Survival Of The Fittest

James wheeled around at the sound of another voice and squeezed the trigger again at the interloper, whom he recognized right away. It was Kenny Pelts. Who was Kenny Pelts? James wasn't sure, but he knew that this was Kenny Pelts.

"Fuck you Kenny!" he cried amid the roar of gunfire.

"Kenny? Who the hell is, oh fuck!" Steve yelled as he heard the blast from the gun.

Steve was fortunate enough that the first bullet missed him completely, the second however skimmed along his left bicep leaving a sizable cut which started to bleed, running down his arm.

Steve could feel his adrenaline kicking in to help him deal with the wincing pain of the cut.

Fight through it. He told himself.

He made a quick dash to his left, bending low to scoop another handful of rocks. As he was moving, he spun completely around, throwing the rocks at James in the progress of the turn. The move was one he'd been taught in his sophomore year and one he hadn't found particularly useful until right now.

Kenny whipped another handful of exquisitely colored rocks at him, and they collectively exclaimed "weeeee!" at the top of their tiny lungs as they sailed through the air at him. James flinched as some of them hit him and fired at Kenny again, but a split-second after the shot was fired he was surprised to hear a loud metallic ping issue from the Garand.

James hurriedly examined the rifle, wondering what-in-the-fuck was wrong with it. "What the hell are you doing, man??" he whispered urgently at the inanimate object, panic setting suddenly in. "I thought we were friends!"

Steve was able to avoid the last shot James fired before a loud ping could be heard. Steve could see James frantically examining the rifle wondering what was wrong with it, followed by,

Is he talking to it? Did he just call it his friend? What the fuck is this guy on?

Steve knew this was his opportunity to disarm his opponent, but he was still to far away to make a successful rush. Looking around the ground Steve's search for more rocks came up empty. Steve threw his pack violently to the ground as he searched. As the pack hit the ground, the baseball he was issued rolled out of the hole where Steve had not zipped the pack completely up.

Wow Steve-o, way to remember.

Steve grabbed the ball and faced James.

"Hey asshole. Catch this." Steve yelled, as he reared his right arm back and fired the baseball with everything the quarterback's arm could put on it.

James' eyes shot up from the uncooperative rifle just in time to see a white spherical object flying at him. An egg? A split-second of clarity (in a sense) pointed to the obvious culprit behind the projectile. Unfortunately there wasn't another split-second handy to duck.

"Bir--!!" choked James.

The smiling white orb connected with his temple at a right jolly 72 mph, and--for lack of a better term--rocked him like fucking Queen. He staggered, his limp hands dropping the Garand with a soft thud and a clickity-clack. White lights blinded him from behind his eyes, giving way to pitch black as they faded. James lost consciousness and fell like a sack of potatoes into the flowers.

Steve could only watch as everything seemed to go in slow motion. The baseball connected right on target as James' head snapped back at impact, causing him to stagger, drop the gun and hit the deck.

Oh fuck... Steve instantly was overcome with fear.

He dashed over to where James was lying limp. It was Steve's plan in the game to only kill someone if he absolutely had to, and this was borderline. Luckily when Steve knelt at James' side, he could see James was still breathing.

"Oh yes. This will work nicely." Steve said as he looked to his left and saw the Garand lying on the ground. Steve picked the rifle up and examined it. He found that the noise had been made because James had emptied the clip and continued to fire. Steve unloaded the empty clip, then knelt again to search James for extra ammo. He found nothing in his pockets, so he moved to James' pack. Inside were two extra clips. Steve quickly pocketed the extra ammo.

Okay. Now I have to find my friends.

Steve got up and turned around to face the girl who had been standing there the whole time.

"Umm...yeah...don't follow me and such." Steve said pointing to the Garand.

After the whole debacle with Courtney the only people Steve wanted around him on the island were Gabe, Serenity, Evan and Viki. Unfortunately after the last announcements, he could not add Kara's name to the list, and with this knowledge in his head Steve knew he had to find Gabe soon. Steve knew Gabe wouldn't take Kara's death well, and would probably do something stupid.

