Until Dawn

[PlatFleece]

((Jennifer Farrow continued from Casting the Runes))

When she first came to the log cabin, there were several ways for Jenny to have died.

She could've died when she walked into the big log cabin, fresh from waking up, tired as hell, just opening the door to a shotgun in the face. She could've died on the way down from the mountain, adrenaline still pumping. She could've even died before she came in, when she walked in the forested areas at night like a horror movie victim, or when she decided to take a rest unwisely just outside the area and conked out, if someone took the opportunity to slit her throat. And finally, she could've died because nobody else did, which meant her collar would've exploded, and she would be dead, along with everyone else. That was what she had expected the most.

But she didn't die.

Which meant someone had killed.

When she arrived at the cabin, the first thing she did was find any spare food in the cabin. She didn't really find anything useful, and what she may have found would've been long gone bad. Cobwebs in the dark corners, dust sitting everywhere, this place had been abandoned for a while. So she sighed to herself, and decided to eat the rations that she had. The ones that didn't get stolen from her. She only hoped Dave and Janice were okay. Sure, they left her there to get robbed at gunpoint, but on some level, after a good (a relative concept right now) night's rest, she could understand where they were coming from.

She sat by a table, and noticed a scrawl of names written in charcoal. Names of people that she knew, people from her school. This one was recent.

A few thoughts ran by her head. Were they here? Was this a pact? This is a strange group of people to have met up, but then again, they were all kind of just thrown here. Why would they write their own names, though? And why was this format a little weird? It didn't take long for the answer to be clear.

Danya's first announcement was heard everywhere across the island, and it was obvious what these names were.

They were victims.

And then something else washed over her, only this time it was like a cold slap in the face.

Janice. The same Janice she was just with, the same Janice she'd played ball with at school. She killed two of these people. Jenny almost puked out her rations, but held herself together. She had just been thinking if she and Dave were okay. Was Dave in danger? Did Janice lose it? What about these other people? She knew both killers and victims, the feeling was surreal. So surreal that she couldn't do anything but eat silently and pace around. She needed to distract herself around the cabin, and be more careful about who she meets up with.

[Dogs231]

S043: DONOVAN LAUER — CONTINUED FROM "Ocean Man"

Donovan was freezing.

When he'd left the beach, he wasn't sure where he'd end up. But as the night set in, he'd learned a hard lesson. It was cold as fuck. Now, he'd thought he'd gotten used to it—that was why he'd left his hoodie unzipped. That was a big mistake, so he'd rectified it within minutes of the sun setting.

It didn't make him feel better.

Still cold. Donovan didn't want to die of fucking hypothermia out here on this God-forsaken island, so he'd racked his brain. After he'd shot Derek, or however you spelled his name, and he'd been going through the guy's stuff, there'd been a building. Maybe he could hide out there.

So he'd started running. Instead of making progress, he was going in circles. As he went, he wondered if people had been there—and if they'd found the emptied bags. If so, they might've known all about what he'd done. And if they did?

"No, that's not gonna happen," Donovan promised himself. "I'm not gonna die here."

One step forward. Then another. Donovan was tired, but there was no room to slow down. He kept running, chased by the monsters in the night, kept running, even when the announcements came on. He didn't think much about them, didn't want to think about them, aside from the names he'd already known.

Janice—he'd played streetball with her—she was twice a killer now. Mallory from cross-country was dead. Spike was dead. He knew that, but that didn't make the reminder feel any better. Who'd be gone next? Would someone shoot Fred, butcher Mitch, or skewer Dick?

"Stop thinking," he ordered, "just keep running."

He'd have run until one of these things happened: either he reached the campgrounds, or his legs would give up. The former came first. And just as he'd thought, the bags were out of place. Was it just scavengers—vultures like him—looking for their scraps? Or something more sinister?

"Stop thinking about that," he thought, "Getting warm, getting rested, that's the priority. So no more fucking panicking."

That was the final word on the matter.

