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This story contains adult material and graphic descriptions of sex. If you
are offended by such material, or it is illegal for you to access it under
the laws where you live, please leave now.

Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, and all characters drawn from the game are 
copyright Rockstar North. This story is fan fiction, and contains spoilers 
to the main plot of the game.

Do not distribute or reproduce this document, all or in part, without
express permission of the author. (c) August 29, 2007, Anfernee
Williamson.

---

SAN ANDREAS STORIES
No where to run


The sound of gunfire popped in CJ's ears. He heard it hit metal, heard
the windscreen shatter above him as he sheltered behind the open door
of the car. He knew well enough of street life to know what to do when
he saw rival gangs rolling up, especially in this number. He'd dropped
to the nearest cover he could.

How the fuck did they find him? This was Vagos turf.

It wasn't too long ago that Carl had wondered how shit had got so bad,
and whether it could get worse. It just had. He lingered long enough
to try and find his pistol, or at least the wallet that he had tried
to find. Somewhere behind him, he could hear the prostitute that he'd
just been with screaming, running for her life. Sort of like he should
have been right now, less the screaming.

Fuck! No gun. Probably in the glove box. CJ ran for the back of the
car, abandonning it and trying to keep his head down. Another window
smashed out, showering him in fragments. The sharp popping kept at the
air. Gunfire swarming like wasps. The moment it stopped, he made a
break for it.

"It's fuckin' Carl Johnson!"

CJ kept running, hoping that the moment of indecision would keep the
gunfire off his fleeing back. He'd even lost his fucking shirt as he
fled the car. Around him, the alley was a blur. It opened up suddenly
into an abandonned carpark. He spotted a fence in front of him. All he
had to do was make the fence and get over it. CJ tried to hear if he
was being chased, but all he could hear was the raw rush of his own
breath.

Make the fence. Jump it. Get out of here.

Nothing else mattered. Fuck that it should get to the point where
living was the only thing left. Carl tried not to think about Will, or
where he was. He just guessed that there was no backup. It was just
him and the streets. Deep in Vagos turf with Ballas chasing him.

The sound of traffic met his ears, somewhere beyond the fence. He
briefly registered the sight of the huge billboard in front of him. As
his hand grabbed the fence, and he vaulted it, he thought how it was
almost close enough to get to. The walk in front of the big sign fell
quickly from his vision. His feet didn't hit the ground on the other
side of the fence. CJ realized as he fell how far the drop was.

The impact was jarring, sending a shock through his big frame. His
legs felt the hardness of the concrete, shuddering through him. Breath
heaving raggedly though his lungs, CJ tried to pick himself up in his
daze. He stumbled, not finding his legs all that steady. He still felt
the sharp pain, indescriminate and deep. Carl saw the shocked looking
pedestrian that he had almost landed on. He saw the walkway he could
have taken, snaking up the side of the bank.

Somewhere far above the billboard advertised in proud green that he
should drink Sprunk.

CJ's big hands came to the rails quick, as he steadied himself. He
focussed on getting himself upright and running again. Anything to get
distance between him and the Ballas. There was more activity here. He
was right next to a main road. It dropped sharply, more of Las
Colina's famous hills. Somewhere beyond, across the road and through
another dozen or so blocks was Ganton, and his home turf. If things
had been any different.

Carl heard the shout about him. It was more of surprise than anything.
He half expected to see a Balla fall down beside him, but they seemed
either unwilling or better informed to the drop. CJ dashed into the
traffic, a red Broadway screeching to a stop inches from hitting him.
The obscene shouts of the driver joined those of the Ballas behind. He
didn't stop to see if they were still chasing. Carl doubted they would
stop that easily.

Lose them. Run. Get into the alleys. Hide.

Running like a fucking dog.

CJ dashed at barrier across the road, vaulting over onto the next
road, dodging traffic again. Sweat was starting to come quickly again
on his bare skin. It seemed stupid to think that only moments before
he had been fucking some puta's brains out. Now he was running for his
life, just trying to make sense of all this shit. The running part
burnt the worst. He didn't even have the support to make a stand. When
had it ever been that bad?

