Survival Of The Fittest

Jacob's heart pounded in his ears, rapid and deafening. He'd barely registered that he was being spoken to at all. His grip on Greg's shoulders tightened, his fingers aching abominably as he stared into the body's dull, vacant eyes. He offered no response to Salem. He merely stood there, breathing heavily, unable to tear his eyes off all that remained of Greg.

At least until he noticed the glint of light peering out through the pack behind the chair.

Salem sighed again, adjusting the way he sat a little more so that his legs weren't underneath him and then settling back in the armchair. He kept his eyes fixed on Jacob's back, in the spot squarely between his shoulder blades.

"You can take his stuff and go. I want to take a nap."

"... A nap?"

Jacob gently bent down, picking up the bag, shaking and breathing heavily all the while. His back remained turned to Salem.

"Sure..."

One hand grabbed the strap, as if to hoist it over his shoulder. The other, obscured from Salem, slipped silently into the bag and got a hold of Greg's gun.

"And you can take it IN FUCKING HELL!!"

Jacob spun around, flinging Greg's bag at Salem before pointing the gun vaguely in his direction and pulling the trigger. The kick of the gun wrenched Jacob's wrist and arm and caused the weapon to wildly spray half a clip's worth of bullets into the wall and ceiling.

You know, he should have expected something like this to happen.

Salem's arm flew up to block the bag, and the impact winded him slightly with only a moment to brace for it. That was enough, though; it had him already moving when the gunfire started, a silver lining. He dove over the side of the armchair opposite to where he'd left his bag, grunting as his knee impacted the floor, but better that than landing on his injured leg.

A bullet whipped by his face with a whine so shrill that he barely registered it as noise; it was chased by a hot splatter of something running down his cheek. There was no pain, not with the adrenaline pumping through his system, just a sense of something impacted, torn. A clump of flesh, blood, and blonde hair fell to the floor as Salem moved to swing the rifle around at Jacob's legs.

Aim, fire, duck and cover. A high, near-hysterical giggle slipped out of him.

Jacob wanted to point and fire the gun again, wanted to ignore the searing pain in his arm as best he could. He was a second too late; Salem had already raised his own weapon. Instead, Jacob's free hand snatched the strap on Greg's flung bag, laying next to him after Salem had punted it away. Jacob managed to run for and dive into a nearby hallway right as Salem pulled the trigger.

For a second, he thought he'd done it in time. The feeling of warm blood seeping into the fabric of his jeans told a different story.

Jacob scrambled to sit upright, back against the wall. He quietly hissed as the wound in his leg flared in agony. He had no idea how bad it was, but that'd have to wait. Salem still had to die. He shakily raised the submachine gun, now with both hands, pointing it at where he assumed Salem would soon round the corner.

Salem did get up to give chase, no thought for strategy or tricks. There was just the exhilaration that at any moment felt like it could cross from a high into a panic attack. He staggered up to his feet after Jacob, but he only made it a step further before his injured leg seized. Sitting on it, jumping down, and then jumping back up again had done the torn muscle no favors, and Salem's body had decided it was about time to let him know it.

He gasped out at the ripple of pain up his thigh and grabbed onto the armchair for support. Everything rushing through his veins came to a screeching halt.

Salem leaned heavily against the chair, breathing hard, eyes fixed but unfocused on the wall behind Greg's head that was splattered red and pink and gray. He became aware that there was blood running down his face and seeping into the collar of his coat. That side of his head hurt.

When he tried to push away from the chair to pursue Jacob again, a wave of pain and dizziness struck him, making him groan softly and dig his fingers back into the ratty upholstery.

Yeah, he needed that nap. Jacob was going to have to settle for being the one that got away today.

Hefting the rifle again to cradle it against his body, Salem backed away from the chair and the hallway that Jacob had disappeared down, one unsteady step at a time. To the window; this one wasn't broken.

It took way more effort than it felt like it should have to jimmie the window open just wide enough for him to slip out. He didn't quite stick the landing this time, instead falling into a heap in the snow. He lay there for a moment, groaning.

The inside of the house was quiet. It was impossible to tell from where he was if Jacob was still inside, or if he'd made a run for it.

Slowly and painfully, Salem picked himself up and limped away in search of a dark and quiet place to rest.

((Salem Fox continued in redesign your logo))

Jacob waited, body tensing so bad that every muscle seemed to ache. It was all he could do to stay still, listening to Salem stumble around in the living room, knowing at any moment he would hear him trudging towards the hall. If he wasn't fast on the trigger, he'd be joining Greg. So he sat, not moving a millimeter, waiting for Salem to round the corner so he could finish him off.

Instead, he heard Salem slip away out the door. Jacob remained still and silent, for what felt like ages, listening intently. Was this a trick? Would Salem come around through another entrance and blow his head off? Was he simply lying in wait, ducked behind the chair, ready to strike when Jacob walked back in and let his guard down?

But no. Silence was all that greeted him.

Jacob dropped the gun, his hands crying out it terrible pain as he did so from how tightly they'd held the weapon. His entire right arm was aflame, no doubt from trying to fire the bulky submachine gun with one hand; his wrist hurt almost as bad as the time he'd broken it when he was 14. And his leg...

Jacob shakily rose from his position, wobbling as he tried to keep off his left leg as much as possible. He grabbed the gun and Greg's bag, and managed to limp back into the room, empty now. Salem truly had fled. And Greg... well, Greg wasn't really here anymore, was he? Everything Greg was had been left a splatter on the wall behind him.

Jacob practically fell into the nearby couch, doing what he could not to look at the body of his... friend? Had they been friends? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that Greg had saved him, that Greg had comforted him, and that Jacob had failed him in return. He was alone now, without any of his actual friends nor any of the little connections he'd managed to form now that they were trapped here. Just him, a corpse, and the grim little trophy Salem had left behind on the floor.

Jacob would have to make sure to return it to him. He wasn't sure how he'd manage it, but he would find Salem again.

For now, though, he had to stop the bleeding. Jacob took Greg's medical supplies from his bag, rolled up his pantleg, and got to work, doing his best not to cry. That was something he could save for later.

((Jacob Winters continued in I've been getting really into 'hell'.))