Part 2 : The aftermath

Near two cars somewhere in front of Montreal airport terminal, a small group of teens were gathered.

''I know this sucks, but we gotta go separate ways from here...''John said.

''Yeah... Man... This shit as gone out of control...'' Mitch let out.

''The whole damn country is under riot. For now, they are mostly pacific for now, but I sense I will get hotter within a few days.''

''Okay, so what's the plan exactly?''

''Let's just split up by teams of two. I don't care to what destination you fly, as long as we don't end up in the same place.''

''Yeah... And we'll meet up when stuff will be calmed down...'' Chris said.

In a corner, Fernando finished his cigarette. He cough a bit, and walked to the crew.

''So, who's with who?''

''The only thing I think we should follow is that Emy come with a guy and Suzy with another. We don't want these two to get killed... At least not both...''

An hour later, John had boarded a direct flight to Miami. The crew had taken all the spare money they had. This getaway scheme was maybe exaggerate, but they could not stand staying in this city longer, since the situation had further degraded since... that day...

That day where their friend Shawn had voluntarily ended his life in a car crash. Sine that day a month before, they had sworn to god to honor the memory of their dead friend. They had hit Montreal and led a few riots, but the police was already looking for them for the school shootout, so they were immediately spotted. At the moment, they had life sentence charged on them, and they were on the run. But since nobody knew their names, they hoped to get through the customs without much trouble.

Next to John, sitting in the plane's last row, next to the window, was Emy. She had been Sabrina's long-time best friend, and John felt he had to keep her safe for as long as he could, only by respect for his dead friend's girl.

In another plane bound to New York, J.S. and Suzy were taking place. J.S. looked at Suzy sitting next to him. As silence kept filling the free time they had before takeoff, he wished he knew her more so he could know how to comfort her. She looked so worried about this whole deal.

In a third aircraft taking off of Las Vegas, Fernando was sitting next to Chris, who sat silent, listening to some music by his CD player. Fernando was still shook up by the way Shawn's life had ended. Why had he done that? So was the question that lurked in the dark corners of his mind, restlessly coming back to haunted him day after day.

In the last plane, three crew members took place. Mitch sat next to the window, rubbing his temple to try to clear his mind. He was tired of this whole deal. Life had not been easy for anybody since that day. Shawn had held the group together in his hands. By his death, the once so solid group had lost some of it's members.

Next to him, Sam was standing silently. The black guy had been almost totally silent since the death of Shawn. The only time he spoke, it was in a short, very straight manner, and most likely to answer a yes/no question. Nobody in the group knew Sam's feeling. He had once been the party guy everybody knew him for, but now, nothing was left of it. All that remained in him was a ever growing rage. Not only toward the skateboarders. He was mad at the society for having let those events happen.

Joe sat in the row behind the two other guys. He kept looking out the window, wishing he would not be trapped in this plane for too long. He wasn't the kind of guy to stay indoor too long. His rage did not helped a thing for that. Although he was not the one closest to Shawn, he had been unable to just turn his back around and continue life. He had to clear this with the others. Plus, the law wanted him for the shootout, so the only thing he could do was keeping going. So that's why he was on that plane with Sam and Mitch, flying straight for Los Angeles.

In the first plane, John was lost in his thoughts. Was all of this really happening? It seemed way too unrealistic to happen. Not to him, a normal teenage high school student. But he knew it was real. No dream of any kind could bring this kind of fear. A fear that would never go totally. The fear that all of this would restart. That he would be forced to kill once more. He did not wanted to do so, but he knew Shawn had to be honored. For now, he'd just concentrate and the moment at hand, and see what tomorrow would bring.

He turned to Emy. She gazed out the window at the clouds that had gone farther down as the plain climbed steadily. She looked worried. She had lost her best friend not a month ago, and then another good friend the same day. Shawn had been like a brother to her. A big brother always there to protect her. But now, she felt weak without him. She had John, and she knew he was trustworthy, but she could not just forget about Shawn. He had been too important to her, and to Sabrina, to be forgotten.

''You okay girl?'' John asked, concern in his eyes.

''Yeah... You?''

John froze to the short question. He had been very surprised by this. With him being sort of Shawn's substitute, nobody had ever asked him if he was alright. He did what he could to keep the gang together, but he was always a step behind. And, for once, somebody asked him about his own well-being. He couldn't help but smile at the question.

