QUICK A/N:
Okay so this was all originally meant to be in one part but its 7.3k words in total so I'm splitting it up into 2 parts. Meaning that this story is going to have a LOT more chapters than I intended.. Originally I was just gonna make the River of Horrors only 4 chapters but it looks like its gonna be a lot more. Oops 0_o
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THE RIVER OF HORRORS
───── ❝ PART 4 ❞ ─────
"Ho. Ly. Fuck."
He stops himself, standing at the ledge of the shallow cliff. Schlatt's eyes widen as he takes a good look at the surroundings of the Outside World; the mess of the world that is laid out beyond him.
"Woah," Connor murmurs breathlessly, his hair gently blowing into his face by the breeze of the afternoon air. With slumped shoulders, he stands beside Schlatt. "It's like... Hell, on Earth."
Before the two boys, is a clear landscape of a small town, which was the closest place to them considering their home was an area secluded from reality. It was an hour walk through the forest, and there was a small transport Cable Car railway that led them to the closest town, which was about another 1 hour ride.
And now, here they are, standing before a complete and utter dumpster fire; infrastructure of what used to be small towns and markets were nothing but collapsed ruins; the windshields of the last few cars on the street were smashed in, and their tires were torn out, rolling across the empty suburbs. Oh yeah, ghost empty suburbs. There is no sign of life anywhere in sight.
And there's an incredulous amount of blood smeared all over the floor, and walls of the last remaining market stalls standing. And of course, garbage is littered all over the streets.
"It's worse than your room." Schlatt elicits with a facetious remark.
Mesmerised by the horrific view, Connor only murmurs a "yeah...", before realising what he had said. "Wait... Hey!"
Schlatt folds his arms, examining the surroundings that are laid out. He's had a hunch that the virus turned people into cannibals — especially after the conversation they all had with Ty before arriving here. But even so... It had not occurred to him that reality would look nearly as bad as this.
Surely the entire world doesn't look like this, right? He comes to the wishful deduction that this place was most likely used as the main feeding grounds. Well, it was either that, or the entire world looked worse than this.
"This doesn't make any sense," Connor mulls over out loud. "It was only, what, yesterday? That we even discovered this virus, let alone what effect it had. Don't tell me that all of... this happened within the timespan of 24 hours!"
Yeah, so much for the government keeping this a secret from the public.
Nodding, Schlatt's lips curve with a fair amount of depreciation, before responding. "Well, we also have to acknowledge that our base is outcasted from society, so we might have been a little behind on things... Either that, or these cannibalistic people are hungry out of their fuckin' minds."
"It might be a bit of both."
The two boys fall quiet for a moment, and as their alluding silence hang in the air, they both turn quickly to face each other, raising their hands as they comically exclaim in sync:
"Last to find a human makes dinner for tonight!"
And then they jump off the ledge, skidding down the slope and running into the disaster of a town.
When the two enter the vicinity of the town, before them the streets split up into 3 directions; left, right, and forward. Connor calls out to him, signalling that he's taking left, and so naturally, Schlatt signals right.
Thrusting his legs forward, Connor finds himself racing through the hollow streets of the town, leaping over clusters of rubbish and shattered glass scattered out on the pathway. Oblivious to the knowledge that he's probably being a little too exuberant given their current situation, he keeps a keen eye out for any signs of life. After all, he hates cooking dinner. He can't really remember the last time he cooked an acceptable meal.
Though even if he did end up losing the challenge, a fraction of him doubts that the others will even let him cook. Considering the last time he did... he blew up the kitchen.
"Well at least I know you can't put aluminium foil in the microwave, now," Connor mutters to himself under his breath, with light panting intertwined between the words he formulates.
As he mumbles, he slips over a piece of trash, skidding across the pavement until his face comes in contact with the first physical object in his path — in this case, that 'physical object' being a half-broken light post. His legs giving out below him, he half-yells and half-groans out, rubbing his forehead. Outlines of a light bruise already begins to form on him.
"Jesus... Motherfucking... Christ that hurt!" he stumbles back up, muttering more curses before continuing his mission. Running through the endless town's aisles, he turns left, then right, and then left again, straight forward... Until he has absolutely no idea where he's going.
