Survival Of The Fittest

Still those mad bobbing steps, ducking and zigzagging, grinning through the bandages still tight around his face, as he squeezed the trigger of his gun. The ground between and around them both was a storm of shrapnel and broken concrete, as Tyler's bounding confounded them both.

But even through the din of their gunfire, Travis' scream was audible, punctuated by the hammering sound of the shotgun far above.

Tyler's eyes flickered up, and then he twisted, hurling his bag towards Hansel. At the same time, he lifted his gun and risked one quick spray after Travis.

Then he was cutting into the stinking tunnel, taking staggering steps and jerking his gun back down to fire at Hansel as he splashed back into shadows.

The first few shots flew by Travis, and then flew over him as he rolled to the side. Virgil fired a few more shots at the rolling figure, which emptied his clip and forced him back under cover.

Virgil heard James's scream. He couldn't put a name to the voice, but it had been familiar. And the scream was close, and in the direction of...

Shit.

Had someone gotten caught in the crossfire?

Virgil wanted to worry about it. He wanted to get up, run right by Travis, and check to make sure he hadn't killed someone who hadn't deserved it. That wasn't an option, though. He couldn't do what he wanted to do, what he needed to do.

But if he couldn't do it, was it something that he truly needed to do? Why had Fate put him in this position in the first place?

Virgil didn't have time to sit on the thought. He'd reloaded his gun again. He'd heard Travis's challenge. Sit in the open like some 1700s British soldier and shoot at each other until one of them dies. That sounded like a brilliant plan. He could think just clearly enough to know not to do that. He wished he had more space to work with. He was stuck; he had limited space to pop up into, and he wasn't going to gamble his life on Travis being a worse shot than he was. He had to think of a way out.

He looked down and saw Tyler charging Hansel, weaving and ducking through the fire. It was almost beautiful, the way every bullet seemed to miss its mark.

Virgil crouched down, leaning out the side of his cover and firing another few shots.

I'm going to die.

Across the bridge, James writhed in agony as he attempted to crawl away, one hand clutched over his wound. He couldn't tell if his vision was blurry from blood loss or his lack of glasses at this point. He moved at a snail's pace, slowly trying to drag himself to somewhere he could get help. With gunfire still occurring around the bridge he doubted anyone from there would come to his aid. If anything, the victor of that fight would put just finish him off and keep going.

He groaned as he heaved himself onto his side to continue. Tears streaked his face as he looked back at the trail of blood he'd left. I'm not going to make it. I'll die here because I went back for a stupid fucking bag! James let out a choking sob as he tried to keep going, clawing at the ground ahead as he crawled forwards.

James tried to heave himself to his feet, only to be hit by a jolt of pain from the gunshot wound that brought him to his knees once more. This was it. He was alone again, just as he'd been before the island. He briefly wondered what things would've been like if he'd stayed with a group; if he hadn't tried to play the hero in front of Kathryn's friends. If he hadn't gotten himself separated from Veronica. If he hadn't left Maynard earlier. There was no sense in worrying about that stuff now, he supposed. After dragging himself a few more feet, James stopped and rolled onto his back with a sigh. He felt tired.

While he wanted to keep going, James' body wouldn't move. It had given up, even if his mind hadn't. Even the pain of his wound had faded to a dull throb. He was scared, alone, and far away from home. "This isn't fair," he sobbed, taking one last shuddering breath. I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to-

Just like that, Hansel saw his chance. The bag Tyler threw landed with a muffled fwump in front of him as the bigger boy raced past, heading for the tunnel while firing wildly back towards Hansel. Grabbing at it, Hansel rolled sideways, dragging the bag with his bad arm and feeling a twinge of pain for his efforts as he managed to get to one knee, leaning forwards and rolling again as more bullets streaked by his ear.

He lurched to his feet, FAMAS thumping against his thigh as he hauled the bag over his bad shoulder, ignoring the scream of pain, pushing away the sick feeling that the wound brought. All that mattered now was that Tyler had given him an out, and there was more than one way to end a rabid dog.

Cut out its food supply. Starve it out. Steal whatever resources it could've gleaned.

Scooping up the discarded Winchester, Hansel tore across the Overpass, a rifle in each hand, two bags strapped to his back, and a grim expression on his face.

He didn't look back to see who was screaming. He didn't turn to see who had died.

He ran.

((Hansel Williams, Lucena Position))

Another few shots rang out, and he rolled to the side yet again. He felt like an action hero. His adrenaline was pumping like crazy. A shower of anger, fear and excitement washed over him. It was one of the most powerful feelings he'd ever felt.

If I get off this fucking rock, the first thing I'm doing is fucking someone.

Then he had an idea. He let loose another shot, and then turned around and ran towards the other side of the bridge away from his adversary, jumping over the railing. His plan was to run down the slope, cut through the tunnel, come up behind whoever had been firing below, and eventually flank Virgil. It would be a massacre.

With a large grin on his face, he ignored the terrible smell and charged directly into the tunnel.

For a fragile instant, there was silence. The gunfire stopped.

Hansel fled, clutching his bag. Tyler glared after him, his grin vanishing in an instant. "You fuckin' coward!" he roared. "Get back here! You fuckin'-!"

Then he heard the splashing at the far end of the tunnel, and whirled around. When his eyes found Travis' silhouette, the grin that cracked his face was twice as fierce and twice as terrifying.

Without a word, he lifted his gun and fired, loosing a stream of bullets down the tunnel, right up until the gun began to click a few moments later. His eyes widened, and he flung himself back out down the tunnel.

As Virgil saw Hansel running at Tyler's bag, Virgil let a few shots loose. They buried themselves in the ground behind Hansel's path, and then he was gone.

