Save Yourself | Petekey | Danger Days

Four - Damn It, Pete

The moon had begun to rise from behind the cover of the mountains, its dim glow lighting up the camp. Pete was strewn across the sand inches from the fire, with Kobra in the same position on the log behind him. His hand had fallen from its resting position across his chest and was hanging off close to his friend; Could they be called friends?

Pete stared at the sky, once again admiring the stars, his head overflowing with thoughts; of this new world he was trapped in for who knows how long, his old life, the blonde boy who showed him more care than anyone had in years—

Kobra groaned and shifted, his arm disappearing under his head. Facing down, his face was squished by his arm. Pete let out a soft giggle at the sight and turned his attention back to the foreign world with a tired grin.

Then he heard a noise.

The noise came again. It was like stomping, and it was growing louder by the moment. Pete shifted and looked around as best he could without moving too much. This place was unknown to him; he didn't know its dangers and norms. His heartbeat quickened.

He whispered, "Kob—" Before he could finish the name, he heard something whistle through the air and felt a cold, sharp piece of metal hover barely a millimeter from the sensitive skin on his neck. He held his breath.

"Damn it, Pete," Kobra mumbled, his voice tired, and drew his hand back, stuffing the pocket knife into his pocket. "What is i—" Pete shushed him and pointed to his ears, mouthing "listen". Kobra's eyebrows laced together in confusion but he remained silent and obeyed. As the stomps came again, his eyes went wide. "Take this and don't move," he whispered, holding the pocket knife out to Pete, who hesitantly took it and gripped it tightly in his hand.

Like a snake, Kobra slid off the log and knelt beside Pete, whose cold and shaking fingers wrapped around the knife were the only things keeping it from clacking against his watch clasp or the buttons on Kobra's jacket, which was still draped over his torso after the younger had surrendered it to him for the cold night he was not used to, insisting that he, however, was used to it and could handle the frigid temperatures.

He leaned forward, chest nearly against sand, and pulled out another knife as he unbuckled the clasp on the holster securing his gun. The stomping grew louder still, forming into heavy footsteps. Pete shut his eyes.

Blast. Boom.

Pete held back a yell, his heart jumping in his chest. "Pete, get up," Kobra said, his voice rushed and urgent as he pulled at Pete's arm, disregarding the pain that radiated from the joint. Pete gripped the fabric above him and rose to his knees. On the other side of the log laid a figure, dark liquid oozing out of his head and chest. Pete's eyes widened and he snapped his head away from the sight, the second dead person he'd ever seen much more revolting than the first. "Run." Kobra grabbed his jacket out of Pete's still shaking fingers and pushed him away. "Get the guys. Tell them the Dracs are here." Pete ran as fast as he could, his knee slowing him down too much. He heard more blasts from behind him, the sounds pushing him forward, away, to where help was. A light turned on from inside the diner. Someone emerged from behind the glass doors.

"What was that?" Poison demanded, jogging past Pete.

"Dracs. Kobra," Pete sputtered out through a groan. Poison broke into a sprint, his gun now suddenly in hand and Ghoul running a few paces behind him.

Blasts and yells came from behind him. The fourth man of their group had somehow joined them at some point. Pete's head spun. His limbs felt weak. Something cold ran down the length of his arm. Before he could even tell what was happening, he was sitting on the dirty tile inside the dimly lit diner, lightheaded and in pain. The edges of his vision darkened and blurred. He looked around and tried to force himself to his feet, hands against the wall in an effort to stabilize himself. But his palms slipped and he fell back down onto the ground with a thump. The last thing he heard was muffled fighting and the last thing he saw was the blood stained wall and floor surrounding his limp body.