What the heck was this human doing?
Rebekah physically cringed when he grabbed the dead body and started pointing out the injuries. Her self defense de-escalation training hadn't included exercises like "Manhandle a nearby corpse and point out their fatal wounds to show that you're not a threat," and for good reason. Seeing his hands on the girl's body, the girl that had been up and walking and talking only a minute ago, got her hackles rising. This felt like a trick. A distraction. Look here, look at this horrible, disgusting, terrifying thing. Don't look at my hands or my pockets...
It was clearly working on Beatrice, who was displaying a rictus that any Tennessee fainting goat would be proud of. But it wasn't going to work on her. Something was off.
Okay. If he wanted them to look at the body, what did he want them looking away from? His hands were visible, his bag far enough away that he couldn't reach into it without alerting her. So, not those. Wait. The bag. When Rebekah had seen the girl go down, her had been slung over her arm, and now it was there in the snow. Which meant two things. One, this guy almost certainly had two weapons on him. Two, this guy's first instinct hadn't been to help, it'd been to rob. Both of which meant that she didn't want him anywhere near this place.
She took a half step forward, swishing the blanket a little bit. Like a matador with a bright blue cape, calling attention away from Beatrice, making herself the better target.
"The bandages don't prove anything," she said. "For all we know, you're the one who shot her in the first place. I think you should leave. Now."
All The Flowers Are Gone
Morning of Day 3, open
V8 Characters:
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Suddenly, one of the girls was accusing Micah of shooting the girl. Micah exhaled, closed his eyes, and then continued to speak.
"First of all," he said, adjusting the dead girl's body so she was lying on her back, "what makes you think I shot her? Did you hear a gunshot in the last few minutes? Even with the announcements, you could probably have heard one."
Micah slowly lowered his hand to his jacket pocket.
"And second of all..."
He reached in and pulled out the pugio. He made sure to leave the sheath in his pocket and revealed the steel blade to the girls.
"...this is the only weapon I have."
Micah pointed the pugio towards the girls, holding it flat and out so they could see the full blade.
"If I stabbed her, this would have blood on it. And it's not like I wiped it clean on my pants or the ground or on her."
Micah took a step forward to the girls so they could get a better look.
"I'll even show you the sheath if I have to. But like I said, I just happened to be here when she died. I swear."
"First of all," he said, adjusting the dead girl's body so she was lying on her back, "what makes you think I shot her? Did you hear a gunshot in the last few minutes? Even with the announcements, you could probably have heard one."
Micah slowly lowered his hand to his jacket pocket.
"And second of all..."
He reached in and pulled out the pugio. He made sure to leave the sheath in his pocket and revealed the steel blade to the girls.
"...this is the only weapon I have."
Micah pointed the pugio towards the girls, holding it flat and out so they could see the full blade.
"If I stabbed her, this would have blood on it. And it's not like I wiped it clean on my pants or the ground or on her."
Micah took a step forward to the girls so they could get a better look.
"I'll even show you the sheath if I have to. But like I said, I just happened to be here when she died. I swear."
Jessica had never taken her eyes off the scene, nor had she moved the gun. She wondered if she was feeling what a hunter did when they observed animals in the wild. Although she was observing some kind of human based safari. Her gaze was thorough and not a moment had gone by where the gun hadn’t been trained on Micah. There was no way to trust him, especially not after his appearance following the other person collapsing.
It felt wrong to be observing the others the way she was, the sights of the rifle a constant presence in her vision as she waited to see the way everything was going to play out. She hoped that it would all work out okay but that hope existed as a small sliver of light behind a rapidly closing door.
As she watched the girls confront the figure, the gun continued to shake in her grip and tap against the window frame. Tap, tap, tap. Her hands gripped it tighter, putting the time spent climbing to some use as the rifle was steadied.
Her mind kept flashing back to the cave as her heart rage increased. Her finger brushed against the trigger as she saw the body being moved, something was said and suddenly a dagger had been produced.
Jessica thought back to the cave and to Mallory shooting at her, then her managing to turn the gun around on the other girl. She remembered that feeling but it wasn’t the same as the feeling she had at that moment.
Micah took a step forward and towards Rebekah and Beatrice with the dagger drawn and Jessica had seen enough. She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled then opened them.
Without hesitating further she pulled the trigger.
It felt wrong to be observing the others the way she was, the sights of the rifle a constant presence in her vision as she waited to see the way everything was going to play out. She hoped that it would all work out okay but that hope existed as a small sliver of light behind a rapidly closing door.
As she watched the girls confront the figure, the gun continued to shake in her grip and tap against the window frame. Tap, tap, tap. Her hands gripped it tighter, putting the time spent climbing to some use as the rifle was steadied.
Her mind kept flashing back to the cave as her heart rage increased. Her finger brushed against the trigger as she saw the body being moved, something was said and suddenly a dagger had been produced.
Jessica thought back to the cave and to Mallory shooting at her, then her managing to turn the gun around on the other girl. She remembered that feeling but it wasn’t the same as the feeling she had at that moment.
Micah took a step forward and towards Rebekah and Beatrice with the dagger drawn and Jessica had seen enough. She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled then opened them.
Without hesitating further she pulled the trigger.
MIcah took another step towards the girls, still holding the knife at them. He was momentarily blinded when a bit of light reflected off the knife and into his eyes, causing him to adjust it so he wasn't seeing spots.
Before he could say anything else, there was a gunshot and then a searing, horrible pain from Micah's throat. The bullet entered the side of Micah's neck and exited the other, just missing his collar. The force knocked Micah to the ground, dropping the pugio into the snow.
Micah tried to cry out or gasp, but he began to gargle blood. He arched his back and clawed at the injury, his hands becoming bloody and his blood beginning to spray from his mouth. Micah convulsed for a few more seconds, then fell limp.
In his last moments of clarity, Micah thought about what went wrong. Someone other than those two girls was there and they had taken out Micah. Whether there was someone else in the group or it was a passerby, he wasn't sure. He wasn't conscious long enough to hear any more gunshots or chaos around him. In the end, it probably didn't matter.
He thought back home to the farm. To the weights scattered across his bedroom floor. To the spots on the ear of his goat Guinevere. To his folks sitting on the porch at sunset. To his siblings all crammed on the couch to watch a movie. He should have been there with all of them. The five of them came into the world together. They were bonded for life through that shared experience, and he abandoned them all to go skiing. He betrayed their quintuplet bond by being so stupid and reckless as to go off on his own. He tried to be cautious, but he wasn't cautious enough.
They wouldn't be the same without him, and he felt bad for what he did to them by running off for games in the snow.
He'd wait however long it would take before he could see them again and apologize. He was strong enough to wait.
Before he could say anything else, there was a gunshot and then a searing, horrible pain from Micah's throat. The bullet entered the side of Micah's neck and exited the other, just missing his collar. The force knocked Micah to the ground, dropping the pugio into the snow.
Micah tried to cry out or gasp, but he began to gargle blood. He arched his back and clawed at the injury, his hands becoming bloody and his blood beginning to spray from his mouth. Micah convulsed for a few more seconds, then fell limp.
In his last moments of clarity, Micah thought about what went wrong. Someone other than those two girls was there and they had taken out Micah. Whether there was someone else in the group or it was a passerby, he wasn't sure. He wasn't conscious long enough to hear any more gunshots or chaos around him. In the end, it probably didn't matter.
He thought back home to the farm. To the weights scattered across his bedroom floor. To the spots on the ear of his goat Guinevere. To his folks sitting on the porch at sunset. To his siblings all crammed on the couch to watch a movie. He should have been there with all of them. The five of them came into the world together. They were bonded for life through that shared experience, and he abandoned them all to go skiing. He betrayed their quintuplet bond by being so stupid and reckless as to go off on his own. He tried to be cautious, but he wasn't cautious enough.
They wouldn't be the same without him, and he felt bad for what he did to them by running off for games in the snow.
He'd wait however long it would take before he could see them again and apologize. He was strong enough to wait.
