Survival Of The Fittest

A familiar voice.

A familiar face.

Relief washed over William as he realized just who was before him, just who exactly was among the first people he ran into after waking up. Of all the people he could have run in to, he was relieved to find that one of the first people he did encounter was Tiffany; He could feel safe with her, safe in the knowledge that she was as far from a threatening person as possible. She seemed to be even more frightened than William was, either by the situation they were in or what she had seen after waking up; Whatever it was, seeing her as fearful as she was had been strangely comforting to him. He didn't know why, nor did he care to ask at the moment; All that mattered then was that he was no longer alone, no longer the only one so scared of what was happening all around them.

And then she screamed again, scrambling away from where she had been, as if the person who had jumped in to protect her was more of a threat than what they had sought to protect her from; With bloodshot eyes and a gun in his tightening grip, how could this boy with a stick be more threatening, more frightening than William was at this moment in time? But when he realized what she had shouted, why she had scrambled away from the dirt covered boy in front of him, William could do nothing but stand in disbelief.

...Zombie?

It didn't sound right, and it didn't make any sense. Something told him that perhaps Tiffany had watched too many movies, that she wasn't thinking straight in the situation they were tossed into, that panic and paranoia had taken hold and twisted her view of the moment. Of all the things that were going on, of all the horrors that they were to encounter over the course of this 'game', there was nothing brought forth but disbelief when he heard the word that Tiffany had uttered; It was impossible, ridiculous and didn't make any sense. But he could worry about that later, he could ask her why she had screamed that of all things when they were safer, when neither of them had to worry about their safety in the face of ever present danger.

No, for now, William had something more important to worry about. The boy in front of him had shifted, and William's eyes shot towards the piece of wood that was being held out at him with such hostility; He had taken a step toward William, movement that made William uneasy, fearful and worried. He raised his arm, holding his own weapon out in front of him; His fingers tightened around the grip, his finger playing at the trigger guard, threatening to slip into the opening, to land upon the trigger, to squeeze it and end a life. William stared at the boy, looking into his eyes; A wavering determination, a fear filled gaze, a building panic.

That's right...

He had felt relief when he originally looked at the boy, saw the tear stained tracks upon his face, the tell tale lines cutting through the thin layer of dirt and grim; He had felt safety and comfort knowing that he wasn't alone, that he wasn't the only one who feared for his life. Now, he held a gun on the very source of that relief, that comfort and sense of safety; He held a gun on one of the only other people he had met, the only thing standing between him and becoming a reason for others to fear for their lives being a simple movement, a small shift. It had been so simple earlier, firing at the stump.

So easy... So simple...

But his hand was trembling.

Don't make me do it.

He begged and he pleaded, silently staring at the boy before him as he trembled. He didn't want to shoot, he didn't want to become a reason for others to panic, he didn't want to become the source of fear. He didn't want to carry the burden of killing someone, of ending another persons life and leaving them to waste as he went on living; He didn't want to carry that weight on his mind, on his conscience. The thoughts weighed heavily upon his mind, the desire to live fighting with his willingness to fight for that right; It was heavy, too heavy, and his hand trembled. The boy before him had long since dropped his weapon, began to beg for a life; But it wasn't his own he had begged for, it wasn't his own life that he was begging to continue. He begged for Tiffany.

Saving another.

He didn't know how long he had held his gun on the begging form before him, how long he had threatened to take the life of the crying boy; But his arm was becoming weak, the weight of the realization descending upon him heavier than anything ever before. He lowered his weapon, his silent stare giving way to a glassy gaze, tears filling his own eyes as his arm dropped to his side.

"I'm so sorry..."

William stepped back now, towards a long since felled tree behind him; A remnant of a time passed in this place, a memory of a life that was long since missing from this surrounding.

"I don't... I don't want to hurt anyone."

William lowered his head and stared at the gun in his hands as he sat. Because he held this, because he had this in his hand when he ran into someone, he almost took a life; Fear and worry filled his thoughts, but anger and contempt for himself seeped into the forefront. How could he have done that, how could he have threatened to kill someone so easily, so quickly, that he hadn't even realized he had done it until it was almost too late? But no matter how much he wanted, no matter how much he shouted at himself to throw it away, to rid himself of such tempting power, of something that was too easy to use, he couldn't bring himself to do it. The weapon was his, the power was real, the responsibility and weight was his to bear.

Damn it.

He cursed his weakness, his wavering will, his overwhelming fear of the unknown, his unwillingness to give up his only means of fighting for his life; He couldn't stand to think of what would happen if he was rid of this weapon, of this power to protect himself. He had to keep that power to fight; To fight for his life, to protect himself... to protect others, and to fight for the lives of those who couldn't fight.

That's right.

He had forgotten.

This power was his.

He was the only one who could decide how it was used.

"I don't know what to do."

No. That's wrong.

He knew exactly what to do, but admitting it, to himself or to others, was something he struggled with. He didn't want to admit it, admit what his choice was or would be. But for now, tried not to worry about it. He wasn't alone anymore, and he couldn't sit with his thoughts forever.

