All American Boys

Chapter 35: God Bless America

My heart thumped in my chest, as the adrenaline began to rush through my veins. My only thought at that point was to get out of there.

Get to the car, that's right – I had to get to the car.

Cyril grabbed my hand and ran alongside me as people scrambled in all directions, dropping their signs and belongings as they fled for shelter. The screams, the shouts and the explosions were just so loud, I could barely hear my own instincts telling me what to do.

The two block run towards the car felt like a marathon – Cyril was puling me with one hand, while my free hand pushed past people desperately trying to flee. Get out of my way.

Suddenly I could hear a loud sound coming from above, like a constant beating drumroll that seems to be getting louder. As a shadow fell on me for a brief second, I looked up to see a chopper flying dangerously low, hovering right above us. It cruised over the crowd below, seemingly maintaining it's position.

Then the plumes of white smoke fell. A thick mist of white fell upon the people, spreading and splintering like the spray of waves crashing violently onto the shore.

Cyril and I were fortunate enough to be at the edge of the crowd when we began running, so we were quite far ahead of the whole mess. I could hear screaming from behind me, but I dared not look.

Someone fell in front of me, and I wasn't fast enough to react. I didn't even know if it was a man or a woman. I couldn't even hear them groan or whimper when I stepped over them. All I felt was the crunching of soft bone under my soles, upsetting my balance and momentum. But luckily for me, I managed to regain my footing as I found myself back on the steady asphalt again. I wouldn't want to be in their position.

Cyril's hands were trembling. I didn't know if it was from fear or from the adrenaline. Possibly both. We were at the junction now.

But just across the street, I noticed our car had garnered some unwelcome attention.

Admittedly, it was probably our own damn fault for parking an expensive, luxurious and shiny red Ferrari near walking distance of people who couldn't even afford gas, but Jesus, keep your hands to yourself. A couple of young men had taken an interest in Cyril's car, and by the way they were ogling over it, it seemed like they just wanted to snatch it for themselves. They had olive skin and dark hair, one of them wore a Lakers hoodie while the other had a plain T-shirt. The former was big and tall, the former only slightly built. The two of them discussing something animatedly, as if they had urgent business to settle. Plain T-shirt kept looking around hurriedly, for God knows what reason.

In that split second I realised it – they were going to steal our only means of escape. That was almost as good as killing us.

The two of them turned to face us when we approached. They glared at us, realising we were the car's owners. They shared a knowing look, and I immediately had a bad feeling in my gut.

They weren't going to back off. Things were going to get ugly – fast.

I let go of Cyril's hand and slowed down my pace, so that Cyril naturally ended up in front of me. That way, whatever happened, I'm not the one who gets shanked first. I noticed the both of them eyeing Cyril, as they stood by the door to the driver's seat.

"Nice ride huh, kid?" plain shirt said in a gruff voice, marred with a thick accent.

He had to speak loudly, over the sound of the helicopter and people screaming in the background.

They were both trained on him. Great, I thought to myself as I shiftily made my way to the other side of the car. They were both trying to surround Cyril that they never noticed me crouching behind the car.

Cyril tried to barge past them to get to the door, but they had blocked him. His eyes widened

"Please man," Cyril pleaded. "Just go."

"Keys," Lakers hoodie said rather menacingly. "Now!"

Just then, more shots were fired, and a few canisters exploded over the junction, releasing yet other plumes of white smoke. Cyril took the opportunity to try to push past Laker's, unlocking the car with his remote key. But despite the initial surprise, the two men overpowered him, and the last thing I saw from behind the car was Cyril being pushed down onto the cold hard asphalt.

I had to act fast. Those two were not going to get their way.

I looked to my right, and caught sight of a brick lying at the base of a tree, just behind the car.

"Grab his keys!" Lakers shouted out.

I ran for the brick and picked it up with a heave. It was quite heavy, but the heavier the better.