One step. Another. Towards the cabin door. Without even thinking, Donovan drew the gun. Just in case. He didn't want much—just a place to stay the night—but he wasn't taking chances. So, before he entered, he knocked on the door three times.

"Anyone in there?" he growled, "If so, drop your weapon and open the door. I've got a gun—don't make me use it."

[PlatFleece]

The noise made Jenny jolt. Another person coming in so soon? Jenny held her spear firm. That sounded like a guy she knew. Was that... Donovan? She hoped it was Donovan. Better someone she knew than someone she didn't. Still, she knew Janice too, and Janice had apparently killed two people. Knowing someone wasn't enough.

Then there was the small fact that Donovan had threatened to use the gun. After the announcement and the little incident at the mountain, Jenny wasn't taking chances. She was caught off-guard before, she didn't want to get caught off-guard again.

So she had to think logically about this. Strategically. What would be the best move?

Donovan either had a gun, or didn't have a gun. If he didn't have it, he was lying (which was sensible) and just wanted to threaten someone to let him in. He wouldn't be a threat if Jenny had a spear, so that line of thought was clear.

And what if he did have a gun?

He would easily overpower Jenny, guns have range, even if Donovan didn't know how to use it, he could just point at Jenny's general direction and shoot. You didn't need to be a trained killer. Anyone can shoot a gun.

But if so, he could've charged in, shooting anyone that threatened him. He didn't do that, so maybe he didn't want to do that. Jenny gripped her spear, sweat dripping from her brow. She went to the side of the door and said, loud enough to hear.

"Don? Is that you? It's Jenny. I'm going to open the door if you just... slowly step in, okay?"

Jenny held the spear in one hand and held the grip of the door in the other. She took a deep breath, and waited for an answer.

[Dogs231]

Donovan recognized the voice on the other side of the door, and his eyes widened. The rhythm and cadence were echoes of the past—before this happened. At that moment, there wasn't a single doubt in Donovan's mind. Jennifer Farrow. The first real friend he'd met on this God-forsaken island.

He tried to shuffle Spike out of his mind. Donovan knew the guy and got along with the guy, but they weren't close—a close acquaintance, not a friend. That was what he told himself, anyway, to try and make the guilt go away. It didn't work as well as he'd hoped.

"Jenny?" he said, a hint of surprise in his voice, "Shit, yeah, it's me."

Jenny was a friend. She was a basketball player, sure, but she was more than that. She understood him. Nobody else did—not his parents, not his teammates, nobody. She understood. And, to Donovan, that meant something more than some shared points on a board.

And, like him, she had drive and ambition. She wanted to be somebody, wanted to win. Donovan liked that. It made sense they'd be friends: great minds think alike. At the same time, though, he'd never been sure whether he wanted it to stay that way—or if he wanted something more.

And, yeah, she was cute—whatever. It didn't matter now. There wasn't any use in worrying about what could've been, even if Donovan was still kicking himself for not asking her out at homecoming. The point was he could trust her more than some of the rest.

He hoped so, anyway.

"Just our luck, getting stuck out here," he grumbled.

Shit, he'd come off like a real jerk earlier, hadn't he? Threatening to dump lead in the one person who seemed to get it. Real smooth, man, Jesus Christ. He shook his head and let the moment pass to collect himself—that took a few seconds too long.

"Sorry about the threat, by the way." he murmured, "I'm on edge—saw some shit earlier. Just want a place to stay the night."

Donovan flicked the safety on and slipped the gun into his pocket. He wasn't worried about her—plus, waving a gun around didn't seem to do wonders for his popularity. Donovan trusted her enough to lower his guard. All he hoped was that she trusted him enough to let him in.

[PlatFleece]

Jenny had to admit, a part of her was relieved that it was again someone she knew instead of a stranger. With the amount of kids on this island, she didn't expect she'd meet two basketball kids. And Donovan's non-threatening gesture did actually calm her down, at least, for a moment.

Jenny had played with Donovan a lot back at school. He'd stay behind for some practice drills, and the amount of friendly matches they did was uncountable. He was fun, pushing her just as much as she was sure she pushed him. Reliable, she hoped.