S068 MICAH FLANAGAN: DECEASED
After the shot Jessica saw the silhouette collapse to the floor. She saw the arms flailing, grasping at their throat but it was a short struggle and they fell limply back the ground, in preparation of being swallowed by the earth.
The gun no longer bounced on the windowsill. Jessica’s hands turned white and the faint sound of wood beginning to bend could be heard.
She didn’t know what she had intended when she had fired the gun.
With a clatter the rifle fell onto the wooden floor of the cabin. Jessica wasn’t far behind it. She dropped with a thump making no effort to cushion her fall. Her collapse being an uncontrolled implosion of her body then a planned movement. Her eyes were so wide the whites were clearly visible and her skin was quickly taking on the same colouration.
She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them then pressed her face into her chest. Her whole body started shaking as she lay there, her eyelids pressed closed, blinding her to the world and what she had done.
A soft whimper escaped her lips as she felt the presence of the figure looming over her. She could it’s eyes boring a hole through her with an accusatory glare. Tears began to roll down her cheeks escaping from the vault she had hoped to trap them inside.
She didn’t move.
She just lay there, shaking.
The gun no longer bounced on the windowsill. Jessica’s hands turned white and the faint sound of wood beginning to bend could be heard.
She didn’t know what she had intended when she had fired the gun.
With a clatter the rifle fell onto the wooden floor of the cabin. Jessica wasn’t far behind it. She dropped with a thump making no effort to cushion her fall. Her collapse being an uncontrolled implosion of her body then a planned movement. Her eyes were so wide the whites were clearly visible and her skin was quickly taking on the same colouration.
She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them then pressed her face into her chest. Her whole body started shaking as she lay there, her eyelids pressed closed, blinding her to the world and what she had done.
A soft whimper escaped her lips as she felt the presence of the figure looming over her. She could it’s eyes boring a hole through her with an accusatory glare. Tears began to roll down her cheeks escaping from the vault she had hoped to trap them inside.
She didn’t move.
She just lay there, shaking.
For a moment, she thought that the harsh, sudden crack had come from within herself, that the stress from deep inside had finally caused her to shatter into a thousand pieces.
She had never heard a gunshot before, after all. She was well aware that she had grown up in a position of relative privilege; not to the levels of the 1%, of course, but she had lived a life of comfort, wanting for very little, with herself and her three brothers all but assured of making it to college. She came from a safe, quiet neighbourhood. The most danger she’d ever experienced prior to this week had been a particularly wild tackle, or errant lacrosse stick coming too close to her neck for comfort.
She didn’t fully comprehend what had happened, then, until she saw the blood spill from Micah’s mouth, and his body crumple to the ground in a messy heap. Even then, her body seemed reluctant to react properly. It still wouldn’t move, or turn away. She continued to look down, at the now-pair of lifeless forms, as if she was just waiting for them to pick themselves back up and start talking again.
It was only when a fresh stream of dark scarlet sprung forth from beneath Micah’s corpse that Beatrice finally started moving again. Her hands shot to her mouth, clasping tightly over it, as though she was about to start spraying her own blood down her front any second. It wasn’t enough to hide the harsh, panicked breathing, or the frequent, desperate whimpering. Her legs were weak, on the verge of collapse.
She still couldn’t tear her eyes away. She couldn’t stop. Her body wouldn’t let her.
There was so much blood, stained into the snow, everywhere she looked. She couldn’t escape it; she thought she’d managed to break free when they had left the forest, and the looming, towering pile of ice and blood behind. But it had followed her, stalked her to this cabin, and now everywhere she looked, there it was again. Snow and blood, snow and blood, remnants of that frozen tomb, strewn about in every direction. How could she escape this? How could she get this thing to leave her alone for good? It was crawling up her back, ice running up her spine, staining her jacket into damp, bloody patches.
She needed to get out. She needed out now.
She had never heard a gunshot before, after all. She was well aware that she had grown up in a position of relative privilege; not to the levels of the 1%, of course, but she had lived a life of comfort, wanting for very little, with herself and her three brothers all but assured of making it to college. She came from a safe, quiet neighbourhood. The most danger she’d ever experienced prior to this week had been a particularly wild tackle, or errant lacrosse stick coming too close to her neck for comfort.
She didn’t fully comprehend what had happened, then, until she saw the blood spill from Micah’s mouth, and his body crumple to the ground in a messy heap. Even then, her body seemed reluctant to react properly. It still wouldn’t move, or turn away. She continued to look down, at the now-pair of lifeless forms, as if she was just waiting for them to pick themselves back up and start talking again.
It was only when a fresh stream of dark scarlet sprung forth from beneath Micah’s corpse that Beatrice finally started moving again. Her hands shot to her mouth, clasping tightly over it, as though she was about to start spraying her own blood down her front any second. It wasn’t enough to hide the harsh, panicked breathing, or the frequent, desperate whimpering. Her legs were weak, on the verge of collapse.
She still couldn’t tear her eyes away. She couldn’t stop. Her body wouldn’t let her.
There was so much blood, stained into the snow, everywhere she looked. She couldn’t escape it; she thought she’d managed to break free when they had left the forest, and the looming, towering pile of ice and blood behind. But it had followed her, stalked her to this cabin, and now everywhere she looked, there it was again. Snow and blood, snow and blood, remnants of that frozen tomb, strewn about in every direction. How could she escape this? How could she get this thing to leave her alone for good? It was crawling up her back, ice running up her spine, staining her jacket into damp, bloody patches.
She needed to get out. She needed out now.
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
There's almost certainly a number of deaths a person can witness, after which the numbness sets in and it stops being a horrible traumatizing event.
Rebekah Hayes didn't know what that number might be, but it was definitely more than three.
Events played out like a rapid-fire slideshow, crystallized moments that were at the same time disorientingly quick and excruciatingly slow. A gunshot cracked the dawn in half; a human boy's neck spurting blood as he fell away; a blur and the feel of her ponytail hitting the side of her neck as she whirled; Jess's face in the window; back to the boy, struggling, clawing at his throat while blood spewed from his mouth; then a stillness that was somehow worse than the wracking agony that preceded it.
Her stomach knotted up as she looked at the dead humans at her feet. A girl whose name and face she didn't know, and a boy who'd only said a handful of words to her. The second and third person she'd watched die in as many days. Three deaths in three days. One death every twenty-four hours, like mayflies.
The boy's knife lay in the snow where he'd dropped it. Was he really just showing it to them? Would he have taken a swing with it, if given the opportunity? It didn't really matter now, did it? The situation was resolved, with a speed and finality that Shirley Frobisher would have envied.
A pair of sounds cut through her musings. One was a muffled whump from the cabin, which presumably coincided with Jess' disappearance from the window. Still concussed? Grief stricken? Rebekah didn't know. The other sound was coming from Beatrice, who was emitting a low, keening wail. The big human girl was transfixed, her fearful eyes locked on the dead boy.
Both of Rebekah's companions were down, which meant that it was up to her to sort all of this out, keep everybody safe until things calmed down. Hopefully nobody else would join the fresh new Dying At The Cabin craze in the meantime.
Step one - corral everybody together. Step two... well, that'd depend on how badly step one failed.
She stepped in front of Beatrice, breaking her eyeline. Looking into her eyes like a lion tamer might. Then she spread her arms, unfurling the Snuggie like a bat's wings. Distracting, hiding the carnage from view. "Beatrice. Hey, Beatrice," she said, using the same voice she used on drunk people at Dani's parties when it was time to send them home. Beatrice probably wasn't drunk, but she was hard up for a better strategy at this point. "Look at me. We're okay. Everything's okay. So let's go back inside the cabin now, all right? I can't leave you here, and we need to make sure Jess is okay. Can you do that for me, Beatrice?"
Rebekah Hayes didn't know what that number might be, but it was definitely more than three.
