Survival Of The Fittest

She shrugged.

"Fair enough."

She didn't know anything about Jacob, and she wouldn't pretend to. Maybe the bad home life stuff he talked about was just everyday arguments between a teenager and their parents. Maybe whatever it was wasn't big enough to warrant a public shaming to whoever watched this shit. Maybe he had a point and no one that did watch it was deserving of hearing this. She always assumed at least someone decent had to see it - some police officers had to review this crap to see what happened, yeah? But also...police officers...being decent people.

She's not even gonna touch that subject, thank you.

Anyway, the actual subject at hand, since that last sentence sure seemed worrying. Jezzie's gaze shifted to a window instead of the boy she conversed with.

"I'd say something nice like 'Oh, I'm sure they really love you' and other stuff, but...I'm not gonna act like I know better than you about your own life."

She sighed.

"All I can really say is that...that sucks, and I'm sorry you were dealing with bullshit even before getting here."

She wondered if she was lucky before, dealing with her own parents. The worst she had to deal with was them being cheapskates. She knew there were people that shouldn't be in charge of kids at all, but she never thought about people like that being in their town. It always seemed like a far away thing. Another story on tv and nothing more.

She chose to cut off that line of thought there, before her internal monologue could go places she really didn't need it to go in a game of life and death.

Jacob smirked. The honesty was refreshing, in a way. Other people tended to do exactly as she said, reassure him of his parent's ostensible love for him despite how petty and controlling and cold they were. It was nice hearing someone just agree that the situation was shit without trying to conjure up a thin veneer of an excuse for them. Jacob was already too good at doing that himself.

"Heh, thanks," he replied. "Never really talked about this with most folks back home. Just my sister and Francis."

He wondered how they were taking the news. Monique was the only other person who truly understood him and how rough things at home were; she'd been there for most of it, after all. He couldn't imagine how awful news of his death would feel, let alone once word got out that it was here, that it was this. And Francis...

He didn't want to think about him at all anymore. It hurt too much. He needed to switch tracks before the full force of that train could hit him again.

Thankfully, there was something Jezzie might just be able to help him with.

"... so can I ask you something?"

His hands, loosely gripping the edges of the couch cushions, subtly tightened their hold.

"Before you got here... did you see Salem anywhere?"

Once again, she shrugged.

"It's no big deal."

It really wasn't, as far as she was concerned. Hearing someone complain about shit being shit at this point was basically casual conversation. Everyone had something they wanted to complain about, and the situation was just bringing every issue to a boiling point. And considering how half their class was doing now, being an open ear to hear how life was unfair was one of the better things to do, instead of rotting in the snow.

God. Half the people in the class were dead. At this point, probably more than half. There had been, what, a hundred and thirty going on the trip? A hundred and thirty five, maybe? If she was being generous and gave everyone even chances of getting this far (considering how far Billie made it, it's not that crazy) and if she just went for a more specific number, maybe fifty, then the chances of her having gotten this far were around thirty seven percent. The chances of her winning, period? Less than one percent. And again, that's the generous estimation of everyone having the same odds. Not taking into account some people being stronger or weaker, having experience with fighting or guns, and whatever other variables there are. But she did make it this far, and so the chances now? Two percent. And it would only go up as time went on and she continued to not die. She just had to keep that up. How hard could that be?

...shit, inner monologue took over again, please tell her Jacob hadn't started dumping his life story and was about to expect her to do a pop quiz on what he said.

Jezzie's shoulders shivered not from the cold, but the shiver down her spine at the question asked.

"Not recently, no. I ended up running into him on the first day, apparently before he got his hands on a gun, and that's about it. Been lucky enough to not see him ever since."

Her eyes lingered on Jacob's fingers. Were the knuckles going white, or was she seeing things?

"I'm assuming you haven't been as lucky?"

Jacob's eyes drifted towards Greg's corpse, still crumpled in the chair he'd died in.

"... yeah."

Her eyes followed Jacob's, finding the dead boy in the chair once more.

Suddenly, she felt the tiniest bit of gratitude for her previous actions, not asking if the boy was Jacob's work or not.

"I'm...I'm sorry."

She didn't know his name, and the jacket over his face wasn't helping clear up his identity, but asking probably wouldn't help.

"Is this...something you'd want to handle personally, or would I be okay taking him out? If I run into him?"

She left Ash alive because her sister would fucking skin her if she was the one behind her death. Meanwhile, Salem was the problem sibling between him and Cali. If there was anyone she could kill and not worry about someone wanting revenge, that might be her best case.

But she also wasn't going to steal someone else's moment in the spotlight. Jacob clearly had a grudge, and she'd be more interested in helping him take that shot than take the shot herself.

Jacob looked back at Jezzie, eyes lightly appreciative.

"I... do kinda wanna do it, yeah," he answered. "Though I won't be mad if you get his bitch ass first."

His eyes drifted down to his leg, still wrapped in bandages and burning like hellfire.