But she thought the same of Janice, and she abandoned her to be robbed at gunpoint. And here is another kid with a gun. No matter what, she had to remember that everyone was on edge, and friendships were really tested in these kinds of situations. Jenny didn't know if Janice never saw her as a close enough friend, or if she was just trying to save herself. Before the announcement, she was willing to give Janice the benefit of the doubt, but... she's killed people. Two people.

And Donny had a gun.

But he didn't shoot her. Maybe he needed help. What if he was going to betray her? No, that wouldn't make sense, he could just shoot her right now, unless he expected her to lay a trap. But Jenny couldn't imagine Donny being so cold-hearted. She knew him.

But she knew Janice too, and Janice left her to die.

And she killed two people.

Jenny's mind raced, but the seconds were ticking. If she kept it shut, she would probably lose an ally... a friend. Sighing at last, Jenny opened the door.

"Hey, Don. Yeah... yeah man, it freakin' sucks. Being out here." Her spear was still gripped on her hand. "Come on in. Mi casa es su casa and all that, I guess. Food's kind of low, though, I'll warn you."

Jenny couldn't help but eye his gun. It was safely in his pocket, which meant he wasn't going to rob her, yet, maybe. But even if he was, Jenny would be ready this time, and besides, now's the time to be sharing stories, including if Donovan had seen any of the killers.

Deep in her mind, Jenny just couldn't believe the people she knew best would do something like that.

[Dogs231]

The door opened; for some, just an entrance, but for Donovan, a lifeline. The cabin's four walls would keep him nice and warm—or, at the least, keep him from freezing to death out in the snow. Either was good. Beggars didn't get to be choosers.

First, he saw Jenny's face. Familiar. A touch of Salem, out here in Hell. His eyes read hers as she talked—little brown spheres circled by white. It was nice to see her again. And, to be honest, it was nice to meet someone he didn't plan on stealing from; he'd had enough of that for now.

"I'm not picky," he noted. "As long as I'm not freezing to death out there."

Still, though, something seemed off. Donovan glanced at her bag. To his eyes, it seemed nearly empty—in truth, half-full. It took a moment for the significance to register in his head, but when it did, it hit hard. He hiked his pack, swollen with loot, up his shoulder.

"Someone robbed her," he thought.

A part of him wanted to condemn it—a part of him knew he had no right. Donovan was, after all, playing that same game. He was carrying supplies for three people on his two shoulders. Who was he to criticize? Thrown stones, glass houses.

"That someone could've been me," he realized.

It wasn't a great feeling. Donovan's eyes darted away, down to his feet. His greedy fingers clutched at the strap of his rucksack—held it tighter. It felt much heavier now. Like it was full of stones or lead. He wondered if she'd hate him for what he'd done.

Something bubbled in his chest. Sympathy, he first thought, or empathy. Guilt, maybe—or the excuses he'd make later. Donovan wasn't sure. He just hoped she wouldn't realize—but she wasn't stupid. Sooner or later, he'd either have to come clean or come up with a lie.

Sooner or later—but not now.

For now, Donovan just stepped inside and looked around the cabin. It wasn't much worse than the apartment back home. He didn't know if that spoke more to the quality of this place or the flat. Either way, it was damning with a hint of faint praise.

Donovan walked over to one of the chairs in the room and sat down. He slid the weight from his shoulder onto the creaking floorboards. The noise wasn't really new to him—cheap boards, old boards, they did that. Just another thing that made it feel familiar.

A part of him felt the need to offer something; payment for her kindness. Life was transactional—if somebody did something, they usually had their reasons for it. And, to be honest, he was starving anyway. He hadn't eaten much of anything since he woke up.

"I've got more than enough, anyway," he reflected. "You want one? It's on the house."

Donovan reached down to the bag and unzipped it. He stuck his hand in, rifled around for a bit, then pulled two food bars out. One dropped in his lap, the other raised to Jenny—a peace offering, perhaps. A high-calorie flag of truce.

