What's your favorite color, punk? VII

TrashMouth's picture

What's your favorite color, punk? VII

Oliver's P.O.V.

Trash Mouth. I could see joy in her eyes. She didn't need our approval. She was herself. No pills, just her. I hint of familiarity gleamed in her gray eyes, as if she recognized this feeling.

"We can't stay here long," said Nathan. Let's go, before BL/ind starts patrolling again. He puts his arm around the panting Trash Mouth, as we make our way to the car. Florence drives, and I called shotgun, so Nathan and Trash Mouth sit in the back of the pickup. We're not looking for anything, or anyone, so we just drive on.

Time passed, I look to the back seat. Nathan is sleeping, and Trash Mouth is looking out the window. As we make our way down route Guano, I turn on the radio, and tune into the Dr. Deathdefying's illegal station. Awful signal, but I can still decipher some words.
"...--alive, sun--, bad news--zones, tumble-- Jet-- Kobra Kid--clap--Extermin--Dusted--route Guano.--red line--volume..." A thought bursts in my head. I look at Florence. Two of the original Killjoys might be dead on route Guano. Shit.
"Who are they?" asks Trash Mouth.
"Jet Star and Kobra Kid are two of the four original Killjoys. The rest of us are followers. Party Poison and Fun Ghoul are the two others. They used to have a band, and we were their fans. But BL/ind took over and they ditched the band to save the world," Nathan says in his sleep.
"Flo, there's something, turn there," I say. The car lurches to the right, and there, two bodies lay. We scramble out of the car. A halo of blood shone around their bodies. They were most likely dead.