Events played out like a rapid-fire slideshow, crystallized moments that were at the same time disorientingly quick and excruciatingly slow. A gunshot cracked the dawn in half; a human boy's neck spurting blood as he fell away; a blur and the feel of her ponytail hitting the side of her neck as she whirled; Jess's face in the window; back to the boy, struggling, clawing at his throat while blood spewed from his mouth; then a stillness that was somehow worse than the wracking agony that preceded it.
Her stomach knotted up as she looked at the dead humans at her feet. A girl whose name and face she didn't know, and a boy who'd only said a handful of words to her. The second and third person she'd watched die in as many days. Three deaths in three days. One death every twenty-four hours, like mayflies.
The boy's knife lay in the snow where he'd dropped it. Was he really just showing it to them? Would he have taken a swing with it, if given the opportunity? It didn't really matter now, did it? The situation was resolved, with a speed and finality that Shirley Frobisher would have envied.
A pair of sounds cut through her musings. One was a muffled whump from the cabin, which presumably coincided with Jess' disappearance from the window. Still concussed? Grief stricken? Rebekah didn't know. The other sound was coming from Beatrice, who was emitting a low, keening wail. The big human girl was transfixed, her fearful eyes locked on the dead boy.
Both of Rebekah's companions were down, which meant that it was up to her to sort all of this out, keep everybody safe until things calmed down. Hopefully nobody else would join the fresh new Dying At The Cabin craze in the meantime.
Step one - corral everybody together. Step two... well, that'd depend on how badly step one failed.
She stepped in front of Beatrice, breaking her eyeline. Looking into her eyes like a lion tamer might. Then she spread her arms, unfurling the Snuggie like a bat's wings. Distracting, hiding the carnage from view. "Beatrice. Hey, Beatrice," she said, using the same voice she used on drunk people at Dani's parties when it was time to send them home. Beatrice probably wasn't drunk, but she was hard up for a better strategy at this point. "Look at me. We're okay. Everything's okay. So let's go back inside the cabin now, all right? I can't leave you here, and we need to make sure Jess is okay. Can you do that for me, Beatrice?"
V8 Characters:
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Jessica couldn't hear any further noise from outside the cabin. Nothing from Rebekah or Beatrice. She was left alone in the cabin with what she had done, again.
From back in the cave she saw the flash and Mallory's body jerk from the bullet piercing through her back. The slow, shaky step and stumble down to her knees before collapsing to the floor. The boy fell in a similar way, collapsing in stages, like a building toppling down. The wisp of smoke coming out of the barrel and the smell of gunpowder it carried into her face and that lingered in the air afterwards. The boy fell in a similar way, collapsing in stages, like a building toppling down.
Wherever Maritza was had she seen it happen?
Wherever Maritza was had she seen it happen again?
Mallory’s blood had leaked out of the hole in her chest, washing over the cave floor in a sheet of red. The blood from the boys neck was a spray, spewing forth and scattering over a wide arc. Unlike with Mallory there was no link between them, she hadn't struck with the gun as a last resort or due to anything that preceded the event. She had never been wronged by the figure looting the girl, not in the way Mallory had.
The second pull of the trigger didn't sever anything, it didn't mean anything other than taking away another life on the island. In that way, it was so much worse.
The first pull of the trigger had been inevitable, ever since Jessica and Mallory had woken up in the same location along with a gun. She didn't know if she could say the same for the second.
“I’m sorry Maritza, I'm sorry."
From back in the cave she saw the flash and Mallory's body jerk from the bullet piercing through her back. The slow, shaky step and stumble down to her knees before collapsing to the floor. The boy fell in a similar way, collapsing in stages, like a building toppling down. The wisp of smoke coming out of the barrel and the smell of gunpowder it carried into her face and that lingered in the air afterwards. The boy fell in a similar way, collapsing in stages, like a building toppling down.
Wherever Maritza was had she seen it happen?
Wherever Maritza was had she seen it happen again?
Mallory’s blood had leaked out of the hole in her chest, washing over the cave floor in a sheet of red. The blood from the boys neck was a spray, spewing forth and scattering over a wide arc. Unlike with Mallory there was no link between them, she hadn't struck with the gun as a last resort or due to anything that preceded the event. She had never been wronged by the figure looting the girl, not in the way Mallory had.
The second pull of the trigger didn't sever anything, it didn't mean anything other than taking away another life on the island. In that way, it was so much worse.
The first pull of the trigger had been inevitable, ever since Jessica and Mallory had woken up in the same location along with a gun. She didn't know if she could say the same for the second.
“I’m sorry Maritza, I'm sorry."
And as if by magic, all the blood immediately disappeared.
It wasn't the sort of magic you read about in fairy tales and fiction, or the kind that her Au Ra Black Mage used in Final Fantasy, of course. Many people would probably argue that it wasn't actually any form of magic at all, but Beatrice disagreed. She had spent an entire year absolutely transfixed by the idea of stage magic, and even though she had no desire to perform it herself, the core concept - of using distraction, misdirection, and at its most basic, of physically obscuring things to make it appear as though you possessed mystical powers - was enough to grab her interest fully.
She had spent that year watching countless videos of magicians on show and on stage, before immediately looking up exactly how each trick was performed. It never diminished her appreciation or her enjoyment of the tricks; in fact, it made her enjoy them just that much more, being able to watch and see exactly where in the act the deception was performed, and knowing just how simple it was behind the smoke and mirrors.
The blanket being held up, almost like a reverse Matador's cape, was nowhere near as flashy as some of the spells she'd seen on stage, but it had the same effect. 'The blood was out of sight' equalled 'The blood no longer existed'.
And just like with all that stage magic she had absorbed, even though Beatrice knew exactly what was being performed, it still worked. The blood's spell was broken. Rebekah's now took over.
"I'm... I'm, um..."
She closed her eyes for a moment, screwing them tightly shut. When they opened again, they were looking right at Rebekah. She nodded, a few times just for good measure. Her hands slowly fell from her mouth and came to rest by her sides again.
"I can do that. I can move. I'm... you're right. Let's go. Let's..."
There were so many things to say right now. Of gratitude, of apology, of just letting her heart bleed and her words spill out endlessly. None of them needed to be said just at this moment though. There wasn't anything left that could be done out here for now.
"Let's make sure Jessica is okay."
It wasn't the sort of magic you read about in fairy tales and fiction, or the kind that her Au Ra Black Mage used in Final Fantasy, of course. Many people would probably argue that it wasn't actually any form of magic at all, but Beatrice disagreed. She had spent an entire year absolutely transfixed by the idea of stage magic, and even though she had no desire to perform it herself, the core concept - of using distraction, misdirection, and at its most basic, of physically obscuring things to make it appear as though you possessed mystical powers - was enough to grab her interest fully.
She had spent that year watching countless videos of magicians on show and on stage, before immediately looking up exactly how each trick was performed. It never diminished her appreciation or her enjoyment of the tricks; in fact, it made her enjoy them just that much more, being able to watch and see exactly where in the act the deception was performed, and knowing just how simple it was behind the smoke and mirrors.
The blanket being held up, almost like a reverse Matador's cape, was nowhere near as flashy as some of the spells she'd seen on stage, but it had the same effect. 'The blood was out of sight' equalled 'The blood no longer existed'.
And just like with all that stage magic she had absorbed, even though Beatrice knew exactly what was being performed, it still worked. The blood's spell was broken. Rebekah's now took over.
"I'm... I'm, um..."
She closed her eyes for a moment, screwing them tightly shut. When they opened again, they were looking right at Rebekah. She nodded, a few times just for good measure. Her hands slowly fell from her mouth and came to rest by her sides again.
"I can do that. I can move. I'm... you're right. Let's go. Let's..."
There were so many things to say right now. Of gratitude, of apology, of just letting her heart bleed and her words spill out endlessly. None of them needed to be said just at this moment though. There wasn't anything left that could be done out here for now.
"Let's make sure Jessica is okay."
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
A great weight lifted off of Rebekah's shoulders. Beatrice was calming down, able to speak again. A relieved smile broke out, and she nodded enthusiastically. "All right. Let's go do that together."
