The road was stretched before him like an open book. Every road sign he passed was like the turn of a page, leaving one full of anticipation of what was to happen next. A new adventure, a new life . . . a new inspiration to his meaningless existence known as life. For this book was a desolate one; as dull and desolate as the feeling in his heart.
His car droned on as it made its way down the barren highway somewhere between the East and West coast. Where he was exactly? He didn't know, and if he did, he didn't care. Anywhere away from home was his destination.
The boy's eyes were narrowed, not only against the glare of the scorching sun, but deep in thought as he went over the events that took place exactly (he turned to look at the clock on his radio then) twenty hours ago. Furiously he chewed on his bottom lip and cranked the volume up. Quatre Rebarba Winner did not want to remember the reason he had squealed out of the parking lot of his father's estate in a rage.
The blonde heaved a sigh then, and leaned his elbow against the window, resting his chin upon the palm of his hand. Did this highway ever turn? Did the scenery ever change? The heat was uncomfortable, to say the least, even if he had the top down.
Sweat and dust changed his normally brilliant shade of blonde to a dusty mop. Quatre heaved a sigh. Was there really any point in this running anyway? Father would probably just send out his personal "assistants", the police, and the National Guard to return his son and heir to the Winner Enterprises "throne". That's all he was. An heir. Someone to make sure the business stays in the Winner bloodline . . . so that his father could go to his grave content in knowing his legacy would live on. Another Winner clone . . . what was that smell?
A strange stench the boy couldn't identify leaked into his nostrils, and uncertain in not knowing what it was, he tapped on the brakes to try and ease the car over to the side of the road. Except the brakes didn't work. In a slowly rising panic he attempted to pump the brakes, maybe they'd gotten stuck or something? For goodness sakes! He didn't know much about cars! He'd just gotten his liscense four months ago!
As the car sped along at eighty miles per hour, Quatre attempted to rationalize the situation. He would just keep steering the car along, leave off the gas, and wait for it to dift to a halt. Simple right? But dear sweet Allah did not seem to be shining upon the boy that day. For up ahead were some horribly inconveniently placed boulders across the road. To say the least. "Highway to Hell" blared on the teen's radio as he tried to think of what he could possibly do. He was going eighty miles per hour for crying out loud!
He came closer and closer to the road hazard; that feeling of dread felt like a melon in his stomach, and Bon Scott screamed ironic words of devastation in his ringing ears. And he did the only thing he could think of. He veered off the road.
White knuckled, Quatre gripped the steering wheel as he tried to retain control of the car, yet it was a feat that seemed impossible. It was a vehicle that was just not destined for off road and he felt every bone rattling jar as the car was thrown about like a rag doll.
Just when he felt he couldn't take anymore, the car veered sideways towards a slight incline, not slowed down much by the rough terrain.
Maybe this isn't such a bad solution . . .
Quatre thought absently as the covertable flipped through the air . . .
The first thing he knew was a searing headache and the taste of dirt in his mouth. Funny. That wasn't at all what he'd imagined the afterlife felt like.
The heat had seemed to subside, the sun a mere red ball on the western horizon, yet Quatre didn't know this. He still hadn't dared crack open his eyes. A painful moan escaped his dry lips and finally he cracked his eyes open. Just a little bit. And it hurt like hell. His head pounded violently and felt like it was in the clutches of a vice grip, and an odd noise droned in his left ear. Quatre blinked. His face was smashed against the radio and the opening of "Stairway to Heaven" sang sweetly in his ears.
Angrily he reached out to start smashing his fists into the still playing radio. But his anger would not be vented. The back of his seat was smashed down over top of him and his left arm was trapped under the steering wheel. At first he was even more furious. Until he realized that the back of his seat had saved his life. Otherwise to weight of the car would likely be pressed upon him. He was upside down. And he was trapped.
Almost resigned, he squeezed his eyes shut once more. So fate had determined that he wouldn't die quickly of a snapped neck or broken back? He would die slowly and painfully of whatever injuries he may have sustained, starvation, dehydration? He relaxed his eyes. So be it. At least he'd be asleep when he died.
