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'Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire...'
Some say death is cold, almost as if Ice is flooding your veins instead of blood.
These people are wrong.
Death is hot, fiery pits of Hell hot. Death scorches you as you fight for another breath that you know isn’t coming. It boils you from inside out as your organs stop, then start, then stop for the final time. Death is only cold when you stop dying.
David wasn’t sure what was worse, the part where he died, or the part where he woke up.
He was thankful that it was nighttime but by the looks of the sky, it wouldn’t last long. He needed to find shelter. David didn’t recognise his surroundings; he could tell he was in a ditch of some kind, but apart from that all he knew was that he was in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. There was no indication that he was even in California; there was also no sign of his brothers.
Ignoring the pulse of thirst, David limped out of the ditch, he limped towards the sound of a river in the near distance, hoping to find any sign of life.
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If he was being perfectly honest with himself, David would admit that for the first time in his long, long life he was unsure of his next step. He was so used to having to herd up his brothers and (somewhat) cooperate with Max that he did not know what to do with himself.
He was so used to having to be the rule maker, the caretaker, the leader, that he couldn't even fathom having the solace from the noise and bickering that he had once longed for, even if it was thrusted upon him through death: their deaths.
David was almost thankful that Marko went so quickly. He didn't have to feel the pain of having someone die, and then the same of not being able to avenge them properly. Marko had it easy, he didn't watch all of his brother's die, he didn't know what was going to happen and he didn't have to suffer the consequences. David was envious.
Dwayne would have scoffed at David if he could see him now, sitting by a stream, trying to wash the last remnants of the dried holy water that had been scorched onto his skin. He would have rolled his eyes, might have even called him pathetic, but Dwayne would have know what to do. If only he was here.
David laughed at that, just how he expected that Dwayne laughed at him. Wallowing in self-pity like a little girl. He closed his eyes to brush off the thought, only opening them again when he clocked onto the smell of a lone hiker nearby.
If he had anymore strength to spare, he would have sped towards his prey, instead he continued to limp forward, playing into the act of a man in need of rescuing. Humans were east to fool like that, they were too stupid and gullible to hide from their instinct to help others.
David made quick work of the man as he sunk his teeth into his flesh, bleeding him dry. Dropping the hiker’s body onto the groin, David stretched, feeling his body rejuvenate as it healed. Looking down at the mess at his feet, his eyes landed on a set of car keys poking out of his dinner’s tightened hands.
Shoving the keys into his pocket, David quickly moved through the woods, not stopping until he found an opening in the trees were a lone beat-up Dodge Challenger stood. It's silver paint had long since chipped away, and what was left of it was seemingly covered in dirt and bird shit. One of the windows had been broken and a bin liner had been duct-taped to cover the gaping hole left behind. A glance into one of the remaining windows showed the leather seats had begun to worn away and the stuffing underneath was starting to spill out.
For a fleeting moment, David saw himself within the rustbucket of a car. How it's long life of constant adventurage and clear misfortune had slowly chipped away at it, inside and out, until it was barely standing. Maybe that man hadn't been hiking my choice but rather his car had finally taken its own life. Either way, David took the key from his front pocket and slipped it into the door and turned it. Slowly, as if he was trying to not anger the vehicle, he opened the door and slipped inside.
After the key had been fitted into the ignition and the engine flickered to life, David's mind switched off as he began to drive into the night. If he had paid more attention, he may have noticed the buildings he had driven past hundreds of times before, or the almost familiar faces in the crowds of people. If he had paid any mind to where he was heading, he would have noticed that he was maybe only 20 miles north of Santa Carla. It was only as it passed infamous Murder Capital of the World sign did he spin the car to a stop, almost crashing into a phone booth.
David closed his eyes for a brief moment as the car finally stopped moving but he didn't allow himself to indulge for long. Clambering out of the car, David made is way to the phone booth, slotted in the last of the coins he had rattling around his pockets, and dialed the only number he knew.
The ringing of the phone was only of the longest eternities David had lived through. What if Max didn't answer? Would that mean the Emerson's had gotten to him too? But what if Max did answer? Would he want to speak to David? Or would he hang up and leave him alone once again? Would he-?
The second the dial tone ended and the background noises of the Video store rung out, David gasped Max's name down the phone. He was met with silence. He almost hung up when he heard the person on the other end let out a murmur that sounded like a prayer to a forgotten God.
"David?," Max's voice rang out down the phone,It was David's turn to stand silently. Waiting for an answer about his brothers that he didn't know if he wanted to know or not. "David, it's time for you to come home. There is still more to do here, I need you here; it's just us now."
And with that though, the blood rushing through David's veins once again turned to ice.
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'...But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction ice is also great and would suffice.'
-Fire and Ice, Robert Frost