Survival Of The Fittest

By the time Ben found his voice again, things had gone to shit and Jesse had tackled Fletcher and Fletcher had run away like the little bitch he was. Harlin started shouting something, but Ben didn't care because Chris Harlin pretty much never had anything smart to say. Jesse evidently was thinking similarly because he seemed a lot more focused on the backpack he had just picked up from the ground. Fletcher's bag?

"Dude, Jesse, are you crazy?" Ben said as he took a step down the stairs, "because that was really fucking stupid. What the hell is in-"

From his vantage point up on the stairs, he probably saw it first. Joachim Lovelace barreled with a fucking rifle and Ben knew that things just went from fucked up to really fucked up.

He took one, two steps back up the stairs. Ben needed to get out. Away from these crazy people with their guns and bullets and blood and killing. He was far away from Joachim and Jaquilyn, farther than the others. He continued backing up, step by step until he felt the wood of the double doors at his back. He was home free.

But Benjamin Ward was never a person that would back down and run away first. Especially not with that smarmy self-assured smirk that Jaquilyn had on her face. If he was going to run away, he was going to wipe that smile off her face first, because she was not going to beat Benjamin Ward.

He grabbed the closest large object in reach, a small stool standing by the wall that he hadn't noticed earlier. With a roar, Ben charged to the top of the stairs and let the chair fly toward Joachim and Jaquilyn.

When adrenaline hits, the body undergoes a number of strange reactions; the typical reactions being: increased breathing, a sudden jolt of energy, excess sweat, and, of course, the sensation that time is slowing down to a crawl. As strange as the sensation may be, it's an adaptive technique passed down through generations of evolution. When the organism is threatened, the surge of chemicals grant plateaus of ability never before reached. When faced with a threat, the brain slows down to process every minute detail.

What qualified as a threat more than being held at gunpoint by two deranged killers? The irony wasn't lost on Brianna. They'd gotten rid of one killer, only to be surrounded by double the numbers. Out of the fire and into the pan, as an adage might relate.
The bitterness of the irony was just one of many combating thoughts fighting to take precedence in Brianna's mind. Theodore. Carmilla. Jaquilyn Locke and Joachim Lovelace's unholy alliance. Day two's morning announcements. The cameras
The thoughts constricted Brianna's windpipe like a tightly coiled vice. She felt like she was breathing through a narrow straw. Each panicked breath constricted tighter and tighter, compressing everything into a throbbing, painful chokehold.
Her legs lost feeling. Her knees collapsed in on themselves, sending Brianna slumping down to the ground. Had she not managed to catch herself with her free hands, she would have likely collided with the floor face first. Her palms stung with the blistering impact.

We're going to die here.

Her mind became clouded with the muddled thoughts. She knew there was a gun pointed at her back. She wanted to shout, she wanted to cry. She wanted to do something, anything. But, Brianna's body was unresponsive. Her limbs went numb, dull prickling coating every inch. Her head felt hollow, like a balloon filled with helium, slowly unwinding from a child's grip. The only thing cementing her to the ground was the heaviness in her chest. Her lungs sunk her into the hard linoleum floor like a stone. The drumming of her heart struggled to keep the girl conscious, but her mind fought back to escape. Brianna felt herself flutter in between alertness and unconsciousness. Thoughts shifted between the reality of the situation, and the fantasies of being home. The fantasies of waking up on her living room couch and discovering this was all a nightmare. She'd fallen asleep watching a horror movie. This entire experience was probably a manifestation of that, right?

"I think you take your bags and leave." Jaquilyn spoke with the caustic self-assurance that she had won. Jaquilyn was victorious in a number of ways. She got their base. She got that smug joy from usurping victory. She also dashed Brianna's hopes that Day 1 had been a misunderstanding. No. Jaquilyn enjoyed this. She enjoyed winning at all costs. On this island, we are all stepping stones for these...monsters.

Suddenly, violence erupted. Brianna was sick of hearing these frenzied actions bolt through the already tense room. Each time she heard a sharp demand, or the gasp of a frightened friend, it brought Brianna back to reality. She didn't want to be here. In her mind, she could be back home, carving out sugar cookies for the GSA Holidays Bake Sale. Or maybe she'd discussing health reform for low income families with her father. She could be anywhere else she wanted to be but here.

However, the sound of the wooden stool smacking into its target snapped Brianna into the reality. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't something that Brianna could just shut her eyes and drown out. There was a real chance that Joachim Lovelace, a boy she'd had shared homeroom with in tenth grade, could shoot her to death.
Time skidded to a crawl. Words became incomprehensibly drawn out sounds that held no meaning. If there was a god, he, she or it was giving Brianna the time to strategize. The time to stop thinking like a peacekeeper and start thinking like a survivalist.

