As much as Logan wanted to fall asleep, he just could not get himself to do it. He did need to see Tasha, but she wasn’t off yet, and he really didn’t feel like going to the strip joint she worked at. It had been a long, tiring, exhausting day for him. And yet, despite the fact that the day had drained him physically and emotionally, he couldn’t sleep. Deciding that he could go to the train tracks for a couple of hours, to wait on his girlfriend being off, Logan headed towards the train tracks.
Over the years, he had grown very fond of the train tracks. They had become like a second home to him over the past five or six years. Nearly all of his firsts had happened on those train tracks. The night that he had joined the Bloods, he had been on these tracks. Not just him. Him, Steven, and Harding had all joined the gang first. Harding had been the one to talk to the others of their friends and convince them to sign up. Not that it mattered anymore; the only one left of their original group was Logan. But anyway, that first night, when they cut their arms and bled for the Bloods, that had been on the very tracks that Logan was standing on right now. Steven was the first one to get cut, and he had turned to Logan.
“It’ll all be better from here on out, Logan,” Steven had said, staring Logan in the eye. “Ain’t nobody gonna tell us what to do or who to talk with, or nothin’ like that.”
Oh how wrong they had been about that. Everyone in the gang had a ranking; and everyone in the gang had to respect that ranking. When Logan, Steven, and Harding had signed up, they hadn’t ben allowed to talk to the top three members of the gang, not unless they spoke first. Logan could remember the first time he had been addressed by one of the top three members of the Bloods. He had been a member for four or five months when it happened. They had just gotten in a huge street brawl with the Cripps, and they had murdered them. The Cripps had tried to jump the Bloods, but they handled themselves supremely. That fight had been when Logan had killed his first man. He had been so close to him; they could have kissed. When he slit the man’s throat, Logan said a tight, “For Yves!”
Yves had been the leader of the Bloods when Logan had joined. He had just gotten jumped a couple of weeks before, and their gang was still lived, looking for repayment. Anyway, after the fight, with six or seven dead Cripps and only two or three dead Bloods lying in the street, Nuevo, the newly named leader of the Bloods, walked right over to Logan and commented, “Nice work, kid. Stick to that mentality and you could be running this place before too long.”
Logan had been so proud that night. He had been flying the high life that year. He had joined the gang, killed his first man, and gotten praise from one of the highest ups in the gang, all in that first year. He had scored the first notch in his proverbial belt just three months after that. Her name had been Nadia, and she had a thing for the newbies in the Blood gang. She had so many V-cards from their gang . . . Logan’s, Steven’s, and about twenty others. Certainly, he enjoyed himself those first two years. Between the joy rides, the fucking of girls, and the fact that he didn’t have to obey any rules were like heaven to him. At first. It was year three, when he started getting serious promotions that Logan started to see the more serious side of being in the gang. The first real hard thing that Logan had to deal with was trying to sort out all the druggies. That was one good thing that Nuevo had done; he made sure that he got all of the druggies out of his gang. Most of them ended up overdosing before it came down to it (like Bouncer), but they did have quite a problem with it for about six months or so.
Thinking back, Logan could remember what Nuevo had been like. He was one of the strongest leaders their gang had over the years. Certainly, he had lasted longer than any other front man that had been in charge of planning the hits. He lasted a good two and a half years before the fucking Cripps finally managed to shoot him. His death was the hardest for Logan to accept, actually, except for Steven’s, of course. It had taken the Cripps three or four times to finally actually kill him. Nuevo was tough; he had been raised by a lot of the gang members . . . Logan thought that Nuevo may have actually been the longest serving member of the Bloods - close to twelve years. But, then, he had left the way that ninety percent of the others had left the gang - through a road to the grave.
Logan wished he could remember that Nuevo had lasted a couple minutes before he died, as though he would have been able to pass along some information or something, but of course, he couldn’t do that. Nope, instead, he just died. The same way Steven had. The same way Harding had. The same way that all of them died. Logan was starting to understand that he, too, would leave the gang that way. Through the grave. It was a chilling thought, really. Logan certainly hadn’t thought about that when he signed up with the Bloods. Now, though, there was little that he thought about more. Ever since he tried to leave and the gang voted on his life, in a very similar circle to the one that they had formed just hours before.
