literature

Rouge and Davie (Sequal)

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With my knife out and my muscles tense, I walk through the unlocked double doors of the abandoned elementary school on high alert. I move with stealth, terrified I'll attract some unwanted attention if I don't.

My partner Davie, on the other hand, intentionally flings open the other door to my left, slamming it against the wall with a muffled thud. I give him my best glare as he casually struts past me, spinning his pistol around on his finger carelessly.

After freaking out silently, I run to his side, digging my nails deeply into his tanned forearm “You trying to get us killed?” I hiss through clenched teeth. Davie smirks “Better to lure them out now rather than later.” he replies, shaking me off with ease.

For awhile I cower behind Davie, using him as my personal shield because dying wasn't in my agenda for today. I debated if I should poke him with my knife, annoyed at his cocky attitude. I haven't killed anything yet, not like Davie has, but I wouldn't mind a stab at my partner’s inflated pride.

We walk in silence for awhile down the long main hallway before the building forks into a lowercase t. I look at Davie, who kinda towers above me, and say “I take left.” Davie nods his head “Fair enough.” Without a second thought, he walks off. Only knowing each other for a few weeks, the care and safety we have for one another isn't quite established like it should be. As long as I could pick off Davie’s pistol and jacket before I booked it, I'd be happy.

With anything, there was something odd about the man who found me in that hot, Louisiana parking lot, trapped in a Sedan. Something about him made me uneasy. I couldn't figure him out enough to be comfortable. He was hiding something.

But of course, who isn't? Davie still has no idea about the bite I have on my back. I'm still waiting to turn, even though I should have already after two days of having it. But here I am, still breathing, walking, and talking like a normal human being.

I walk down the hall I decided to take. I move sideways, like a crab, with my knife held leveled to my face while my other hand rests on my stomach. After a few minutes of doing this, my arm began to shake. I lower my weapon as I sprint to check to the open classrooms before retreating back to where the halls meet.

Many of the room I checked were for grades four and five, I wonder if Davie will find any hidden boxes of Goldfish in the pre-k wing. I don’t care very much for the cracker part of them, but I like to lick the salt off. I'm a pretty picky eater, which is a bad way to be in this day and age due to my already poor physical health.

I wait for a few minutes before becoming bored. Davie was sure taking his time, more so than usual. For fun I look at the plaques along the hall he went down, quickly spotting one labeled Nurse's Office. Eyeing the layout through the small, rectangular window, I try to make out the dark shapes from within the room. I try the door, both pleased and terrified that it creaks open, before taking out a keychain sized flashlight from my pocket.

I sweep the room quickly, wondering if Davie has already been here. Typically, he's a slob when it comes to clearing rooms and finding supplies, for you're supposed to be neat and quiet. But Davie is a bull in a China shop, a kid with sticky hands. He drives me up a wall. I'm surprised he has gotten us killed yet, by the dead or the living.

My search comes up dry. Besides a haphazard pile of student files behind the nurse's white desk, which could be used for fire, nothing catches my attention. I check the cabinets one last time for medicine before deciding to give up.

I'm about to walk out the door when my back pulses with a sudden pain. All day, since this morning, it has been hurting, but nothing compares to this. My faces scrunches from the intensity, beads of sweat form on my face. I recoil back and accidentally stumble into the small bathroom off to the side. I trip over myself, slamming my back against the sink as my knife clatters somewhere off into the darkness. A strange, deformed noise comes out of my mouth. I struggle to stand, but once I do I immediately hold my flashlight between my neck and shoulder. Despite my weak stomach, I pull up my shirt to see what's going on.

Red.
My whole back, from my right shoulder blade to the bones along my spine, are set in a nasty crimson inferno. My bite itself is relatively small, located on my lower back. It oozes a greenish pus, something it's never done before. The agitated corners of the scarred and scabbed indents are black and blister like a grotesque bruise. I debate whether the bright flecks of red here and there are blood or ripped flesh, but I can't quite tell with the horrible lighting. All I know is that it hurts like hell, like someone poured a whole bottle of rubbing alcohol in the open parts of the wound, and apparently it looks like it too.

My head pounds from the sight. I gently tug my shirt down, concentrating on my breathing. I think it’s gotten bigger, but how? Why?

I focus on my feet, my hands, the closed blinds, just anything that's not my bite and the constant pain. I sink down onto the little chair by the nurse’s desk. My face is clasped between my hands. I hold in my tears, thinking only one thing: I don't want to die.

