Night Life Part II

(note: you should really go back and read Part I first. Really. Seriously. Eventually they will be merged into one entry, but not now, because I need this to count for my entry for today)

whatsgoingonwhatsgoingonwhatsgoingon

I realize a second after it happens that someone has punched me across the jaw. Strange. You would really think that that would hurt, but the initial flash behind my eyes is one of confusion rather than pain, like a momentary drunkenness. I take another sip from the wine of my attacker's fist. Another. I don't know what I expect, but for some reason it isn't until this moment that it occurs to me that this isn't going to just stop on its own.

getfreegetfreegetfree

I am going to die. For some reason I know this. I do not think this, I do not fear this, I do not feel this. It is simply a fact. I am going to do what I must to survive, and when I die I will have done everything in my power to stop it.

I am running now. I did not feel a transition, feel myself begin to run, I am simply running and that is the way things are. There are two wolves in my way, beating Nick, distracted. There are three wolves chasing me, behind me, I can feel them so close I do not look. Nick will handle himself. He is a protector-man, like me, he will survive. His sweat runs red, his hair looks dark and sticky, I hear a clang as his head is rammed against a streetlamp, but I do not believe any of these things. Nick is protector, not victim.

To my right a wolf falls and I must have hit him, must have tripped him, must have given him a taste of the wine that has made me drunk but I don't remember it, it wasn't me, it was survivor-me.

I'm running, running, running, and I'm so fucking fast, and just try to catch me you monsters. I'm a fast fast boy, no, man, no, survivor-man, and I'm like a superhero, you'll never catch-

I'm on my face. I'm on my face in the street because one of the wolves caught me, pushed me. My face is wet I think. Or my leg. Both? Why can't I differentiate between my face and my leg?

Lights. Bright, in my eyes. Headlights. I get up and look at the driver who just stares. Doesn't he see what is going on? Doesn't he understand?
"Help! Get help! Call the fucking cops! DO SOMETHING." But it's time to go, the wolves are catching up, I have no idea why the one who must have taken me down hasn't already moved in for the kill, where is he anyway? I don't understand, but there's no time to understand.

runrunrunrunkeeprunning

I have a phone. I have a PHONE! That's right, I'm carrying that Nokia crapphone that my friends gave me to attempt to bring me into the 21st Century or whatever. I'm not sure if I have any minutes on it, it's one of those pay-as-you-go things. Does 911 take money? I can't imagine they'd deny you a 911 call even if you haven't paid for minutes in ages.

"911, blahblahblahblah"
"We're being attacked! My friends and I, we're being attacked, we're on Embarcadero, we're across from Pier 2-"

Pier 2? God, how far did I run?

"Have there been gunshots?"
"What? No!"
"What's the cross street?"
"Cross street? We're near Pier 2, we're on Embarcadero."
"And there have been shts fired?"
"What? No, there's no guns, there's just... We're being chased and attacked, please just send someone."
"Alright sir, we're trying to send someone, but we really need to know the cross street."

I hang up. I can't continue with the phone, the wolves are far too close and I can't run and talk. The police are no good to me if I'm already dead. Mike is up ahead, taking to a couple of women. Chatting. What? They have a phone. Good. Nick is behind me. Our pursuers begin to veer right and run into the park.

That's right fuckers. Reinforcements are coming.

Nick and I catch up to Mike. I am not tired, I could run for miles more. This must be what adrenaline does. I am ready to fight them all, take on all the wolves. I could be the hero of this movie. Survivor-me as given way to Invincible-me, and I'm ready to take on the fucking world.

"You ok?"
"Yeah, I'm good, how's your head?"

Nick's face is slippery and red from the blood running down the right side of his face. For some reason it looks like Nick is sweating blood, the way it trickles down from his hair. I am reminded of Jesus in the garden. Silly. We all share a smile, each of us heroes in our own right, having conquered the forces of evil and saved-

"Oh fuck, the girls."

I am instantly no longer invincible, no longer congratulatory. Survivor-me is back, all business, all steps. runbackgetthegirlssavethemfight. Do what is necessary. For the first time since the attack began, I feel something new. Fear. What is happening where we came from? Why are the girls not with us? My mind races through the possibilities. They could be broken, bloody on the ground or worse. Of course its worse. They've been kidnapped, dragged off to be subjected to ungodly abuses. They've been killed, I know they have. There's simply no other option.

We are running. Again, I don't remember starting. I don't think we said anything to each other, discussed the plan, but we all know it. We're going back to rescue the girls, and to wreck the wolves' shit.

Suddenly we hear sirens. We arrive to find the girls sitting on the curb, in a row, under a police guard. Thank God, thank God. We've been saved, it's over, the cavalry is here. We sit with the girls, who cry. I barely comprehend their cries over my elation- we ARE invincible. Nick looks at me and we grin at each other. We've beaten death, we've beaten the wolves, we are heroes. Fuck yes. You cannot know this feeling, this camaraderie of men who have beaten the bad guys. We are Bruce Willis at the end of Die Hard, we are Harrison Ford and we have just proved our innocence to Tommy Lee Jones. The torn skin on my leg and arms from the street are badges of honor. I don't embrace the pain- there is no pain. The adrenaline rush is so complete that the pain is its own form of euphoria.

Where's Liz's purse again?