Survival Of The Fittest

Marshall had intended to push for them to return to town. To find Chloé and the others, before it got dark. Or at least for him to be able to separate and continue his search for Jess or Kai.

Then Richard rolled his ankle. Marshall couldn’t prioritize someone who might have been in trouble, instead of someone who was injured in front of him. And Richard was a hefty boy that couldn't easily and consistently be lifted by Darryl alone.

There was no moving on that ankle. They had to make camp. So Marshall stayed with them at the camp, and told himself this wasn’t giving up.

Over the night, he told the others most of what had happened over the last couple of days. About the terrorists leaving him and Jess on the lake ice, and how Jess had fallen through. About Kai’s resourcefulness, and Chloé’s drive to gather others and do something about the game. The negatives had come up – Kai smacking him and leaving in search of Kitty, Jess’ disappearance, the disagreements with Chloé. But overall, Marshall had tried to focus on the positives.

There were still positives.

...

But now the announcements were here, and he couldn’t focus on them anymore.

There was a lot there that made Marshall curl up by the fire, staring upwards and listening, face growing paler at each name that was listed.

Josh, one of his lacrosse players, had strangled someone so well that the terrorists had rewarded him for it. Mild, inoffensive Josh. That just didn’t sound right, Marshall almost wondered if the terrorists hadn’t mixed names up. Tully was another one of his players, and he’d been shot in the back. He’d been angry, violent at times, but he’d been trying his best to be better, he didn’t deserve to be shot. Guys who he’d helped coach, his guys—his responsibility. And Ingrid… Ingrid was one of Marshall’s friends – they fought constantly, of course, argued about everything under the sun, but they were friends despite, perhaps because, of all that – and she’d died trying to escape.

And right at the end... Jess… Jess had frozen to death near the end of the day. Possibly while Marshall was helping Richard, possibly while he was sitting here by the fire safe, when he’d given up on her, dismissed it with the trouble in front of him. His responsibility, his fault, he’d chased her footsteps and he’d failed--

Marshall said nothing. He couldn’t even suggest they get moving, or find Chloé, or anything, he just…

He couldn’t. So he just rested his chin back on his folded arms. He couldn’t even properly cry, the tears just not quite happening – stuck in his eyes, making his sight blurry. He tucked his face into his arms nonetheless, and stayed silent.

"We need to find somewhere safe."

The firmness in Iris's voice in the wake of the announcement surprised her, and the surprise in itself almost made her swallow her next words, but she continued.

"We can't keep sitting here. We've got plans, and we- we need to get on them." The boys looked awful. All of the color had gone out of Richard since his fall the previous afternoon. Iris could still vividly remember the way her heart leapt into her throat when she almost went tumbling to the ground with him. Statistically speaking, concussions were worse and less common than a rolled ankle, but she understood the shock and the pain and the frustration he must be feeling at a sudden injury. She pushed down the whispered thought that wanted to remind her that a bum leg could be just as deadly here.

She looked from Richard to Marshall to Darryl in turn. She didn't need to mention any of the names on the announcement specifically. They knew. She'd commit them to memory, not babble about them. Marshall had wanted so badly to find Jess; bringing her up would only hurt him more.

Iris took a deep breath and stood, brushing away any stray snow that clung to her. "Come on. Let's get up and go."

She didn't feel right, taking charge. It didn't feel natural. She preferred to do what other people wanted to do, trusting that they knew best, but right now the people she trusted only looked like they wanted to curl up and die. Iris couldn't let them do that, for their sake and her own.

Everything was good for all of an hour or so. Then Big Dick tripped over his big feet and ruined his big fat ankle. Just like John Endecotts terrible Bulldogs things could only go well for a few plays. So in total they were back in the game for a minuscule amount of time comparatively and Darryl didn’t want to be harsh but when he had to carry his friends weight he was a big load.

Darryl took his hair band out and fluffed his curls with his hands, shaking them out. Joan hadn’t appeared on the announcement which he guessed was a positive. It meant his inaction and cowardice hadn’t lead to a death even thought she had been shot and was out in the wilds somewhere bleeding. Small victories he guessed.

From where he was sat, hunched over, wrists resting on his knees, he looked up at Iris. She was saying what he’d been thinking, but it hadn’t felt right to say as he’d been carrying Richard around.

“You’re right,” He said, bobbing his head gently in agreement. “Everywhere that could be shelter will be dangerous, but…” He shrugged. “Not much choice.”

Safe. Where was safe? Where could be safe? Even without the game, they were stranded here to freeze to death. Darryl admitted it, and Richard wasn’t saying anything.

But Iris was right. Her words were enough to make Marshall climb to his feet. Unsteadily, like he was still drowsy from sleeping. His arms moved up to start rubbing warmth back into his arms.

“Safehouse… Chloé… she’ll be worried.” It was all Marshall could really get out of his mouth. Some link between ‘safe’ and the house that they’d tried to make safe before half their number had left made that thought click. “I’ll… tell her where you’re going.”

He turned and left. Didn’t think to say good-bye, or clarify, or anything.

As he left the warmth of the fire, the coldness started to leak through the jacket and dime-a-dozen-quality windbreaker underneath.

((Marshall West continued in They Don't Stop Comin'))

Iris waved after Marshall, unable to do anything else as he sped off. Or at least ambled off. A lot of the energy seemed to have been sucked out of him, but even as she watched him go, it looked like he was picking up speed.

She just hoped he'd maintain it.

"Right," Iris said again. She turned and held her hand out to Richard. "Let's go."

((Iris Waite continued in Zero Incoming))

Dickie was quiet, because at the moment, he had to be—he needed to be. But it didn’t feel natural. Silence throbbed in his heart and mind in a stranger way than pain did in his ankle. Still, he nodded while his brain tried to formulate a plan. Things had already been dire before and they were snowballing now. Still, he had yet to see death first hand and even when it came to bodies he had been lucky to avert his eyes. The game was conceptual, the only reminder was the unforgiving environment and the resolve of his friends that he now had to rely on. Dickie couldn't break. It was a bad sign if Iris was the one being brave--she couldn't handle that weight for long.

But he would be lying to say that he wasn't impressed by her spirit and made stronger by her pushing.

His hand found Iris’, his ankle was wrapped and his steps unsteady, but he tried to fill himself with determination and focus. Fake it till you make it. Confidence was a construct. He wasn't throwing his shot. Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose. Take your platitude and do what you do with platitudes--rely on them when shit gets real.

“You’re right,” he finally managed, “we gotta stay strong.”

Standing as tall as he could, he went off into the unknown.

“Thanks Iris," he whispered, "we're gonna be okay. We're gonna make it. We're not gonna stop for nothing."

If his friends believed in him, Richard believed in himself. And at the moment, they had to believe. They couldn't stop.

[ Big Dick Buster Continued In: Zero Incoming ]

Darryl's eyebrows came up as Marshall set off on his own adventure, which sure, it seemed like a great idea to run off by himself. Darryl wasn't holding out hope that Chloe would have still been where they agreed to meet, it didn't seem like a realistic expectation. But if Marshall was set on doing it who was he to stop him?

Iris gave them the command to leave so leave was what they were going to do. He didn't know exactly where they were planning on going yet but they could figure it out on the walk. His eyebrows raised slightly as Iris and Dick took each others hands but he said nothing.

Instead, he just followed them before remembering the important information he had to tell them.

"Hey so, there's someone we should watch out for..."

((Darryl Smith Jr. continued in Zero Incoming))