Survival Of The Fittest

Maybe Leona was served well by the fact that right now she didn't know or care who Logan was, but she was thinking clearly.  And her thoughts were telling her that going anywhere near the house was a suboptimal idea.

Leona caught Rebecca by the bicep and started pulling her, a little roughly, back.

"Come on.  Now."  Leona had seen this before, had seen what being frozen or being taken off guard did.  It got Matt's gun taken.  Then his life.

Leona pulled Rebecca to the side of the house, right by the corner.  She more or less planted Rebecca there as she locked her gaze to the house across the street, waiting for the shooter to make a move.  They'd know soon if she acted quickly enough.

"It's not my time to leave the stage yet, you know?"  She said back over her shoulder at Rebecca, trying to reassure her with a smile.

The statement was the start of an epiphany, and the quarters in Leona's pocket turned faster as she mulled the concept over.

Rebecca did her best to bite back the yelp as Leona yanked her away from the street.  Whatever she had done to her knee with that pivot had taken it from 'minor inconvenience' to 'definite hindrance'.  It felt unstable and hot, forcing her to concentrate on moving without falling.  

Anything that kept her from thinking about the lack of reply from Logan was possibly a good thing.  She winced and realized that tears were running down her cheeks.  Leona's comment, from anyone else, would have provoked Rebecca's rage.  It sounded insensitive and callous.  But Rebecca knew that Leona was just burying her emotions like she always did.  Leona was just being practical and staying focused on the matter at hand, as always.

Rebecca sniffled pitifully. "What...what do we do?"

Leona would have the answer.  She always had the answer.  If any time in their lives depended on Leona's ability to fool an audience, it was now.  

Leona didn't answer at first.  She kept her eyes on the house.  It took a moment for her to realize that Rebecca had even said anything.

She pressed her shoulder harder into the side of the house, thinking.  Thinking about what Rebecca said.  Thinking about what she herself had said.  What was the answer?  Leona knew she was right.  She knew it wasn't her time to take leave of the stage yet.  She had things to do.  Tricks to perform.  Audiences to amaze.

The question of what they would do was a good question.  Leona thought she might have an answer, now that she properly considered it.

"Improvise."  She murmured just audibly enough for Rebcca to hear.

"Improvise?"  Rebecca wrinkled her nose in confusion.  Improvise what?  She shook her head, trying to follow Leona's thinking.  Improvise a weapon?  Improvise a hiding spot?  Improvise something else that only Leona understood at the moment?  

What the hell were they going to improvise?  

She tried to get a better view but Leona was blocking the way.  With a pained grunt, Rebecca stepped forward in an effort to see what was going on across the street.  

At five seconds, anything could've happened.

At fifteen, Hansel was leaning forwards, a runner off the starting block, eyes intent and alert.

At a minute, he was moving in a tight duck-walk that sent a phantom shoot of pain up his hip, a reminder of Garrett and the fight he had survived the day before. The memory served to feed his caution, temper his patience.

At two minutes, Hansel had his answer. Whoever Logan's allies were, they didn't have a weapon - not a good one, at any rate, or one they had confidence in using. They were either playing smart, or had headed for the hills. Either way, Hansel didn't have any problem playing the fox to their rabbit.

He glanced through the front windows of the house, Logan's dead body brushing against his leg as he peered through the blinds. Nothing obviously lethal waited on the front, the gravel road separating the house he'd chosen to its neighbour across the street clear of people-

A streak of gravel lay on the opposite lawn, as if dragged there by a foot. Another streak, to the right of the first, a little less noticeable.

Hansel's eyes trailed the path the two made, from the marred gravel to the overgrown lawn, to the bent sign that had once proclaimed the address.

To the corner of the opposing house.

Hansel moved through the front door, eyes locked on that corner as he made his way carefully towards the spot where Logan's allies hid, finger curling around the trigger.

A boy in a cowboy hat with a wicked looking rifle had exited the house.  He seemed focused on the corner, and Leona pulled back, even as she felt Rebecca look over her shoulder.  Even as Rebecca's right knee had straightened up despite the obvious strain.  

A beat, and Leona looked at it, chewing the inside of her cheek.  They would be found in very short order, and they would both be dead if something didn't change.

"Rebecca..."  Leona said, as her right foot raised slightly.  "You are the best friend and assistant anyone could ever have."

Her foot lashed out, catching Rebecca's knee on the corner of the cap.  There was a sickening crack as the entire joint gave way, enough to make Leona flinch.  Even as her friend dropped to the lawn, Leona was planting, spinning on her heels, and running full-tilt away from the house.

The show had to go on, and Leona realized now she had to do everything she could to ensure that.  Rebecca would understand.  She always did.

Leona left the subdivision, Rebecca's screams ringing in her ears.

((Leona Van Kamp Continued Elsewhere))

Oh God.  Oh God!  