Shit, now Tyler was without supplies. Now they'd have to share food, which was running low. Two big guys like them would easily finish off what he had left within a few days.

Virgil heard a single shot embed itself in the wall behind him, and then the sound of footsteps moving away from him. What was Travis doing. Was he retreating? Shit, he needed to...

He popped up, only to see Travis gone. He couldn't have run that fast, not in his condition. The sound of gunfire beneath the overpass, answered Virgil's question.

Maybe he should just cut Tyler loose and leave.

No, he couldn't.

He moved back down the hill, and saw Tyler coming towards him.

There was no mistaking that towering silhouette. Tyler Lucas. Again. He knew exactly what was coming and threw himself down on the ground as the shots missed him by a hair. Apparently, things below had taken a different turn than he expected. Now he was the one risking being flanked. He fired back.

How many shots do I have left? 2-3?

He got up, turned around and ran. It was time for Travis to bail.

((Travis Webster continued A Human Work))

Tyler roared after Travis' fleeing back and took a single staggering step after him, on his left ankle. Then his roar turned into a choked grimace and he stumbled. In the thick darkness of that stinking tunnel, he gritted his teeth and stumbled to one side, taking graceless hopping steps back as he heard splashing from that far end.

Pain-stricken eyes lifted to Virgil, then back down as he hopped away. He collapsed against the side of the bridge

"Kill'em if you want," he said. "'Fore ya go, got any bandages I could use?"

He glanced down at his ankle--bloodstained, shredded, splinters of white bone flecking the ragged edges of his ripped jeans. One bullet from Hansel William's gun.

Virgil could make out Travis fleeing in the distance. It was going to be hard to catch him, and he was down to only 1 clip on his belt. He needed to restock before continuing the hunt.

Travis could live. For now.

He looked at Tyler, who had fallen to the ground at this point. That ankle looked bad, real bad. There was no way Tyler was going to be doing much with it in that shitty of condition. Maybe he should... No. It wasn't his place. And maybe Tyler could take someone else down with him when he did go down.

"Yeah, let me grab some." Virgil walked to his bag and dragged it back over. He pulled out the bandages and tossed them to Tyler. He didn't even bother offering to wrap it. He'd done that for Michelle, seven days ago. It felt like an eternity, back when he still cared about how this all ended. Virgil thought he should have felt more, but all that was left was... emptiness.

While Tyler began wrapping his ankle, Virgil put more clips on his belt, and popped a new one into his gun. He had to go; Travis probably made some good distance, but he could easily move faster. The other boy was much more beat up than him; Virgil had a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing debilitating the way guys like Tyler or Travis had.

"I'm off. Follow me if you want, but don't slow me down."

Virgil set off in the direction Travis had gone. He was going to hunt down that son of a bitch.

((Virgil Jefferson-Davis continued elsewhere))

Tyler grinned after him. "Thanks!" he shouted. "A guy like you...don't think I could slow you down if I tried."

Then Virge was gone, and Tyler was alone.

Tyler leaned back heavily against the concrete and lifted his eyes up to the sky. His face had gone very pale, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He lifted his grimace up to the sky, then back down to his leg. He reached into his pocket and fished out the spare clip he had for his gun. It took him a few fumbling moments to drop the clip currently in, and a few more to slide it home.

Armed once again, Tyler set the gun down next to him, and set to work on his ankle.

In grimaces, pants, and groans of pain, Tyler roughly cleaned the wound, picking shards of bone free. Each pick and pull was silent agony, his teeth bared in a savage grimace and his eyes wide with pain. As the sun drifted high into the sky, beating down with savage intensity, Tyler grunted through his pain as he cleaned the wound as best he could.

Once it was clean, he sank back against his wall, panting and staring up into the blue sky. The corners of his lips twitched between a grin and a grimace, seemingly at random.

After a few minutes, he lowered his gaze and looked around. His eyes found a spot of gleaming glass in the place Hansel had stood, and he stumbled to his feet and made his limping way towards it, bandages in one bloodstained hand and gun in the other. After several wincing steps, he found the bottle of scotch he'd stolen from the office, fallen free from the confines of the destroyed bag he'd tossed towards Hansel. He gave it a weak grin, then slumped beside it and grabbed at it. He immediately poured some of it into his wound, taking a deep hiss of pain as he did. Then he downed the rest in one gargantuan swig, and set to work with the bandages Virge had given him.

When he was done, he reached up to his face, and unwound the bandages covering his nose, revealing faded yellow bruises and a new crookedness to the tip of his blunt nose. He touched it gingerly with his free hand, then slumped back onto the concrete and closed his eyes.

He awoke in twilit darkness, with light clinging to one horizon. He blinked and rose groggily to his feet, wincing as he jostled his injured ankle. He rubbed at the shadowy beard clinging to his face, then grimaced and hobbled to his feet.

"Good morning, kids."

Tyler lifted his heavy grimace to the speaker slung up on a nearby streetlight, then shook his head. By the weak dawn light he started hobbling towards the nearby grassy knoll as Tracen droned on, right up until the moment he announced the deaths of the Pattons. Then his head jerked up, and his jaw dropped a little.

It lasted only a moment, however. Then his mouth set in a hard line.

His head turned to one side as the light crept through the tunnel, and his eyes widened a little. Then he limped towards what he'd seen--the dingy plastic of the bags they'd been handed out. He searched through it for a moment, found a little food, a little water, a few bandages. He looked around for a moment, then shrugged and chugged one of the waters. He grabbed the last of the ration bars, broke off half, and went limping off into the new day, chewing as he went.

(Tyler Lucas continued in The World According to Third Grade)