"I may have saved her from the monsters that crawl through the dark, but she saved me from the worst monster of all. She rescued me from who I would have become without her, the monster that would have easily conquered my body."
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Reese Chambler...
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SOMETHING IKNOW about Carl is that he is always angry. Even when he seems calm or appears almost happy, I know that the red-hot fury is always at the tip of his fingers and bubbling under his skin, just waiting for a chance to burst out and destroy everything in his wake.
After so much time of being stuck in the flames, he has learned how to stifle it. He knows how to keep it at bay long enough to fool everyone. Well, almost everyone. He can push it down all he wants, but I can still see it.
Something about the way his hips sway as he walks at a distance in front of me unsettles my nerves. He is walking toward something scary. I can tell because he is trying to look powerful. His shoulders are set back, making his chest tall and rigid. His hand grasps the knife in his belt tightly. His fingers itch to pull it out, to stain themselves with the blood of an enemy. He wants to kill a killer. He wants justice.
I think back to how the world used to be. An eye for an eye, they used to say. I'll admit though, it wasn't always so black and white. Not everyone agreed on what justice really was. There were some people who believed in rehabilitation rather than punishment, but I doubt any of those people survived. The only people who are still alive today are those who have killed.
There is not a person alive who has clean hands, but my heart stings specifically for Carl. All he is going to do is fall in deeper, not for the sake of himself, but for the sake of what he believes is right.
He whistles, pulling me out of my head. My eyes flick away from the crumbling ground beneath me. He nods his head up the road, gesturing toward a car that has rolled off into the grass.
As we approach it, I notice the color isn't tan like I thought it was, but a deep dust-covered maroon. After a few failed attempts and many frustrated grunts, I manage to get the engine wheezing to life by fiddling with exposed wires under the wheel. Fumes bloom out of the back of the car and the engine rattles as it awakens from its nearly eternal slumber.
I throw a rare, confident smirk over my shoulder to Carl, who in return slightly softens his face. It almost looks like he might smile.
I plop down into the front seat and with the car still in park, I test out the controls before me. I harshly rev the engine once I figure out how to work the gas. The pedal roars under my foot as I press down on it repeatedly.
The door to my right opens then slams shut as Carl slides into the car. His face is no longer twisted in annoyance. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his mouth parts. He can't hide his excitement as old engine roars once more.
Gripping the steering wheel firmly, I grit my teeth into a deadly grin and shove the gear to drive. The car lurches forward, and we take off with squealing tires. Smoke and bits of rock fly out from under the back tires as they rip across the pavement. The car's speed increases rapidly, and soon we are flying down the empty road. One of the back windows is shattered and the incoming wind creates an uncomfortable pressure in the tight space of the old car, so I roll down every window and smile brightly at the dim sun, not being able to control my bubbling hollers.