She stepped forward and took Beatrice's arm. The human girl seemed to stiffen a little in response to her touch, but didn't spook and run away like she had before, so that was progress. Rebekah gently turned her around, towards the cabin, and they made their way to the door. Rebekah gingerly nudged the door aside and entered, motioning for Beatrice to follow.
It was dim in the cabin, in stark contrast to the white-and-red wasteland outside. Jess lay on the floor beneath the window, with her back to them. She was shaking, with grief or fear or something else. Rebekah couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but the word "sorry" seemed to be playing a prominent role.
"Oh, Jess..."
They didn't talk much about moments like this in self-defense class. Most of the time, they talked about the action-y bits. They talked about preventing attacks, recognizing attackers before they struck, and what to do when they grabbed you or pointed a gun in your face. But sometimes, at the very end of weekend sessions, they did talk about what happened afterwards. About how it could still hurt, even when you'd defused the situation perfectly and escaped. About how badly it could hurt to injure another person, even in self-preservation, and how to avoid blaming yourself for doing what needed to be done.
But even with all of that knowledge, Rebekah had no idea what to do. What could you even say to someone in Jess' position? What could she possibly say that wouldn't seem shallow or trite? She couldn't think of any words that'd stop the tears, or put the broken pieces back together.
So, she didn't say anything at all. She just sat down next to Jess, close enough to make her presence clear. Enough distance to avoid intruding on Jess's grief, but close enough that she'd know that someone was there if she wanted them; close enough to let her know that she wasn't bearing her burdens alone.
She stepped forward and took Beatrice's arm. The human girl seemed to stiffen a little in response to her touch, but didn't spook and run away like she had before, so that was progress. Rebekah gently turned her around, towards the cabin, and they made their way to the door. Rebekah gingerly nudged the door aside and entered, motioning for Beatrice to follow.
It was dim in the cabin, in stark contrast to the white-and-red wasteland outside. Jess lay on the floor beneath the window, with her back to them. She was shaking, with grief or fear or something else. Rebekah couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but the word "sorry" seemed to be playing a prominent role.
"Oh, Jess..."
They didn't talk much about moments like this in self-defense class. Most of the time, they talked about the action-y bits. They talked about preventing attacks, recognizing attackers before they struck, and what to do when they grabbed you or pointed a gun in your face. But sometimes, at the very end of weekend sessions, they did talk about what happened afterwards. About how it could still hurt, even when you'd defused the situation perfectly and escaped. About how badly it could hurt to injure another person, even in self-preservation, and how to avoid blaming yourself for doing what needed to be done.
But even with all of that knowledge, Rebekah had no idea what to do. What could you even say to someone in Jess' position? What could she possibly say that wouldn't seem shallow or trite? She couldn't think of any words that'd stop the tears, or put the broken pieces back together.
So, she didn't say anything at all. She just sat down next to Jess, close enough to make her presence clear. Enough distance to avoid intruding on Jess's grief, but close enough that she'd know that someone was there if she wanted them; close enough to let her know that she wasn't bearing her burdens alone.
V8 Characters:
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Jessica didn't know if she had done the right thing. She knew how everything had looked, but had she been accurately assessing what was in front of her? Jessica had never doubted her own eyes before, or her own perception of events but the time and place she found herself in was unlike anything before.
She had meant to injure him. That much she knew for certain. The outcome had been set in her mind and the result had come to pass. Self-loathing and disgust bubbled away in her chest, her heart rotting away from the guilt she felt. First Mallory, then the mystery boy. Somewhere she could feel Maritza's own disappointment and disgust with her actions.
"You're not the person I knew." She heard her...heard her say. Each word a stab into her gut, each once punching a fresh hole.
"I don't even recognize you." Somewhere Mallory was laughing at her, getting her revenge for her murder.
Her eyes pricked up as the wooden floorboards of the cabin creaked. Rebekah and Beatrice had returned from the outside, bringing with them their judgment.
Their movements were quiet and Jessica felt their eyes on her, assessing her. She was glad her back was to them. She couldn't bear seeing their faces. One of them, who she assumed was Rebekah as the steps were softer than Beatrices' approached and came to rest nearby.
Her breath hitched as she waited for words that never came.
After a while, she whispered a question.
"Who was it?"
She had meant to injure him. That much she knew for certain. The outcome had been set in her mind and the result had come to pass. Self-loathing and disgust bubbled away in her chest, her heart rotting away from the guilt she felt. First Mallory, then the mystery boy. Somewhere she could feel Maritza's own disappointment and disgust with her actions.
"You're not the person I knew." She heard her...heard her say. Each word a stab into her gut, each once punching a fresh hole.
"I don't even recognize you." Somewhere Mallory was laughing at her, getting her revenge for her murder.
Her eyes pricked up as the wooden floorboards of the cabin creaked. Rebekah and Beatrice had returned from the outside, bringing with them their judgment.
Their movements were quiet and Jessica felt their eyes on her, assessing her. She was glad her back was to them. She couldn't bear seeing their faces. One of them, who she assumed was Rebekah as the steps were softer than Beatrices' approached and came to rest nearby.
Her breath hitched as she waited for words that never came.
After a while, she whispered a question.
"Who was it?"
Rebekah stared at the floor. "It was..."
She'd never been good at placing names to faces when it came to the Flanagan litter of five. Except for Ruth, but that one was sort of obvious.
"It was one of the quintuplets... I don't know which one."
There was a pregnant pause as Rebekah mulled the ramifications of what she was about to say next. Because what she was about to say next was either a lie or a deceit, and she wasn't sure which.
There was, Rebekah knew, an important distinction between lies and deceit in the animal kingdom. Several animals had the capacity to lie. Humans, of course, were the only ones who did it recreationally; but orangutans, chimpanzees, and kea birds had all been observed intentionally tricking zookeepers to snag extra food. Deceit was a bit of a different beast, though. Walking sticks and leafy sea dragons didn't intentionally masquerade as flora, and scarlet king snakes didn't choose to look like deadly coral snakes. That was just how they looked. It was a deceit, but not a lie. They didn't deceive to steal, they did it to stay safe, to survive. They did it because it was necessary.
Rebekah turned, so Jess could see her face. Then she said, very softly, "You didn't do anything wrong, Jess."
There was another pause. Then, "He had a knife. And he was going to use it. I've taken a lot of self-defense classes, and I know what it looks like when someone's getting ready to stab somebody. If you hadn't done what you did, he would have tried to stab me. And Beatrice. You... saved our lives."
It wasn't true. Well, most of it wasn't. She had taken a lot of defense classes, and she did know what it looked like, all the little twitches and tensions that forecasted the movements of a knife thrust. And Rebekah hadn't seen any of those tics from Flanagan. Not a single one. Jess had jumped the gun, gone full Shirley Frobisher. But it wouldn't do any good to tell her that.
A deceit, she decided. Not a lie, just a deceit. Because it was necessary.
Rebekah stood up, and dusted off the seat of her pants.
"Look, I'm gonna... I'll go take care of things out there. Take the bodies away, You two rest here. When I come back, we can decide what to do next."
Mindfully, she picked up the gun and leaned it against the wall a ways away. It didn't seem prudent to leave it within easy reach of someone in Jess' mental state. As she did, Rebekah's eye caught the patch of dried blood on the floor. She shrugged off the Snuggie, and draped it over the stain. They'd all seen enough blood today.
She paused in the doorway. "Keep an eye on her," she said, to both of them.
Rebekah made her way out to the still forms of the boy and girl. Frowned. She wasn't really sure what to do with them, now that she thought about it. It was probably best to bury the bodies in the snow. But not here. For starters, that'd take a while, and she didn't want to chance someone else stumbling upon the cabin while Beatrice and Jess were recovering. For another thing, Beatrice had already seen one burial mound, out in the woods. She'd probably have a pretty negative reaction to seeing two more of them. So it seemed best to just drag the bodies out of sight for now, behind the cabin. She'd cover them up a bit, kick some snow over the bloodstains, and make it all pretty. Like it never happened.