Remembering what had happened two years ago, a very familiar shiver raced up Logan’s spine. The situation hadn’t been exceptionally crazy or foolish. He had actually thought very carefully about his attempted escape. He had planned out his run for months. He knew that he would have to wait until the gang went on a big raid. When they would be too busy hunting down Cripps to notice him sneaking away. Briefly, he considered letting Steven in on his plan, but he knew that ultimately, that would just be a death sentence for the both of them; Steven was much too interested in Blood business at the time. Logan knew that they had a big hit planned for the Cripps later on that month. He got all of his things ready. He planned a route to run on. He knew that he didn’t have to get very far; the two gangs mostly stayed in a five mile radius. If he could make it ten miles, they would never find him. He planned on heading west. South west.
When the day finally came, and the Bloods started their trek for the Cripps, Logan felt a nervous energy going off in the pit of his stomach. Not large enough to make him feel like he had to cancel his plans, but still, he was extremely anxious. Actually, his initial escape was pretty clean. The only person to notice at first that he had disappeared had been Steven, but Steven hadn’t thought that Logan was making a run for it. He kept quiet about the fact that Logan wasn’t with them because he truly believed that he would show up in no time at all. He figured that he had made it about two miles away from where the gang was headed when he saw him - Wyatt.
Wyatt had been the only person that Logan could remember who had left the gang and actually made it out alive. Logan was so startled when he recognized him, that he stopped for a moment. He couldn’t help but remember how the gang had searched for him for nearly a year, wanting to execute him, but never finding him. They all just assumed he was dead; either starved, overdosed, or got murdered by a Cripp. But there he was, staring at Logan, with the same shocked expression clouding his face as the one that was clouding Logan’s. After about two minutes of pure silence, they heard the shouts. Shouts of the Bloods. The Bloods that were trying to track down where Logan had run off to.
“Run, Wyatt,” Logan said, once his voice returned to him. “I’ll hold them off. There’s no sense in both of us getting shot and killed today.”
“You can’t be serious,” Wyatt said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You could just turn me in and they would let you back in. Tell them that you heard a rumor that I was still in town and you came to get me. They’ll kill me, I’m sure, but they won’t go after you if they think you were doing something in their best interest.”
“No, I can’t do that,” Logan fumbled. “I want out. I’m not going to let you throw yourself at their mercy just to convince them that I don’t want to run. Not if it means that you will die. Wyatt, you’re half the reason that I started trying to come up with a way of getting out. You made it. You gave me something to hope for. If I let them kill you, then all my hope dies, too. I can’t give them that Please, Wyatt, run.”
The shouts grew louder and again, Wyatt stared at Logan. Shaking his head, he asked, dumb foundedly, “Why would you do this? I couldn’t have meant that much to you . . . I don’t even remember you.”
“The fact that you managed to escape their clutches gave hope to me,” Logan shrugged shakily. “I know we didn’t talk much, and that probably makes no sense to you, but you have to continue making it. Seriously - run.”
Wyatt didn’t need any more convincing than that. With one final shake of his head, he took off. Logan stopped his advance, and just waited to see them coming over the horizon. He was thankful that Wyatt was no longer in his sight, which meant that the gang would have no realization that he was actually still alive and living pretty close to them.
Logan could remember the amount of pain that had been in Steven’s face, once his eyes met Logan’s. Logan did everything he could to try and tell Steven that he should forget about him, but he hadn’t. When they voted on whether or not to keep Logan alive, Steven argued vehemently on his behalf. He convinced so many of them to show mercy. And they did.
The vote on whether to let Logan live or die wasn’t that close of a vote, really. Part of the reason for that was because there were so many of his true friends left at that point, and the fact that Logan had spent a lot of time and energy developing friendships (of sorts) with the other gang members. Between those facts and the fact that Steven had argued so vehemently to spare his life, the vote wasn’t close at all. There were only three or four guys that voted to kill him, in the end, and one of those men had been Terrance.
Well, Logan thought to himself as he sat lazily on the train tracks, I made a good run. I let Wyatt live, at any rate. Maybe he will do something someday that will make it good that I let him go. Maybe, he thought, throwing his head back, maybe.