[PlatFleece]

Jenny hadn't eaten in a while. Just thinking about it made her stomach rumble. Had Donovan not shown up, she wouldn't be eating anytime soon. Rations were low ever since she was robbed, so she couldn't just waste it every day, but now Donovan was offering his food bar.

The first thing that came to her mind was a sense of relief. This was what an alliance was capable of, helping others.

She never had any second thoughts. She didn't for once consider Donovan poisoning the food or sabotaging her in any way. She hadn't considered all of those thoughts that went to her friends being murderers. Right now, she had company, she had a friend. Jenny had spent the last day being tired, and more importantly, hungry. Why decline?

"Thanks." she reached out and took one from him, munching into it a little ravenously than one would munch at a food bar. "God, I've been starving since last night..." she said, swallowing at last before closing her eyes, relishing the feeling of satisfying her hunger.

"What a day, huh?"

Dry humor. The only thing she could do when she was in a stressful situation. It worked when she was losing games, it had to work now.

"So, my day was pretty rough yesterday. Met some people, they were kind of dicks, though, and now I'm here. On the bright side, at least I got some alone time last night." she smiled, just a small one, as she ate another one. She swallowed again, every bite energizing her in a way that these bars never really did when she ate them during practice. Then again, she was never starved before.

"Your day can't be much worse than mine, though, right? What's happened so far, Don?"

[Dogs231]

Donovan felt the bar slip out of his hand. He'd planned to toss it her way, but whatever, this saved him the work. It was an odd sensation for him; back home, he'd scarcely had enough to fill his plate—much less to share. Here, now? He had everything he'd ever need and more.

He unwrapped his bar and took a bite. The flavor was the first thing he noticed: an overwhelming, sickly sweetness. He wasn't going to complain, though—he'd eaten far worse than this before. And he knew any amount of food was better than starvation.

For a moment, Donovan wondered if Derek would starve to death. He'd never experienced starvation himself—didn't think so, anyway. Sometimes, when the money ran out, the fridge got empty. But you could go without until the checks came in or Monday came around.

Donovan always qualified for free school lunch. He'd never had a college fund or a chance to play travel basketball, but he got that. Some government cheese on a thin burger that was cold by the time it hit the styrofoam. A consolation prize for having fuck all to his name.

Donovan took another bite of the food bar. Chewed, swallowed—felt it hit the back of his throat. His stomach was upset again, but not because he was still hungry. The more he thought, the worse he felt. The more he ate, the worse it tasted. Still, he kept eating.

It didn't taste like victory—it tasted like coconut.

Jenny made a dry joke; he responded with a forced laugh. To him, it felt like they were eating their last meals on the way to the electric chair. Gallows humor was a fitting name. It was only a little better than empty silence—but a little better was still better.

She was playing coy when she talked about what'd happened to her. All the details were missing. Still, Donovan knew if he was right, it made sense. If your guard was up, nobody could score points on you. That was how playing defensive worked, in theory.

Jenny asked a tricky question to start. His day? Donovan didn't want to talk about it—couldn't talk about it. His instinct was to dodge the question, but that'd be too obvious. Instead, he threw out a half-truth—just enough substance to cover his bases.

"Honest answer, it's been bad," he sighed. "You know how Spike got murked, right?"

The air was tense. Donovan didn't give her a chance to cut in.

"I was there; saw it all," he muttered, avoiding her gaze. "The whole thing."

The images came back. The metal glint of the knife in the sun as Jacob raised it; the beach's rocks all stained crimson; Spike lying dead on the ground, too late to be saved; the look on Bill's face when he pointed the gun at him and demanded he hand over everything.

Donovan felt his skin crawl. A chill ran down his back. The bile crept up his throat, but he swallowed it down. His eyes stung, but he refused to cry—he told himself that he was better than that. He was strong, wasn't he? He had control, didn't he?

"So, uh, your bag's looking kinda empty," he said, a hint of anxiety in his voice. "What happened?"

It was a rhetorical question. Donovan knew the answer already—he just wanted to change the subject.

[PlatFleece]

Donovan saw a murder. And she imagined Janice was on his mind too, with that announcement.