Sneaking behind them, I could see Lakers pinning Cyril down, who was struggling to break free, but to no avail. Plain shirt tried to wrestle the keys out of the poor boy's hand but Cyril just wouldn't let go. I caught a glimmer of something shiny on the ground by their shoes – a switchblade.

That just made me feel less guilty of what I was about to do – which wasn't much to begin with. They were going to harm us, to harm me, and that what set me off.

My heart thumping in my chest, I ran up to them, brick in both my hands. Kicking the switchblade away, I pummelled the brick into the back of plain shirt's head with all my might. He fell with a groan onto the cold hard ground.

He probably got knocked out cold with just one hit. Or he could've died. Personally, I don't give a shit. It's what he deserves.

Lakers was taken by surprise at the downing of his companion, turning to me with an expression of equal bewilderment and anger.

That was his mistake of course, that idiot. Seeing him distracted allowed Cyril to land a hard headbutt, sending him backwards, falling on his rump.

"Come on, let's go!" Cyril said, as he scrambled to get up.

My boyfriend grabbed the car handle and got in. But before he could close the door, Lakers managed to pull himself up, lunging towards Cyril. The two struggled as the former tried to pry the latter out of the seat, but Cyril fought back of course. Lakers pushed Cyril onto his steering wheel, his face smashing against the horn. The loud horn blared, adding to the chaos of the people running in the background, the chopper in the air and the wisps of smoke encroaching on us.

But it was then when it caught my eye again – the shiny blade, lying there so serenely on the ground. A glimmer of sunlight reflected on its blade while the hilt was pointing directly at me.

It was as if it was begging for me to take it, yearning for me to hold it in my hands. It was screaming for me to grab it.

I did that without a second thought, sprinting over to it and picking it up. There was a rush in my head as I tightened my grip on the handle. I knew exactly what I needed to do. There was no other option. He was still distracted, his side facing me. He was all exposed.

It's not like I wanted to do it, but at the same time, I sort of did. They deserved it after all. People like that disgusted me. They were just like Richard, preying on other people. Taking advantage of other people.

I can't stand people like those.

I absolutely can't.

He was too busy trying to deal with Cyril that he couldn't see me coming. And by the time he noticed me lunging towards him, it was much too late for him. When he turned to look at me with his dark eyes wide open with shock, I had jabbed the knife into the front of his thigh, lodging the blade into the meatiest part. I wasn't even particularly aiming for anything, I just wanted to stab him. I watched him grimace and cry out in pain as I gave the knife a sharp twist. He let out a wail.

I wanted him to see my face. I want him to remember what happened to people who wronged me. I want him to remember what happened to deplorable people who took advantage of others for their own selfish gain.

I could feel my own blood rush when I saw blood starting to stain his jeans – a dark, sickening crimson that began to spread in the fabric. I yanked the knife out and aimed for his stomach, watching him scream as the blade once more entered him, penetrating his flesh. It filled me with a sense of justice, seeing evil get people what they deserve. Just like when Richard died in front of my eyes, his empty, glazed eyes staring blankly into nothingness.

Nothingness – it's what people like them would return to. They were nothing, and when they die, they will become nothing.

I didn't care that the gas was approaching. I didn't care that my eyes were getting watery. I didn't care that I was starting to cough. I just wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to die.

The blood from the man's thigh had spurted out in a stream, staining the asphalt with droplets of bright red. The faint scent of iron wafted through the air, amidst the sickening vinegar-like odour of the gas.

I swung my arm, ready to cast down the knife on him again, when all of a sudden he fell to the side, slamming face first onto the ground. The very ground stained with his own blood. I missed, stabbing nothing but thin air.

I looked up, and saw Cyril in the driver's seat. His door was wide open, and his legs were sticking out of the car. He was the one who had pushed that scumbag away, when I wasn't finished with him. When I wasn't done making him suffer. He deserved more, he deserved a whole lot more. For the things he tried to do. For the things that he had done. For all the suffering I've been through.

For everything wrong that everyone's ever done to me.

Cyril was trembling, and he covered his mouth with the back of his sleeve as he began to cough violently.