"... it kinda makes more sense, really."

He sighed, leaning back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. He didn't like admitting how pie-in-the-sky his plan probably was. If he didn't go after Salem, then all he'd have left is puttering around, waiting for the inevitable. Functionally all he had done this whole time, but now he'd be injured and alone.

He couldn't stomach the idea. He wasn't going to passively sit around, awaiting oblivion. Not anymore. He was figuring out this fucking gun. He was tracking Salem down. And when he found him...

His hands tightened their grip further. His bare feet dug into the thin, aged rug beneath them. There was a sudden aching, tension in his chest, a mix of fury and fear. He had to reckon with where this plot inevitably ended if he was gonna push forward with it. And maybe Jezzie could tell him...

"... how does it feel?"

He looked back to Jezzie at last, not moving from his reclining position.

"To... to kill someone."

"Herd him toward you if I can, got it."

If she does run into Salem, she'll probably shoot first, think about Jacob later. Risking anything with the people that were on killing sprees was asking for a bullet or a blade, and she wasn't keen on dying in such a dumb way.

Still, though. If there was any way to make sure Jacob got his revenge for his buddy (still no name for the guy) she'd try to do it. Jacob had a point about it making more sense, narrative wise. Maybe Timothy, Billie, or Colm had other friends that could do it, but she didn't know any of them, so Jacob was the closest she knew could work best as a revenge kill.

But that was future stuff. Shit she could worry about later on. Right now was for right now, and right now there was things actively coming up.

Like the question she was kind of dreading to hear.

She had gone back to looking at Jacob, when apologizing for his friend's death, but now Jezzie's eyes shifted back to a window. Unconsciously, her arms shifted, hugging her knees against her chest.

"It's...a lot, if I'm being honest."

A sigh escaped her lips.

"I've done it four times, and at this point, I think I'm...compartmentalizing it? I think that's the word? I'm actively not thinking about it, because if I do I'm probably going to start screaming and break down. Even for the ones where I was defending myself, or doing what had to be done, it's hard to think about."

Finally, her gaze went back to Jacob.

"It might be different for you. Easier, when it's someone you know did something bad, and did it to you. When it's with a gun instead of the world's smallest knife. But in case it's not, I guess just...be prepared."

"...oh."

Jacob wasn't sure what answer he'd expected. Perhaps he'd assumed Jezzie had gotten a taste for murder and enjoyed it - though their first meeting certainly hadn't given that impression, she'd since gone on quite the killing streak. Or maybe he'd assumed she was simply numb to it, doing it more to survive and get home than out of sadism but not really feeling any particular way about it. Maybe he'd hoped she'd reveal some trick to stare down the sights at somebody, pull the trigger, and not feel fucking abysmal about it afterwards.

But no luck. It turned out, in a surprise to fucking nobody, that murder sucked, and being forced to do it didn't make it suck less. The only hope Jacob had was that revenge could sweeten what sounded like an absolutely putrid dish.

"Sorry, I... I shouldn't have stuck my nose in your shit."

Jacob's right hand drummed on his knee, a movement made stiff and awkward by the state his wrist was in.

"I just... I know everyone back home will probably hate me for it. I know Greg would too, if he was still here. But I just... can't let him get away with this. I just fucking can't."

His hand balled into a fist, ignoring the cries of pain from his muscles.

"I don't care if it kills me. I don't care if I hate myself for it afterwards. I will fucking kill Salem."

For a third time, she shrugged.

"It's fine. I'll take questions I don't like over another person trying to kill me any day."

Not that she probably didn't deserve the latter, though.

She didn't like thinking about it. She wanted to live, just like everyone else here. She wouldn't regret defending herself. An accident happened, and there was only one way to fix it. She wouldn't regret giving mercy. But she couldn't come up with anything for Prii. The best she had was that they would've shot her if she was honest at first, and the gun would only get in her hands if they were dead, and even that was shit. There was a reason she was the actress, not the writer.

And she didn't want to get into her feelings on Steve right now, so she wouldn't.

Finally dead guy had a name. Greg was the guy who worked at that gelato store, right? She actually liked that store. Now, even if she survived, it was probably closing indefinitely after this. Another loss.

"I mean, Billie's, Tim's and Colm's parents might not hate you? And Greg's, of course."

Fuck, that sounded bad. And stupid.

"And-I didn't say for sure you'd hate yourself, just..."

She trailed off for a moment. Trying to find the right words as Jezzie's eyes drifted away again.

"You're gonna think about it. For a while. No matter how justified it really is, it's...it's gonna stick. Stay forever, maybe."

Maybe til they're old and gray, if they're lucky enough to live that long and get the chance to get over it.

"Mmm."

Jacob didn't really know how to respond. They were speaking so casually of Jacob's premeditated murder plans, of Jezzie's own slayings, of what it felt to kill someone. Just yesterday he'd been completely unsure of how anyone could so easily flip to murder the way Jezzie or Kitty or Josh or so many others had. Now he was joining the club, asking for advice on how to live with himself for whatever brief time he had left when - or more likely if - he brought Salem down.

