Post by Saul Kelly on Apr 5, 2012 20:53:26 GMT -8
Night 1[/u]
The journey to Long Beach would be a long one, especially with him having to move only at night. Saul had scrounged up the map he now gripped in his hands months ago, feeling like it might be some use for if the group decided to move their camp. He was partially correct, however he would be going alone on this trek. The boy (Man? At 23, he was at an awkward stage of aging where he could be classified no longer as child nor adult) had lined his route well, figuring he could follow the 78 to the 5, eventually switching onto the 405 and continuing up to the center of Long Beach City. It was a couple miles less than 88, and he figured if he covered around 22 miles a night, he could be at his destination in 4 nights. This even left him a small margin for error. A very, very small margin. He armed himself with a length of chain wrapped loosely around his waist 4 times, and a crow bar he had found in the ruins of what he thought were a mechanic shop. His food rations were packed into a burlap satchel along with enough water to last him 5 days. Before leaving the camp and the people in it, he stopped at the mirror, or a fragment of one that had been mounted to the side of one of the camper trailers, and looked.
Saul wasn’t traditionally handsome, but the two scars on his face, one jagged slice through the arch in his left eyebrow and one clean dented incision from inside his left nostril down to his upper lip, added an appeal that one couldn’t quite place. His cheekbones were high set, and his face was pointed. An inherent seriousness remained on his face almost constantly, though he occasionally peeled back his lips in a grin to reveal jagged, chipped, and crooked teeth cluttered in his mouth, a grin that was unintentionally caught between malicious and pained. He arched his eyebrow at his reflection, and with that departed.
The sun had set not long before, and the man (boy?) made his way to the 78 as planned. Along the route to this highway he found himself locating a familiar device: a skateboard. “Oh fuck yeah” he would exclaim. There was no doubt that it could help him move much faster towards Long Beach. Hopping on, he propelled himself forward, much too quickly. His shaky footing faltered and the boy found his face now making contact with the rough and in motion pavement. “Fuckin’… four-wheeled plank.” This statement was muttered through a small flow of blood that was seeping from his nose, and a pink tone came over his face, remaining unseen in the dark as he was utterly alone. He abandoned this form of transportation and walked on.
************
Night 2[/u]
He woke up just before sunset on the second night, his muscles aching from the long trip the night before. He had made a lot of ground the evening before despite his fall, having reached the 5 freeway just before dawn, when he slid down the ditch to the side of the road to sleep. He was now conscious enough to remember his surroundings, and ducked low in the unkempt grass by the side of the freeway. There was nobody in the vicinity that he could hear or see. Still, he was as quiet as possible when opening baggie filled with rice that was cooked a few nights prior. He unceremoniously stuffed the entire ration in his mouth, taking extra time to chew and swallow the food which had lumped into one mass.
He sat in silence for the remaining minutes before the sun set, and once it had, he again crept back up to the car-strewn road to continue the trek. About an hour after he started the walk up again he heard something. A ways to the back right of him he heard a skittering sound in the nearby hill, and nervously began unwinding the chain from around his waist. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he straightened his body up, hoping that whatever it was would see his stature and back down. Not far ahead in the distance were the remains of Camp Pendleton, and he began to wonder if anyone dwelled in the ruins.
As if on cue, Saul was surrounded, the largest of the pack of four facing him and the others arranged behind him. The middle-aged man he could only assume was leader was slightly shorter than Saul, standing at around 6 feet tall, but he was a heavier fellow. The three boys behind him were much scrawnier and smaller, and looked to be in their late teens. Again he corrected his posture, this time raising his upper lip slightly to reveal jagged teeth in a snarl. His hands gripped the chain, and, hearing movement behind him, Saul whipped around, aiming the heavy chain at their faces. The chain struck the first two boys clean in the eyes and the third in the throat, after which they dropped to their knees, the ones hit in the eyes screaming and creeching and holding their faces, the other boy holding his throat and gasping for air. Before he could complete the rotation, the big man was on his back, pulling him backwards shouting about “his boys” and pressing on his throat. Saul stumbled back from the man’s weight pulling him, slamming the vagabond hard into the maroon Toyota Corolla behind them. He immediately let go of the boy and the bag he was carrying, which allowed for several cans of food to roll out onto the road. Saul turned and grabbed the man by what little hair he had and smashed the back of his head into the driver’s side window, a curtain of blood now flowing down the cracked glass. The man would fall to the floor as Saul picked up a nearby can and put his full weight on the man’s chest. He would make eye contact with the man one last time.