Every time he'd turn a corner, whatever would lay before him on the pathway ahead would look almost identical to the last. Every single one of them, littered with trash and still suffused with the same lifelessness in the dead, heavy air. All the while his eyes never focused on the direct path ahead; instead, he'd be looking left and right, keeping a sharp eye out on his surroundings. There could be somebody — anybody — hiding beneath the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce onto an uninfected human and eat them alive.
For the first time, the mortifying realisation flitters across his consciousness, and he only just now recognises how terrifying their situation is. And how vulnerable they are.
They hadn't bought any weapons of any sort with them — in fact, it didn't even come across their mind that they'd need weapons.
Connor assumed that the virus only infected less than 1% of the population, considering the statistics. And kids had a higher death toll than adults, too. So he figured he was completely safe.
But judging by the ghost town he's found himself running along in, something tells him that if a cannibal were to show up, they're not going to be too picky on what age their victim is.
He swallows, compunctious feelings of apprehension arising in the depths of his timid-tangled stomach. He slows down. Oh god. They could show up anywhere, at any second. They're going to eat me alive. Those monsters won't waste a second if it means I'll get away with it. I'm fucked.
Escaping the alleyway, he runs out into the middle of a 4-way street.
We're fucked! We're right out in the middle of the open on its feeding grounds! We're—
He's cut short of his internal monologue as he crashes into something again — no, someone. To his relief, it's just Schlatt. Turns out they both ended up meeting back again.
"Jesus fuck Connor! You might be taller than me but it's not like you're completely fucking blind from 5'4 and lower!"
Still somehow standing, Connor looks down and sees Schlatt on the ground, rubbing his just below his left shoulder.
"Ah, s—sorry, Schlatt!" Connor stutters, bending down and offering him a hand. "Are you okay?"
"Now my arm hurts even more," he grumbles, the corners of his lips twitching as his eyebrows furrow, "thanks a lot, fuckwit."
Connor retaliates back, helpless surprise colouring his face at the man's snappy comeback.
'Arm hurts even more.' When Connor thinks about it, it's quite funny...
... Because his arm actually hurts, too.
Yeah, the memory is still vivid clear in his mind. Just this morning, Connor had woken up with an incredibly sore arm. He didn't bother questioning it or anything, since he thought he might have just slept on the wrong side of his bed. But when Schlatt had crashed into him a few seconds ago, he doesn't remember ever feeling his left arm hitting him.
Could this mean Schlatt also woke up with the same sore arm, too?
Suddenly, a horrific thought flashes in his mind, and he starts to panic.
Oh god, is this a symptom of the virus?! It is, isn't it?! We're both infected and we never knew it!
"Schlatt!" he exclaims, grabbing the man's right hand as he yanks him up on his two feet. "There's— There's something I need to tell you!"
We have to go back home right now. We can't stay here any longer. Infected or not, we're still human beings, and we're unarmed. If one of them were to come at us...
That's what he wants to tell him, anyway. But he can't, because Schlatt stops him from continuing any further.
"No, no, no!" he spits, jabbing a finger into his chest. "First, you injure me without even apologising, and now you want to have the first say expecting me to listen? What are you, the president? Let me fucking speak first, Connor!"
Schlatt takes a step back, dusting off his coat. He glances around him, before turning to Connor. For a few moments, a cautious silence rests on the cold palm of anticipation, before Schlatt opens his mouth to speak.
"I thought of a fantastic idea while I was running," he starts, "and as I ran, I thought: How am I going to be able to describe this mess of a town we're in to the others? There's no way I can put the disaster of our surroundings into proper words. So then, I thought: Hey, what if instead of telling the others... We show them. So...!"
He digs a hand into the pocket of his coat, quickly pulling out his phone as a complacent smirk curls along his face.
"We're gonna video call them, Connor. And you're gonna be the camera man!"
He hands his phone to Connor, who hesitantly takes it. Struggling to quiet the fevered fear in the sinews of his heart, he says, "look, Schlatt. I don't think—"
"Shut up!" he snaps back, taking a few set of steps back, trying to find a good position that both shows the mess of the environment and his pose. "I'm the dictator here, bitch! Now hold my phone and make sure the camera's facing me!"
"I never agreed to this." Connor mutters while he's tapping the screen to open up face-time.
"Yes you did."
A few long seconds pass.
"Oh my god," Schlatt speaks. "Hurry up, how long does it take to call someone?"
