Holly, The List, and the End of the World: Chapter 3

#10: Have a near death experience

I still can’t see Mel and I’m feeling a bit claustrophobed in here so I make a beeline for the red exit sign above the door. The twangy music blasting through the speakers and the smell of burning cigarettes, the heat of the bodies is getting to be a bit much and if I don't get out of here soon I won't be able to breathe. When I get about halfway through the crowd, my phone chirps and I come to a screeching halt at the message.

Mel: gnna hang w a few ppl I met, b back at th dorm 2morro 2 say by. Good luck gettin home ;)

Well thank God for roommates like her. I just love being stranded in strange bars, drunk off my ass with no way home. I could kill her. I probably will kill her as soon as I see her again, if I see her again and I’m not dead at the bottom of some river before the night’s over because I could die and she's probably letting strangers snort cocaine from her belly button. My blood's boiling and I swear under my breath, keep pushing my way to the doors so I can hopefully call a cab and get back to the dorms. Do the cabs even run anymore? I have no clue.

I’m almost there when a very manly guy with a bandana, aviators, and a leather vest with the name ‘Pauline’ stitched on the back shoves me roughly and I almost break my goddamn ankles in these heels. The barricade of people behind me prevents me from crashing to the floor though, which I’m thankful for, because I’m more than a little drunk and I would probably have managed to snap my neck. Paddy’s’ patrons erupt into hooting and shouting as Pauline starts screaming, red-faced and beard full of spittle, at another guy with a Hulk Hogan hairdo and Hulk shoves Pauline much harder than Pauline shoved me. I’m trying to figure out how to get around these guys before things get serious but when Pauline recovers and connects his fist to Hulk’s face, the whole bar dissolves into chaos.

In a way, the energy in here is contagious. It reminds me of one of those Irish pub fights where there’s bagpipes and banjos going in the background and people are smashing bottles over each other’s heads. At the same time it reminds me of a violent mosh pit like the one my old friend Rex dragged me into at a concert back in my emo-punk phase when everything I listened to was nauseatingly tasteless. A girl was blinded in that mosh pit. I will not be that girl.

I duck beneath a couple of spectators’ arms and step over a few suspiciously still bodies, hoping to make my way to the back of the building and hopefully another exit. There’d better be another door somewhere here or I might as well start swinging too. Something tells me my punch won’t be nearly as powerful as Pauline’s though.

It’s only getting noisier and rougher as the seconds pass and the raucous laughter and shouting is turning into something that sounds more like screaming and crying now. I’m bent below everyone, trying not to get hit and I have no clue if I’m headed in the right direction anymore so I risk popping my head up to see that I’m going the right way but I’m entirely too far for the door to be of any use. Since I keep getting pushed back toward the epicenter of the madness every three steps I take forward I’m covering almost no ground, excruciatingly slowly.

Then, as platitudinous as can be, a single shriek pierces through the din followed by “HE’S GOT A GUN!” and if I thought Paddy’s was in trouble before, it’s horrible now. I’ve always thought this would be terribly cliché but I now completely understand why people panic when they hear those words. Everyone’s freaking out, jostling for the exit and I feel like a trout trying to swim upstream against all of these bodies. My head is swimming, my heart’s beating at supersonic speed and I can feel hysteria creeping up, closing in on me until some elephantine man tramples forward and knocks me on my ass. A single shot rings through the air, effectively sobering me and everyone else faster than God knows what, and it’s pin-drop silent and stiller than death for about two seconds before roaring back up.

This is not good. In fact, this is really fucking bad because I can’t get on my feet and I’m at a high risk for being stepped on to death. Every time I try to get up someone shoves me back down. I hadn’t realized there were this many people in here tonight; I guess everything’s a little nicer in that alcohol-induced haze. There’s another shot, another lull, and I nearly throw up on everyone’s shoes because my stomach is doing gymnastics, trying to escape just like I am. I slip off my own heels—stupid, impractical, four inch heels Mel talked me into—and prepare myself to try to stand again when a jean-clad leg knees me in the head, making me see stars and those little cartoon birds flying around. There’s a bunch of little black spots dancing in my eyes, the tumultuous noise fades into the background, and I’m about to resign myself to the bottom of peoples’ feet until a body blocks me from the onslaught and a rough hand jerks me to my feet.

