Resistance

#1

((Lily Ainsworth continued from Walkabout))

Lily was a gibbering wreck, even more than she had been before. She had tried to follow Darren and Jamie. She really, really had. Well, okay, she had after a few minutes, a few minutes in which her fear had conquered her. A few minutes in which distant screams had given rise to doubt, in which she had suspected she was just going to be killed out of hand.

And then she hadn't been able to find them. She'd run across the island searching, had fallen and banged herself up, had tried so very hard. All to no avail, though. She had failed to even find another living person. The dead, they were a different story. Every way Lily turned, she found another grinning corpse, another eyeless monstrosity. Always more, bleeding and rotting and falling to pieces, reminding Lily that she, too, was nothing more than a conglomeration of muscles and fats and blood vessels.

The cheery singsong, the happy babble, it had been enough at the start. Enough to allow her denial to continue. Enough to keep her a little in control. That, and the people. There had always been people, something so strangely important to the girl who had grown up nearly alone. First the group at the gazebo, unsavory though she found many of them. They had at least given her something to measure herself against, something to say, definitively, that she was not. When they left, she had tried to stay close to Rekka, and then, from there, she had come across Jamie.

But everything was going to pieces. Francine, that girl from before, was dead, burned to death with a flare. Lily had found her. Had picked at the blackened bits, trying to play it off as a joke, trying to convince herself it was—haha!—nothing but a clever fake. But no. It was real. It was real, and Lily had nearly torn her fingernails from her hands excising the little bits of the corpse that had worked their way under her nails. The ends of her fingers were now ragged and bloody, and she still couldn't shake the general feeling of uncleanliness.

And Rekka's girlfriend, she was dead too. Suicide. Such a strange concept. Suicide. Killing oneself had always seemed so wrong. Had always flown in the face of her ideals. In fantasy stories, no one ever killed themselves unless it was a heroic sacrifice. Something to stop worse things from happening. But wasn't that what Dawne had done? She'd been determined not to weigh Rekka down, hadn't she? Wasn't that noble, in its own way?

Lily wanted to be a hero. Wanted to save the day. Wanted to take her machine gun, load it up, and hunt down every last killer on the island. She could do it. She knew she could, but, but what then? Then, she would be the new killer. She would be the new villain. It was a never ending cycle. Could killing ever be moral? Maybe in self defense. Besides that, though, she just couldn't see it.

The only person really worth killing, really worth opposing, was Danya. Danya, the cackling psychotic at the head of this. The one who gave her the gun, who put the collar around her neck. Danya. But how could she fight someone who wouldn't come near her? How could she fight someone from miles away, someone who was probably safe and sound in a bunker, drinking hot chocolate? There was no way to directly do anything. No way to kill him, for sure. All she could do was spite him. All she could do was sabotage his little game as much as possible.

She was near a building, one that had to be the sawmill. Beside it were three trucks. That was a good place to start. As good as any, she supposed. Lily made her way to the trucks and got into the closest. No keys. She got back out, went to the gas tank. Everything had been siphoned. These guys were good. She slammed her palm against the side of the truck. What could she do? She was helpless. No way to beat these terrorists. Not on her own. No, no way to resist at all. Any movement against them would just become part of the show, part of the excitement. They'd done this before. There would be flaws, sure. There always were. But were they major enough for her to exploit?

She just couldn't do it. She'd tried so hard. She slumped against the side of the truck, crying. Nothing. She was coming up empty. She was going to die. She was going to die and it wouldn't mean anything. It would just be one more bit of entertainment for the sick freaks watching this, one more contender removed from the betting pool. Nothing would matter. All she wanted now was to at least rob them of that, at least rob them of the satisfaction of an entertaining death. One little piece of resistance. Maybe she could find the others again, and they could all jump off the cliffs together. Maybe she could convince everyone alive to pull their collars at once.

No.

That was hopeless, and she knew it. There was no way she'd ever get everyone else to kill themselves. Worse, by doing so, she would become interesting. She would become another facet of the show, another protagonist marching off to do battle with Danya. That was the wrong way.

A hero wasn't the person who fought Danya directly. A hero was the person who beat him. Who spat in his face in such a way that nobody could be entertained, nobody could start a fansite. Yes.

Lily had to kill herself. Now.

She reached up, fingered the collar. One pull, and it would be over. Quick. Easy.

Bloody. That wouldn't do.

She glanced at her bag. Remembered the machine gun there. Could she blow her brains out with it? No, the noise would attract someone, and they'd take the gun and use it for evil. She had to get rid of it. She quickly unloaded the gun, jammed it into the glove compartment of the truck, and dropped the clips into the gas tank with loud clangs. Better. That was better. Now, how to do it? How to finish it all?

She sat down in the cab, shut the door, thought. It came in a flash. Lily unwound the belt she wore, wrapped it around her neck, and pulled tight, thinking to strangle herself. Unfortunately for her, the belt caught on the collar, compressing it with a great deal of force, causing it to detonate instantly.

She slumped backwards and was still, having not even had time to realize her mistake.

G121 - Ainsworth, Lily: DECEASED