As he ran full speed across the street, CJ focussed on getting free of
the Ballas following him. He bolted straight into someone's front
lawn, vaulting another fence as he ducked in behind the place. Now it
was going to be a maze of houses between him and his persuers. He knew
the places to run, but that was all his home turf. Was Grove Street
totally overrun with Ballas too?

CJ wondered if there was even anywhere neutral. No. No where. Not if
Grove Street Families was out of the picture. He just had to find
somewhere to run. Anywhere. Then work shit out from there.

Night was falling. The sun was dropping low over Ganton, disappearing
behind the tall blocks between here and there.

CJ felt the persperation wetting his brow, sliding slowly down the
great grooves of his back. His lungs were burning, as he took just the
merest moments to pause and catch his breath. Doubled over, hands on
his knees, as he gasped, trying to hear the noises behind him. Surely
they'd follow. He was Carl Johnson, right? CJ dragged himself up,
wondering what they might do if he didn't run fast enough to lose
them.

Carl tried to keep out of sight as best he could. He hopped the tired
backyards of the cramped Las Colinas homes, hearing a few of the
shouts and curses. Their spanish was lost on his ears as he ducked
under long clotheslines, and between sheets, crisp in the early
evening air. He could hear something other than curses behind him,
something clumsy and unorganised. Something willing to break and push
through all barriers in chase of him.

CJ lept another fence, grabbing a black tank top that caught his eye
by chance. The line bowed and sprung back behind him as it gave up the
garment. His feet hit concrete again, and he saw the tight glimpses of
street further ahead. He tried to pull on the tank top and run. It was
a little too small, crushing over big pecs and fitting all too snug
around his abs. He got it down to his waist as he stumbled out onto
the street.

Yellow filled his vision. Los Santos Vagos.

"Fuck!"

"Hey, puto! Watch where the fuck you goin' cabron."

CJ tried to lose a little of the mad dog look from his eyes, that
chased look. He saw the sets of latino eyes on him, studying him with
an intensity born of the streets. They were checking him and his
colors, or lack of them. Carl stared back, seeing the hard flesh
colored by tattoos. Long shorts slung low, and socks up high. He could
hear the sound of feet hitting concrete hard behind him, thumping in
his ears like his heartbeat was. He shoved through their ranks, and
into the lines of traffic, hearing the renewed shouts from two camps
now.

Carl saw the momentum of the car swerving to avoid him, as he lept out
into the path of the next. He hit the front of the car with an impact
as hard as his fall, feeling it sting through his joints. The air was
rich with the smell of burning rubber, as his weight bounced him, and
sent him straight into the windscreen. CJ felt slightly out of himself
as it shattered. He felt himself laughing as he was tossed like a
doll, off the car and onto the road. The impact jarred him again.

Get up. Keep running.

CJ's survival instinct was sharp, still, but his body was becoming
less willing. Something was hurting bad now, after going up onto the
front of a car. It seemed stupid that he managed to get up after that,
but all he could think of was the alley he saw suddenly in front of
him. Something wasn't right about his body. His steps staggered hard,
before he gained the momentum to stumble forward.

Behind him he could hear shouts in English and Spanish. CJ wondered
what was more of a distraction, being hit by a car, or having ran the
Ballas through a group of Vagos.

Stunned faces stared at him as he lurched into the alley. CJ felt the
cool shadow of the buildings passing over him. It made the sweat on
him feel crisp and unforgiving. The tank top was crushing his chest
down, making it hard to breath. Or maybe it was something else.

Dumpster. Alley. Corner. Fire escape.

Carl ran, somehow leaping up to grap the escape as he passed. His
hands grasped cold metal, and his weight jarred down on his joints,
almost wrenching his arms from theirs sockets. The power of his big
arms dragged his body upwards, and his iron will kept the screaming of
his muscles silent as he scrambled. He almost collapsed once he had
mounted the escape, but forced himself up the first flight of stairs.