“Making it difficult to travel quickly.” Saul muttered as he violently smashed the man’s head in with the can. Each time the can connected with the man’s head, the crater got deeper and the brain matter oozed onto the pavement. When he was satisfied that the man would not get up again, Saul turned his grinning, blood-spattered face to the boys who were still kneeled on the floor and pulled the crow bar from his bag. Taking a skip for a start, he swung the crowbar like a croquet mallet into the chin of the boy he had hit in the throat. The boy cried out as his jaw shattered. Before the others could react, he was on top of them, battering them haphazardly with the metal instrument. If they weren’t already dead (he couldn’t tell if they were breathing or if the death twitch had begun) they would surely bleed out. The final boy looked at him in horror, and Saul began to feel a twinge of guilt. He had done what was necessary but he might have gotten a little too excited. He approached the last one, the grin having dropped off his face. The boy tried so hard to crawl away from who once was his victim. This was all supposed to be so simple. They were just going to take his food and weapons and leave him. Disoriented, the boy would crawl and fall into the ditch near the road. Saul followed him down, and in a show of mercy, would quietly put the boy into his final sleep.
Dragging the boy back up to the road, he would delicately place the teenager’s body in the passenger seat of the maroon Corolla, later putting who he assumed to be the boy’s father (the resemblance was uncanny) in the driver’s seat, and the two others in back. They looked like one happy, hemorrhaging family on their way to somewhere fantastic. Saul frowned slightly. Something was missing. After many minutes of thinking and staring at the corpses of his friends, he got it. Dipping his fingers into the wounds of the men, he used the blood to write “Afterlife or Bust” on the rear window. He grinned wide at this and after grabbing the cans (the skull dented one included) that were still on the road and re-wrapping the chain around his waist he would say goodbye to the company he had briefly with a “Have a good trip!” as he passed the car for the final time, getting back onto his route.
*************
Night 3[/i]
Saul was able to make up for the time he had spent with his new friends the night before, and reached his checkpoint shortly before dawn before quietly passing out in the brush nearby. When he awoke again in the evening, he downed his food and got back on his route, eager to keep moving.
*************
Night 4
He had already been walking some time now, and the dawn was under an hour away. Sometime last night he had gotten onto the 405 and he was rapidly approaching Long Beach city. The boy was tired. The journey had not been kind to him. His muscles ached with fatigue and his throat was still sore from the man pressing on it a couple nights prior. His left cheek was scabbed from his fall and his once-white t-shirt was now colored in the red-brown stain of blood spatter, most of it belonging to the family he had met up with. Still, he wore the same grin as he did 2 nights ago, happy to be so close to his new home. Sunrise grew close, and so Saul chose the exit to Atlantic Avenue, telling himself that he would find the heart of the city or its gangs the next day when he felt better. As he rounded the loop onto Atlantic, his became aware of how heavy his legs felt, and how sore his feet were. He kept going, knowing he couldn’t stop just yet. He turned left onto Spring Street and found some revoltingly unkempt shrubs. Smiling wearily to himself, he crawled into the bushes and closed his eyes, taking no more than a minute before he sailed into perfectly dreamless sleep.
The journey to Long Beach would be a long one, especially with him having to move only at night. Saul had scrounged up the map he now gripped in his hands months ago, feeling like it might be some use for if the group decided to move their camp. He was partially correct, however he would be going alone on this trek. The boy (Man? At 23, he was at an awkward stage of aging where he could be classified no longer as child nor adult) had lined his route well, figuring he could follow the 78 to the 5, eventually switching onto the 405 and continuing up to the center of Long Beach City. It was a couple miles less than 88, and he figured if he covered around 22 miles a night, he could be at his destination in 4 nights. This even left him a small margin for error. A very, very small margin. He armed himself with a length of chain wrapped loosely around his waist 4 times, and a crow bar he had found in the ruins of what he thought were a mechanic shop. His food rations were packed into a burlap satchel along with enough water to last him 5 days. Before leaving the camp and the people in it, he stopped at the mirror, or a fragment of one that had been mounted to the side of one of the camper trailers, and looked.
Saul wasn’t traditionally handsome, but the two scars on his face, one jagged slice through the arch in his left eyebrow and one clean dented incision from inside his left nostril down to his upper lip, added an appeal that one couldn’t quite place. His cheekbones were high set, and his face was pointed. An inherent seriousness remained on his face almost constantly, though he occasionally peeled back his lips in a grin to reveal jagged, chipped, and crooked teeth cluttered in his mouth, a grin that was unintentionally caught between malicious and pained. He arched his eyebrow at his reflection, and with that departed.
The sun had set not long before, and the man (boy?) made his way to the 78 as planned. Along the route to this highway he found himself locating a familiar device: a skateboard. “Oh fuck yeah” he would exclaim. There was no doubt that it could help him move much faster towards Long Beach. Hopping on, he propelled himself forward, much too quickly. His shaky footing faltered and the boy found his face now making contact with the rough and in motion pavement. “Fuckin’… four-wheeled plank.” This statement was muttered through a small flow of blood that was seeping from his nose, and a pink tone came over his face, remaining unseen in the dark as he was utterly alone. He abandoned this form of transportation and walked on.
************
Night 2[/u]
He woke up just before sunset on the second night, his muscles aching from the long trip the night before. He had made a lot of ground the evening before despite his fall, having reached the 5 freeway just before dawn, when he slid down the ditch to the side of the road to sleep. He was now conscious enough to remember his surroundings, and ducked low in the unkempt grass by the side of the freeway. There was nobody in the vicinity that he could hear or see. Still, he was as quiet as possible when opening baggie filled with rice that was cooked a few nights prior. He unceremoniously stuffed the entire ration in his mouth, taking extra time to chew and swallow the food which had lumped into one mass.
