Run. (Team Crafted Fanfiction)

Chapter 23- Prison Time

Jerome's POV

I surge forward up the pavement, anger blocking out any thoughts. Footsteps pound up the street behind me, so I sprint even faster.

A small force hits me around the waist, and I crash to the pavement. Forcing myself onto my back, I see Jason clutching to my waist. His eyes are wide in shock. He's trying to stop me.

I scream in fury and slap at his arms. He's trying to stop me. I keep punching and hitting every part of him I can hit, but he doesn't let go.

The animal inside me screams for release. "Let me go!"

He shakes his head. Why doesn't he understand? They turned their back on Mitch. I have to find him.

"I have to find Mitch."

Jason's face contorts, as if he's going to cry. "I'm sorry." he whispers.

My sight bathes in red, and I howl. I. Need. To. Find. Mitch.

I punch him, harder than before. Harder, quicker strikes to his face. A quick uppercut to his chin and he lets go of me to protect his face. I immediately flip back over onto my stomach and start to pull myself out from under him.

His body lands on my back, and he forces my wrists to the pavement. My face squishes against the ground and I moan. Tears leak out of my eyes and run down my cheeks. Why don't they understand? Just let me go. Let me go find Mitch. Mitch.

The tears stop, and I feel Jason release his grip on my arms.

Mitch.

I wail as loud as I can. Every bone in my body simultaneously breaks as I scream and curl myself into a ball. My soul shatters and I rake my hands up and down the street, searching for any kind of comfort. I pound and kick the street. I scratch at my face and my arms. I lay there and scream. Agony crushes down on my body as the world collapses. My mind contorts on itself and a single thought surfaces, the thought causing me to go insane.

Mitch is dead.

Someone tries to pick me up, but I flail around until they are forced to drop me. My blurred vision makes out pairs of feet standing around me, but I don't care.

I continue to scream and scratch, but it isn't enough. It doesn't alleviate the pain. I curl up into a ball and just sob, just let tears pour out of me. There is an empty hole in me, which burns with pain. I want to convulse, to throw up, to feel pain. But it's not enough.

I want to die.

I clench and unclench my hands. Drag in air and force it out. Close and open my eyes.

Why can't it just stop?

Pain and misery floats before my eyes, and its all I can see. A dim part of my mind makes out that someone picks me up again, but I don't resist. A gray, cloudy fog suffocates my brain. I scream again, wanting out.

A brick wall surrounds my thoughts, trapping them in. It forces all my misery on me, forces me to dwell on it. And I don't want to.

I want it to end. All of it. The pain that has consumed me these last few minutes. I slam my head on whatever surfaces surround me. I do it again and again, knowing I am succeeding as the pounding starts. The misery floats away, and it all goes black.

"What was it all about?"

"It's like he just snapped."

"Did he go insane?"

"Why'd he just go all weird all the sudden? Why'd he just take off?"

"That look in his eyes was weird. I thought he was gonna shoot us."

The words drift lazily into and out of my prison. The misery still traps me, and I moan.

"Sssssh, I think he's coming to."

"About that, how did he knock himself out?"

All at once, the pain breaks through the cement walls. Terror pounds on my body, and I scream. My eyes flash open and i get a quick sight of the team standing above me. Screaming again, I begin to thrash about, trying to get all the pain off of me. Hands force me to the ground, make it so I can't move.

"Why does he keep doing that?"

"We can't just keep pinning him down forever."

"What do you suggest we do, tie him down?"

This last suggestion must make sense to anybody but me, because moments later the hands are removed and a thick materiel around my limbs prevent movement. I slam my head back, but it simply pushes into the soft pillow. There's no escape. The misery overwhelms me, and I moan. More pieces of discussions break through and come to me.

"He probably would need to see some kind of doctor."

"We don't have some kind of doctor. We don't have anything except a barricaded basement door. We don't even have a whole team."

"Are we just gonna live in this basement, trying to keep him from killing himself?"

"I don't see what else we can do. He doesn't look in the mood to go kill some zombies."

"Where'd this all even start?"

"He told me he was looking for Mitch."

"Oh. Oh crap. So, does that mean....?"

"Probably. No Mitch, no Jerome, I'm guessing."

"And we have no Mitch. So is Jerome basically....?"

"Dead? Pretty much. Unless he makes a miraculous recovery for no apparent reason."

"Let me out!" I scream.

All the voices abruptly stop. "Let me go! I don't like it!"

A hand rests against my arm. "Jerome?"

I open my eyes, wide. Ian stares at me, concerned.

I tremble. "Let me out, Ian. I'm scared."

Ian stares at me, flabbergasted. "Wh-"

I scream in agony. He didn't let me go.