With a momentary distraction, Ben Ward had granted the group so much more than Brianna would have immediately given him credit for. He gave them a chance to escape. Diplomacy would get them nowhere, but sheer distance would.
With his lead, Brianna charged for the door. In one arm, she scooped the nearest duffle bag, a bag marked B027. Brianna's personal belongings were closer to the door, closest to Chris Harlin. In the other hand, she held a gauze handled ice skating blade.

Unph Brianna gained traction and bolted for the large wooden doors that led to the back of the clubhouse. There was some distance between where Brianna started her stampede and the exit, yet the girl approached with uncharacteristic speed.
The door's hinges were hidden, meaning that they opened outwards. It would prove to be a lucky break, as it could enable her to strike the center of the interlocked doors. In a normal setting, Brianna would have thought to turn the handle. Running off of adrenaline, however, the door stood as an obstacle, one her body reacted to by force.

Slam

Brianna's weight barreled into the door, splintering the affixed lock off of the door. Sheer momentum had enabled the one-hundred-forty pound girl to smash open the locked wooden doors. That same momentum, however, didn't end with barreling through the door. The girl found herself propelling through the now opened doorway and onto the harsh pebble walkway.
On instinct, Brianna caught her fall with her right arm. On instinct, Brianna raised her bladed weapon close to her neck, missing cutting herself fatally by mere inches. The pebbled embedded themselves into Brianna's forearm.

"C'mon guys. T-The Lighthouse. Back to the base." Brianna hoisted herself up and lead the charge. Brianna checked back once during her escape. Everyone she could immediately count had followed her stead. Brianna, the girl who had paid next to no attention on the walk over to the clubhouse, had somehow placed herself in charge of leading the group through the labyrinth of trees.
Brianna had no idea why she'd thrown out the fictional base at the time. While consciously, Brianna could only think of escape, unconsciously, her mind was fixated on survival. The lighthouse was a diversion ploy.
----

In actuality, it had only been minutes since the group narrowly escaped from their certain deaths, though for Brianna, she felt like it had been hours of aimless running. Her thighs tried to lock up on her. Her heart pleaded with her to stop. Brianna could feel her body slowly giving up and retiring, yet her resolve remained. She couldn't stop, not until everyone was safe.

Brianna began to trek clumsily. Her movements bounced her from side to side of the narrow labyrinth of trees. She collided nearly a dozen times with side swiping thorn bushes and jagged stumps from disturbed trees. Her legs were coated in cuts and scrapes. She stopped abruptly. Was she going to say something? Was there a plan after all of the visceral animalistic urge to flee? What was going to come out of her mouth?

Vomit. More specifically, a bout of heaving. Adrenaline had died, leaving only anxiety to course through Brianna now. The girl lurched over onto her knees, ejecting the little water she'd consumed over the past two days.
She hated her weakness. There was no time to give up, not when they could still be chased. No matter how much Brianna wanted to sprawl her body out on the cool, dew-kissed forest bed, she couldn't let the group down like this.

"W-we're almost there. We just have to keep moving on." Brianna faked certainty. She hadn't been sure who'd followed her, or who'd been left behind. The idea of looking back filled Brianna with intense anxiety. She could only focus on one thing right now: escape.

((Brianna Battaglia continued in Cala Luna))

Run.

Joachim was there. With the gun. That was a shotgun.

Run.

A chair flew through the air. Brianna was already barreling out the door.

Run.

Matt ran.

((Matt Vartoogian continued in Solo Queue))

No, no, come on. They'd gotten rid of Theo, everything was going to calm down now, all the tension in the room was going to melt down like a forgotten popsicle. Things were supposed to be chill now.

And Joachim fucking Lovelace, and what kind of goddamn name is that anyway, was not supposed to be coming up with a shotgun like some swaggering asshole. Once again, you just can't trust a loser.

But it was all still going to be fine. Because Joachim was just another dumb shit, and he wasn't big-balled like he thought he was. He was just another scared kid, and he didn't have the sack to shoot Jesse Jennings or any member of his group. So fuck you Joachim, and you too and your silly little grin Jaq (once again, you just can't trust a girl who doesn't put out), because this was Jesse's clubhouse, he had dibs on this bitch, and Jesse was going to hold his ground until you stand down. He was. He was.

But Ben Ward threw a chair, and honestly? Jesse'd have to thank the guy at some point, because it meant that he did not have to test that little theory.

Brianna grabbed Theo's bag, and that meant that Brianna was the girl Jesse was going to follow. He grabbed hers alongside his own, and called out to Chris and the others as Jaq started screaming something behind them.

"Let's go, man! Anyone gets separated, find people, we'll meet back together!"

And when they got off the island, those assholes they'd left behind? They weren't invited.

(Jesse Jennings continued in Pianificazione)

A medium sized object was flying at them from above.

Jaquilyn had plenty of time to prepare. The battle cry followed by the pounding footsteps had been enough of an alert for her to look up and plant her feet. She was ready to jump in either direction to dodge the spear or axe or whatever sharp object was coming her way. Instead, the barbarian flung a chair. It rolled slightly in the air as it flew at her. Too fast to leap out of the way, probably. Even if she were to dodge it, Joachim had showed questionable agility the first day in the woods. One of them was taking a hit, and he had the gun.

