The truck was completely ransacked.
The wheels were punctured with jagged stab wounds and the windows smashed to sharp shreds of broken glass, resembling razor teeth around the edges of the window. The big old thing would evidently have to sit there with its injuries and abandonment, as it was near useless. He should have felt a short stab at his heart for the truck’s sentimental value to him, but Jarrod was then in survival mode.
Muttering under his breath, he ditched the idea of the luxury of driving to safety, and sprinted off towards the path. He entered into the forest, relying on the ebbing spatial map he barely remembered to find the general direction of town.
The trees bounced through his shaky vision and blended into an array of green shades around him. The brightness of the sun streaming into his eyes were like rays of pain that absorbed through his eyeballs and irritated his already sore brain. He tried not to grimace. He scampered along with the weight of the world crashing down, and his Goosebumps backpack, on his back.
Somewhere between the piles of mossy rocks and broken trees, Jarrod blanked out and lost all traces of thought. Except for, of course, that he needed to run.
He saw the side of one of the main roads through the thicket and was brought back to the world of reality. He was no longer an animal of prey, and was instead a putrid looking man coming up at the side of the road. He heard the calming sound of rushing cars rolling along and let his mouth perk up into an optimistic smile. Running on sheer adrenalin, he made it to the edge of the road.
He waved his arms in the air frantically, fearing that he’d be noticed by the enemy, but knowing that revealing himself to the public was his only choice.
“Come on,” he muttered. “Somebody, please.”
After watching the cars passing by for a few moments, Jarrod suddenly felt rather self-conscious of his appearance. His dark shaggy hair was too long and greasy from lack of cleanliness, and parted at odd angles. He could also feel it fizzing and curling up the way it does after not showering for a few days, a feeling he detested. His clothes were rumpled and dirty, and the stench of his own body odour tickled his nose. But there was nothing he could do about any of that.
Come on, please!
He continued to silently plead. He jumped up and anxiously searched each car that past for any sign of it slowing.
Moments after frustrating people rolling by with their heads obliviously turned, his heart began to sink. He hated having to trust any fellow human beings, and the one time he had to, he was let down. Jarrod turned his face to the ground, solemnly interested in the hard dusty dirt barely meeting up with the rough edges of the highway.
He scuffed it with his shoe.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a run down little pink jeep rumbling up ahead of him. He noted what a strange thing it was, and stared up ahead at the scene, and how it all seemed to tie into the dull, rusty blue sky. The pink jeep became closer and closer.
Wait. Is it slowing?
It was. The jeep strolled over to him invitingly, increasingly slowing down before him. He suddenly felt as though he were in a really bad comedy movie, for as the occurring reality seemed all too out of reach.
Was this a joke?
He sighed, and realized that it was better than nothing, and opened the door before climbing inside. He slumped down on the ratty old leather seat, finally being able to catch his breath. Panting heavily, he glanced at the driver and slammed the door shut.
The woman watched him shift in his seat, trying to get comfortable. “Seatbelt?” she asked with an awkward looking glance.
He grunted and didn’t object.
Clicking the seatbelt into place, he looked at her bright yellow jumper suit with a piqued curiosity. Did people even wear jumpers anymore? It seemed brighter than the sun, and her hair was dulled up in tight springy curls. The fact that she drove a pink jeep, wore sunshine happy clothes, and just stopped to pick up a mangy old stranger off the side of the road that came somewhere from the woods told him a lot about her personality. It was a respectable personality however. Odd, but perhaps respectable.
“Where to?” she asked him.
“Uhh…Just…Umm…A hotel?” he stammered lamely. He hadn’t figured out where exactly he needed to be.
“Mmh, okay then,” she mumbled absent minded. She continued down the road and nodded. “Well there’s a cheap hotel on the highway up here where I'm headed. Do’ya mind goin’ there?”
He rubbed his face, relieved and for some reason even more self-conscious as he shrugged, “Yeah, sure. Doesn’t really matter.”
His face was oily and disgusting, and he knew the overtired eyes didn’t help. He must have looked like the living dead.
While staring out the window, and trying his hardest not to fall asleep, he remembered that he didn’t even thank the poor woman. He may be on the run for the rest of his life, basically homeless, and useless, but he still had morals.
He peeked at the blonde ray of sunshine beside him, whom was immersed in the road in front of her.
“Uh, thanks for the ride. It helps a lot,” he awkwardly explained.
She looked back at him and nodded. “No problem.”
They sat in silence for a few painfully long moments, so Jarrod rested his head on the vibrating window, ready to shut out the world again, until she stopped him.
“So?” she prodded. “What’s your story?”
He sat up straight again, surprised that she wanted to compose a conversation, other than what was already written, which was more than satisfying for him.
“Nothing really. You?”
She rolled her eyes. “Didn’t ask to hear no smart-alek answer. Tell me whacho was doin’ back there. At the side’a them woods.”
“What? Oh, car troubles,” he waved off the question.
“Ah, I hate that.”
“Yeah.”
Silence flooded the car, nearly suffocating them before she asked another question.
“Are you gonna tell me what really happened to the car?”
“No.”
“Tell me. I'm smarter than I look,” her words urged, but her voice lacked the same enthusiasm.
“So am I,” he answered. “And it’s a long story.”
Her mind seemed engaged with his story, and he could almost hear the wheels turning in her brain to figure out what he was doing, although ever so casually. As if she only wanted some sort of story to entertain her for the time being.
“I got time,” she said, trying her hardest not to look at him.
Jarrod cleared his throat, silently looking over the dusty dashboard, riddled with miscellaneous car magazines, and old tissues. He looked out the window, thankful to read on the bright green sign up ahead that the motel was a mere few kilometres away.
