The Degenerate (TO BE REWRITTEN...SOON)

CHAPTER 21: The Promised Land

Chapter 21: The Promised Land

Flames consumed the campsite that had once held over fifty degenerates captive. Smoke drifted upwards, masking a golden sunset. A few blades held fire extinguishers as they shot froth into the brilliant pillars, others stood idle in disbelief. One or two ran around screaming their heads off as fire caught their clothes.

Dead bodies, some full of bullet holes, other subject to the abilities of the degenerate it fought.

No one seemed to notice the scruffy escapees scurrying across the desert, the beautiful sight behind them a beacon of their declared freedom.

From afar, Pete was just a rail-thin degenerate, face covered in acid burn scars. Unlike the others, however, he had so much more to lose. He would be personally tracked down and tortured all over again when Felt found out who was behind the breakout.

A weight in his soul slowed him though. Just nights before he had determined his crush's death by refusing his best friend's location. The guilt would eat a hole through him for the rest of his life. And there was no telling what Anthony would do to him once he found out Pete chose him over another- any other, even Isabelle- degenerate. It was an unspoken rule they'd sacrifice themselves for any of those in the group.

But Anthony was Pete's brother. And some sick part of Pete knew he didn't want to live giving the blades any room for leverage.

Pete didn't have a plan this time, not really. He'd simply run as fast and as hard as he could to Las Vegas. He'd run until his feet grew blisters and bled and healed. Because something told him that as soon as Felt sent his bloodhounds on his ass, he wouldn't be able to hide.

And that was exactly what Pete did. He spent his nights drifting to sleep without fire, for fear of a helicopter spotting him. Cactus pads and the occasional desert rat were his only source of nutrition. His socks were blood-soaked though the blisters had disappeared by the time he peeled his socks off. Eventually he tossed the socks and shoes and went barefoot. Of course, he discovered that wasn't such a great idea when his feet were cut to shit.

Exhaustion racked his body like he had never felt before, soaked his muscles and mind in a heavy haze. The only thing that kept him going was the memory of Felt's venom-covered blades cutting his face, his arms. Pete had never had scars before, but somehow his acid left his skin mottled and pink. It scared him. He wasn't used to such mortality.

Days went on with him fueled purely by fear, unsure of his own survival. His urine was brown. He'd passed out a couple times or more.

But finally, finally, he made it. He did what no other degenerate put in that desert had done so far.

It was like the stars had fallen. Multicolored lights blinked on the horizon against the black sky, Las Vegas was jewel of the desert. Pete felt tears. It was the safest he felt in a long time. And God, was it was beautiful.

In the dead of night he reached the outskirts of the city. As it turned out, the side opposite fabulous hotels and casinos where tourists stayed was a ramshackle excuse for a city. Street lights flickered, mocking the jewels Pete had seen from the desert.

Following his instincts, the first thing Pete did when he reached the outskirts of the city was find a gas station. The cashier didn't even blink as the barefoot man on the brink of a breakdown stumbled to the men's restroom.

Pete lapped at the water faucet. He splashed his face and moaned at the sensation. It felt so good he made sure there was no one else in the room and locked the door, stripped, and lathered up his body from the soap dispenser. When he finished he checked his fade in the cracked mirror. Something close to a beard, burn scars, and cheekbones that threatened to poke through the skin. He looked like a crackhead that had fallen into a vat of acid.