Shawna's Story (A Johnny Cade Fanfiction) //CURRENTLY EDITING//

~19~

I woke up to a wet nose gently nudging my arm. Rocco had been trying to wake me up, whining, as he nudged me. I groaned a little and pet his head, before carefully getting back on my feet. I looked around, seeing that all of the socs were gone; all but one. Bob, the group's leader, was laying on the brick path by the fountain face up. I walked a little closer and noticed that something wasn't right. I saw Johnny sitting on the ground a bit away in the grass, hugging his knees close to his chest, an opened switchblade in his clenched hand.

"I-I killed him," he said in a shaky voice. "I killed that boy, Shawna." He was shaking, and he looked up at me, his dark eyes filled with fear and panic. "I killed him," he whispered. He was in shock, staring at the switchblade in his hand, most of his blade covered in blood. I looked over at Bob again, before walking over to him. I had never seen a dead body before, I mean I've seen bodies at funerals, but I've never seen a dead body this fresh. He looked like he was sleeping, but his face, that was once red from being drunk, was now pale as the moonlight that shone on him. His blood was all over the brick path and was soaking in his blonde hair. He was dead, he wasn't sleeping, he wasn't passed out drunk; Bob was dead. I felt nauseous, not at the sight of the body, but at what could happen to Johnny if the cops got a hold of him. Since he was a greaser, they would just lock him in a cell and happily throw away the key. Johnny wouldn't survive in jail, he's quiet and passive. This was just a heat of the moment thing, Johnny didn't even wanna kill a spider if he found it. He'd just carry the little critter outside and set it free. "I had to do it," I could hear him say, cutting through my thoughts. "They were gonna kill Pony, he's just a kid. I couldn't let him die."

"I know, Johnny," I said, moving away from Bob's body and over to Pony's, which was on the opposite end of the fountain's path from Bob. He was laying there unconscious, his hair, and shirt soaking wet from the fountain water. "Don't blame yourself, you did what you had to do." Johnny nodded and finally got up, cleaning his blade with some of the grass. Pony jolted awake and began choking on water. I kneeled down and rolled him onto his side, patting his back. Once Pony had caught his breath, he sat up and caught a glance of Bob's body behind me.

"I-is he?" Pony asked, looking up at me. I gave a quiet nod, sitting at the edge of the fountain, not looking in Bob's direction. "Guys I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Go throw up in the grass, Pony," I said quietly. Pony stumbled over to a grassy area by the fountain and threw up.

"We have to do somethin'. We gotta find, Dal. He'll help get us outta this," Johnny said. "We can't be here when the cops get here. I'm sure the other socs are tryna get a hold of the cops now."

"Where would Dallas be by now?" I asked.

"Probably at Buck's," Pony said, wiping his mouth. "There's probably still a party goin' on."

"You mean that place where they play that awful country music and smoke inside?" I asked. "Yeah, that sounds like a place he would lurk."

"Come on, let's go," Johnny said.

"Yeah," I agreed, before looking down at Rocco. "Come on, boy." Rocco picked up the end of his leash and dropped it in my hand, ready to follow me. "Lead the way. I know the place, but I don't know where to go."

"I know where to go," Johnny said. "Had to meet a few people there when Dal and I were doing odd jobs." I nodded, and we began walking out of the park, leaving Bob's body deserted in the same spot by the fountain.

"This night has seriously took a turn for the worse," I heard Pony mutter.

"No kiddin'," I said, walking with them to Buck's. It wasn't a long walk from where we were, and it was still very active. You could hear Hank Williams clearly playing from the parking lot. I could already feel myself getting a headache from it. We stood on the steps while Johnny knocked on the door as hard as he could, trying to be heard over the music. It took a few good tries, but Buck Merrill finally opened the door, drunk as a skunk. He stood in the doorway, inspecting us in the dim lighting.