With a new weapon, fresh ammo, and a refreshed purpose Steve took off into the bushes.

((Continued in You Can Run...))

(OOC: The weapon theft was approved by Cyco. Not sure if I had to put this in there, never read or done a weapon theft from a still living body)

(Okay, this is my first post really, so somebody please feel free to tell me if I'm doing something wrong. The adoption of Trish McCarroll was pre-approved by Meg, by the way.)

The events unfolding in front of Trish McCarroll were like things she'd only read about in Dean Koontz novels, and consequently were just as confusing. Before her question had been answered, however, she had instinctively sent herself kareening towards the ground as James Brown, a friend of hers from Southridge, had been firing haphazardly into the air. Deciding it was best to remain prone for the time being, she could only watch helplessly as Brenden, another acquaintance of hers, seemed to undergo a radical transformation in a matter of minutes (or at least what she could only assume was a transformation) and savagely murder a boy named Luis, whom she barely recognized. She'd closed her eyes during Luis' final moments, as she found the seeping of the blood from his neck and his imminent suffocation almost too much to bear.

"It's really happening. This is really happening..." The thoughts were running through her head, but she had hardly registered any of it. She remained prone throughout the entire ordeal, and what seemed like an eternity (but was in reality less than a minute) later, she watched as Brenden encountered his own pitiful demise. "Brenden! Oh my God!" She whispered somewhat louder than she'd intended do, and instantly covered her own mouth in shock. Fortunately for her it seemed like James was hindered by some kind of controlled substance, and Steve, another acquaintance of hers, evidently had no desire to kill her.

"I had to draw fucking keys. KEYS. What am I supposed to do with these, unlock a fucking treasure chest?" Her own unfortunate circumstances wheeled around in her head as she watched the conflict transpire between James and Steve. She couldn't help but feel sorry for herself, despite all her better knowledge that it would do nothing to help her situation. Upon realizing just what kind of situation she was in, however, she was reminded of a very important question. Was she going to play the game?

These thoughts all raced through Trish's mind in the matter of minutes that she remained crouched in the grass, and she removed her hand from her mouth as she watched the remainder of the ensuing chaos. "Well, I'm certainly not just going to roll over and die." She thought to herself, and convinced herself of just that. That would be her approach to the game. She would avoid problem spots whenever possible, but if and when her life was in danger, she'd do whatever it took. "Whatever I can do with keys, that is..."

A crack broke the silence she was trying desperately to maintain, and she raised her head slightly to notice that it was the result of Steve's baseball, which she'd guessed was his weapon, connecting with James' skull. Trish whined a little in incomprehensible protest, but only stood in response. Steve knew she was there, and since he was her only company, it would do her no good to let him know that she was afraid. Upon his address of her, she was more than happy to follow his order not to follow him, given that it wouldn't do her any good.

When Steve had left the area, Trish made her way over to James without a second's hesitation. She kneeled down to examine him, but discovered no traces of any severe injuries, and noticed that he was still breathing. "Good..." she thought to herself, and noticed James' pack laying beside him. "Steve already took his weapon, so there's nothing in there that I need..." she noted, but upon thinking about weapons, an idea crossed her mind.

Trish got up from her crouched position, brushing through the undergrowth and flowers to examine the ground around her. A few seconds later she'd found what she was looking for; namely, the bullwhip that Brenden had parted with upon his death. She wasted no time in picking it up, careful not to cut herself, and grabbed the handle. Letting the whip dangle loosely at her side, she moved a few paces away from James, and began to take some practice swings in mid-air. Unfortunately her first few attempts were dismal at best, and the third of them struck Brenden's corpse right across the back of his skull.

"Fuck, sorry!" She groaned to nobody in particular, and stopped her practicing for a moment. It was only then that the scope of her situation began to sink in. Brenden, a boy she'd been friends with less than a week before, was dead. She paused, and remarked to herself that she probably should've shown more emotion than she could muster, but at the moment that proved impossible. Whether it was as a result of the sedation or the shock she wasn't sure, but she couldn't register the pain of having lost one of her friends.