Jenny hesitated for a moment. But what happened was so overwhelming that she needed a friend that she could trust, just for the moment.

"Robbed at gunpoint. Only got out cause I gave her half my stuff. No thanks to Janice, though."

She didn't mean to say that last part, but Janice had killed two people. Before or after she left? Jenny didn't know, but she wondered if more people were secretly capable of murder. She certainly didn't expect someone she practiced with to be capable of it.

"I'm... glad you got out, though, of whatever happened to Spike, that is."

She hoped Donovan had nothing to do with that, either.

[Dogs231]

Jenny confirmed all of his suspicions. She was robbed—not just that, but at gunpoint. Like he'd done. Like he'd done on two different occasions now. There was no difference between what he had done—what he had been doing—and what happened to Jenny. No difference at all.

That scared Donovan.

Somewhere on the other side of the island, were people thinking about him like this? Were Bill and Derek painfully recounting their stories to friends? Were those friends plotting their revenge against him? An eye for an eye made the whole world blind, but that was still his eye.

And he liked being able to see.

At the moment, it hadn't seemed quite so awful. It wasn't taking somebody's life. It was just taking their possessions. Back home, the two were different crimes with different punishments. He thought that mattered. That it meant something that he wasn't killing them.

Maybe he'd just sentenced them to a different death.

"I'm sorry," he said, but he wasn't sure whether he meant Jenny or someone else. "I hope you're holding up okay, after all that." Some sympathy for her, as she deserved, even if he wanted to believe that the others didn't.

Donovan didn't meet her eyes. Instead, he stared at a little hole in the floorboard. Nothing but darkness stared back at him. He placed a hand on his neck and scratched it lightly, taking another bite of his pilfered gains, then another, until it was gone.

She was glad he was here. Was he? Obviously, yes. He had to be. Donovan didn't want to lose. Losing meant death, and—most of all—Donovan didn't want to die. So, between feeling bad and feeling dead? He'd take bad. Any fucking day of the week, he'd take bad.

"Yeah," Donovan answered.

Just one word. It punched so far above its weight that Donovan didn't need any more to make a point. Everything he could say in four letters and a single syllable. No excess words, no hard questions, nothing. Beauty in simplicity, minimalism in action.

In the end, though, it wasn't any act of artistry—it was just that he couldn't bring himself to say anything else.

[PlatFleece]

It hadn't dawned on Jenny yet. Not while she was enjoying her free meal, not when Donovan had offered it to her, and certainly not when Jenny saw Donovan with the gun. But when Donovan looked away, that look of guilt, like he'd done something. That's when Jenny realized his bag was full. Fuller than full.

And Donovan had a gun.

"You know how Spike got murked, right?"

Just like Crystal.

"I was there; saw it all. The whole thing."

No. He couldn't have. Jenny refused. And besides, that announcement said so. Or... hadn't said so. The point is, they wouldn't lie.

...Right?

But that didn't mean he didn't have anything to do with it.

The thought crept up Jenny's mind. It haunted her, like a snake coiling itself, ready to squeeze unless she said it. But she couldn't afford to accuse Don. Not Donovan, too. She had trusted Janice, and she had been a double-murderer, what if Donovan was just as capable?

Her mind was overflowing with questions, and she had to calm them. Focus. Breathe.

"So..." she let the words hang in there, until she could figure out what to say. "What, like, happened?"

She'll let him explain. She owes everyone that much. And if Donovan told her the truth, well, at least she'd have someone she could trust, even if it turned out he was a murderer, too. That was the best she could hope for right now.

[Dogs231]

Donovan looked up at her again as she spoke. Her words had snagged him, reeled him in, like a fish on a hook, pulled towards the surface. Their guards were down, hearts wide open. She paused, then, and her words came out; a simple question, or so it seemed.

There was a glint in her eyes, a frayed edge in her words. Was it uncertainty? Was it fear? No, he didn't think so. It was something else. And he thought he knew what it was. Something far more dangerous than either of those emotions.

Suspicion.