And then he was unconscious.
Dawn broke over the small sleepy town, and most lay comfortably asleep in their beds, relishing what remained of the cool night air. Most. But not Cat, oh no. There was work to do. A petite steel toed shoe lashed out and kicked the tire of her rusty pickup. And a piece of the truck promptly disattatched itself from the vehicle.
Muttering some obscene words, the gray eyed woman climbed into the driver's seat and brought the rust bucket to a sputtering wheeze it called life.
"Come on baby, give me one more run. I love you? Aww, who'm I kiddin, work you piece a shit afore I tear you up fer parts!" She grumbled as she smashed the dashboard with her fist.
It seemed to take the hint and pulled out of the garage without any further trouble. Smugly she set off down the road. Tha's right. Catherine Bloom doesn't take shit from nobody! Man, beast, or rust factory on wheels!
Now, why exactly is a young woman like Cat out in that dusty ole pickup truck hours before the rest? Because she wanted to see if her strategically placed boulders and "displaced" any cars over night. Yes, it may not have been very nice, but you see, Cat made a living off of taking parts from other people's cars, and selling them to the local mechanic shop. Who more often than not ended up selling the parts back to the original owners. In her eyes, the plan was brilliant and she allowed herself a smug grin.
Rolling along at a pace she hoped was not too hard on the truck, she slowly approached her boulder ploy and scanned the grounds for any sign of a stalled or crashed car. Usually people slowed down in time for the boulders and attempted to go around, yet the dust buildup in their engine and the hard time it was to get around usually stalled the cars out. And then the people would leave to look for help while she looted their car. Yet it didn't seem like she'd caught anybody yesterday.
With a sigh she pulled the truck to a stop and climbed out to look for any sign that she had missed anything. A flat landscape like this made it hard to hide anything, yet one could hope. She heaved a sigh and ran a hand through her curly brown hair as she scanned to road and the side of the road for something. Anything. No skid marks? Hmm. But wait! She wandered further off the road and saw that it had been torn up pretty good. That was a good sign.
Eyes glued to the ground, she followed the tore up landscape for a good fifty feet before she smelled the gasoline. Her gaze drifted up to reveal what she though was just another tumbleweed or scraggly bush was in fact a car. A very smashed up car. Worry laced her eyebrows as she ran towards it. She'd never meant to hurt anyone too bad! Reckless driver, how could he escape a wreck like that? There was nothing left! Yes she specifically meant he. Women didn't drive like that.
"Hello? Hello! Hey, is there anybody alive in there?" She called out as she kneeled in front of the upside down wreck.
Daylight still hadn't fully broken and it made things hard to see. The interior was all smashed up, and as she attempted to squeeze her top half in there she braced herself for the worst. Wandering fingers searched for the driver . . . or what was left of him, and she jumped as her fingers brushed cool, clammy skin. Determined to get the driver out, she ran back to her truck and drove it up next to the wreck, and swung some tools out of the back.
It took a little while to tear apart the side of the car, and even more to get the steering wheel and seat out of the way, but finally she reached him. Pulling a knife out of her belt she sawed away at the seat belt. At least he was wearing one. Gently she pulled the body out, and she gasped as it revealed a fragile looking teen about her brother's age. With trepidation, she checked for a pulse, and was relieved to find a steady one.
As she loaded him up carefully into her passenger seat, a slight moan escaped him. All she could think was, he was a lucky summa bitch. Cat took one last look at the wreck, and listened to a strange sound. Poking back inside the car, she found that the radio was still playing. Well. She would leave today empty handed. So she unhooked it, stuffed it in her glove compartment, and headed home.
Wont the boys be surprised to see what the Cat dragged in today?
A/N: No, Gundam Wing doesn't belong to me, unfortunatly. Also, I reassure you, this will not be a QuatrexCathy fic. I caution you I take a long time to update because I am lazy. Unless I decide to be unlazy. Then I don't take forever. Just be prepared for the worst!