Frustrated by his arrogance, Connor snaps as he yells back: "I'm trying! Just be patient!"
He presses the CALL button, and a 'contacting...' symbol appears on the smartphone screen.
"Don't yell back at your superior!" Schlatt suddenly shouts, his nose wrinkling as if he's just laid eyes upon the most disgraceful thing in the universe. "It's not my fault you apparently never used a fucking phone before!"
Sick of his condescending attitude, Connor doesn't hold back as he bounces the argument back at him. "Well it's not my fault that your in-debt fucking ass owns a shitty iPhone 5! Seriously, I had to re-open the god damned app three times because it kept freezing!"
"It's an iPhone 4, moron!"
"You're just proving my point!!"
Schlatt purses his lips, pausing. Did he give up on the argument? Connor's shoulders slump, relief flooding him.
Until he opens his mouth again, and murmurs cholericly.
"... You want to know my point you just proved? Just now?"
An indignant frown curls down on Connor's face. "What? What is it?"
"... You're a fucking idiot."
"What did I even do?!"
"Nothing! Which is exactly why you're an idiot!"
"How does that make—!"
"Uh, hello?"
The two boys mouths instantaneously zip shut, their gazes both meeting each others as they do so. That last voice came from neither of them, but it was undoubtedly familiar. Connor looks at the phone in his hand.
On the screen are three boys crowded close together — Ty, Wilbur, and Tommy. The deep british voice came from Wilbur, who was staring intently at the screen with a mildly confused look.
"Are you guys... Okay there?" Wilbur asks through the call again. Oh crap, they must have overheard their argument. Wait, how long were they listening in for...?
Quickly, Connor faces the camera towards Schlatt, mouthing the words 'THEY PICKED UP'. Schlatt blinks, and takes a sheepish step back.
"Whatever you guys heard before, pretend that never happened." he brashly starts, clearing his throat before stepping back again to make a pose. "Good afternoon, gentlemen, and Tommy. You're probably wondering why I called you at a time like this. Well me and Connor are in the Outside World now, and holy fuck! Allow me to show you all this dump that was bestowed upon us!"
He waves his hands to his right, as if presenting something dramatically monumental. Nodding his head to his side, he gestures Connor to pan the camera. But he doesn't.
"Um..." Connor whispers, with a tone loud enough for Schlatt to hear. "How do I zoom out of your face?"
Schlatt frowns. "What? Why are you zoomed into my—? Nevermind. Just press that button in the corner."
Still struggling to operate the basic mechanic, a few seconds drag by before Connor stammers again. "There's no button, Schlatt."
"Yes there— okay just give me that! Christ you really don't know how to use a phone!" Irritated, Schlatt runs to Connor, trying to snatch the phone from his hand. Despite Connor being significantly taller, he manages to somehow stumble back and fall as Schlatt tries to rip the phone from his hand.
Somehow still holding the phone, Connor yelps: "Schlatt! Stop, you're going to break it—!"
They exchange arguments as they both fight over the phone, and it only just occurs to Connor how chaotic things must look from Wilbur's end on the line. What's worse is that Wilbur's probably saying something to make them shut up, but they can't even hear any of it over the yells of each other. Eventually, Schlatt does grab the phone out of Connor's grasp, but it ends up slipping from his hands and dropping to the concrete floor.
"Now look what you've done!" Schlatt snaps, "you dropped my fucking phone!"
"I didn't drop it!"
"Yes you did!!"
Connor rushes to pick it up, the camera unknowingly facing his face as he does so.
"Sorry guys, uh, let me just um... Is this how you flip the camera?" As he mumbles this (mainly to himself) while carefully picking up the (thankfully, not broken) phone, he swears he can hear Tommy comment something like "POV, Connor doesn't know how to hold a phone like a normal human."
He stands up, and gives the phone to Schlatt, who tears it out his hand with contemptuous force. "Okay, since somebody here doesn't know how to operate a basic phone, I'll hold this. OK, so where was I?"
"I think you were trying to show us where you are." Ty quickly remarks through the screen.
"Oh yeah," Schlatt mulls aloud, flipping the camera view around so that it's facing the disastrous townscape. "So we came to the outside world, and saw this. Yeah, this place is a mess, right?"
