The Degenerate (TO BE REWRITTEN...SOON)

CHAPTER 16: Oasis

A/N: Okay, it gets kind of gross. So if you're squeamish (which I doubt you are, if you've stuck with me this long) you might want to read lightly over this first bit. Seriously, I don't want to be responsible for anyone's chunks later on.

Also…yay! We’re off hiatus! I’ve been writing this story for literally a year, and I’ve only got 16, unedited chapters!

I told myself that Anthony would live. He specialized in this kind of stuff, right? The ‘living off your own fluids for a month’ kind of thing? Anthony gave me the impression that he had enough survival skills to live like Robin Williams in Jumanji for the next thirty years.

But then again this was the desert, and Anthony was just a single, simple degenerate. And, hey, cactus pads are nothing to live off of for the rest of your life. Better than bodily fluids, I thought to myself.

Maybe I could come back for him after I reached Vegas. Send a search party.

I kicked a smooth, orange stone out of my path. And that’s even if I make it that far.

I was tired, and I was stinky, and every step I took felt like my shoes were sloshing to the brim with sweat and blood. Most importantly, I was ready to civilization again. I felt like laughing every time I thought of when I complained about cleaning up in a public restroom and a stick of deodorant.

Walking in the hellish sun, I would've killed for one. But I've been over this a million times. The desert never changed. It was like the freaking movie Ground Hog Day, but with the certainty of death. But hey, I kept on truckin' along.

A full twenty-four hours passed and still no promise of human contact. I swear you would've thought my brain had become reduced to a time log.

Pete's face was still there, stuck like post-it reminder of what I was living for at that point.

Another day passed. I found a barrel cactus and with the last remnants of my energy shaved it and ate the pulpy, gooey thing whole. But the softball-sized cactus hardly put a dent into my ever-growing thirst and appetite.

Another day passed. I'm pretty sure it was the third one. I didn't even see a coyote out the land was getting so barren. There were a few random coarse sprouts of something or another that dotted my way, but nothing that appeared edible. It went on like that for another couple days or so until I captured a desert rat.

I wish I could say that I made a spark with a couple of flints and roasted that sucker, but I didn't. It was much more primitive than that.

A dark blot was darting amongst the rocks, and as soon as my vision caught it, my hands were on it. My actions were reflexive. It squirmed in my hands and made squeaking noises as I turned it belly up, and bit into its scrawny, malnourished stomach and sucked up the juices until it was dry and chewed up the rest.

It happened so quickly, so instantly that I didn't even question the actions until it was over and done with. Maybe it was some ancient survival skill that only showed in times of dire need? The guy on Survivorman ate raw bugs, I tried to calm myself.

Something, however, told me different. I threw down the rat corpse, the innards and skin gone, the spine picked near clean. I wiped my mouth with a shaky hand.

People, especially exhausted, dehydrated ones, do not simply catch rats with one swipe of their paw. Oh, Dear God- what if I was becoming like Gollum?

I couldn't think about this. I'd kill myself worrying about it. After all, it was just a desert rat. I had to survive.

Feeling somewhat renewed, I stood up and continued walking in the direction slightly left, opposite of the falling sun.

It turned out, that even with that rat fueling my jet engines I was no match for the God-given curse that was mountain terrain. Huge, giant rock formations guarded whatever lies beyond my gaze like a gate. There was no way around them- if I wanted to keep going northeast, I had to mountain climb.