Hi! Here's chapter three. I know I'm pumping out chapters fast. It'll probably be a long story. Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. Anyway, enjoy.
Gatsby frowned. I've never had any doubt Gatsby could take Tom in a fight, but the look on his face told me he didn't want to.
"Tom, old sport, real men would talk about this. Calmly," Gatsby said, making the mistake he'd been carefully avoiding the entire day.
"Cut the 'old sport' crap!" Tom shouted. With one sudden movement, he swung his arm and hit Gatsby, square in the face, with his balled fist. Gatsby sputtered, stumbled backwards, immediately raising his hands to his face.
"What?" Gatsby asked dumbly, reeling from the assault.
"Tom!" Daisy pleaded. "Please, stop this!" This time, her desperate plea didn't fall on deaf ears, and Tom relented.
"I think I've made my point clear," he huffed.
"I want to talk to you in private," Daisy told him, walking into the corridor. Tom followed, slamming the door shut loudly. I turned to Gatsby. He leaned on the desk with one hand and stared at the other. His fingertips were wet with blood.
"Are you alright?" I asked.
"Fine, old sport," he replied, though I could see the pain on his face. He was the sort of man to never admit when anything was wrong. He didn't want my pity. "Is it broken? It doesn't feel like it."
"I don't think so," Jordan replied nonchalantly. I recalled George and Myrtle were still there. They were standing off to the side, out of place in the midst of the drama. It was comical. Here, you had Gatsby, leaning on the table, still gawking at his bloody hand, me, looking at him curiously, not wanting to choose sides, Jordan, casually taking the spectacle in stride, and Tom and Daisy's argument was, however muffled, clearly audible. And then there was George and Myrtle. It was laughable.
"He's jealous," Gatsby spoke suddenly. He inhaled through his nose. Suddenly, he made a choking noise, and spat blood into his open palm. "Remind me not to do that again." We were used to the screams coming from the corridor, but suddenly, Daisy's voice rose, one word crystal clear.
"No!" With that, the door blew open, nearly flying off its hinges, and Tom stepped to the side to allow Daisy to exit. Then he slammed it shut angrily with a fierce Bang! that made us all jump. He looked at Gatsby's face, then over to Daisy, and then back to Gatsby. He smirked.
"Daisy," he chided, "Would you really want a man that can't fight?"
"I want a man that can behave in a civilized manner," she replied emphatically. No one said another word for a moment, and we all just stood there and got our bearings for what just happened.
"Weren't we going to go for supplies?" George asked. I glanced at him, startled, having forgotten he was here.
"That's right. It was her decision," Myrtle said, glancing at Jordan.
"I'll go," Gatsby offered abruptly.
"So will I," I said. He smiled. Daisy opened her mouth to offer to join us as well, but before she could say a word, Tom spoke.
"Daisy and I will go."
"Should we just stay behind?" George asked. "To watch over the place?"
"Sure," Gatsby replied. He picked up the table leg gingerly. "I'll break off the other three." With that, he picked up the side table and repeated the process, wrenching off the remaining legs. He handed one to each of us, and entrusted Jordan with the blunt tabletop. "Let's go."
"Where to?" Tom asked tersely.
"We'll figure that out as we go along." He slowly opened the door, and thrust the table leg through the Biter at the front of the pack that tried to fight its way into the lobby. He stepped outside. "Well, come on!" We obeyed, exiting slowly, joining him on the sidewalk, and mentally preparing ourselves for the gruesome creatures that lurked outside.
The Biters where everywhere. The streets were lined with abandoned cars that glistened beneath the bright sun, reminding us of the brutal heat. I cursed my luck. Of course this had to happen on the hottest day of the summer. One of us closed the door, and he stood in front of it, our backs pressed against the brick building.
"A drugstore!" Daisy exclaimed in a hushed tone. She pointed to a small corner store across the street. Gatsby ran swiftly across the street, goring a biter in the process. He beckoned for us to follow. It was then that I killed my first Biter. It was creeping up behind Tom, and before he even realized something was behind him, I stuck my table leg shakily between the Biter's eyes.
"Thanks," he muttered. The door to the drugstore was open, waiting for us to go in and raid it.
"Tom and Daisy," Gatsby said as we rushed inside, "You get food and water. Nick and I will get the first aid supplies. Alright?" It was a rhetorical question. Tom was more than happy to keep Daisy away from him, and I sensed Gatsby had something to tell me. Tom and Daisy went off to the left, and we went to the right. Once we were at the far end of the store, Gatsby stopped.
"I need to talk to you about something, old sport."