He shook his head. “No you don’t. The hotel’s right up there,” he said pointing.
Surprised, she turned her head to see where exactly he was pointing, cursing. She then quickly pulled over to the side of the highways, making her way up to the exit.
Once they made it to the tiny little building off in the midst of a grassy field and a streaming road, she pulled into the lot, carefully parking in a free spot. She tapped his shoulder as he unbuckled his seatbelt.
“Money? I need everything I have for the room, sorry,” he gestured to the hotel. “I'm not familiar with the hitch hiking rules. Deeply sorry about that. I do, however have a pickle,” he offered.
“Don’t wancho’ money, and I hate pickles.”
He looked to her kindness, and suddenly felt the deepest pang that he should give whatever he could offer. He wiped his hand off on his jeans, and and awkwardly began rummaging through his back pocket, until he found the small wad of money he kept in an elastic band. Eventually, he picked out a five dollar bill and handed it to her.
“Like I said, I don’t need no money. Just wanna know”-
“I’d like to thank you, miss. Not many people will help out a stranger in public, for they figure somebody else will, and that it would only be a waste of time. That was actually tested once, so I guess that means that you defy those rules. Which is a good thing, you’re a good person. A real, good person. Stay cool, and seriously, keep the money.”
Before he could look back, he hopped out of the car, the tiny backpack strap clinging to his shoulder.
She called out to him, but he never looked back. He slipped into the ugly doors to the little run down hotel, and kept going.
The walls were chipping and dirty. A stale salty smell lingered around the closet he supposed was supposed to be a lobby. He walked up to the front desk to look the old man in the eye and tried not to look overly intimidating.
“Hello, sir. I’d like a room please,” he cleared his throat, and shifted his weight from foot to foot while trying to avoid the manager’s eyes.
He heard the door open and close behind him, and another person step inside.
The front man began typing away at the computer, and murmured a response so low that Jarrod needed him to repeat it. Again the man whispered the room number. He nodded, but then considered the situation narrowly before asking, “Is that a room with a front view?”
The manager looked up in confusion. “Huh?”
“My room. Does it have a view of the front property?” he said clearer.
The scraggily guy shook his head. “Why? Do you want one?” he asked uncertainly.
Jarrod nodded strongly. A little too much, but he couldn’t stop. He suddenly felt so nervy.
The man punched in something on the computer, then gave him the new room key. Jarrod bounced and shifted uncomfortably, and fished the roll of money from his pocket to begin counting it up. After paying, he only had twenty dollars. It was scarce, but it would have to do.
He tried to stroll casually down the hallway, but quickly found himself jogging for some unknown reason, while attempting to find the room number.
It was a small hotel; the hall only consisted of a few doors before the end of the hall. But the green doors seemed to multiply right before his eyes as he jogged.
He coughed up a dry hacking sound, and continued to press forward down the hall.
Soon there were various green door centimetres apart from each other. One after another, in a neat line of sheer confusion. He couldn’t decide if the doors were in that pattern when he first started down the hall.
They spun together in an arrange of endless green doors. He thought of the time in his life where he had as many opportunities as he did doors at that moment.
His vision trembled and his foot steps started to match the slow beating of his heart. In slow motion, his one foot fell. Then the other. The world blurred but he could still hear his odd footfalls echoing down the empty space.
He shook his head, trying to see straight, but the hallway only twisted even more violently. He gasped out for air, and squinted his eyes to try to see. Breathing heavily, he staggered down the hall even farther.
He fell down. He crashed right to the ground’s reach, and did so ever so slowly, that he could see the floor inching towards him, but could do nothing about it.
He felt nothing when he hit the floor. He didn’t call out when his body bounced and slammed against ground. He only rolled over and crawled to the swirling doors located in front of him. He crawled aimlessly, thinking and pouring over any spec of information on where he was.
Somehow, eventually, he made it to the wall. Jarrod clambered up, regaining balance for a few seconds before crashing down again. The number…
He winced as he lifted his head to see the number on the door in front of him. It shook ferociously and something rang in his ears. He saw the number 13 quiver on the door.
13, that’s where I need to be.
He thought so slowly, as his brain was underwater. Everything was underwater.
The key struggled to make it into the hole, and turned. The door managed to open, and Jarrod stumbled inside.
Not even bothering to shut the door, Jarrod threw himself on the old but nicely made up bed. He pulled the backpack off on his back and tossed it aside. He lied down; trying to breathe deeply, but it soon became much of a struggle.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale exhale. Exhale. Inhaling too much.
What’s wrong with me?
He coughed out a terrible stale sound and stared at the ceiling. It was mocking him. Suffocating him and laughing as he choked.
He groaned, loud and rolled over in the bed, trying to think. Trying to focus on his surroundings.
What am I doing here? What’s happening to…
The questions slowed, suddenly fading. He couldn’t develop any more either. The world seemed to loose purpose. Nothing mattered for he had nothing to recall.
His eyes closed leisurely. He continued to take in air, but no longer could he register anything from the external environment. It blacked out.
He was alone with his breaking mind. But he wasn’t afraid.
Suddenly, he heard it. Faintly, but he still heard it. A roar of the explosion ripped through the walls. The swiftest of monsters tore through the building at a rate too incomprehensible for him.
The impact of the blast lifted him in the air, and he was as useless and weak as a rag doll. His body crashed through the large window which faced the front of the property.
He didn’t feel his skin sliced across the glass as he was forced through. He couldn’t feel anything. No pain, no shock.
He effortlessly tumbled to the ground, and in the air, the world did not quiver uncontrollably.
A.N// Hey, I had a whole other part of this chapter from Sea's perspection..but It's going through some serious revising...so I think I'll just add it to the next chater. Hopefully the next one won't be too long now! Thanks for reading:)