The Degenerate (TO BE REWRITTEN...SOON)

CHAPTER 14: Interlude

CHAPTER 14: Interlude

I was so past hating Anthony it wasn't even funny. I didn't have the freaking energy to hate. And, apparently, neither did Anthony. There was only one thing on our minds and room for nothing else. 

To be honest, I was questioning whether or not we were even in the Mojave Desert. It would seem like such a tourist-destined place would be chock full of highways and rest stops and hiking trails. And yet...nothing. 

Each step of my tired, blistered feet felt like the soles were splitting. Every time I peeled off my socks I half-way expected them to be covered in red blotches instead of stained in the beige-brown of dirt and built-up sweat. 

Once again my gender had ceremoniously betrayed me; the red sea was at flooding. I hadn't gotten it in over two months and then was the time Mother Nature decided to curse me. Anthony didn't say a word, though, when he glanced the large chunk missing from the bottom of my shirt. 

By four a.m. of the first day of our little party's search, I was exhausted. We had been walking for hours and hours with hardly any breaks. Dawn would break soon and we hadn't taken one rest stop since the beginning of our escapade. I was nearly swaying on my feet. Every time I felt throw-uppy, I reminded myself why I was doing this; Phoebe and Karson couldn't go on. If Anthony and I didn't, none of us would. 

The boy beside me didn't show any signs of fatigue besides a slower pace, his face strict and determined. Though, I guess it was kind of pointless to rest- we had such little time to find help, let alone even hunt for food. 

A peach sunrise highlighted Anthony's unruly locks, which had grown past his ears. I noted how the ends curled. Absentmindedly, I wondered how mine looked- the red had faded, no doubt. It was also most likely a mess of split ends and breakage since the last time I cut it (when there was actually something to cut with) was with a rusty pair of shears someone had found lying around in the floor of the warehouse. 

But I was lucky enough that after all these challenges, all these hardships, I somehow miraculously still had my hair tie, which I was ever thankful for. I mean, my hair had gotten past the 'stringy' stage and was then somewhere in the 'chunky' stage. Having that in my face was not ideal. 

A few hours or so after light had officially claimed the sky my body had reached complete exhaustion. Nausea swirled in my head, buzzards circled, and my sanity was slowly draining out of me. But I didn't care. It wasn't like we were actually going to make it out of there anyways due to the white figure standing in the distance. 

"God?" I said, squinting. Am I dead? Are there buzzards picking at my bones right now? Crap- did he remember the time I robbed that convenient st- wow, that's a nice butt. 

And it was so. I stood there, dumbified and gaping. The figure held their hands behind their back, posture straight. Slowly, they turned to reveal the face of...but there was no face. There was only a bright, shining light blocking their face- like a halo. They beckoned me forward with an open palm. 

I jabbed a thumb at my chest. Me? As if there was someone behind me. They seemed to shake their head yes and opened their arms. I stumbled towards them. 

I gasped, "Pete?"

Impossible...I was dreaming on my feet. He wasn't real. He couldn't be real. But he looked SO real. The golden curls were clean and cut closer to his head than I remembered, his skin clean and not glistening with sweat and grimy with dirt like mine. Even his jeans and white t, which should've been as dusty as an old carpet from the sand blowing in the wind, was pristine. An angel, that was what he was. There could be no other explanation.