''I'm alright...''

Emy smiled back. As John watched her fall asleep, he felt something strong. Not love properly spoken, but more life some sort of friendship, strong as the bond between brother and sister. He felt an urge to protect her, to make her happy, for as long as god wanted him to do so. Even though he did not much believed in god after what he had seen and gone through.

After a bit more than two hours, the neutral, almost mechanical voice of the intendant was heard throughout the plane.

''Ladies and gentlemen, we are in final approach for Miami International Airport. Please fasten your seat belt and place any loose objects in the basket in front of you or under the seat.''

Emy woke up and gave John a friendly look. He smiled.

''We are about to land...'' He said.

She nodded, and looked out the window. Outside, to the rising sun, Miami was stretching almost endlessly. Hundreds of almost identical houses formed large districts, most of them being retired people. But that was not were she would be staying.

She turned back to John.

''So, we are finally in Florida...''

''Yeah... that'll change from Canadian winters...''

''For sure...''

As the plane touched down on the tarmac, they were ready to get out, lacking any personal belongings. They had no luggage, and no proof of who they were except their passport.

As they walked out of the terminal, both exchanged an encouraging look, before they hailed a taxi downtown.

Meanwhile, in a plane in route for Los Angeles, Mitch was engaged in a conversation with Joe, mostly about football, while Sam appeared to be sleeping. His hooded vest on, his head covered, he remained silent. In his head, the device that once had been his mind was focused on one thing : vengeance.

The plane would soon land at LAX, and they would have to find a place to lay low for a while. As they stepped out of the newly landed plane, the atmosphere was anything but calm. Tension was palpable in the group.

Back in a cheap motel room in Miami, John and Emy were talking.

''What are we gonna do now?'' Emy asked, half for herself.

Silence was all that answered her. John stood near the window, gazing upon a society that had ripped away from them all they had faith in. Now, all that remained to him was Emy, that girl he considered as his own sister.

He walked back to the bed, were Emy was sitting.

''I don't know...'' he said, a hint of desperation creeping into each word.

During a while, they stayed eyes locked, studying each other. John started to see more an more fear in Emy's beautiful blue eyes. A light, very contrasting blue, making John feel as if nothing had happened. As long as he was not alone, he would be okay.

Outside, rain had started pouring, and skies had turned to a shady gray. The sound of water landing on the cheap roof of the motel made like a background to this silent conversation.

Emy kept her eyes on the young man standing in front of her. In the way he acted, he sort of reminded her of Shawn. He had the same concern for his friends. But Shawn had killed himself over what he considered the only thing more important than his friends. And Emy had to respect that. However, were she couldn't get mad at Shawn for ending his life, she ended up being mad at her late best friend Sabrina for dragging Shawn into such despair. But there was no point in being mad at dead people. Sabrina had done nothing bad. Only, the repercussions of her death were the cause of all what was happening to them.

Now, separated from everybody else, Emy saw John as the only friend she still had on earth. The only one able to understand her at least a bit.

''Don't worry... The police won't find us here...'' John said, feeling uncomfortable with Emy's worried expression.

She turned her head to him and sent him a small, genuine smile. They were okay... At least for now.

As Mitch opened the door of their motel room, on the second floor of a building in the middle of Inglewood, Sam and Joe came with the few bags of apparel they had taken with them. As they dropped the stuff onto the closest bed, they realized there was only two single beds, and a armchair in a corner. Mitch and Joe exchanged gaze.

''I'll take the chair.'' Sam said, his voice low and grim, with slight emphasis on the I, as if he had read the other two's minds.

The two Caucasians nodded, mildly surprised.

They were almost sad that Sam, who seemed to suffer twice as much as the other two, was going to get the most uncomfortable place to sleep. But they both knew arguing with Sam was not the thing to do. He was not kidding anymore. Not since Shawn's death...

Something had broken inside his head that day. Some wire had disconnected, flooding his mind with hatred, anger and darkness.

They spent all day in the room, unpacking the few bags of clothes they had. Lacking any form of amusement, the motel room soon became boring and sad, as if the guys had brought in their feelings with them.

Sam did not wanted to talk. Mitch and Joe did not talk much neither. They did not wanted to disturb the calm and peace of the room. They were both impressed and scared by Sam's indifference. A thick layer of anger soon separated them all. Each word was a difficult step, a hard climbing on a high mountain.