'Bad move, homeboy. Either this works, or your trapped on the roof.
Wanna play bird and try to get to the next building?'

Sunlight blinded him, reward as he made it to the top of the building.
CJ scanned, desperate, seeing the door on the other side of the roof.
He collapsed a few steps in, big frame heaving in the air. Every part
of him was burning from the strain, and there as a deep throbbing in
his side. He tried not to laugh again, as he stared up at the
darkening sky.

Sirens now. Ambulance and police.

CJ couldn't hear the sound of a chopper. Maybe things were looking up.
Below, however, he heard the last few shots crack through the air. He
hoped that it was the Vagos and Ballas trading shots. Something had to
go in his favour sooner or later.

Carl stared up at the sky, in his hazed, brown blue. As precious air
began to fill his lungs, he lay there on his back. It seemed surreal.
Everything. Maybe it was the lack of air, how hurt or exhasted he was.
None of the last few days seemed to make any sense. It was all like a
distant dream, one that he could close his eyes on and then wake up.
CJ thought about Cesar. He wondered if he would pluck him to safety,
even if he knew where he was.

When Carl opened his eyes, finally, he saw only the sky. The sirens
were rich in the air beneath him. There was no one else left to help
him.

Carl tried to focus on where to go next. He ran through the options in
his head, albiet few, trying to make logical sense of everything. He'd
probably blown his chances in Angel Pines. He was too paranoid that if
the Ballas had found him here that they would track him back there.

Plus, that was Cesar's place.

CJ thought of his few safe houses that he had bought up along the way.
There was one not too far from here. He figured how he could get from
where he was, through the shadow of night to the run down place. It
was workable. He could probably get there. At least it was better than
hiding out on a rooftop in the middle of enemy territory.

But even his safehouse was too close to Ganton. Too close to home, and
all the hurt that had with it.

Carl thought about doing what he did best, jacking a car and just
driving. Truth was, he didn't know anyone anywhere. In situations like
this, it was Cesar he would have turned to.

"Fuck you, homie. Why you go and do a stupid thing like that?"

His voice sounded strange in the silence there. CJ felt how his lungs
were still burning. He rubbed at his head, as if he could somehow
force the memories out. He thought how he'd slept next to Cesar. He'd
even felt Cesar jack off next to him. Carl thought about how he'd laid
there hours before and jacked off too. And how he'd thought of having
OG Loc suck his dick.

It paled next to what he had walked in on. Seeing his best homeboy
there on his knees, in front of another man. Things that you thought
about when you were horny were one thing. Actually doing it, or seeing
it done was an entirely different matter.

"Fuck, Cesar ..."

Things would have been a whole lot different if he was in his corner
right now, Carl realised. He hated what Cesar had done. He hated what
he had walked in on. He wasn't sorry for anything that had happened
since then.

His sister was seeing someone like _that_.

CJ banished all the thoughts, feeling the sweat starting to cool on
his skin. It was enough to make him move. It was a sharp, keening
sensation next to the dull thob in his side. The thoughts of his safe
house were starting to make a lot of sense now. He entertained all the
possibilities of being up in there alone. Endless porn, and just
chilling by himself.

Carl checked the street below. It was swarmed with police and
ambulance workers. He saw scattered colors, Vagos and Ballas. He
walked at a limps pace, checking around the side of the building.
Beneath was just a dark void of ever increasing blackness as night
fell. Otherwise empty.

Now was his time to make a move.

CJ made his way back down along the fire escape, and then gingerly
back to the alley below. The risk wasn't lost on him. He wasn't sure
he could pull another escape run like he had. Even his big frame
wouldn't last. Trying to look as if the numerous pains weren't
bothering him, Carl walked the alley, and then back out onto the
street.

How fucked up was this? One man alone on the streets. He was lost in
his thoughts as he kept to the smaller back streets. He could smell
the sea air almost, and knew it was only a few blocks across. It
wasn't much longer before he could see the big, flat ediface of the
indoor racing stadium. So fucking close to Ganton. Only a few blocks
that way and he would be home. It was painful to think that he was so
close.

