We are Nomads (The BLAST fanfiction)

Chapter Five

Sorry about some of the language in this chapter. Pushkin seems like someone who would use language a lot. Hope you enjoy!

We have finally reached "Jefferson National Expansion Memorial" and the Gateway Arch, it looks like my heart. Torn in two with shards of glass and metal scraps littering the dead grass. I remember my first time here, I was five and I remember going up the small cramped little elevator with my family and an old lady. That day, I discovered my fear of heights and here I am now, ten years later to find the very thing that changed my life, is looking like my life.

In the distance I here a car start that brings me back to reality. I spin my head toward the sound to see Pushkin in a car messing with the wires under the wheel. Lucas stands just a few yards away from the car. Then, almost unexpected, a small breeze passes through and it feels like death has just whispered in my ear all the screams of dying people from what some would call "The BLAST".

"Get over vere now vlittle girl." Pushkin spits at me. I obey his orders, though, I could definitely take him down. He is a lot shorter that I am and judging by his hair, he seems to be in his late fifties. I walk over to the Mini-van and stand next to Lucas. "Don't just stand there, get in!" Pushkin orders with an annoyed tone. This might just be my death. The moment I enter that van, my life has no meaning. I think to myself as I walk closer to the van. Just as I reach the van, I take a deep breath and enter the van. Lucas enters behind me and we sit on the blood stained seats. The blood is sticky like honey when it is crystallized. At this point, I don't care if I get blood on my clothes. They are already covered in filth. A little blood won't make me seem like a terrible person.

Midway through my thoughts, Pushkin slams his door shut and hits the accelerator. Pushkin sighs and begins to speak.

"We'll be heading south so that when winter hits, it won't be cold. Damn Missouri has to get cold in winter." Pushkin starts and keeps rambling to himself in Russian so we can't understand him. After walking the several miles to get to the park, I am absolutely exhausted. As Pushkin keeps rambling, his words seem to put me in the darkness that I always seem to accept in the late hours that take me away from pain and the outside world. Sleep is the good thing that has happened to me in the past month. As I drift off to a distant land of my mind, I feel Lucas's head on my shoulder. I smile slightly knowing I still have someone to protect and he has someone to protect since his family is still out there, maybe.