Dating After the End of the World - 35

My ears are ringing, a high-pitched whistle that drowns out any other noise. Slowly, my eyes flutter open as the scene before me begins to reveal itself, piece by piece. The canvas of the deflated airbag, dangling down at my feet, flecks of red staining it in too many places to count. The cracked windshield spiderwebbed in all directions, making it impossible to see what’s on the other side. Twinkling diamonds litter the car like a freshly fallen snow, dazzling brilliantly against the red leather interior.

The side of my face feels like a pincushion, with dozens of needles sticking out in all directions. The pads of my fingers gently find the sources of pain. I bring my hand to my line of sight, seeing it’s now coated in sticky red, like I’ve just finished eating a rack of ribs.

I try moving my extremities and am relieved, realizing my legs work just fine. Undoing my safety belt, I climb out of the totaled vehicle. The hood of Nate’s Porsche is wrapped tightly around a tree, the small German sports car being no match for the towering arboreal giant. Steam rises from the warped hot metal, drops of fluid splashing onto the ground. I stagger, nearly tumbling over, but grip the car door to steady myself for a moment.

Nate is passed out on the steering column, the deflated airbag hanging below him like a bib. Small droplets of blood have already begun to dry on his forehead.

Ksshh!!! Beep . “ Dr. Warner? Paging Dr. Warner! ” A man’s voice emits from somewhere in the car.

Static is cut by a quick beep, followed by more static. A muffled voice comes through again.

“ Dr. Warner, if you can hear me, you’re free to go. We’re starting our approach to the compound now. Thanks for leaving the gate open. Enjoy that girl of yours and steer clear. Ya hear? Because there won’t be another deal on the table the next time we run into each other. ” A deep laugh erupts before static takes over and the line clicks dead.

I dive into the back seat and scramble for the source of the noise, finding a small black walkie-talkie underneath the driver’s seat.

“You son of a bitch,” I spit at his unconscious body, and a part of me hopes he didn’t survive the accident. I try the radio, hoping I can delay the attack of whoever is on the other line, but after a dozen attempts, I give up, realizing they probably shut it off to move incognito.

I turn to run back toward the house. Unfortunately, thanks to Nate driving in the opposite direction, we’re now even farther from the compound. It only takes a few steps of attempting to jog before I realize the damage the accident has inflicted. While my legs are intact and not bleeding, my deeply bruised shins make themselves known in a violent and agonizing way, pain shooting through my bones with each step.

“Fuck,” I yell.

I hear the creaking of metal hinges and the crunching of glass just before “Casey!” is let out into the void.

Nate leans against the back corner of his Porsche, staggering in place. His shoulder looks to be dislocated again, and there’s an unnatural bend in his right ankle, likely an unclean fracture that won’t heal properly without surgery.

“Casey!” he calls again, struggling to keep himself vertical as he attempts to move toward me. “Where are you going?”

Nate’s hand slips off the car and his ankle snaps beneath him, dropping him instantly to the ground. He screams out in agony.

I narrow my eyes. “I’m going to save my family.”

His painful cries morph into a twisted laugh as he shakes his head in disapproval. “You’ll die trying.”

“I’d rather die with them today than spend the rest of my life with you.”

“God, you are more useless and stupid than I thought you were. I knew I made the right decision leaving you behind.” He cracks a wide smile, revealing bloodstained teeth, relishing in his confession.

Piece of shit. I turn my back on Nate and start walking, refusing to give him the satisfaction of my anger.

“Say hi to your dead dad for me, you fucking biiiitch!” Nate screams. The words reach a part of me I can’t ignore, spinning me around. My hand instinctively slips into my holster as I find one of my throwing stars and send it flying through the air, right into Nate’s shoulder.

“Ackk!” he yelps as he looks at the steel object lodged in his body, blood trickling down his shirt. His hand goes to it, trying to remove the star, but the pain is far too great for him to pull it out himself.

I start to turn and walk away, but stop and face him again, smirking.

“Whoops. Don’t wanna forget that,” I say, sauntering over to Nate. I squat down in front of him and grip the throwing star, giving it a small twist before yanking it from his flesh. He screams again, grasping at the wound the second it’s free of the blade. Blood pours more freely from the unblocked hole.

“Thanks for holding on to it for me.” I smile and stare into his eyes, seeing him for the man he truly is—and by that, I mean no man at all.

He spits a spray of blood at my face, chuckling and crying at the same time.

“That’s not very nice, Nate.”

“It’s Dr. Warner, ya cunt.” He cracks a grin.

I stand, looking down at the crumpled piece of shit before me, him and the car. Letting out a heavy sigh, I strike my knee into his forehead, smashing his skull into the metal of the bumper. His eyes instantly roll up into his head as he slumps to the ground.

“You’re right, Nate. I am a cunt.”

I’ve never understood why that word was ever considered an insult. To me, it’s a compliment. It’s one of the strongest organs there is. It creates life, it makes men stupid, and it bleeds every month—yet it doesn’t die. I can’t say Nate will have the same fate, though. Blood trickles from the back of his head and seeps out of the wound in his shoulder, staining his shirt red. I feel around in my front pocket and pull out the engagement ring he slipped on my finger months ago. With his return, I’ve been carrying it with me, debating whether to wear it again. I’m glad I didn’t now, and I toss it in his lap.

A barrage of gunshots echoes in the ether, miles away, but it feels like it pierced right through me. I turn, leaving Nate slumped against the back of his precious Porsche, and take off at a full sprint, ignoring the pain in my shins.