Gasps ripple throughout the trio of boys, before awe-struck murmurs of commotion linger between them afterwords. Schlatt continues to pan the camera around the deserted area.
"Jesus Christ..." he hears Wilbur murmur. "That's a lot worse than I thought..."
"Is the entire world like that...?" Ty mumbles, too. Suddenly, someone gasps.
"Holy shit, Schlatt!"
That was Tommy. Raising an eyebrow at the unprompted exclamation, all Schlatt does is utter a "what?"
"Is that motorbike yours?!"
Motorbike? The question strikes him out of the blue, leaving him at a loss for words. Narrowing his eyes, he glares at the direction Tommy had noticed the vehicle at. "What do you mean motor...—"
His voice trails off as his eyes come in contact with it — Yes, that's it. Over there, in the far distance parked beside a lamp-post is a motorbike. He swears he never saw that there before. Did it just come now? Or has it always been there?
"You never told us you guys had a motorbike!" Ty exclaims.
"I never... I don't think..." Schlatt's words fumble and catch in his throat. "That... That was never there before..."
The more he stares at the vehicle, the more certain he is of it's presence just existing now. Yeah, he's right. That motorbike was definitely not there before.
With a slightly anxious expression laid out on his face, he slowly turns his head to face Connor. But what he sees surprises him.
Connor is frozen still; his vacant eyes seems to simply hover in an empty space behind Schlatt. His shoulders quiver ever so lightly, and visible, shimmering beads of sweat are visible on his forehead.
"Sch—Sch—Schla—aatt..." His inarticulate voice trembles violently in his throat, apprehension seizing his every word. "W-W-What's... that t—thing... b—b—behind y—you...?"
What?
He cautiously cranes his neck back, half-expecting Connor to just be experiencing some hyper delusional scenario to try scare him. But when he turns around, all doubts of that vanish within the blink of an eye.
Because right behind Schlatt, standing about 20 meters away beside a tipped-over trash can, is a tall man with human blood smeared all over his face and hands.
* * * *
He looks to be in his late 30s, maybe even his early 40s — it's hard to tell, considering the distance shared between him and the man. But there's no doubt about it alright. He's one of them.
Almost spontaneously, as if making mere eye contact had activated something in his brain, rewiring his senses, the man breaks into a fierce sprint. Schlatt feels his heart drop into his stomach, infused with a flush of fearsome knotted pain — as if it's arteries had managed to tangle itself within his guts.
Shuddering with trepidation, Schlatt screams, jumping and clinging onto Connor, who also does the same. Hugging each other tight, they both shriek in terror.
"AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
Schlatt suddenly stops screaming.
"Wait," he facetiously remarks, "I'm not cooking dinner, right?"
"WE'RE NOT GOING TO GET DINNER IF WE DON'T RUN!" Connor shrieks, yanking his wrist with a steel grip as he starts to make a run for it. "SO FUCKING RUUUUN!!"
For the first time today, Schlatt actually listens to Connor, obliging as he quickly breaks into a dragging sprint behind him. Inevitably, the tall man chases them. If Schlatt didn't know it before, definitely knows it now — the guy's for sure one of those man-murdering cannibals.
They run down the street, cutting corners at an abandoned alleyway with a truckload of scattered junk all over the concrete paving. Seriously, the entire alleyway is like some sort of dumpster. You could find anything in there if you tried.
"W-What's going on over there?!" comes Wilbur's voice, mildly static and slightly cutting out from the phone. Schlatt only just realises that he's still clutching the phone in one of his hands. The camera must have been shaking so bad the others couldn't tell what was going on.
"Schlatt?" Wilbur's voice barely makes it through the crappy reception. "—Connor? Are you guys alright—?!"
"DOES IT SOUND LIKE WE'RE ALRIGHT?" Schlatt snaps between heavy pants as he sprints down the street.
"WE'RE TOTALLY NOT ALRIGHT!" comes his friends response.
Schlatt can hear the man draw closer from behind; his footsteps are frantic, and completely out of place. Gurgled, enigmatic noises are the only sounds coming from his mouth. He doesn't want to turn around.
To his fear, his grip on his phone slips quickly, and it falls right out his hand. It smashes onto the concrete floor, it's technical bits and pieces exploding out of his smartphones shell.
