape than your car, Jane. No offense," Anthony added.

"None taken," Jane said.

So we take the van. I suggested that we put a mattress in the back and drive as far as we could. "If we never look back we just might make it," I said.

"We could lay low somewhere out of town," at least, said Jane, mid exhale the colour slowly returning to their face.

“That's a good idea,” I said.

“And if we fight?” Anthony said and swallowed uncomfortably.

“What have we got for weapons?” I asked.

Jane stood up and rummaged through a toolkit, chose a larger than average hammer, spun it in her palm and nodded approvingly. She walked to a section of wall with a poster worn beyond recognition. She took the poster down and—SMASH— hit the drywall with the hammer. SMASH SMASH. "Give me a hand, would ya?" they said, tearing out a piece of drywall.

I stood up and helped them rip up the wall.

Once we had created a fairly large hole, they reached in and felt around before pulling a duffle bag with Y2K stitched into the front and 2012 stitched underneath out of the wall.

"We made a bug-out bag, yeah," Jane said, walking back to the couch and sitting down.

We looked through the bag. It had two sturdy pairs of black clothing, a few MRIs, five hundred dollars in cash and a purple box with a pink strap that clipped at the front.

"These are for once we're safe," Jane said, tapping the box and putting it back in.

Jane pulled open a side pocket and removed a handgun. “Glock, ten mil,” she said, checking it to make sure it was still in working order. There were two boxes of rounds that Jane examined a few bullets out of. “Nothing seems to have gone," Jane said, high-fiving Anthony.

"Well, let's get that mattress in the van," I said, carrying the duffle bag out of the basement.

Jane grabbed a hacksaw from the toolkit. “Might come in handy," they said.

We went into Anthony and Jane's bedroom and carried the mattress to the van. Jane helped me pull the couch out and put new sheets on the mattress. Anthony got fresh bedding. By the time we finished we figured we'd have about forty minutes before dark. We sat down in our new surveillance camper and lit the final joint.

“Well, tonight we toast to living or dying,” I said, holding the doob up like one would with a drink and passing left to Anthony.

Anthony said, "Living or dying," with grim commitment and toked, then passed to Jane then started coughing once he had finished. Jane said the same and stared off for a second after exhaling.

"Do you hear that?" Jane asked.

“It's time to move,” I said urgently. Jane and I hopped out of the back and ran for the front. At that near exact same moment, two SUVs the colour of the stormy night sky screeched to a stop and three agents hopped out of each, clad in tactical gear and bearing submachine guns. They jumped into action while rubber was still burning.

Me and Jane jumped into the front seat, ducked and started the car. Bullets raged off the front and shattered the glass. The rest of the car seemed to have been armoured. The glass tore into our skin as we careened through the neighbour's lawn, bullets praying for weak spots the whole way through. Anthony slammed the left door and returned blind fire with the machine pistol. It would have been like trying to kill a dragon with a zippo, but it made the agents and drivers duck, which cooled our lead shower long enough to barrel across the road and through the shrubs into the yard of the least lucky bystander.

“YYYEEEEHAAW,” I exclaimed. “THIS VANS REALLY SOMETHING!

ANTH, YOU STILL ALIVE BACK THERE?!” I said not daring to pick up the pedal in the slightest as we blundered through the (thankfully not home) neighbour's front yard and onto the road.

“The highway is just forward and left of here,” Jane said urgently. The van lurched forwards, relieved to taste concrete again. The speedometer ticked up as we raced for the freeway.

“Uhh, I think so,” said Anthony shakily. "That was the biggest gunfight of my life." Anthony promptly fainted, thankfully onto the mattress.

#creative writing #novel #fanfic

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