Diverting her attention from Brenden, Trish continued to practice with the bullwhip. After a few solid minutes of strikes, lashes and spins, she'd shown amazing improvement, similar to that of some kind of beast tamer. "The flick is kinda like a brushstroke. Hah, awesome." If anything, this recently acquired skill of hers would be one positive light she could shine on her situation.

After she'd finished practicing, she reeled the whip into a tight circle, careful to avoid the serrated edges as the coiled it, for the sake of making it easier to carry. After she'd found a way to get a grip on the handle without cutting herself, she made her way back over to James and took a seat beside him, carefully observing the perimeter every so often and waiting for him to wake up.

The first sensation that hit James as he came to was nausea, followed by heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, and diarrhea. Just kidding. He was peachy.

"Uuughh..." There was a heavy sting laced with painful throbbing from his temple to the bridge of his nose, which was congested with blood and forced James to breathe through his mouth. He sat up slowly, his head swimming. Someone was sitting beside him, but his eyes were having trouble focusing and he could only hope that they'd remain a benign presence. He mumbled incoherently, like so: "...gagga...umm, fruck..agra..."

Finally the blur became a person, and James' words became...

...English..words.

"Trish," he grunted, choking on bile and taking a second immediately after to cough. He was glad to see her, and especially glad to see that she wasn't trying to kill him or run away or tri-headed. "I dunno what's going on..."

Upon seeing James regain consciousness Trish turned her attention to his face, noticing the true extent of his injury. The bludgeoning Steve had given him seemed to have broken his nose, judging by the tiny smattering of blood underneath it, and his disoriented and groggy voice indicated that he might also have a concussion. Nevertheless, she was glad to hear the relaxing contralto of his voice, and it forced a smile onto her face.

"Thank God," she began, "I was starting to think you'd never wake up." Upon hearing James' affirmation of his cluelessness to the game, Trish became somewhat puzzled. "Wait a minute. You were just firing your rifle into the air like a madman, and Steve knocked you out with a baseball...maybe the blow made you forget?" She then remembered his maniacal actions a few minutes previous, and the idea of him having been hindered by some kind of substance re-occurred. She couldn't spot anything that would be a source of some kind of impairment however, so for the sake of trusting her friend, she decided that the force of the blow probably just made him forget his situation. This didn't explain his actions earlier, but all the same, she decided to have faith in him.

A few seconds later, however, Trish was filled with dread. She realized that she would have to explain to James where they were, and why they were there. Her smile faded away as she hardened her gaze on him, waiting until he seemed like he'd concentrated a bit harder. "James...we're in that game. The Survival of the Fittest. They took us to an island, and we were all assigned weapons, and..." Cutting herself off, and realizing she'd just told James he had a rifle, she didn't want to confuse him; especially if he was suffering from a head injury. "Sorry. Steve took your gun. You could always grab his baseball, it's right there." She motioned to James' left, where Steve's baseball lie motionless. "And..." She concluded, "Brenden's dead. The only dangerzone I've heard so far on the announcements is the coast on the north side of the island, so you should stay away from there, okay?"

James shook his head in disbelief at Trish's suggestion. No way had he been playing? All he could remember was this nasty fucked-up nightmare that he'd suffered shortly after encountering Jessa...or had she been part of the dream too? He couldn't remember passing out...

"I think I'm losing it..." he grumbled, and Trish filled him in on the details of their situation. He already knew that this was SOTF, at least, so he merely nodded at that part. Upon finding out that the rifle he barely remembered had been snagged he felt his headache flare up worse, and he got to his feet clutching at his head. "Fuck..."

He paused, taking a look around the immediate area, then turned back to her with an unsure expression. "But...but you're not going off by yourself, are you? We should stick together...at least we'll be safer that way."

"You seemed pretty out of it a few minutes ago. You were screaming hysterically and firing at everything..." Trish trailed off. She realized that reprimanding James for his prior actions wasn't going to change their situation, and it could possibly irritate him; and the last thing Trish wanted to do on this island was get on somebody's bad side. Despite all this, James was one of her better friends, and she trusted him.