"My phone!!" he cries out, resisting the urge to collect it's remains and try to fix it. As if Connor read his mind, he grabs his wrist and yanks him again to remind him that they're being chased by a cannibalistic psychopath.
"Your own fault for not being patient enough to let me use it!!" Connor yells over the wind smashing into their faces and their fevered, running footsteps.
"Shut the fuck up Connor! Otherwise, I'm going to fucking throw you into that psycho bitch's mouth!"
The demonised, human-slaughtering monster responds with a loud, inhumane gargled shriek, as if agreeing with Schlatt's insult. To the boys horror, the man's running pace begins to pick up.
Nearing the end of the alleyway, Schlatt leaps onto a rusty metal tray that happens to by lying on the trash-filled ground, and uses it as if it's some sort of snowboard, skidding across the concrete floor. He jumps off it once he reaches the corner.
Connor swiftly bends down and grabs a broken window pane on the floor as he runs, and ditches it behind him with a battle cry. It comes in contact with the mans forehead, colliding into his skull with the force of a brick.
Just as he does so, the two turn another corner, which leads them out onto another less-trashed street. Wait a second — there's that motorbike again, in the distance. Did they seriously just run around in a circle, ending up back where they confronted the man?
"Schlatt, I think we lost him!" Connor pants, doubling-over with his hands pressed on his knees as he stops. Schlatt's feet also scuff to a stop.
"I hit him hard on the head," Connor continues, "and there's no way he could have survived that. I think we got him."
"Oh thank God," Schlatt exhales with relief, wiping his forehead with his sleeve as he catches his breath. A few beats of reassuring silence pass, excluding the sounds of their panting. When to their sheer dismay, the translucent gauze obscuring the reality of events behind consolation abruptly disappears, as the man jumps out from the corner of the alleyway they just came out from.
His entire face is enveloped in crimson, pouring blood; the probable source of his bloodshed being the thick shard of glass half-buried in his forehead. A wicked, deranged smile curls along the man's face as his teeth drip with droplets of flesh.
Gasping, Schlatt takes a step back. Impossible.
It almost fascinates him, how he's still functioning with a half-torn brain. It's almost as if he's some sort of immortal zombie. That must mean the virus doesn't only alter the digestive system — but it also alters the entire brain's nervous system.
"Eaaaaaat." the man gargles, taking a lumbering step closer to the two fragile boys. His hollow voice chokes, as he splutters out clumps of blood. "Eat... I m..ust... Human... Humans... Flesh... Eat."
"No..." Connor shakes his head, gaze locked in with the monster as he takes a fearful step back. "No, no, no!! Please! No I can't die now!"
He turns around, and runs, screaming at the top his lungs. "I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE! NOT COOKING DINNER ISN'T WORTH THE PRICE OF MY YOUTHFUL LIFE!!"
Like the idiot he is, he trips over his own foot almost immediately after.
"CONNOR, I'M SORRY!" Schlatt yells, running past the his fallen friend. "BUT YOU'RE GOING TO BE THE SACRIFICE! I'M WORTH $5.4 MILLION AND AM FINANCIALLY BETTER THAN YOU IN EVERY WAY! Connor, it's for the greater good! I'm too valuable to die!!"
He halts his running facade, and frantically points to Connor, whose lying on the ground. With his other hand, he waves at the cannibal, whose taking slow, deranged steps towards the boys.
"HEY! You fucking weirdo!" Schlatt yells. "Go eat him instead! Not me! He's a lot more healthier than I am! I bet his flesh tastes better!"
"WHAT?! No! Don't listen to him!! Schlatt, what the fuck are you saying?!"
The cannibal tilts his head, as if deciding on what offer to take — the boy on the ground, or the one still standing a few meters away from that boy on the ground. A few anxious seconds pass.
And then he chooses to run after Schlatt.
"Wait, no!" he utters, as the man pounces on top of him like a prying lion. "DON'T GO AFTER ME! AHHHH!!"
Before he knows it, he's wresting a 40-year-old cannibalistic human whose trying to (probably) eat his brain. For the first time, he's able to grasp a clear, visible view of the man's face close up.
His speckled, bloodshot pupils vibrate and shake behind his cornea, as a fleeting, crazed sensation flickers relentlessly in his frenzied eyes. He can feel his breath — putrid and foul — right against him, scattering his thoughts in all directions.
