Body Count

"We're going to do what?"

The Joker and Shane, having recovered efficiently enough for the two of them two get to The Joker's planned 'game', were standing in the shade of the trees at the extreme edge of the forest. The sun, which was blazing down fiery white and red, hovered majestically over them in the middle of the sky. It was high noon, and The Joker was all but perky.

"I told you," he replied, speaking in a slow tone that suggested he was explaining simple math to a simpler toddler, "We're going to cross the highway."

"But look at it!" she spluttered, gesturing wildly at the heated pavement in front of them. "It's rush hour! The breaks between cars last about three seconds!" She was distinctly white in the face as she said this.

He smiled gleefully at her, his yellow teeth shining dimly in the reflected light. "I told you it would be ... adventurous!"

Shane's teeth ground together almost painfully as her eyes flicked frantically from car to barreling car.

It was true, though - despite his constant, somewhat half-hearted reassurances that they would be perfectly fine, the cars were indeed flying past at unholy speeds. They all ran high risk of hitting the car in front of them, or scraping paint off of neighboring vehicles as the drivers merged without looking. Shane was not very keen on rushing through a jungle of high-speed, three-ton death-machines that would probably send her flying fifty feet before she came to a sudden crunch in the ditch.

Searching her mind for a valid excuse to save her neck from certain death, Shane stuttered, "But ... my shoulder. It still hurts a little. From the stitches ripping, you know? Look," Desperate hands whipped her jacket off, and she pulled the neck of her stained shirt down so he would see the throbbing red scars. "It still bleeds if I lie on it at night."

The Joker, though, was not perturbed. "Well, if you fall, make sure not to fall on that side! Woo ha ha ha ha ha ha!" he cackled, slapping his thighs in evident merriment.

Afraid of a violent chastisement, Shane grinned weakly. A slow, shuddering breath rattled through her lips.

A hand that may have meant to be comforting, but was in reality squeezing her wound into a new level of agony, rested on her shoulder. "All right, now look," he said, his tone back to its' regular oily pitch. "Would I ever lead you into something that would ... that would hurt you? Little old me?"

Shane blinked.

He growled frustratedly. "Well, I wouldn't. Now come on. Let the games begin!"

And without further ado, his hand was gone from her shoulder, and he was flying across the hot concrete.

Shane let out a yell of shock, jumping up and staring after him. His carefree cackling reached her ears, as the image of a skipping and jumping Joker met her eyes. Her eyebrows furrowed; he seemed to be trailing some weird green flag behind him, but realized it was her jacket. By some insane stroke of luck, he had hit a breach in the traffic. The nearest cars were only just rounding the bend when The Joker reached the dried shrubbery on the other side and dived into it.

Heart pounding, ears ringing, Shane waited for some sign that she was to come over, too. She waited for his green-topped head to pop up from among the bushes and grin at her. Or maybe his hand would stick up out of that green clump of thistles, and beckon her over.

But The Joker did not reappear.

With a growing sense of anxiety bubbling away in her stomach, Shane made her slow and apprehensive way to the edge of the road. With her body low to the ground so that the passing drivers would have trouble seeing her in the ditch, she peeked out between the branches of the road-side foliage.

The cars were once again zooming by at alarming speeds. Gigantic hunks of murderous steel, that's what they were. Prowling blue minivans, snickering red sports cars, and howling yellow SUVs rushed by, all looking very eager to ram into her, break her, harm her. Kill her.

Panicking, Shane straightened up and decided, if the point was for her friends and family to know she was alive, there was no real obligation to keep her face hidden. She paced slowly right up onto the road, standing in the unused biker's lane. With a hand shading her eyes, she squinted across the brightly lit road and tried fruitlessly to catch a glimpse of him.

And saw nothing but a sizable stretch of road, and, much further off and very far below her, the great blue expanse of the Pacific Ocean. No green hair, no red smile. Just cars, cars, and more cars.

"You bastard!" she shouted, shaking her fist at the invisible traitor undoubtedly laughing in the shade of the bushes across the road. "Where are you?!"

But, of course, her call went unheeded.

"Damn it!" she muttered, running an agitated hand through her unkempt hair. It was greasy from going nearly a month without washing it properly, and her hand came away slick and glistening slightly. Her nose wrinkled.

She appraised the blinding mass of blurred color before her, and sighed in a defeated way. She could always turn back ... and walk right into the arms of the cops, who would no doubt ambush her when she reached the other side of the forest. But then, her only other option was to go with The Joker ... after surviving this chaotic mess she'd gotten herself into.

Her dark, dry eyes raked the highway for an upcoming break in cars, her neck craned forward to see better, her fists clenched. Her legs were so tense she thought the ligaments might snap under the pressure.

She inhaled sharply. There, nearly a block away and closing fast, was a gap that must've lasted for twenty feet. If she got a running start to it, she could make it through without being hit. Maybe. Possibly. Hopefully.

She backtracked ten paces, and crouched low. "My gym teacher would be proud," she muttered, and then, realizing what she intended to do, gasped, "I must really be insane!"

And then she ran.