When she heard his proposal, she found herself completely in favour of the idea, despite the fact that she normally would've preferred to operate by herself. She wasn't sure whether the enormity of her situation had frightened her into submission, or whether she was sympathizing with James' vulnerability, but she opted to stick with him. She knew she would've worried about him too much otherwise, and felt that at least this way she could keep an eye on him. "Yeah, you're right, we'll be safer together. Take it easy though, okay? It looked like Steve beaned you pretty hard." She took this instant to cross-examine James. He seemed pretty dazed and he'd lost his weapon, which made him next to useless in terms of getting them out of a fight. Nevertheless, any harmful individuals would definitely be more intimidated by James, despite his meager demeanour, than by a female art student. Their trek wouldn't be easy, especially given their lack of any serious firepower, but they'd definitely have a better chance together.

As her mind trailed towards the thought of provisions, she remembered that the two now deceased boys would've also been issued a set of supplies, and she pivoted on her back foot, scanning the grass around her. It didn't take her very long to locate Brenden and Luis' daypacks, and she moved both of them over towards James and herself respectively one at a time. She wasted no time in unzipping Luis' pack and rifling through its contents, and she motioned for James to do the same.

As she examined the pack, she removed the necessities of their journey, namely the food and water from the pack first, and replaced it into her own. Trish was never the most organized of people, but she found it easier to work around this flaw now that her life depended on it, and managed to somewhat neatly pack away the contents of Luis' pack into her own, leaving behind anything she wouldn't need, namely the extra map. Through her examination however she hadn't come across Luis' issued weapon, so she doubled back to his corpse, if somewhat unwillingly, to check it out.

As usual, it didn't take Trish long to find what she was looking for, owing to her keen eye for details. She noticed a can of aerosol and a lighter strewn haphazardly on the ground beside Luis' corpse, and retrieved both of them, gingerly walking back over to James. She pocketed the lighter for herself, as she wasn't sure if James was in a fit state to operate any sort of flame, and handed him the can of aerosol. "I've got a good enough weapon, but that'll at least help you blind somebody if worst comes to worst."

Trish surprised herself with how methodically she proceeded throughout her tasks, but attributed it to the fact that she hadn't completely registered the scope of their predicament. James wasn't interfering with her organization, and that alone made him a convenient ally. After she'd finished with her organization, she zipped up her pack and turned back towards James, once more examining his apparently broken nose. "I hope he's not hurt too badly..."

James breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure just what the balls was going on, but at the very...very, least, he had a friend in Trish. She wasn't going to abandon him just because he was a little fucked up.

'But I don't get it...what fucking happened? Oh man, my head...' James felt altogether a little wobbly, but he made a valiant attempt at giving Trish a thumbs up.

"I'll be ok; let's head out."

((Continued in The Stench of Reality))

Trish took a moment while James was recollecting himself to take stock of her provisions. In her day pack she now carried double the amount of rations and water, and she had packed Luis' items into James' pack respectively, meaning that the both of them were twice as well off as most of the other students for food and water. She now had car keys, a lighter, and a bullwhip in her possession, as well as two flashlights, two compasses, two maps (which she had decided to take after all), all methodically crammed into her daypack with the exception of the bullwhip, which she kept clutched in her right hand at all times for security.

"All right. The weather doesn't look too great, so we'll take shelter whenever we find it," Trish started, catching up to James and taking the lead for the two of them. "There was a stream marked on the map...we'll head there so I can clean him up, and then..." And then she didn't have any idea what to do, but she was sure she'd manage to figure that out in the meantime. There were plenty of places on the island that could put a roof over their heads, and finding one once they reached the stream wouldn't be too hard. With her daypack hefted onto her back, duffle bag for the school trip in her left hand and bullwhip in the right, Trish set out with James into the ominous foreground.

(Trish McCarroll continued in The Stench of Reality)