Pushing out the thoughts, Carl kept himself alert. Better than to lose
himself this close to safety. The closer he got to the residential
streets where his safehouse was, the more he became cautious. The
night air was pitch black and cold by the time he reached the
ramshackle streets of the neighbourhood. He kept off the main streets,
away from the Ammunation that was so temptingly close. He could get
strapped up. One man taking on Grove Street. Or what was left of it.

CJ felt the breath quickening tight in his big chest as he entered the
street. Along one side, he could see the dark bulk of the overbridge,
deep in industrial. The street was a shithole, a sheltered community,
clinging in on itself. Carl was sure he could make it to the end of
the street and inside without being seen. He could smell the numerous
smells of dinner cooked and prepared. When had he last eaten?

His safe house sat unassumingly at the end of the street.
Tantalisingly close. Still and silent in the quiet street. CJ broke
into a little of a run, feeling the burn of it. Trying to keep himself
slow. He thought back, tried to remember where he had hidden the key.
Probably somewhere in the gardens, like he always did. His memory was
jogged by the overgrown and uncared for gardens in front. He
recognised a few of the larger plants. A squad shrub, clinging to
life.

Carl's fingers dug through the hard dirt underneath, and hit something
harder. He headed straight to the door, and felt the satisfaction of
the key fitting perfect in the lock. The door opened on a yawning
darkness within, as he stepped in.

Finally safe. Finally hidden.

Making sure the door was locked, Carl worked on trying to find a light
switch. Something was wrong. He could feel it as he started to move
down the corridor, at first thinking it was just his nerves and his
exhastion. The source of his worry struck quick, in the moment of
indecision. Big arms, numerous and strong grabbed and surrounded him.

Carl saw purple in the shadows, letting out a shout mostly in
surprise. His big body fought, but there was little fight left in it.
Something resigned himself to the fate, and the reality of not
running. The rest protested out of need.

"Fuckin' Carl Johnson ... knew you'd be back this way sooner or later."

"Get off me!"

"Hell nah, nigga. Thought you'd be smart enough to stay away. Then
heard tell you were back on the streets here again ..."

Carl felt a surge of strength drive through him. In the dark, those
big arms kept him back. He saw the snearing, dark face in front of
him, one of the many shadows. He didn't know the thickset youth that
was in front of him. He was just one of countless Ballas, representing
his set and his colors. Carl felt the sudden strength around his neck.
How many motherfuckers were holding him? He was almost up off his
feet, seeing the faces around him.

"Stupid fuckin' move CJ," the gangbanger sneared. "Your boys ain't
around no mo'. Ain't around to save you from this shit." He glanced
back into the darkness. "Mooks. Go get the Big Donkey. Figure we gonna
have a lil fun. Get him up in there!"

CJ sensed that something was coming, something that he didn't want a
part of. Death was too quick and easy. Far too easy for a Grove Street
Family. Any Balla would have something totally different in mind for
someone as famous as CJ.

He fought as he was bodily dragged, mostly carried back into the
bedroom. He hit the bed hard, but didn't even have the chance to slip
free or fight before they were on him again. Carl started to struggle
in fright as his tank top came off in a horrible tear of fabric. He
felt the shock of cool air take his groin as his sweats came down as
quickly. Carl felt the clothing go quick, in the countless male hands
dragging them off. Too many hands.

Suddenly naked, and ashamed of the fact, Carl felt the hands holding
him down hard on the bed. He saw the Balla who had spoken to him in
the hallway, with something horrible in his hands. He recognised it
for what it was; a massive purple dildo. He barely saw the grin behind
it, of the gangbanger holding it. All he saw was it's huge girth, a
giant parody of a male organ.

"Don't worry, nigga ... we all gonna get a turn on the famous CJ. Fuck
Grove Street. Grove Street dead now, nigga. But you ain't gonna be ...
you just gonna wish you were."