“Holly?” Logan asks, bewildered, gripping my wrist tightly. I’ve never been more grateful to see a guy I met in a dirty bar less than three hours ago in my life—not that he has many contenders.

“We need to get to the back door,” I shout to him over the clamor. The room’s spinning a little bit and my head is pounding like a drum but I’ll be damned if I die here tonight. That would be extremely anticlimactic when I am on the verge of witnessing the apocalypse. I will live to see the end of the world if it’s the last thing I do.

Logan is hesitating, trying to see over the crowd but since he’s not much taller than my 5’6” I doubt he’s getting much out of it. “Come on,” I yell and urge him toward the bar. He takes the lead and barrels through the crowd that’s finally thinning out, shoving and jabbing at people when necessary until the end is in sight and we’re finally, finally free into the pitch black night outside.

“Oh my god,” I whisper, still trying to catch my breath. Maybe it’s because the adrenaline is slowly removing itself from my blood or maybe it’s because the energy of that deathtrap is gone now but I think I’m in shock. I feel like I have a hangover but I haven’t actually had the time to get a hangover yet.

We’re both breathing really hard and I’m sure we look frightful. Kind of like we almost died in a grimy bar brawl. “Are you okay? Jesus, you could’ve been trampled to death,” Logan wheezes out. He looks at me worriedly and his free hand flaps around uselessly for a second until he runs it through his hair. When he realizes his other hand is still clenched around my wrist he lets go and steps away. I wish I could see his face but there’s no lights back here except the sliver trickling beneath the door we’d just came through.

“I…” I am trying really fucking hard to not freak out and start hyperventilating right now, that’s what I am. I want to crawl out of my own skin and buy new skin to live in, move in, hire an interior decorator, do whatever I have need to do to get rid of this nauseating sensation.

I don’t realize I’m shaking like a leaf until Logan points it out. “Shit, you’re freezing. Come on, I’ll take you home,” he mutters, turning away and walking toward the dark parking lot on the side of the building. It takes me more than a few seconds to command my feet to follow. He steers us toward a black Jeep and unlocks the doors, opening mine for me. I hoist myself up into the seat, shut the door and wrap my arms around my waist while he gets in behind the wheel and turns the heat all the way up, pulls out onto the road and drives us away from that madhouse. There’s a ton of people out here in their cars doing the exact same thing as us: fleeing.

“Are you cold?”It’s pretty mild for late November and I don’t think I am, really, but I nod anyway. The warm air feels good because I can’t feel my body anymore except the little men stabbing my brain with their little forks. Or at least that’s what I’m imagining is happening because good God, my head is on fire.

“That was fucking insane,” Logan almost whispers, striking his fingers through his mop again. I get the feeling he’s just as rattled as I am despite his less-than-rattled demeanor. The fact that he’s coherent enough to drive is a miracle to me because we’d be dead at the bottom of the ravine we’re driving along currently if that was me behind the wheel right now.

“Yeah, it was.” It’s too quiet in here after that disaster. “Do you think anyone got hurt?”

“I doubt it. Those guys were just drunk and stupid, not murderers. Just bikers with really horrible taste in leather vests.” He sighs. “Are you sure you’re okay, Holly? Are you still cold? Where are your shoes?” I look down at my bare feet.

“I must’ve dropped them inside. I took them off so I could move faster and I think I lost them in the crowd. They were hideous, anyway.”

“Smart move, Angel.” Then we fall into silence for the third time tonight. Luckily this time it’s not weird or awkward or electric, it’s just Logan and I riding together, reveling in the peace after all that insanity. Once again we're in our own little world.