"I think we should leave."

He raised his head, looked to Tiffany and then to the boy; The boy he didn't recognize, the voice he didn't think he knew, the face he couldn't make out behind the dirt. He focused, tried his hardest to conjure up a name, a face, something from his memories that would match, that would make things simpler for him.

Dominic. I'm sure of it.

"Dominic, Tiffany, I... I'm sorry. For what I almost did. I'm so sorry."

It wasn't needed, he didn't need to beg for forgiveness, he didn't need to apologize; but he did what he thought was necessary. He apologized for what he knew he should be sorry for.

He was guilty.


But he knew...


Above everything else, he knew...





This wouldn't be the last time.

Get away. Get away from it.

Tiffany scrambled, on hands and feet, toward William's position. Maybe he had a gun, but William wasn't a bad person. He wouldn't shoot anybody. He was a friend of Peter's, and Peter didn't make friends with bad people. William would help her find Peter and then everything would be okay. William-

-was now pointing his gun at her.

Panic again flooded through her mind. No. No. Please God, no. This sick game had already gotten to William, and she was going to die because he had to kill her to keep living. It was so unfair. Why her? Why now? She hadn't even found Peter yet. She hadn't told him anything. She looked past the gun barrel, into the eyes of her killer, eyes that were clouded with doubt and worry. Tiffany couldn't help but sympthize: holding that gun and preparing to shoot a defenseless person was not something she imagined anyone could do easily. His eyes seemed unfocused.

No. They weren't focused on her. He wasn't aiming at her. He was aiming past her.

There was the sound of movement behind her. The sound of a falling branch and a person falling close behind it. A voice spoke out from the blind spot, a voice filled with anguish and fear. A living voice (because zombies can't talk), begging for her own life to be spared. An offering of sacrifice, made to save lives like Christ had done before. Clarity and understanding came to Tiffany as she turned to face Dominic.

Dominic was alive.

She wanted to jump for joy and give him a great big hug. She had thought that Dominic had been killed, but she had been mistaken. He looked slightly bruised up, but mostly unhurt otherwise. Tiffany flashed a bright smile at Dominic. Maybe this game hadn't gone totally bad yet.

Except she could feel that William hadn't put the gun down yet. She turned back to look at William, to look into his eyes. They weren't eyes of a killer; they were eyes of a frightened teenaged boy. "William..." her voice was weak, unsure. But she needed to get through. "Don't do this. Don't... don't shoot." With a gust of will, she pushed herself up to her feet and took a slow step toward him. "It'll be... it'll just... hurt people. It's not worth it."

The seconds stretched and time seemed to stand still. She didn't know how long it was until William finally dropped his arm, letting the gun hang limply at his side. Tiffany breathed out sigh of relief. William collapsed to the ground, looking quite shaken. She looked back at Dominic, giving him a reassuring nod, before walking up to Willim and taking hold of his free hand. "It's okay now. Nobody got hurt," she said softly to him in an attempt to stave off any more apologies. "We're all okay."

He relaxed a little with her words. His focus switched to the weapon he carried, seemingly deep in contemplation. He gave voice to his insecurity and indecision, as if the gun could tell him what he should do. "We'll find friends," Tiffany assured him, "we'll find our friends and everything will be okay." The words seemed to give William strength and resolve. He looked back up at her, and then at Dominic.

Getting away from the forest. It was what William suggested, and it would be needed to be able to find more friendly faces. Friendly faces that had hopefully not been consumed by the game yet. Tiffany nodded in approval and helped William back up to his feet. "I saw a building earlier, when I was coming through the woods." She pointed in the direction she remembered seeing it, trying to take into account all the moving around she had done recently. "There might be people there. Maybe Peter will be there."

As she turned to start walking, William apologized again. God, please forgive his sins and show him the path to You. Tiffany turned to look at William again. "It's okay. We're okay now. Everything's going to be alright."

The words echoed in her head as she headed off toward where she thought that building was. It felt so strange to be saying it to somebody else. People had always been saying it to her before.

((Tiffany Baker continued in Morning Comes Slowly))

The seconds before William dropped his gun by his side seemed to tick by as slow as years, floating past in limbo as Dominic stared down the barrel. Flashes of memory, old regrets flickering past his mind's eye like a camera set on fast-forward, blurring colours and emotions together. The things he'd wanted to do. Plans. Ideas. Faces smiling, smiling like...like Tiffany, smiling at him, from William's side, a smile like everything was going to be okay again.

Please. I want everything to be okay again. Barely paying attention as the tall boy stuttered apologies, as Tiffany comforted him, Dominic remained standing. Old words in his ears, from years long past, Abigail with her long hair. Dominic's fingers in the thick dark strands, weaving them into a braid. Abby watching him with big eyes, Dom? Is there such thing as God? Trusting him to tell her the truth and Dominic, hands stilled on the long plait, telling her softly I don't know.