Time seemed to flow so slowly it could have stopped, but the day finally passed. At about ten, Mitch went to bed, followed soon by Joe. Sleep was a refreshing alternative to just starring at the other two, and trying to read their mind. Maybe when they'd wake up the next morning, things would be better.

In the dark corner of the room, Sam was starring at the entrance door. He got up silently, and went for the bathroom. Gazing at his reflexion in the dirty mirror, he came to an alarming conclusion. He did not look much human anymore. His face was stone-cold, and he could not even force a smile. Outside, he looked like he could not feel any emotions. But inside, emotions were like a burning furnace.

Emotions were what had dragged him to this state of indifference to whatever the world threw at him. He could not stand feeling like that. He got out of the bathroom, flicked the light closed, and walked a bit in the entrance hallway. He stopped in front of the door, his feet silent of the brownish carpet.

He pondered a bit, and passed his hand on the handle. Unlocking it in a faint click, he pushed it open, and closed it with incredible silence.

Once he was locked outside, Sam felt the refreshing wind on his face. Looking around at his surroundings, he felt some sort of freedom. He did not have to stay locked in this motel room. He was only bringing the others down.

Around him, a world of cold and hurt was standing. Rows of similar houses, only different in color were stretching to the end of the street. An old beaten up Chevrolet was parked near the motel. The trunk was half-open, and rust had crept all over the lower body of the car. The surrounding houses had their windows boarded up or blocked with steel bars. Faint lighting came from inside a few houses.

Sam decided to walk further down the street. He enjoyed, if he could it so, the outside air, and the peace of the silent night. Nobody was out. Nobody to talk to, to have to be nice with. He did not felt like being nice. He could not physically be nice.

Walking down the street, he realized how dark it actually was. No street lights, no car passing. Nothing. It looked dead, as if a plague had killed all of it's inhabitants.

Guided by the light at the end of the street, Sam ended up on La Brea avenue. He turned south, not really giving any attention to where he was headed.

Looking around, he could see two fat black guys sitting on the sidewalk a few meter further. They seemed to play dice, but he wasn't sure.

He passed in front of them. Even though he did not intended to meet gaze with any of them, he did. In the first man's face, he could see some sort of sympathy. A deep understanding of his feelings. Some sort of brother ship that only Shawn had brought him. This sort of web that connected those who had suffered much in their lives.

Sam kept going, though he felt like sitting with the other two and chatting a bit. For the first time in a long while, he felt like talking. He had broken the social cold, not, rather social blizzard that had frozen him into loneliness.

Lost in his thoughts about his mental state, he ended up the corner of LA Brea and Century. On the west side of Century Boulevard, he could see the row of houses becoming less and less protected. A dozen housed after, a street cut the block in two. Beyond that point, houses were different. They had a few early decorations ready for Halloween, which was a month later. No metal mesh were blocking the windows, and not locked gate were barring the route. A few blocks further, large hotels such as the Crowne Plaza were standing proudly above the surrounding lower structures.

Sam stopped on the corner, left breathless by the bizarre scene that was taking place. On one side, the houses were nice, and relatively new cars were parked in front. On the other side, nothing but a ten feet tall gray concrete wall with several layers of mesh wires on top of it.

The sad scene made Sam feel restrained. It was unclear if the whole barricade had been set in place to hold thieves and robbers from coming in, or to keep the lower-end district's inhabitants inside their ghetto.

A bystander walked on the other side of the street. He turned his head to Sam, starring at him as if he was a fish out of the ocean. Sam turned around and walked back to the heart of Inglewood, hatred taking back his heart.

He was tired that nobody could understand him. He held his fist tightly, fighting the urge to turn around and knock the guy out. But he restrained himself. He had to keep a low profile. He did not wanted to get caught by the police, because they would check their background information, and might make the link with the school shooting.

Frustrated, Sam walked back to La Brea, gazing one last time over his shoulder at the glamorous hotels and nicer homes. This was no longer for him. On the other side of the street, two men were looking at him.

''Hey brother...'' the first one hollered.

Author's notes

I know, this chapter's a lot less long than the previous, but that's because the first one was intended to be a complete story. I will continue on with more soon. Thanks for reading, and leave me a review if you feel like it. If you wish to contact me, my E-mail and IM are on my profile page. Thanks a lot for the feedback...