Both hands gripping his clothed shoulders, he struggles under the weight of the older man as he uses all the force he has to try push him off. Grunting and yelling, he kicks and thrashes about. But his attempts are in vain, as each time he pushes against the dead weight, he's only met with a stronger, overpowering force of resilience, laced with the man's ever-growing crave for his flesh. It's as if the more he moves, the stronger the cannibal gets.
Until in the corner of Schlatt's eye, he can see something shimmer, and dangle in the man's pocket of his ripped jeans. His gaze darts to the object, and realises it's a key.
A key.
The image of the motorbike in the distance flashes idly in his head.
That's where it came from!
He's hit with a wave of realisation.
The motorbike must belong to the man — that's how it got there. He must have travelled here to find food. It is a feeding ground after all.
"Connor!!" he splutters, shrieking out.
As he thrashes, he cranes his head around, and sees Connor staggering to his feet. The entire left side of his face is scraped with dribbling blood. That probably explains what took him so long to stand up. He must have had a pretty bad fall.
Channelling as much energy he has to his legs, he ferociously kicks the monster in the crotch. His concentration slips, and Schlatt uses his brief distraction as the opportunity to steal his keys. He stretches out his arm, and manages to just barely snatch the keys from his pocket.
"Connor!" he reiterates again, shouting louder than before. Grabbing Connor's attention, he ditches the keys at him. "Get the motorbike!!"
Abruptly, the man's hand suddenly shoots down to his neck, his fingers coiling tightly around it. His thumb presses down on his pulse below his carotid artery as he does so, creating a blockage for oxygen in his throat.
As if its mouth is a working water generator, ongoing pools of frothing foam and sticky saliva drools from the cannibal's lower lip, dripping onto Schlatt's face. He gags at the pungent smell and icky feeling. Screwing his eyes shut, he fights for air as the vacant space between his ribcage starts to slowly drain of oxygen.
He brings his arm up, punching the monster in the cheek. He grabs the large shard of glass stabbed into the side of his head, and digs it further into his skull until he hears a gruesome crack. More blood spills from his head, and the man's grip around his neck slips. Schlatt gasps immediately after, using this as a chance to suck in as much air as he can.
But to his terror, the man's faltering only lasted for a few quick seconds. He then latches his hand onto his neck again, clawing at it. He shrieks out in agony, feeling the surface layers of his skin scrape off as the man's fingernails dig into and tear it like fabric. He lashes out more, as an impulse of raw fire surges through his throat.
What once used to be a throbbing pain turns quickly into spasming torture; feeling like his entire neck is on fire, he screams out.
He then hears a motorbike rev in the distance, and a small part of him feels relief knowing that his theory about the keys and motorbike was correct. Connor's on the bike.
Using the last ounce of the strength he has left in him, he cries out, kicking the monster off of him with a substantial force. To his surprise, it works, and the man falls to his right. Just as he does so, the front of the motorbike rams into the body, running it over.
His heart pounding out of his chest, Schlatt crawls back in a hurry. If he was just a little closer, he would have been hit by the bike, too.
"Get on!" Connor yells, stopping the motorbike as he offers a hand out to Schlatt, whose on his knees. "He might still be alive!"
With immense gratitude, Schlatt takes his hand, and Connor pulls him up on the vehicle behind him. He wraps his arms around Connor's waist as the boy revs the vehicle again, accelerating down the street.
A few minutes pass of Schlatt catching his breath, before he speaks. "Took you long enough."
"Sorry. I couldn't see for a solid minute."
Schlatt closes his eyes, resting his head against Connor's back. His entire chest is warm and damp, and if he focuses hard enough, he can still feel the hot liquid stream down his neck. He feels like he's just been injected with a bucket full of adrenaline. It's coursing through his veins like a wildfire.
"You're a fucking mess, Connor." Schlatt mutters. His cruel observation is followed quickly by a spasm of choking coughs. He dreads the moment when his numbness will wear off.
"You're one to talk," Connor responds, quickly sneaking a glance behind. "... You look really bad, Schlatt. Are you okay?"
"Of course I'm not. I just got my throat clawed out." Despite the sarcasm, his reply lacks the life of his usual contemptuous, ridiculing attitude.
Connor falls silent. A few seconds pass, before he softly whispers. "I'm so sorry, Schlatt."
The two don't speak again for the rest of the ride back.