I don't know how long I sat there, my body limp like that, but it was long enough for my flashlight to click out of existences. I sit in the dark. The irritation on my back gradually begins to calm to a low, dull pain as I take in deep breaths.

A gunshot somewhere close has me moving in no time. I can hear my heartbeat in my eardrums, my blood pumps through my skinny body so quickly I see stars and almost black out. The gun sounds awfully similar to Davie’s, which is strange since he's hardly ever used it. He likes to use our limited amount of firearms and ammunition for emergencies only, since I'm too weak for any recoil.

The gun goes off two more times, sounding just down the hall from where I stand now. Without thinking, I bolt out the door, weaponless, running to where I thought the shots were coming from.

When I turn the corner, I'm met with an arm to the stomach. Before I could regain my breath, I'm whisked off my feet and through another door to my right. I feel the barrel of a gun planted on the side of my head. I tense up. Every muscle in my body freezes.

Then, a string of swear words, followed by some unique combinations of a drunk man’s vocabulary, reaches my ears. I narrow my eyes and take a swing at my captor’s gut “What the hell was that for!?” I say, glaring at Davie’s face. Davie immediately pulls the gun away from me and slides down the wall, taking me with him “Thank god,” he says “I thought they got you, Rouge.”
“Who?”

Davie reaches up and locks the door. He shakes his head “Those gunshots you just heard? We’re not alone here.” he looks at me “I hope they didn't see you.” I risk a peek through the window, which has Davie, my ball and chain, yanking me down by my upper arm “Those shots weren't you?” I ask. Davie shakes his head “The first one was.” he replies, I nod “Is it the same guy as before? The crazy one with dreadlocks?” Davie shakes his head “No, some tall black guy with an Asian kid.”

Moaning and growling begin to echo throughout the hallways. Davie clenches his teeth, his jaw muscles tighten “Shit.” he mutters. He checks the lock again before dragging me behind a solid upright piano on the opposite side of the room. I have no complaints as I curl up behind him, peering over his shoulder from time to time to see that we still have a good view of the door.

“I knew the shots would wake them,” he mutters “idiot.” I smirk to myself “You're now just figuring that out?” I say quietly in his ear. He glares at me from over his shoulder, shaking me off his back as a signal to tell me to get lost. Satisfied, I sit back on my knees, my fingers slip to my belt to take out my knife.

“Crap, Davie I-”
A series of gunshots cut me off. They sound so close as the blasts ring in my ears. Davie and I both tense as two undead beings stagger pass the door’s window. I watch with wide eyes, sweat coating my hands. I couldn't tell the sex of either being, due to the dirt and grim they're covered in, but it looked like they were rotting somewhere in this school for awhile now.

I'm glad I didn't run into them.

A few minutes later, when the commotion outside has died down, Davie turns to look at me “Let's leave the dead to our friends.” he says. I nod my head without any second thoughts.

-

With the sun setting and the fear of traveling at night instilled in my heart, we camp out in the music room. I wasn't of any help to Davie, who barricaded the locked door with the piano and a few student chairs. I closed the blinds, having to stand on the radiator due to my height, and made sure the other door, leading outside to the school’s back parking lot, was locked.

Davie and I didn't have sleeping bags or blankets at the moment, so I use a Rutgers hoodie that I found behind the teacher's desk. We sit against the wall for awhile in silence. My stomach growls, but I keep my mouth shut. Davie makes no comments.

Finally, sick of the silence, Davie is the first to break “Should have seen this one coming.” he says, trying to lighten the mood with a sly grin. I merely nod in reply. We had both hid our backpacks in the woods near a housing development not to far from here. The school was supposed to be a half a day side trip before we raided the houses and camped out there. Things didn't go as planned.

“I just hope everything is still there when we get back.” I say, yawning. Davie looks outside “We'll leave at dawn, but we’re getting your knife back and clearing the cafeteria.” he says.

It's not long after that before I curl up in the corner with my new hoodie and fall asleep. Davie stays up for a while, but spots a speck of red on my shirt in the dying sunlight. It wasn't a piece of my hoodie, which is a bright scarlet red, but something more dull in color.

He quietly kneels behind me. A small spot of dried blood is on my shirt. This shouldn't come as a shock - it should be expected - but when it came to me, I was a wimp with blood and killing. Everyone who has ever met me knows that. Gently, careful not to wake me, Davie pulls up my shirt to expose my lower back.

He grimaces at the sight of my bite. But instead of hollering and shouting, accusing me of some ludicrous action, he pulls down my shirt and drapes an arm of the hoodie around my waist “So that's why you're so afraid of them.” he murmurs.