"... well, I'm probably getting ahead of myself, anyway."

Jacob's head turned to look at the gun sitting by his side.

"I'm still not sure I really know what I'm doing with this thing."

Was she doing this right? Being open, without being too open? She wanted to spill guts, yeah, but not all of them. She'd probably fucked up and said a line that was supposed to be cut from the script. If she was being honest, though...she wasn't sure she cared? Being on for so long was tiring. Being confident about her own survival made her feel better, yeah, but it seemed like every blow against her hurt twice as much. From the literal punches and stomps to every look of not being recognized, or every moment one where she was being filled with suspicion, hatred, or fear.

How much could she take, before she would break?

Jacob kept talking, and Jezzie blinked away those thoughts for the time being.

"I mean..."

A tilt of the head, just slightly.

"Don't all the guns have instructions? Or is it just some of them?"

That would kind of be stupid, but then again, maybe in line with the assholes behind this.

"If there are any, they should at least help you figure it out, even if it won't make you an expert."

Jacob raised one hand, showing off the gun manual clutched between his fingers.

"Don't worry, it does. Just never, like, fired a fucking gun, y'know?"

That probably went without saying. But he'd say it anyway, if only to avoid an awkward lull between them. It was hard to keep a conversation going, especially when it centered on planning a murder and all the other murders the both of you had been party to or present for.

"I was readin' this thing before you walked in, anyway."

"...okay, fair."

She hadn't thought about that. She hadn't done much with the gun in her possession. She read about how to shoot it, and pointed it at people, and kind of tried to shoot people, but none of it had really been effective in killing. She definitely missed Amy, and she probably missed everyone involved in the spat at the road. She had a gun, and she had fired it, but it wasn't actual useful experience with a firearm.

Thinking about it, though...did anyone have experience with guns before this? Some people probably, they lived in America after all, but anything actually useful? She couldn't really say, stuff like gun knowledge and experience wasn't exactly a hot topic at school, and even if it was, it wasn't something she'd ever ask about.

Apparently she had interrupted Jacob in his murder plans, and somehow that made her feel bad. Not like guilt over it, but embarrassment. She wouldn't have wanted anyone walking in on her murder plans, and Jacob's planning was actually something close to noble, and so walking in on it made things feel retroactively awkward.

"Ah, sorry."

Palms went to the ground as Jezzie pushed herself to her feet.

"I can leave if you want to get back to that. I don't really have anything else to say-"

And, of course, it's as she's saying that and reaching for her bag that something pops into her mind.

"Okay, one other thing. But after that, I'll get out of your hair."

Jacob looked up at her, surprised. What he'd meant as an innocuous comment had suddenly shut the door on the conversation altogether.

"O-oh... okay."

He suddenly wished he hadn't said anything. He wanted to grab the words and shove them back down his throat. Jacob didn't really want her to go, in truth. Having someone, anyone to talk to was better than the stifling silence of the house he shared with Greg's remains, and Jezzie, despite the bodycount, had done a lot to win him over. He wanted her to stay, or to take him with her, or at least to promise to come back.

But maybe this was for the best. As good as it had felt, bonding like this, he knew it wasn't something that could last. Jezzie might not have been the blood psycopath the announcements made her sound like, but it felt almost inevitable that staying in her company would end with him dead. Most any course probably ended in death for him now, but he had to hold out. At the very least, he had to take out Salem first. And then...

And then he wasn't sure. Maybe he'd lie down and wait for the end. Maybe he'd off himself. Maybe he wouldn't do either.

At any rate, Jezzie seemed done with him. Perhaps this had just been her way to skip out while sparing his feelings. But she had one last thing to say, first.

"What is it?"

Usually she can read a line easily. Get just the right emotion out, get every line right, even on the first reading. She could speak however she needed to.

Right now, though, it took another quick breath for Jezzie to get the courage just to say this much.

"If we see each other again, do you think we could maybe...not kill each other?"

And, of course, the first try sounds stupid.

"I mean-I know it's stupid, if anyone wants to leave then everyone else needs to die, but...talking with you hasn't been so bad. It's nice, really. And I don't want that getting ruined by me trying to stab you, or you trying to shoot me or something, so..."

A shrug.

"Would you be up for that? Just-talking, whenever we see each other?"

She knew it was probably too hopeful. Too 'made-for-TV-Lifetime-original-forced-happy-ending' to really work out. Next time they saw each other, she might have another kill under her belt, and Jacob would feel too nervous to trust her, and just start firing. At best leaving on bad terms, at worst leaving at least one of them dead.

But damn it, she wanted to try. She'd like to keep one nice thing she had while stuck here. Plus, at worst, the chances of them being forced to kill each other (being the last two left and having no other choice) was four percent at best. Not impossible, but almost definitely not going to happen.