The Crew

Untitled Part 2

Chapter Two

An hour later I walked outside the sliding glass doors of the squat into the back yard to take a piss. The buzz, after another few beers, was intensifying. I hadn't called my parents, and it was late, on a school night. They had no idea where I was. I hadn't even left a note. The realization that I would be in big trouble was present, but the inhibitions were lowered, my body electric and alive with the warm sensation of approaching drunkenness.

In the process of zipping up, my urine pooling at the trunk of a lone cypress tree, I sensed some premonition right as a gust of wind pulsed through, shaking the leaves of the tree above me. A shadow-figure moved from around the other side of the tree trunk. A girl. Suddenly in the moonlight, I saw her: She was petite, Asian, ashen face, chopped black hair like a boy. And sexy as hell. Her tiny hand was placed against the trunk as if it held some supernatural power. She was stunning, like some midnight punk rock ghost-girl.

She approached. My stomach pitched and roiled, like boiling water. A dart of tense fear shot down my spine. Girls had never been my strong suit. And there was something about this one, some strange vibe: I felt drawn towards her but also some bell tolled in the depths of my soul. A word floated to the surface of consciousness: Beware.

"You're the new kid," she said. It was a statement, not a question. Her voice was high and it sent a thrill up my body like some exciting, living current.

Stupidly smiling, I said, "I guess I am."

The girl tore off a small, rough piece of bark from the tree. "Be careful, Jack."

Crash! Cannonball flew into me with a force bestowed upon him by the gods, knocking me to the grass into a sitting position. I was in shock from being hammered down so fast, out of the blue. The wind had been zapped clean out of me. A nauseous feeling snaked its way through my gut and I suppressed it as best I could.

"Dog my man, you don't look so good, what you NEED is another drink, that'll fix you right up."

I eyed Cannonball and saw two of him, drunken twins, his blonde spikes towering over me, deadpan blue eyes, grin plastered, another forty in his palm somehow.

Where was that mysterious girl? She'd disappeared. And how did she know my name?

Before I knew it liquid was being dispensed over my shirt and pants, all over my body, the stench of lighter fluid strong, and then the glow of a match sailed through the air landing on my chest. Fire ripped off my body like crazy magic illusions and the orange-red flames licked and popped. I smelled the stench of burning clothes, singed cotton.

Desperately, I tried to stand up but fell right back down. I was powerless. Would I die? Reinvigorated, gaining momentary sobriety in the fight for survival, I jumped up, grabbing hold of the cypress tree next to me. My whole shirt was covered with lighter fluid—on fire!

Shuffling forward, away from the tree, like some zombie on fire, I swiped wildly at the flames which had begun to singe skin and had by now drawn a group of idiots surrounding yours truly, including Johnny, Bone—who I'll get to later—and Cannonball. After a few seconds Cannon said, "Now!"

D.D. jogged over from behind some bushes with a bucket of water. He dumped it over me and the flames died. I shivered and breathed heavily. Looking up, I saw that everyone was watching me. Most punks had their arms crossed and were nodding. Mohawks and Chaos Spiked hair. Leather jackets with silver studs. Tight plaid pants and stitched-up jeans with holes and punk patches. It seemed I had crossed some threshold, some boundary which bonded me to them. The whole thing was insane but there was no way I could walk away from this: I felt the hook through my lip already.