Survival Of The Fittest

Shu fought back the urge to roll his eyes; instead they just kinda fluttered in place for a moment.

"You want to start this now?"

"Am I starting it?"

She stood up, boots sinking just a bit into the rotting carpet. She looked out the window - watching to make sure Greg wasn't on his way back - before looking Shu in the eye.

"Why are you being like this?"

Shu remained seated.

"Doing what? Being suspicious about someone inviting us in? For no reason outside the 'goodness of their heart'? Look around you."

Shu remained seated.

"Protecting you, Kiera."

Kiera stared at him, incredulous.

"Does that guy," she snapped, pointing at the door he'd left through, "look like a threat to you? Honestly, Shu. Get real."

"Don't raise your voice at me," Shu spat back, his own voice echoing in volume. He crossed his arms, his demeanor cold and solid like a cracking glacier.

"Boys like him are your best friend 'til they shoot you in the back the moment they can. Why do you trust him so much? Because he likes Gordon Lightfoot, too? You get real."

Kiera tried to match his icy demeanor with one of her own. Unfortunately, she was pretty sure hers had started to melt before she could even bring it out; she could feel her resolve on this starting to waver. She hated bickering like they were, but she wasn't about to silently back down on it, either.

"I just don't wanna be alone, Shu. That's all. He's harmless, and good enough company as any."

Her scowl deepened, remembering the encounter, and what had preceded it.

"Besides, if you hadn't chased off Marian maybe we wouldn't have needed to meet him at all. So don't whine to me because you played yourself."

Shu's icy expression started to crack and melt. He slunk back in the armchair, his hands folded into each other and on top of his chest, his scowl neutralizing yet with brows still furrowed.

He took a heavy sigh, shutting his eyes in a prolonged blink before his next words, back in his softer tone.

"Do you not trust me?"

Kiera's face softened, scowl falling into a frown. How did he make her feel so guilty all of a sudden?

"That's not what I..."

She looked at the old, moldy carpet beneath her. She couldn't quite look at him, her gut tied in knots of shame as it was.

"I... do, Shu. I do trust you. But just you... you're not enough, okay?"

Her arms crossed, practically hugging herself. She could feel her throat just beginning to close.

"I know why you wanna hide out. I know it's probably the smart option... but I don't think it'll make a difference. We can hunker down and keep away from everyone and do everything right, and it probably won't save either of us. So I just don't wanna, okay?"

A sigh fled her lungs, long and deep.

"I just want normalcy, or just... whatever can pass for it. I know it's not gonna help us make it, but I don't think we can make it. Why bother throwing everything about myself away for such a Hail Mary shot?"

She looked at him from the corner of her eyes, sad and apologetic.

"And I know you don't want that, but I just can't bend on this, alright? I-I'm sorry."

"I see." Shu closed his eyes again for an uncomfortable amount of time. He couldn't look at Kiera. He couldn't look at his rotting belladonna.

He released his hands and pressed them into the arms of the chair as he rose out of his seat and left the living room. "One second."

The moldy carpet trampled on so long ago muffled his soft footsteps as he disappeared.

Kiera watched Shu go, offering nary a word of protest. She simply sank back into the armchair, shutting her eyes and putting her face in her hands. What was she supposed to say? Lie for him, act like she'd be totally fine locked up and hidden and selfishly guarded like he wanted?

She leaned back in the chair, eyes still shut. With neither Greg nor Shu around, things were remarkably quiet. It was unsettling, and exactly what she'd hoped to avoid bringing the two together. In the face of their kidnapping and near-guaranteed deaths, she only seeked some tiny solace in the presence of other people. It was what she'd always leaned on, and now she needed it more than ever. She hoped maybe Shu could get that, eventually. What he had to offer was important, but on its own it wasn't nearly enough.

She opened her eyes, staring at the opposite wall, waiting for him to return. She just had to hope he'd see reason.

All was quiet in the house until a length of barbed wire passed over Kiera's head, scraping over the bomb collar as it settled and rooted its claws into the precious flesh of her neck.

It was over remarkably fast. Token resistance was offered - a choking cry, hands grasping at the wire throttling out her life - but there was no real struggle, no attempt to truly save herself, like she hadn't even processed it was happening until it was far too late. It wasn't long before she slumped back into the chair, air torn from her lungs, head limply dangling like she was staring at the floor. Almost like she didn't want to see who it was that had done this to her.

All was quiet once again.

Even after Kiera went limp and expired for sure, Shu wouldn't let his grip up. All the love he had for her poured out his fingers into the makeshift rods at the end of the garrote and flowed into the barbs piercing and strangling her.

He was mad at himself. This wasn't supposed to be this way. They were supposed to have more time, more time alone. More time together. He was always going to execute her, but he thought there was more time. But, clearly there wasn't. His light was already corrupted.

So he pulled tighter, with all of his love. So she would know.

He didn't stop until he saw his own hand bleeding from a barb poking out from the handle, staining the end of the garrote along with the top of the armchair. It only hurt a fraction of what he felt in his heart.

And then he let go.

Then he wrapped the garrote and folded it into itself like a cable cord.

Then he grabbed the first aid kit from his beloved's bag and took care of his own hand, dressing it until he couldn't see its red-stained ugliness. He left the box on the couch.

Then he started throwing supplies from her bag into his, the food and the water and the rope.

Then he stared at his handiwork for what felt an indeterminate about of time. No smiles, no frowns, just a stare in the thick silence of an abandoned house on an abandoned island in the birth of winter.

There was a quick, courteous double-knock at the front door.

"I'm back. I think it was just a deer." Greg's voice said from the other side. "If you guys are still talking, I'll, uh, I can wait out here."

There was no reply no matter how long Greg waited.

((And all was quiet in the house.))