He sat in silence for the remaining minutes before the sun set, and once it had, he again crept back up to the car-strewn road to continue the trek. About an hour after he started the walk up again he heard something. A ways to the back right of him he heard a skittering sound in the nearby hill, and nervously began unwinding the chain from around his waist. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he straightened his body up, hoping that whatever it was would see his stature and back down. Not far ahead in the distance were the remains of Camp Pendleton, and he began to wonder if anyone dwelled in the ruins.
As if on cue, Saul was surrounded, the largest of the pack of four facing him and the others arranged behind him. The middle-aged man he could only assume was leader was slightly shorter than Saul, standing at around 6 feet tall, but he was a heavier fellow. The three boys behind him were much scrawnier and smaller, and looked to be in their late teens. Again he corrected his posture, this time raising his upper lip slightly to reveal jagged teeth in a snarl. His hands gripped the chain, and, hearing movement behind him, Saul whipped around, aiming the heavy chain at their faces. The chain struck the first two boys clean in the eyes and the third in the throat, after which they dropped to their knees, the ones hit in the eyes screaming and creeching and holding their faces, the other boy holding his throat and gasping for air. Before he could complete the rotation, the big man was on his back, pulling him backwards shouting about “his boys” and pressing on his throat. Saul stumbled back from the man’s weight pulling him, slamming the vagabond hard into the maroon Toyota Corolla behind them. He immediately let go of the boy and the bag he was carrying, which allowed for several cans of food to roll out onto the road. Saul turned and grabbed the man by what little hair he had and smashed the back of his head into the driver’s side window, a curtain of blood now flowing down the cracked glass. The man would fall to the floor as Saul picked up a nearby can and put his full weight on the man’s chest. He would make eye contact with the man one last time.
“Making it difficult to travel quickly.” Saul muttered as he violently smashed the man’s head in with the can. Each time the can connected with the man’s head, the crater got deeper and the brain matter oozed onto the pavement. When he was satisfied that the man would not get up again, Saul turned his grinning, blood-spattered face to the boys who were still kneeled on the floor and pulled the crow bar from his bag. Taking a skip for a start, he swung the crowbar like a croquet mallet into the chin of the boy he had hit in the throat. The boy cried out as his jaw shattered. Before the others could react, he was on top of them, battering them haphazardly with the metal instrument. If they weren’t already dead (he couldn’t tell if they were breathing or if the death twitch had begun) they would surely bleed out. The final boy looked at him in horror, and Saul began to feel a twinge of guilt. He had done what was necessary but he might have gotten a little too excited. He approached the last one, the grin having dropped off his face. The boy tried so hard to crawl away from who once was his victim. This was all supposed to be so simple. They were just going to take his food and weapons and leave him. Disoriented, the boy would crawl and fall into the ditch near the road. Saul followed him down, and in a show of mercy, would quietly put the boy into his final sleep.
Dragging the boy back up to the road, he would delicately place the teenager’s body in the passenger seat of the maroon Corolla, later putting who he assumed to be the boy’s father (the resemblance was uncanny) in the driver’s seat, and the two others in back. They looked like one happy, hemorrhaging family on their way to somewhere fantastic. Saul frowned slightly. Something was missing. After many minutes of thinking and staring at the corpses of his friends, he got it. Dipping his fingers into the wounds of the men, he used the blood to write “Afterlife or Bust” on the rear window. He grinned wide at this and after grabbing the cans (the skull dented one included) that were still on the road and re-wrapping the chain around his waist he would say goodbye to the company he had briefly with a “Have a good trip!” as he passed the car for the final time, getting back onto his route.
*************
Night 3[/i]
Saul was able to make up for the time he had spent with his new friends the night before, and reached his checkpoint shortly before dawn before quietly passing out in the brush nearby. When he awoke again in the evening, he downed his food and got back on his route, eager to keep moving.
*************
Night 4
He had already been walking some time now, and the dawn was under an hour away. Sometime last night he had gotten onto the 405 and he was rapidly approaching Long Beach city. The boy was tired. The journey had not been kind to him. His muscles ached with fatigue and his throat was still sore from the man pressing on it a couple nights prior. His left cheek was scabbed from his fall and his once-white t-shirt was now colored in the red-brown stain of blood spatter, most of it belonging to the family he had met up with. Still, he wore the same grin as he did 2 nights ago, happy to be so close to his new home. Sunrise grew close, and so Saul chose the exit to Atlantic Avenue, telling himself that he would find the heart of the city or its gangs the next day when he felt better. As he rounded the loop onto Atlantic, his became aware of how heavy his legs felt, and how sore his feet were. He kept going, knowing he couldn’t stop just yet. He turned left onto Spring Street and found some revoltingly unkempt shrubs. Smiling wearily to himself, he crawled into the bushes and closed his eyes, taking no more than a minute before he sailed into perfectly dreamless sleep.