Rebekah bent down and hooked her arms under the dead girl's armpits, then began dragging the body towards the lee side of the cabin. There wouldn't be time to bury them fully, she didn't think. But she'd have to at least do something. After all, she didn't want any wild animals coming along and digging them up. There had been a lot of bones in the cave, and on an island of this size, that almost certainly meant that there would be...
...Wolves.
Rebekah dropped the body. It had been dark when they'd first arrived in the cabin. And during all the violence, she'd been distracted. Hadn't looked in this direction. If she had, she'd have seen the log placed between the cabin roof and a fork in a nearby tree, and she'd have seen the slaughtered wolves strung up along its length, twisting slowly in the air. And she'd have screamed her head off.
She'd felt something off about this island, ever since they'd stepped foot in the woods, and now she knew why. Why the animals didn't seem right. Why the cave was empty. It was because the wolves were gone. And without them, the whole ecosystem was in freefall. Without their only major predator to keep their population in check, the ungulates on the island would be free to breed and consume all of the vegetation on the island. They would keep multiplying and consuming until they starved to death, and probably take the rest of the ecosystem with them. Everything, from trees to grass to squirrels, was doomed.
Rebekah sank to her knees, with tears rolling down her cheeks. Her heart felt like it was going to burst. This was cruelty on a scale she could barely comprehend. The shooting, the collars, that was human cruelty. There had been a point to the violence, however twisted and insane. But this? What was the point of this? What did they gain from killing these beautiful creatures? From killing this whole island? They'd ended a chain of life that stretched back centuries. All of it. Just because they could.
She turned her head and threw up into the snow. She hadn't eaten anything today, so it was mostly stomach acid. She retched again, and spat out a string of mucus, breathing heavily. Then she made a decision.
She trudged back to where the bodies had been. The boy's knife had fallen into the powder, but was easy enough to dig up. It took a bit of huffing and puffing to dislodge one of the circular logs from the seating area, and tip it onto its side. A lot more huffing and puffing to roll it through the snow over to where the wolves were hanging. Standing on the log stool with her arms stretched high, she could just about reach the thin rope binding the first wolf to the log. The knife wasn't serrated, so it took some effort to saw through the line until it snapped. The wolf hit the snow with a muffled whump. She moved the stool, and started cutting down the next. And the next. And the next.
Eventually, all of the wolves were down. They lay in an untidy heap, matted fur ruffling in the breeze. She couldn't do anything else for them, but at least they weren't a spectacle anymore. At least down here, their nutrients could be taken back into the soil, and some part of the life cycle could continue. It wasn't much, but at least it was something.
Rebekah went back to where she'd left the dead human girl. She pulled the body over, and laid it out next to the wolves. Then she went back for the boy. She had to drag him by his feet, because there was blood all over his shoulders. She put them close to each other, did her best to make them look peaceful. If you didn't look hard enough, you could mistake them for a pair of kids who'd been out playing in the snow all day, and had fallen asleep among a beloved pack of dogs. Again, it wasn't much. But it was something.
Rebekah used snow to rub off a few dots of blood from her coat, and made her way back to the place where the boy and girl had died, using a pine branch to scrub over the bloodstains in the snow along the way. She spent a while scrubbing out the area around the bags, kicking in more snow where necessary. The red went paler and paler pink, until it was white.
When it was done, she dropped the branch and looked out at the forest. The wind whistled past, teasing at a few loose strands of Rebekah's hair. Tugging her towards the tree line.
There were two bags of supplies at her feet. A snow-encrusted knife in her pocket. Another weapon, surely, in the girl's bag. There was more than enough here to make a new start.
There was a reason Rebekah hadn't sought out the other cheerleaders, why she hadn't looked for Angelo or Fitz. Because they knew her. Because they liked her. Because if they found her, they'd want to team up, to work together for survival and mutual protection. They'd depend on her. And Rebekah couldn't handle that. She'd never been able to handle that. She never wanted anyone in her life to have to depend on her, for anything. Because if nobody relied on her then she could never let them down. And out here? It was even worse. How could she possibly handle the burden of holding her friends' lives in her hands, of knowing that one misstep or mistake might get them killed?
It was better that her friends were out there somewhere without her. She'd screwed everything up right at the start, and nearly gotten Jess killed. She'd screwed up again this morning by frightening Beatrice off and making her run out of the cabin. If she hadn't done that, then the Flanagan boy might still be alive. Jess wouldn't be in there crying. Beatrice wouldn't have been standing there, catatonic. All of that was her fault. Because she was too scared and too stupid and she was weird and she didn't understand things, and she was just... wrong. About everything. Beatrice and Jess were back there. Hurting. Suffering. Because of her. It'd be better to just leave them, before she screwed things up even worse. They'd all be better off if she just picked up the bags and ran. They wouldn't be in danger because of her, and she wouldn't feel guilty about hurting them. There was a whole island out there, basking in the winter sunlight. So many places she could hide. So many nooks and crannies where she could survive on her own, without having to worry about anyone else. If anybody could survive out there alone, it was her.
But then she'd hear the announcement, sooner or later. She'd hear over the loudspeaker that Jess had been stabbed or Beatrice had been shot. She'd hear that someone had come, someone had murdered them - and she'd know that she hadn't been there to save them. Would that be any better? Would she hate herself less?
She looked back at the cabin, uncertain. Thought about how it felt to be huddled together with Beatrice and Jess, like baby raccoons. Animals don't sleep when they feel threatened, only when they feel safe; Beatrice trusted Rebekah enough to sleep by her side. Animals don't let their guard down around predators; on an island where people all around them were betraying each other, Jess trusted Rebekah enough to hand her the gun.
Rebekah didn't deserve that kind of trust. But they'd given it to her all the same. And the least she could do was not to break it. It would hurt to see them die. It would hurt them to see her die. But maybe that was the point. Maybe that was how to avoid dying like Mallory Valdez. It wasn't much. But it was something.
"Everything will be fine," she said quietly to herself. Another deceit. Because it was necessary.
She shouldered the bags, and headed back to the cabin.
She'd never been good at placing names to faces when it came to the Flanagan litter of five. Except for Ruth, but that one was sort of obvious.
"It was one of the quintuplets... I don't know which one."
There was a pregnant pause as Rebekah mulled the ramifications of what she was about to say next. Because what she was about to say next was either a lie or a deceit, and she wasn't sure which.
There was, Rebekah knew, an important distinction between lies and deceit in the animal kingdom. Several animals had the capacity to lie. Humans, of course, were the only ones who did it recreationally; but orangutans, chimpanzees, and kea birds had all been observed intentionally tricking zookeepers to snag extra food. Deceit was a bit of a different beast, though. Walking sticks and leafy sea dragons didn't intentionally masquerade as flora, and scarlet king snakes didn't choose to look like deadly coral snakes. That was just how they looked. It was a deceit, but not a lie. They didn't deceive to steal, they did it to stay safe, to survive. They did it because it was necessary.
Rebekah turned, so Jess could see her face. Then she said, very softly, "You didn't do anything wrong, Jess."
There was another pause. Then, "He had a knife. And he was going to use it. I've taken a lot of self-defense classes, and I know what it looks like when someone's getting ready to stab somebody. If you hadn't done what you did, he would have tried to stab me. And Beatrice. You... saved our lives."
It wasn't true. Well, most of it wasn't. She had taken a lot of defense classes, and she did know what it looked like, all the little twitches and tensions that forecasted the movements of a knife thrust. And Rebekah hadn't seen any of those tics from Flanagan. Not a single one. Jess had jumped the gun, gone full Shirley Frobisher. But it wouldn't do any good to tell her that.
A deceit, she decided. Not a lie, just a deceit. Because it was necessary.
Rebekah stood up, and dusted off the seat of her pants.
"Look, I'm gonna... I'll go take care of things out there. Take the bodies away, You two rest here. When I come back, we can decide what to do next."
Mindfully, she picked up the gun and leaned it against the wall a ways away. It didn't seem prudent to leave it within easy reach of someone in Jess' mental state. As she did, Rebekah's eye caught the patch of dried blood on the floor. She shrugged off the Snuggie, and draped it over the stain. They'd all seen enough blood today.