Her feet carried her forward at an almost inhuman speed; in her desperation, she was forcing her legs to pump harder than ever before, to hit that gap at the right moment. Closer, closer ... she was on the road now ... the nearest lane was feet away ... and then it hit. The gap was in front of her ... she was in it ... her feet were flying so fast she hardy felt them touch the ground - horns blared all around her - halfway across - surely her muscles were about to burst into angry flame - three quarters of the way - she thought she felt that side of that Honda skim her foot as she flew by - it took her a split second to realize she was shouting one constant string of curses aimed at The Joker - her throat burned as though being pierced with a white hot blade - twenty feet - ten - five ...

She made it. Shocked, relieved, and angry all at once, she stumbled to a clambering halt at the gravel edge of the road. She lost her footing, however, and rolled headfirst down the decline into a ditch full of cigarette butts and the stench of whiskey.

Finding herself unable to move another inch, seemingly burning away all her energy simply preparing herself mentally to do what she had just done, she remained on the ground. She felt a sharp pang of ironic realization - she was, indeed, lying on her injured shoulder. Making no move to correct this, she instead curled up into a ball and heaved loudly, catching her breath.

Deciding she might as well do something productive while lying helpless in a ditch near the road, she mentally examined herself, searching for further impairments.

Her lungs were feeling painfully cold, as though she'd been inhaling and exhaling so rapidly the temperature in her body had cooled with the speed of it. Every breath she took sent fresh waves of stinging pain through her chest. Her already-injured arm seemed to be bleeding, but not as badly as she'd thought it might. The hand she thought she'd sprained was now definitely in bad condition, if it wasn't broken. She twitched her little finger experimentally, and let out a gasp of pain. Yes, definitely broken. Her ankle felt strangely hot; moving it back and forth tenderly, she felt an odd tugging sensation in her left foot. A torn ligament, too. Wonderful. Other than that, all that hurt was her head, where a band of rowdy construction workers with jackhammers seemed to have taken up residence.

After silently cataloging this information and convincing herself that she was not going to die alone in a ditch, she squirmed a little bit. Her legs straightened haltingly; she pushed herself up using the arm with the injured shoulder, as she was cradling the other hand against her burning chest. The sun beat relentlessly down upon her bruised back, forcing up little beads of sweat that soaked into her shirt, making it cling to her.

Finally, after a few seconds of agonizing eternity, she was standing up. Sort of. She was leaning heavily to the left, towards her injured foot, but the right side of her body was strangely crunched together because that arm was held close to her torso.

'I must be a bloody sight,' she thought, squinting forwards into the glittering ocean. 'First I was screaming at what looked like nobody, and then I'm sprinting off across the freeway at freaking rush hour. And now, I'm standing here, bruised and battered, staring at the sea. People must think I'm a lunatic.'

Her mind ground to a halt. "Wait," she said amusedly. "I am a lunatic."

"Oh, yes you are!" said a voice to her right. "And talking to yourself, too, Shaney Boo!"

Her head whipped around, and a resounding crack echoed through the ditch as her neck was adjusted too quickly. "Shit!" Shane screamed, raising her left hand to her neck. Searching more carefully, her eyes swept over the bushes in front of her.

"Over here ..." he sang, dragging out the last word. "Come here, come here, come here!"

Growling in a quickly rising anger, Shane took a hesitant step forward. Searing pain. She stepped forward on the other leg ... worse. She found herself on her knees, glaring moodily at the dirt.

"Oh, is she hurt?" the voice inquired, sounding very entertained. Next thing, Shane heard a rustle of dry leaves and The Joker was hurrying forward towards her.

"You bastard!" she spat, glaring up at him. Never mind he had all the power in the world to kill her, never mind he'd saved her life, because he had nearly gotten her killed just now, and Shane was livid.

He wagged a disapproving finger at her, crouching low in front of her. "Don't be rude, Shaney, or I won't help you up."

'Just you wait,' she thought, reserving her anger for a later date. She felt too beaten to really argue against anything now. 'Just you wait.'

"Sorry," she blurted, still glaring at the ground. "Will you help me up, then?"

The Joker didn't reply, but threw her arm - broken hand and all - unceremoniously over his shoulder and placed an arm around her waist. Grabbing her wrist painfully hard, he hoisted her upright and shuffled off into the undergrowth.

Shane winced on every other step, forcing The Joker to practically drag her through the thick grouping of trees they were in. They were traveling sharply downhill, and whenever they hit a bump or a snag, she let out a gasp of pain. The Joker did nothing in reply to this but giggle every time it happened.

After ten pain-filled minutes, broken occasionally by The Joker's cruel laughter, a cold breeze whipped their hair about their faces. They both looked up, halting their progress.

They'd reached a drop off of the cliff, with the ocean stretching on brightly for miles around. A small, disused dirt trail snaked in a zig-zag pattern down the cliff-face, just wide enough for perhaps three people to walk side by side comfortably. Wind rising off the the rolling waves curled into their hair and sent relieving chills down their spines.

"We should stop here, I think," The Joker said matter-if-factly, releasing Shane and holding her elbow as they sat in the dying grass.

Shane, busying herself trying to find a position in which she could lean against the tree behind her without disturbing her injuries, glanced up at him. "If people saw me and recognized me, they'll be searching this forest. And it's not very wide on this end of the highway."

The Joker shrugged.

She raised her eyebrows at him. "You're not worried about being caught?" she asked incredulously.

"Well, they're after you," he stated, his voice high and slick. A grin spread across his face. "If they come across us, I can run!"