by catt dahman
"A curfew has been implemented…"
He was jerked forward, and Desmond immediately recognized his life was in danger. He batted the hand away, and found it oddly cold to the touch.
Strips of flesh clung to the curved bones of the exposed rib cage.
"Shit," Desmond said and took a step back "I didn't… uh…shit…"
The megaphone droned on.
He sprinted back to his Cadillac, quickly slid back into the driver's seat, and locked himself in. The sick man, or whatever he was, followed him, oblivious to how much it should hurt to be missing so much flesh.
What the hell was going on? He could easily escape through the passenger door and make a run for it, but he couldn't leave the Cadillac, which was the reason why he retreated to it in the first place. He impulsively thought about his cell phone and he wondered if he should text or call anyone. What would he say?
The wounded man slammed his wrists against the driver-side window.
Desmond's mouth hung open, his fingernails punching tiny crescents into his palms while his elbows quivered.
The helicopter's bright beam of light fell upon the man. He jerked forward, as his chest exploded outward with a loud boom!
Desmond's heart leapt into his throat.
He watched as the man was supposed to fall forward onto the concrete. Erratic, twitchy movement from the mangled hands revealed that the man had survived the powerful blast.
Desmond could see the other side of the bridge through the hole in the man's chest. Nobody could've survived such a wound. What kind of drugs was this guy on?
The man's pale lips opened to reveal rows of yellow teeth, and the face came closer to the window.
Whoever shot the man was going to do it again. Desmond ducked and put his hands over the top of his bald head.
Boom!
Shards of glass rained down upon his fingers.
All of his thoughts seemed to stop at once. His racing heart confirmed his existence. Slowly, he lifted his head and found clumps of hair and dried blood on his dashboard, chunks of skull near the pedals. A mess of fluids dripped from the steering wheel.
The spotlight disappeared, and Desmond blinked his eyes several times.
He needed to call Bella. What was going on? He had to slow everything down and take control. He needed to pull his head out of his ass and figure it out, before it was too late.
His hands shaking from the sudden realization that he survived a near-death experience, he grabbed the cell phone and hesitated. The man outside of his car meant to harm him, and the gunfire from the chopper could have killed him, too. His thoughts were scrambled, and breath eluded him.
He took the keys out of the ignition and stepped out of the car. The woman and two boys had fled from their car, leaving the Sebring doors flung open. He thought about an old Japanese Godzilla movie, where the monster's presence caused the citizens of the doomed city to scurry through the maze of streets.
Heavily armed commandos flooded the bridge, shouting at people to seek shelter elsewhere. They pointed their assault rifles at fleeing civilians.
Desmond looked down at the corpse at his feet. He looked at the Cadillac and cursed, knowing he would have to leave it behind.
He patted the door. "Don't go anywhere," he said as hundreds of soldiers raced between the stalled cars.
He might not be able to get to Windsor, but he would be damned if he would let anything happen to his brother, Jerome. As helpless as Jerome was, he was still blood, and if the entire city was being locked down, the danger was real.
It would take an army to keep him apart from his flesh and blood.
Just beyond the river, Windsor's blinking skyline seemed to belong to another world.
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