She paused in the doorway. "Keep an eye on her," she said, to both of them.
Rebekah made her way out to the still forms of the boy and girl. Frowned. She wasn't really sure what to do with them, now that she thought about it. It was probably best to bury the bodies in the snow. But not here. For starters, that'd take a while, and she didn't want to chance someone else stumbling upon the cabin while Beatrice and Jess were recovering. For another thing, Beatrice had already seen one burial mound, out in the woods. She'd probably have a pretty negative reaction to seeing two more of them. So it seemed best to just drag the bodies out of sight for now, behind the cabin. She'd cover them up a bit, kick some snow over the bloodstains, and make it all pretty. Like it never happened.
Rebekah bent down and hooked her arms under the dead girl's armpits, then began dragging the body towards the lee side of the cabin. There wouldn't be time to bury them fully, she didn't think. But she'd have to at least do something. After all, she didn't want any wild animals coming along and digging them up. There had been a lot of bones in the cave, and on an island of this size, that almost certainly meant that there would be...
...Wolves.
Rebekah dropped the body. It had been dark when they'd first arrived in the cabin. And during all the violence, she'd been distracted. Hadn't looked in this direction. If she had, she'd have seen the log placed between the cabin roof and a fork in a nearby tree, and she'd have seen the slaughtered wolves strung up along its length, twisting slowly in the air. And she'd have screamed her head off.
She'd felt something off about this island, ever since they'd stepped foot in the woods, and now she knew why. Why the animals didn't seem right. Why the cave was empty. It was because the wolves were gone. And without them, the whole ecosystem was in freefall. Without their only major predator to keep their population in check, the ungulates on the island would be free to breed and consume all of the vegetation on the island. They would keep multiplying and consuming until they starved to death, and probably take the rest of the ecosystem with them. Everything, from trees to grass to squirrels, was doomed.
Rebekah sank to her knees, with tears rolling down her cheeks. Her heart felt like it was going to burst. This was cruelty on a scale she could barely comprehend. The shooting, the collars, that was human cruelty. There had been a point to the violence, however twisted and insane. But this? What was the point of this? What did they gain from killing these beautiful creatures? From killing this whole island? They'd ended a chain of life that stretched back centuries. All of it. Just because they could.
She turned her head and threw up into the snow. She hadn't eaten anything today, so it was mostly stomach acid. She retched again, and spat out a string of mucus, breathing heavily. Then she made a decision.
She trudged back to where the bodies had been. The boy's knife had fallen into the powder, but was easy enough to dig up. It took a bit of huffing and puffing to dislodge one of the circular logs from the seating area, and tip it onto its side. A lot more huffing and puffing to roll it through the snow over to where the wolves were hanging. Standing on the log stool with her arms stretched high, she could just about reach the thin rope binding the first wolf to the log. The knife wasn't serrated, so it took some effort to saw through the line until it snapped. The wolf hit the snow with a muffled whump. She moved the stool, and started cutting down the next. And the next. And the next.
Eventually, all of the wolves were down. They lay in an untidy heap, matted fur ruffling in the breeze. She couldn't do anything else for them, but at least they weren't a spectacle anymore. At least down here, their nutrients could be taken back into the soil, and some part of the life cycle could continue. It wasn't much, but at least it was something.
Rebekah went back to where she'd left the dead human girl. She pulled the body over, and laid it out next to the wolves. Then she went back for the boy. She had to drag him by his feet, because there was blood all over his shoulders. She put them close to each other, did her best to make them look peaceful. If you didn't look hard enough, you could mistake them for a pair of kids who'd been out playing in the snow all day, and had fallen asleep among a beloved pack of dogs. Again, it wasn't much. But it was something.
Rebekah used snow to rub off a few dots of blood from her coat, and made her way back to the place where the boy and girl had died, using a pine branch to scrub over the bloodstains in the snow along the way. She spent a while scrubbing out the area around the bags, kicking in more snow where necessary. The red went paler and paler pink, until it was white.
When it was done, she dropped the branch and looked out at the forest. The wind whistled past, teasing at a few loose strands of Rebekah's hair. Tugging her towards the tree line.
There were two bags of supplies at her feet. A snow-encrusted knife in her pocket. Another weapon, surely, in the girl's bag. There was more than enough here to make a new start.
There was a reason Rebekah hadn't sought out the other cheerleaders, why she hadn't looked for Angelo or Fitz. Because they knew her. Because they liked her. Because if they found her, they'd want to team up, to work together for survival and mutual protection. They'd depend on her. And Rebekah couldn't handle that. She'd never been able to handle that. She never wanted anyone in her life to have to depend on her, for anything. Because if nobody relied on her then she could never let them down. And out here? It was even worse. How could she possibly handle the burden of holding her friends' lives in her hands, of knowing that one misstep or mistake might get them killed?
It was better that her friends were out there somewhere without her. She'd screwed everything up right at the start, and nearly gotten Jess killed. She'd screwed up again this morning by frightening Beatrice off and making her run out of the cabin. If she hadn't done that, then the Flanagan boy might still be alive. Jess wouldn't be in there crying. Beatrice wouldn't have been standing there, catatonic. All of that was her fault. Because she was too scared and too stupid and she was weird and she didn't understand things, and she was just... wrong. About everything. Beatrice and Jess were back there. Hurting. Suffering. Because of her. It'd be better to just leave them, before she screwed things up even worse. They'd all be better off if she just picked up the bags and ran. They wouldn't be in danger because of her, and she wouldn't feel guilty about hurting them. There was a whole island out there, basking in the winter sunlight. So many places she could hide. So many nooks and crannies where she could survive on her own, without having to worry about anyone else. If anybody could survive out there alone, it was her.
But then she'd hear the announcement, sooner or later. She'd hear over the loudspeaker that Jess had been stabbed or Beatrice had been shot. She'd hear that someone had come, someone had murdered them - and she'd know that she hadn't been there to save them. Would that be any better? Would she hate herself less?
She looked back at the cabin, uncertain. Thought about how it felt to be huddled together with Beatrice and Jess, like baby raccoons. Animals don't sleep when they feel threatened, only when they feel safe; Beatrice trusted Rebekah enough to sleep by her side. Animals don't let their guard down around predators; on an island where people all around them were betraying each other, Jess trusted Rebekah enough to hand her the gun.
Rebekah didn't deserve that kind of trust. But they'd given it to her all the same. And the least she could do was not to break it. It would hurt to see them die. It would hurt them to see her die. But maybe that was the point. Maybe that was how to avoid dying like Mallory Valdez. It wasn't much. But it was something.
"Everything will be fine," she said quietly to herself. Another deceit. Because it was necessary.
She shouldered the bags, and headed back to the cabin.
V8 Characters:
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Rebekah told her it was one of the quintuplets, but didn't tell her which one. She said she didn't know but Jessica wasn't sure. Rebekah told her she hadn't done anything wrong, that he had been preparing to attack them, Jessica thought he had looked aggressive but she was further away and could have been misinterpreting the body language. Rebekah's confirmation helped somewhat but Jessica still didn't know, she still felt like a murderer rather than a savior.
She had saved their lives just so they could die later. All she had succeeded in doing was trapping them for longer on the island.
Rebekah stood and Jessica heard her move the gun. The girl stepped outside and Jessica was again left with her thoughts. She replayed shooting the boy over and over again in her mind, not knowing that it had been Micah. A cast of faces rotated in and out to play the part of her unknown victim. The scene happened over and over again on a loop. The blood sprayed out across the frost and snow over and over. Jessica shook as she lay on the floor of the cabin, her breathing occasionally quickening as her hands trembled.
Eventually, she decided she had to know who it had been.
Jessica lay there, eyes open, staring at the wooden logs making up the wall of the cabin. She wanted to get up and knew she had to, but the message wasn't being sent from her brain. Instead, it merely sat in her mind, she kept thinking that she had to get up. But she couldn't make herself actually do it. Jessica wasn't sure how long she stayed like that, trying to both convince herself to get up while not truly wanting to but eventually she heard a quiet thump from outside the cabin and it was enough to break the spell.