Was the game up? Had she figured him out? Maybe. He didn't know yet. All he could tell was that she was eyeing him up. Still, she gave him a chance to speak—a way out of this hole he'd dug. If he could find the right words, everything would be alright.

"It was back at the shore," he started. "Spike, Bill, and Jacob were there. They talked for a bit." Every good lie had an element of truth. "Then, they argued. Jacob got mad and pulled a knife—I think it was supposed to be a threat or something."

Donovan cleared his throat, feeling a bead of sweat on his forehead. The air was cold as ice, but he still felt like he was burning up inside. Would she notice? He didn't know—hoped not, prayed she wouldn't. If she knew, then who knew what she'd do?

"It—" he hesitated. Even the truth seemed hard to believe. "He accidentally stabbed him, then freaked out and ran. Spike bled out while Bill was fumbling with his bag."

Donovan gulped. The next part was a harder sell, and it didn't even make him look good. He'd still done something terrible, no matter how generously he framed it. Still, though, it'd have to be enough. Better a vulture than a thief.

"Bill left. The whole thing messed him up bad." he murmured. It was a half-truth, a lie only by omissions. "Nobody brought Spike's bag with them, so I took it afterwards. Spike..."

A pause.

"...He didn't need it anymore. We do."

[PlatFleece]

Okay. That was what Donovan was going for. Looting Spike's... corpse.

Jenny supposes it wasn't as bad as it would be in the real world. Food was food, and it wouldn't be right to starve just because you wanted to respect a dead body. Jenny didn't know if she could do it herself, when put in that situation. Maybe she would, too.

She was determined not to murder, though.

Donovan didn't say anything about him being involved, so Jenny had no choice but to believe him. She wanted to believe him, of course, but what if he was just... covering for it. But then, why would he say he was there? There were other ways to cover. He could've just said he wasn't there and stumbled across his body.

"It's okay," Jenny began. "I get it. I do. Better than taking from a live one."

And she was telling the truth. Looting a dead body? That might be necessary here. And honestly, she'd prefer Donovan be a scavenger than a killer.

Perhaps it's best she change the topic, before she gets second thoughts on whether Donovan was really involved with Spike's death.

"You didn't see Janice or Dave on the way here, right? Or uh..." Jenny hesitated with the last name. "...Crystal?"

[Dogs231]

Donovan couldn't believe it.

Jenny bought it; every single word of it. A sigh escaped his mouth. He couldn't imagine the consequences if he'd messed that up. In a courtroom back home, he'd only be serving time. On this island? Only one sentence applied, and that was the death penalty.

"You've ducked the noose," he thought. "How's that feel?"

Honestly? Better than it should've felt.

Like, yeah. Donovan had done something shitty. A lot of things, actually, at this point. But damn, it felt good to get away with it. It got the adrenaline pumping—like scoring a basket for the team back home or when he'd robbed Derek at first.

Would he feel bad about it later? Probably. That didn't matter, though; later was a problem for the future. He'd cross that bridge when he got there. For now, he'd take his victories where he could get them. Beggars didn't get to be choosers, after all.

Jenny was still asking questions—not hard ones, for a change. He didn't need to lie about anything, change any bits of his stories, or keep track of what he'd already given away. For once, honesty was the best option for him, which was a decent change of pace.

"Nah, I haven't seen any of them," he noted. "I'm guessing they were involved, right?"

[PlatFleece]

"Yeah." Jenny scratched the back of her head. She was never the type to vent about her problems. Her parents usually told her to keep it to herself and to focus on other things. More productive things, and usually it worked. But here, it was detrimental. Better to let go of anything taxing her mind so it wouldn't tax her body. "I met up with Jan and Dave. I think we were going to be a group, before..."

Again, Jenny hesitated. It still felt unreal. But it happened.

"...well, before Crystal jumped at us with a gun. Dave bolted, and Janice took her shot, and I was left with a spear in a gunfight."

It was nice to let it all out, even though Jenny still felt weak for practically being robbed. "Maybe it was for the best though, knowing what Jan did. Wonder if that was before or after."