Kaylee says there is. Testing him just a little. Wanting to see him give her the answer, not take it second-hand from a friend. Wanting a real answer, not just the quiet uncertainty.

I think. Picking up the brush and bending his head to his work, I think there's something more to the world. A higher power. I think things happen for a reason, and everything always works out in the end. Maybe that's God and maybe not, but I think you have to decide for yourself.

Little Abigail, not so little now, nodding. Accepting the answer. And Dominic believing it because that was just how things went until he woke up on some godforsaken island with someone pointing guns and firing them and please, please, if there is a God - I've believed. I've believed and I've not fought and I've let things go and I don't regret because everything happens for a reason but I don't understand this. And I don't see how there's a reason for this and I. I believed. And I don't want to die, goddamn it, "I don't want to die!"

The sharp words in the still air startled him back, eyes flying open as he saw that Tiffany was already setting off towards the woods, William just standing and staring at him. Try as he might, Dominic couldn't remember what had been said. He couldn't remember the last moments, but the clarity of Abigail's question seemed more real than this graveyard of trees.

He didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say. This was all wrong. And he didn't know how to fix it, but he did know that he couldn't stay and that was when he backed up a step, almost tripping over the driftwood, and fled. Desperation and sand hampered his steps, but he didn't notice. Each footfall was a question, repeating over and over in his head. But not Abby's question, this time. His own.

Why?

((Dominic Stratford continued in If That Looking Glass Gets Broke))

Nothing seemed right anymore, nothing seemed to fit and nothing wanted to sit well upon William's mind. Dominic was fleeing, Tiffany having long since left them, and there he still sat, staring at the gun in his hand. This wasn't right, none of this should have happened. He shouldn't have this, he shouldn't have ever had to hold a gun or see a gun or fire a gun or point it at someone or... He closed his fingers around the grip of the pistol. Contempt was there, anger was there, but they had panic and paranoia to contend with; He looked upon the weapon, always feeling as if he was close to throwing it away but never quite capable of letting go of it.

I made my decision.

"That's right."

He had. Before Tiffany had left, before Dominic had fled from him, he had made his decision. The gun was fear, it was power, it was weakness and it was strength; It was everything he hated and everything he wanted. Everything he wanted to be rid of and everything he desired to possess. But he had already made his decision; It was his and his alone, and only he could decide how it would be used. The responsibility and the burden was his to bear, and whatever his choices to come would be, he would have to face them.

Abusus non tollit usum.

"Misuse does not remove use."

It was something he had heard a long time ago, something he had associated with his unfortunate business in the past, something he used to justify his actions. It took new meaning now that it had something to attach that meaning to; He had made a mistake, forcing Dominic to stare down the barrel of the weapon. But that one mistake, that horrible mistake, did not remove the thoughts from his mind. What if he could use it to protect others, to protect himself? A better use for the power he had been given, a purpose behind it and an intent to fuel him.

"Protect others huh?"

What was it that Tiffany said?

"Everything is going to be alright... is that right?"

He couldn't answer that. No matter how hard he wanted to, no matter how badly he wanted an answer to come forth and reveal itself to him, he couldn't answer that question. He couldn't be sure that everything would be alright, on his own or with Tiffany, if he used this power with good intent or if he gave in to the fear. The chances for something to go wrong were always there, always looming in his thoughts, hesitation slipping into his once determined mind. The same hesitation that kept him from putting away the gun, the same hesitation that almost made him kill Dominic... but it was also the same hesitation that kept him from killing Dominic, the same hesitation that kept him from firing upon Tiffany before he knew it was her.

Enough.

He lifted his head, looked away from the gun, in the direction Tiffany had run off in. He couldn't just let her go off alone, and sitting there wasn't going to get him anywhere. He pushed himself up, and straightened himself out. He'd spent too much time sitting there, too much time thinking to himself, and couldn't afford to get lost in his thoughts much more. No, he had to stick to his decision, for better or worse, and move on; It was the only thing he could really do now, just continue on and keep moving, and stop looking back. Nothing was going to change unless he changed it, and the first step of that was simply to start moving.

"Hmm?"

Over where Tiffany had originally sat was a bag, Tiffany's bag; She'd forgotten it with all that had been happening, left it behind without a thought, continuing on her path. He would have been jealous of that strength, of that resolve, if he hadn't seen the fear in her eyes before. She was just like him, no better, no worse, and the only difference was that she had made her decision sooner than he had. But that ended; He had a goal, a plan, and he was going to keep moving from now on. He would make his choices and face the consequences of them. And his first choice had been to follow Tiffany, to return her bag to her, to make better use of the power in his hand. So, he moved to where she had been and picked up her bag, the third one he carried, and held it in his once empty left hand; It was heavy, and carrying all that weight upon his frame would likely wear him out, but it wouldn't last long.

With determination in his eyes, he followed after Tiffany.


Gun in hand.



His choice was made.

[Boy #61 - William Hearst. Continued in Morning Comes Slowly.]

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