"Alex!" he shouted, in between coughs. "Get in!"

I took a look at the man, who was on the ground beside his unmoving accomplice. He was clutching at the stab on his thigh, coughing. The blood had begun to pool, and nearly his entire leg was covered in it. He looked up at me as I approached him with the sad, hollow eyes of a defeated man. The eyes of a spineless coward.

As my last hurrah, I stomped on his chest, sending him screaming.

I returned to the car, getting into the passenger seat and closing the door behind me. Cyril hit the gas, and we got the hell out of there. I had never seen Cyril drive so fast down the street, swerving to avoid fleeing protesters. Once we were somewhere safer, we briefly pulled over.

Cyril frantically grabbed the water bottle in the cup holder and opened it, splashing water on his face. He especially focused on washing his eyes rubbing them.

He passed the half-empty bottle to me when he was done, and I did the same. My eyes were starting to burn terribly, and it was a relief to flush it out with cool, clean water. Cyril must've been feeling the same thing – the fact that he could speed away so fast and get us the hell out of there in a split second was a miracle. Such was the power of adrenaline.

We didn't talk much as we left Antioch and drove down the peaceful coastal highway, a stark contrast to the violence in the city behind us. We passed some cliffs lining the ocean, and ahead of us I could see the glimmering Atlantic – as far as the eye could see.

"Can we stop here," I asked rather weakly, my energy all but present. "I need to grab some fresh air."

Cyril complied, stopping at the road shoulder. There were only a few cars passing at this point, and nobody approaching would miss a stationary Ferrari with blinking lights.

I got out of the car, my legs trembling, and I heard Cyril exit as well.

I stood as close as I could to the road shoulder as possible, overlooking the cliffs and the ocean. I could hear the distant sound of the waves below, smashing against the jagged, rocky shore.

The Atlantic stretched far and wide into the horizon. It seemed so peaceful out there. If I were to drift all the way out there, if I were to disappear one day, I would have nothing but the violent waves to bury me. That strange thought somewhat helped to calm me down. Maybe one day I'll finally have peace. But not now, not when I still had so much work to do. Not when certain people were getting away with their crimes against the innocents. Innocents like Alicia.

I don't know how yet, but the boy beside me was going to help me. I will do whatever it takes to make sure those who do wrong get what they deserve.

Looking at the bloodstained blade in my hand one last time, I let out a deep breath. With one mighty throw, I flung it over the edge.

I finally turned to look at Cyril. Funny, I thought he had been standing closer, but I suppose I must've been mistaken. He seemed shaken, but I guess it was natural.

I approached him, and for a brief moment I could sense something in his eyes. What was it? A flash of fear? A sense of wariness? Whatever it was, he tried to hide it when he saw me approaching. In its place was a strained, crooked smile – with a lower lip that wouldn't stop quivering.

I reached out and held his trembling hand, before turning to the ocean.

"Whatever happened today," I muttered, staring into the far horizon. "I did it for us. I did it for you."

"R-Right," he said. "I'm just. . . I'm still trying to process. . .everything that happened back there."

"Whatever it is," I said turning to look him in the eye. "Let's keep this our little secret. Nobody else needs to know what. . . transpired back there."

"Of course," he muttered. "Nobody needs to know. It'll just get messy."

"It was self-defence Cyril," I told him. "That's what it is. And that's what we'll tell anyone if we ever need to. If we are ever questioned, it was self-defence. They tried to kill us. You know that as well as I do."

Cyril only nodded his head, averting his gaze elsewhere.

"I did that for you," I said, squeezing his hand. "I'd do anything to protect you. And do you know why?"

His hands were still shivering, his eyes still avoiding mine. I took a step closer, bringing my lips closer to his ears.

"Because I love you so much," I muttered, the words rolling of my tongue as smoothly as ever. "And I can't bear to lose you."

I put on my best smile as I stepped away from him.

All I got from him in return was a slight grin on his quivering lips.

A slight, fearful grin.