Then, retreating to the corner opposite of me, he watches both doors with both eyes open, his pistol tucked in the waistband of his jeans.
A very wonderful and very patient watcher of mine asked back in March for more of this story. Love, if you read this, I deeply apologize about my procrastination and that it took me so long to write this. I hope this is at least satisfying. ^_^;

Since the first part of this was indeed just a one way street, I decided to explore the past of Rogue and Davie. The music room was actually what inspired the first part, which is odd because it has nothing to do with music at all.

I hope you all enjoyed this! And as always, pointing out any grammar/spelling mistakes is alway encouraged. :heart:

Updated version of part one:  Rouge and DavieWe’re trapped, surrounded, back-to-back and nose-to-nose with a group of burly looking men and woman "Davie?" I whisper, looking over my shoulder. Davie’s grimy and dirt stained face is older than mine, worn down and leathery from working on the east coast.
Or so he's told me. I don't know how he picked up a wretched chick like me in Louisiana, either, but he did.
Davie looks straight ahead, his eyes full of hatred as he holds a empty pistol tightly against his thigh. But his harsh looks don't fool me. With his back pressed against mine I can feel him sweating through his jacket, his muscles tense. I nervously turn back to see these people, their weapons and attention all trained intently on Davie and me. My dark olive eyes are wide in alert, every muscle beneath my soiled clothes are tense with sweat and fear.
This is it. I’m sure I’m going to die.
My knuckles are white from gripping my small butcher's knife. I point it outward, a bluff to these guns, but bette
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MidnightDaybreak's avatar
Finally got around to finishing this. It's a great piece. I like the interaction and relationship between Rogue and Davie; I'd like to see more sometime, either of their backstory like here or a continuation from where the original left off.

Three glaring things jumped out at me from this.
1. Periods. Whenever you switch from exposition to dialogue, you've left out a period at the end of your sentences. You never want to do this. A sentence needs a period at the end to close out the thought, even if your switching.
=Example: You're going From this "To this," when you should be going From this. "To this."

2. The second thing is your line breaks. Generally speaking, when you switch the focus from one character to another, you should always start a new line so it's easier to tell who's doing what. It's not so necessary to do so with actions; you can have multiple people doing things in one paragraph as long as 1) you're making sure to identify who's doing what and 2) you're not going overboard and creating a wall of text. With dialogue though, it's a lot more important to split up the lines so it's clearer who's talking.
=Example: This paragraph:
Davie reaches up and locks the door. He shakes his head “Those gunshots you just heard? We’re not alone here.” he looks at me “I hope they didn't see you.” I risk a peek through the window, which has Davie, my ball and chain, yanking me down by my upper arm “Those shots weren't you?” I ask. Davie shakes his head “The first one was.” he replies, I nod “Is it the same guy as before? The crazy one with dreadlocks?” Davie shakes his head “No, some tall black guy with an Asian kid.”

Should have been broken up like this:
Davie reaches up and locks the door. He shakes his head “Those gunshots you just heard? We’re not alone here.” he looks at me “I hope they didn't see you.”
I risk a peek through the window, which has Davie, my ball and chain, yanking me down by my upper arm “Those shots weren't you?” I ask.
Davie shakes his head “The first one was.” he replies.
I nod “Is it the same guy as before? The crazy one with dreadlocks?”
Davie shakes his head “No, some tall black guy with an Asian kid.”

The way I've presented it here is a lot easier to read without getting lost. It's especially handy when you only have two characters in the conversation, since it allows you to cut down on instances of "He/she said" or "He/she asked" etc.

3. The above two things can be applied to both this piece and the one that preceded it; this last note, however, applies only to this piece.
I've noticed you write from the first person present tense perspective, meaning that we (the reader) are experiencing the story as the main character (Rogue), as it's happening. During the last passage though, Rogue's gone to sleep, so how can she, and by extension we readers, know what Davie's doing if we're asleep. For that finally passage, I would do one of four things:
=1. Switch up the writing to a third person omniscient perspective.
=2. Switch the focus of the story to be told from Davie's POV (IE, we the readers are now Davie).
=3. Give some indication that Rogue was actually awake during that passage, hence how she knew what happened.
=4. Indicate in someway that Rogue found out about Davie's actions later and is recounting them.

There, that's everything. I hope this wasn't too critical. I see some great potential here that just needs polished up. Keep at it!! A_A

~MidnightDaybreak