Rebecca howled as she writhed on the ground, grabbing at her knee.  The desire to cradle the injury, to attempt to stabilize and soothe it, warred with the shooting agony that came from any pressure or contact.  She gasped as she rolled around, unable to focus on anything other than the white-hot burning sensation.

The pain was worse than the first time she hurt it because someone she loved and trusted had done this to her.  She wordlessly screamed again.  Why was this happening?  Why had Leona done this to her?   They were friends.  

Best friends.  

For almost as long as she could remember, Leona had been her closest friend and confidant.  They had counted on each other for everything.  Why did she do this to her?  Why?  Rebecca screamed the word out, as if saying it out loud would force Leona to answer her.

In her anger and heartbreak, she grabbed at her ruined knee.  The jolt of pain rolled her eyes back in her head as she continued to writhe.  "LEONA!"

The howling had woken Hansel up - that and Jim's thuds on the wooden steps - at two o'clock in the morning. He'd rolled out of bed and shucked on jeans as Jim threw open the door to his room, fully dressed and bleary-eyed.

"They were going after the livestock," Jim said as he set a rifle down on Hansel's dresser and turned back to climb down the steps. "Get dressed - want to teach you somethin'."

Twenty minutes later, Jim and Hansel stood just outside the fence, a coyote lying on its side in front of them. Its breaths were quick, panicked, blood pooling in the grass, illuminated only in moonlight as it kicked its front paws. A bullet in the back prevented it from using its hind legs, rendered it useless, lame.

"Can't I just leave it? It'll die anyway."

Jim pinned Hansel with a hard stare. "Don't be stupid, boy."

Hansel sighed. Lifted the rifle, sighted the beast's head, curled his finger.

Prepared to squeeze.

Rebecca's head was in his iron sights, her wailing filling his ears as Hansel prepared to put a different kind of beast out of its misery.

The finger squeezed.

The danger from across the street was the farthest thing from Rebecca's mind.  She never even noticed Hansel's approach, so caught up in her own misery.  

The placement of his shot couldn't have been more fortunate for either of them.  The three-round burst shot caught her cleanly in the back of her head, ending her life instantly.  

The force of the shot caused her body to slump forward. The spray of blood, bone, and brain matter spattered the low brick wall that framed the property line.  A dancer to the last, her body slowly shifted, finally collapsing onto the blood-soaked grass.

Girl 50: Rebecca Kiesling - Deceased

The FAMAS dropped in Hansel's limp hand as the girl lurched forwards, gore remaining where there once was unkempt grass, the gun swinging downwards as he watched the blood pool and sink into the individual blades of green, darkening the lightened, dry soil. He stared as she stilled, body freezing in death.

Something about the way she didn't twitch, move, do anything other than become the very personification of dead, had his stomach lurching, rolling against his ribcage, filling his throat with bile. He let it come forth, turned to the side, allowed his energy bars, lasagna, and water come rolling up and out in a vague, tan blob.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, looked back at his handiwork, left shoulder giving a reminder throb.

She was number six.

Miles ago - days ago - he'd only killed animals, only hurt feelings and only harmed reputations. Now he was a six time murderer on an island where surviving was a day to day question, a constant thrumming in the back of his skull, an ongoing, incomplete sentence that hadn't decided on punctuation.

As he made his way back towards the original house, where Logan now lay dead, familiar words formed, words that made him pause to glance up at a camera, focused intently upon him, a stark reminder of who he was now, where he was now, what he'd done.

Why he'd done it.

You could be wrong.

He hadn't murdered Logan because he was gay. He hadn't killed Theo because he was bi-sexual. He hadn't held Garrett vulnerable because he'd disagreed.

You could be wrong.

He hadn't shot Rebecca because she was a non-believer. He hadn't ended Daniel's life because he'd devalued the bible. He hadn't punched Kyle's ticket because of theology.

You are wrong.

Hansel had removed them because they had all posed a threat. A threat to his supplies, a threat to his survival, a threat to his chances at escape. He'd removed them, not for morality or personality or ideology, but because in order to move forward, he had to.

The second they had boarded the plane, they had already died. Everyone had. They were all just wasting time until someone made it official.

And what was God to a corpse? What was sexuality, or opinion, theology, scripture? What was anything to everyone left, waiting to die so that one person could walk away?

Why would anyone want to?

A sense of peace stole over Hansel as he stared into the lens, adjusting his FAMAS over his shoulder as he envisioned everyone he was looking at - Dad, Mom, Uncles, Aunts, Teachers - staring back at him, judging him, taking stock of what he'd done. One by one, he envisioned them slowly disappearing, until it was just him and the lens, him and the island.

Him and the goal.

Because, he thought, as he tipped his hat towards the camera and turned to go collect his bags, that was all that mattered.

After all, corpses didn't worry about judgement.

((Hansel Williams, The Faster The Treadmill))