Slowly, she reached her feet and cautiously stepped into the doorway.
Looking out at the scene Jessica felt like throwing up.
Rebekah had been busy and the body was gone. She had buried them under the snow.
Jessica bit her lip and pushed her desire to scream out of her mind.
The frost crunched and cracked as she stepped out of the cabin and into the camp itself. The entire camp had been cleaned, the bodies moved and buried, the snow swept and brushed around the hide the blood. Somehow it all felt some much more hostile.
Jessica wanted to throw up but she turned her gaze to Rebekah and focused on her instead.
"So what now?"
She had saved their lives just so they could die later. All she had succeeded in doing was trapping them for longer on the island.
Rebekah stood and Jessica heard her move the gun. The girl stepped outside and Jessica was again left with her thoughts. She replayed shooting the boy over and over again in her mind, not knowing that it had been Micah. A cast of faces rotated in and out to play the part of her unknown victim. The scene happened over and over again on a loop. The blood sprayed out across the frost and snow over and over. Jessica shook as she lay on the floor of the cabin, her breathing occasionally quickening as her hands trembled.
Eventually, she decided she had to know who it had been.
Jessica lay there, eyes open, staring at the wooden logs making up the wall of the cabin. She wanted to get up and knew she had to, but the message wasn't being sent from her brain. Instead, it merely sat in her mind, she kept thinking that she had to get up. But she couldn't make herself actually do it. Jessica wasn't sure how long she stayed like that, trying to both convince herself to get up while not truly wanting to but eventually she heard a quiet thump from outside the cabin and it was enough to break the spell.
Slowly, she reached her feet and cautiously stepped into the doorway.
Looking out at the scene Jessica felt like throwing up.
Rebekah had been busy and the body was gone. She had buried them under the snow.
Jessica bit her lip and pushed her desire to scream out of her mind.
The frost crunched and cracked as she stepped out of the cabin and into the camp itself. The entire camp had been cleaned, the bodies moved and buried, the snow swept and brushed around the hide the blood. Somehow it all felt some much more hostile.
Jessica wanted to throw up but she turned her gaze to Rebekah and focused on her instead.
"So what now?"
"What now?"
That was a good question.
Everywhere they went, there was violence. The gunfight in the cave, the burial mound in the forest, the stain on the cabin floor; violence was both past and prelude. Even if they didn't go looking for it, even if they did their level best to avoid it in all its forms, it was going to come for them eventually.
That inevitability made the answer to Jess' question both simple and complex. Because the truth was that at least two of them were going to die with chocolates still in this year's advent calendar. There was no escaping it. There was no outsmarting it. It was just a cold, hard reality. Time was running out. Which meant that it didn't really matter what they did now. Whatever they did or didn't do, all they were really doing was choosing among a hundred paths that all led to the same place. But, in that sense, what they did now was the only thing that mattered. Because the destination was out of their hands, and all that remained was to find the most pleasant, meandering way of getting there. What mattered was choosing a path full of sunshine and flowers and friendly animals, of filling those last precious moments with as much joy and happiness as possible. All they had was here and now, so they might as well enjoy it. Otherwise, what was the point?
She'd seen a movie like that, one weekend with her dad. Something about a bucket and a list. Two old humans, living it up in their last days, doing all the things they'd never had the time or money or courage to do when they still had a future. That sounded nice. Humans had so many concerns. They had so many worries and fears, so many immaterial things that prevented them from being happy. Well, none of those things mattered now. Popularity and money and jobs and parents and cell phone bills, none of that meant anything out here. So they might as well spend the time that they had on the things that did matter. On the beauty of snowflakes and the smell of the ocean and the wind in the trees. On all of those tiny, infinitely precious things that gave life color and form. So that's what they'd do. They'd sit down, and they'd figure out what they wanted to do with their last hours on earth. And they'd spend the rest of their time here exploring the island, doing whatever the three of them had always wanted to do and making as many happy memories as possible. It wouldn't be much. But it'd be something.
"I think... I have an idea."
Rebekah motioned for Jess to follow her back inside. "But we'll need to take a look at the map."
That was a good question.
Everywhere they went, there was violence. The gunfight in the cave, the burial mound in the forest, the stain on the cabin floor; violence was both past and prelude. Even if they didn't go looking for it, even if they did their level best to avoid it in all its forms, it was going to come for them eventually.
That inevitability made the answer to Jess' question both simple and complex. Because the truth was that at least two of them were going to die with chocolates still in this year's advent calendar. There was no escaping it. There was no outsmarting it. It was just a cold, hard reality. Time was running out. Which meant that it didn't really matter what they did now. Whatever they did or didn't do, all they were really doing was choosing among a hundred paths that all led to the same place. But, in that sense, what they did now was the only thing that mattered. Because the destination was out of their hands, and all that remained was to find the most pleasant, meandering way of getting there. What mattered was choosing a path full of sunshine and flowers and friendly animals, of filling those last precious moments with as much joy and happiness as possible. All they had was here and now, so they might as well enjoy it. Otherwise, what was the point?
She'd seen a movie like that, one weekend with her dad. Something about a bucket and a list. Two old humans, living it up in their last days, doing all the things they'd never had the time or money or courage to do when they still had a future. That sounded nice. Humans had so many concerns. They had so many worries and fears, so many immaterial things that prevented them from being happy. Well, none of those things mattered now. Popularity and money and jobs and parents and cell phone bills, none of that meant anything out here. So they might as well spend the time that they had on the things that did matter. On the beauty of snowflakes and the smell of the ocean and the wind in the trees. On all of those tiny, infinitely precious things that gave life color and form. So that's what they'd do. They'd sit down, and they'd figure out what they wanted to do with their last hours on earth. And they'd spend the rest of their time here exploring the island, doing whatever the three of them had always wanted to do and making as many happy memories as possible. It wouldn't be much. But it'd be something.
"I think... I have an idea."
Rebekah motioned for Jess to follow her back inside. "But we'll need to take a look at the map."
V8 Characters:
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
Juanita Reid
Rebekah Hayes
Karin Han
EXTREME STEVE Dodds
She came awfully close to completely freezing up again, the moment Rebekah took her arm without asking.
She really couldn’t stand being touched without her permission, another thing to add to a growing list of hindrances she was running into on this island. There were exceptions, of course, as there were to everything. If she got suddenly run into or collided with while playing lacrosse, that was something she had prepared herself for prior to stepping out onto the field. She loved hugs from her mom or dad, even the unexpected ones, although she still tensed up whenever they occurred, even to this day.
And she tensed up now, as Rebekah tried to gently guide her back towards the cabin, her hand feeling wrong on her arm, all too tight and uncomfortable, like she had suddenly been manacled. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to dig her feet into the snow, make her legs turn leaden and remain planted where she was standing.
She took a breath instead, a deep deep one that pulled freezing cold air into her lungs until the sensation inside stung more than the one outside, and followed the other girl back into the cabin. She would power through it. She had to. She was not the only one here who was suffering. For all the trust and faith that the other two girls had put into her, she would not make things more difficult for either of them.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust back to the gloom of the cabin once again, her gaze instinctively falling on the shard of light flooding through the shattered window, and on Jessica huddled underneath it. The uncomfortable feeling in her arm lingered, even after Rebekah moved away to sit closer to Jess, leaving Beatrice standing awkwardly by herself, a few steps away from the entrance.
It hadn’t fully clicked, until she listened intently to the conversation in front of her, that Jessica had been the one to pull the trigger.
The words still hadn’t properly registered until she had been left alone with the girl, Rebekah’s final sentence lingering in the air for a moment before mingling with the sounds of her graveyard shift outside. She looked out through the open doorway for a moment, then across to Jessica, still bundled up in the vague shape of a human on the ground. Their eyes locked for a moment. Then her gaze swiftly fell down to the ground, towards the floorboards, remaining there as she stood and felt even more out of place than before, arms hanging limply by her sides.
