UnDeserted

2) O'Mine God

DESEREY THRIVES IN

chaos. She has for as long as she can remember.

Since she was in grade school and pushed Zane Boris off the monkey bars for talking trash about the girl in their class with greasy hair. Since middle school, too, when she put the fear of God into a boy named Cato Draven for picking on her best friend Jonathan (who, incidentally, turned out to be a whole other brand of chaotic, but whatever). Since the day of her wedding and a Man-Bat went and carried away her groom.

Deserey would go so far as to say she has always thrived on chaos. It's all she's ever known. She gets anxious when there's nothing chaotic goin' on.

Which means, when Central City, her home as of a week ago, explodes, she's ready for it. She's ready to leap into action.

It means, when the Mardon Brothers', two men who killed someone and robbed a bank earlier that day, plane goes down, Dez hops in her car and floors it in the direction of the crash. Without a second thought. She just goes.

It takes maybe ten minutes to find the bulk of it. In a ditch just a few miles out from the barn. Bolts and parts scattered in every which direction.

Dez stomps on the brake pedal and flings herself back into the pouring rain. Sprints for the wreckage. And thank God she decided to heed her dad's advice and wear boots, because there is so much mud. Everywhere. Just mud, mud, mud. It slows her down, but she manages to get to where she needs to be.

Deserey scans the scene, running her eyes over the scattered plane parts and squinting against the rain still pelting down on her. There's a lump feet away, next to where the steering mechanism had fallen. The only indication the lump is a man is the shallow, ragged breath that comes and goes all too slow. Barely audible over the pounding of water droplets. He's buried under what appears to be the whole ass plane. Jesus Christ.

Dez squats next to him, and mostly to see how responsive this guy is, she goes, "Hey, bud. How's life?"

All she gets in return is the death stare. Whether that's because he's being stubborn or because he physically can't speak due to injuries is unclear. But, hey, he's conscious so that's something.

"You know where you at?"

He still don't say nothin' to her, just sorta stares back at her with contempt. So, she sorta thinks he understands her and all that, he's just bein' an ass. She thinks. Dez ain't no doctor, though.

When she shines the light of her phone into his eyes he flinches away from it. So, he's got a concussion prolly. At the very least. One of his arms is twisted at an awkward angle too. Dez guesses this brother must have gotten the bulk of it when the plane went down.

Whichever brother this is.

She's not totally sure which Mardon is in front of her right now, but he's not the one that shot at her and the older two detectives. This one's got shorter hair and more distinguished facial hair. Dez thinks he might be the older one; she wants to say his name is Mark...?

Anyway, Mardon, whichever one this is, is glaring up at her from under the plane wreckage. There's mud, and blood, and rain all splattered over his face. Some piece of the plane, maybe the door or the roof, Dez isn't too sure, is laying flat on top of him. She's gonna have a time gettin' this mother fucker outta here, she'll tell ya that much.

"Color me crazy, but weren't there supposed to be two of you?" Deserey quirks her brow at the Mardon brother in front of her. The one under the plane who might be older brother Mark. With the possible concussion and at least a broken arm but probably a lot more shattered bones and likely ruptured spleens or something really bad like that, too. He looks pale as fuck on top of it all.