She didn’t wish to stare - it was rude to do so, after all, and maintaining eye contact was very close to the top of her list when it came to ‘Most unsettling things to participate in’ - but it was near-impossible not to, now that the delayed bombshell had finally hit her. She had started to tremble a little. It could have been the cold wind, blowing in through the wide open door, but Beatrice didn’t think that was the case.
Jessica had killed somebody. By definition, that of course meant that she was a murderer. She was the force behind the bloody pile of snow that had constantly been stalking her, just over her shoulder, lurking out of sight until the worst possible moment. She was the cause behind the bodies collapsed in a heap outside, and in the dread that had caused the girls in the town to threaten and accuse her before fleeing. Going solely off the dictionary definition of what Jessica had done, there wouldn’t have been much disagreement in her doing the same, in bolting out of the cabin and fleeing for her life to somewhere, anywhere else. There would have been even less argument if her feet had remained glued to the floor once again, her entire body freezing up with fear.
But she found that she could still move, and easily at that, as she awkwardly rocked from side to side. She could put one foot in front of the other. She wasn’t rooted to the spot in the slightest. And yet she didn’t feel any inclination to leave, either. Even as she trembled, even with full power to turn just to the left and make an escape, she didn’t feel any pull to do so. Not in the slightest.
She did flinch when Jessica got to her feet, not that it was something she was proud of doing, but nothing more than that. She watched as the other girl started moving again, walking out of the door. She let her go. And now she was truly alone, with just her thoughts and the unsteady creaking of rotting wood to keep her company.
She didn’t feel alone, though. That was what everything came back to, wasn’t it? Definitions in dictionaries told you one thing. Going by that alone, she was by herself now. Jessica was a killer. And yet she knew that if she stepped outside right now, both Rebekah and Jess would be there, waiting for her. She was only a few, short steps from safety, at any given moment.
It felt so surreal, to state in her head that she felt safe in the vicinity of someone who had killed. It went so far against her long-held beliefs, that it was wrong to intentionally do even the slightest bit of harm to another person no matter what, that it was on another chart altogether. But it was true. Those were the facts, staring her right in the face.
Jessica had fired her gun in order to protect her. Rebekah had done everything she could to keep her grounded, to make sure that nobody in the cabin fell to pieces. Their alliance had not been free from suspicion, it had been shaky and full of fear and trepidation, but Beatrice knew she wanted to do everything she possibly could to repay the trust the other two girls had given her.
Would that mean following in Jessica’s footsteps? Would she go to dark places in order to keep the other two safe? She would never, ever in her wildest dreams have considered considering it before this moment. But she wanted her friends to feel nothing but safety in their hearts when she was around. She wanted them to trust that she had nothing but good intentions for them, no matter what happened.
She couldn’t give an answer to how far she would go to do that, not just yet. She wouldn’t be able to know until she was right there in the moment. And in order to get there, she needed to hear what Jessica and Rebekah had to say.
She would fight through anything that tried to break them. No matter how much it hurt.
((Beatrice Briggs, Jessica Romero, and Rebekah Hayes continued in All Things Bright and Beautiful))
She really couldn’t stand being touched without her permission, another thing to add to a growing list of hindrances she was running into on this island. There were exceptions, of course, as there were to everything. If she got suddenly run into or collided with while playing lacrosse, that was something she had prepared herself for prior to stepping out onto the field. She loved hugs from her mom or dad, even the unexpected ones, although she still tensed up whenever they occurred, even to this day.
And she tensed up now, as Rebekah tried to gently guide her back towards the cabin, her hand feeling wrong on her arm, all too tight and uncomfortable, like she had suddenly been manacled. She wanted to pull away. She wanted to dig her feet into the snow, make her legs turn leaden and remain planted where she was standing.
She took a breath instead, a deep deep one that pulled freezing cold air into her lungs until the sensation inside stung more than the one outside, and followed the other girl back into the cabin. She would power through it. She had to. She was not the only one here who was suffering. For all the trust and faith that the other two girls had put into her, she would not make things more difficult for either of them.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust back to the gloom of the cabin once again, her gaze instinctively falling on the shard of light flooding through the shattered window, and on Jessica huddled underneath it. The uncomfortable feeling in her arm lingered, even after Rebekah moved away to sit closer to Jess, leaving Beatrice standing awkwardly by herself, a few steps away from the entrance.
It hadn’t fully clicked, until she listened intently to the conversation in front of her, that Jessica had been the one to pull the trigger.
The words still hadn’t properly registered until she had been left alone with the girl, Rebekah’s final sentence lingering in the air for a moment before mingling with the sounds of her graveyard shift outside. She looked out through the open doorway for a moment, then across to Jessica, still bundled up in the vague shape of a human on the ground. Their eyes locked for a moment. Then her gaze swiftly fell down to the ground, towards the floorboards, remaining there as she stood and felt even more out of place than before, arms hanging limply by her sides.
She didn’t wish to stare - it was rude to do so, after all, and maintaining eye contact was very close to the top of her list when it came to ‘Most unsettling things to participate in’ - but it was near-impossible not to, now that the delayed bombshell had finally hit her. She had started to tremble a little. It could have been the cold wind, blowing in through the wide open door, but Beatrice didn’t think that was the case.
Jessica had killed somebody. By definition, that of course meant that she was a murderer. She was the force behind the bloody pile of snow that had constantly been stalking her, just over her shoulder, lurking out of sight until the worst possible moment. She was the cause behind the bodies collapsed in a heap outside, and in the dread that had caused the girls in the town to threaten and accuse her before fleeing. Going solely off the dictionary definition of what Jessica had done, there wouldn’t have been much disagreement in her doing the same, in bolting out of the cabin and fleeing for her life to somewhere, anywhere else. There would have been even less argument if her feet had remained glued to the floor once again, her entire body freezing up with fear.
But she found that she could still move, and easily at that, as she awkwardly rocked from side to side. She could put one foot in front of the other. She wasn’t rooted to the spot in the slightest. And yet she didn’t feel any inclination to leave, either. Even as she trembled, even with full power to turn just to the left and make an escape, she didn’t feel any pull to do so. Not in the slightest.
She did flinch when Jessica got to her feet, not that it was something she was proud of doing, but nothing more than that. She watched as the other girl started moving again, walking out of the door. She let her go. And now she was truly alone, with just her thoughts and the unsteady creaking of rotting wood to keep her company.
She didn’t feel alone, though. That was what everything came back to, wasn’t it? Definitions in dictionaries told you one thing. Going by that alone, she was by herself now. Jessica was a killer. And yet she knew that if she stepped outside right now, both Rebekah and Jess would be there, waiting for her. She was only a few, short steps from safety, at any given moment.
It felt so surreal, to state in her head that she felt safe in the vicinity of someone who had killed. It went so far against her long-held beliefs, that it was wrong to intentionally do even the slightest bit of harm to another person no matter what, that it was on another chart altogether. But it was true. Those were the facts, staring her right in the face.
Jessica had fired her gun in order to protect her. Rebekah had done everything she could to keep her grounded, to make sure that nobody in the cabin fell to pieces. Their alliance had not been free from suspicion, it had been shaky and full of fear and trepidation, but Beatrice knew she wanted to do everything she possibly could to repay the trust the other two girls had given her.
Would that mean following in Jessica’s footsteps? Would she go to dark places in order to keep the other two safe? She would never, ever in her wildest dreams have considered considering it before this moment. But she wanted her friends to feel nothing but safety in their hearts when she was around. She wanted them to trust that she had nothing but good intentions for them, no matter what happened.
She couldn’t give an answer to how far she would go to do that, not just yet. She wouldn’t be able to know until she was right there in the moment. And in order to get there, she needed to hear what Jessica and Rebekah had to say.
She would fight through anything that tried to break them. No matter how much it hurt.
((Beatrice Briggs, Jessica Romero, and Rebekah Hayes continued in All Things Bright and Beautiful))
"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017