If Sensei Pete had taught Jaquilyn anything, it was blocks. She'd failed two, almost three, belt tests due to half-assed blocks. She'd been mad and she'd been frustrated when told her form was lazy and breakable, but he had been right. After barely moving on to the green belt, she took his advice more seriously. She understood why he had tried so hard to get through her thick skull and show her the importance of blocks.

Her arms raised over her head. An X block would be a safe choice. No opponent was too close, and she needed at least the strength of both arms. Her forearms locked protectively in front of her. She looked between her elbows, swallowing her desire to flee and tightening her core. She squeezed with her stomach muscles as much as she could, knowing that this may be the most important block of her life.

If there was a moment she'd trained for, it was this one. If she was anything like one of the character's in the games Don used to play, she would be able to catch the furnishing with one hand and fling it back while posing provocatively... Blocking would be enough.

The wooden leg struck her left arm near the elbow first. It hurt less than she expected, but enough to make her flinch. The wicker back then hit her right arm, a little higher up. More pain. She clenched her fists and grunted, bringing her arms closer to herself to try and cushion the impact. She took a stumbled step backwards. The full force struck her as the next leg impacted at her wrist. She gritted her teeth. The wood was more solid than the bare hands or gloves she's been hit with before. Even the occasional simple board chop ceased to sting, but this was different. She couldn't totally counter the momentum the chair had picked up, she needed to redirect it.

Taking another step back, Jaq's arms raised, briefly exposing her face for a moment. She screamed as she slammed them down. The light chair smacked into the ground. The door slammed shut as some of the members left. There was blood on her left arm. Her bones throbbed. Her arms hung down at her sides, she wanted to cradle them, but they both hurt too much to bend.

She was lucky he'd yelled before the throw. She was lucky the backside of the chair had come at her first. But more than lucky, she was feeling pure rage.

"Get. The fuck. Out."

Despite her anger, she didn't want to kill him. She hadn't wanted to kill Carmina either, that was just a necessary... deed. Killing Ben now would reset the clock, but waste the time Carmina's life had granted them. He needed to leave before she changed her mind. She grabbed her more achy arm with her better one, feeling the blood on her hand.

"Now!"

For a short moment, Joachim was not sure what to do. Well, actually he wasn't enterly sure all the time, but this was a special situation. He heard the battle cry, and he noticed that something was just flying at them. For some very little time, he remained frozen in his position. In that very little time, Joachim's eyes widened as every part of his body tensed up. His knuckles even became white as his grip on the gun became stronger.

Then he noticed that Jaq was hit. Joachim changed his aim, now focusing on the guy at the top of the stairs. He was dimly aware of the fact that the other three students were fleeing, but that thought was nothing more than a short-lived breeze. Other matters were more important.

Jaq told the guy to flee, more or less politely. Joachim understood every word she said. But, somehow, they did not register. Get. The fuck. Out. Now. He knew the meaning, but felt so distant. As if Joachim was reading a book in which one of the characters yelled.

And then as if someone with a gun in that book just started firing.

Joachim swaggering in was the final nail in the coffin for the clubhouse. Like many good ideas, it had been one that had started with the best of intentions but when you are outgunned like that, Chris knew better than to start something. The evidence of the gun in Joachim's hands made things slowly click into place, gears whirring as Chris realised that they never had intentions of helping Carmina. And Chris had been ready to believe them, ready to listen to something  that made sense to him. When someone waves a gun around, you do exactly what they say.

Evidently, Ben did not do the same as he flung the chair at Jaq, making the girl defend herself. Momentarily stunned by the turn of events, the sudden exit of Brianna and Jesse soon had Chris snatching his bag up and following the pair out of the door, air filling his lungs as his trainers pounded the floor, the sound of conflict behind his ears. Following behind his apparent allies, Chris headed off to what he thought would be safety.

((Chris Harlin continued in Pianificazione))

Ben watched as the stool flew true and hit Jaquilyn. In the chaos, his companions started to run out of the room, and Ben could tell quite easily that Jaquilyn was quite shaken by the impact. That was a damn good throw.

He didn't have long to bask in his accomplishment.

Jaquilyn yelled at him, and Ben could see Joachim moving up toward the stairs. "Oh fuck," he muttered to himself, and whipped around to the big double doors and started running.

The gunshots rattled through the air, like heavy hail on his football helmet. He ran and ran back the way he came and out the clubhouse and into the woods. As long as he got as far as fucking possible from that crazy bitch and her trigger-happy friend.

Now how the hell was he supposed to find the others?

((Benjamin Ward continued elsewhere))

And suddenly, silence resumed.

Joachim managed to completely regain control of his senses. He realized that everybody was gone. Everybody but him and Jaq.

He stared at the gun he used. He was not enterly sure what just happened. He just knew that he did not like it in hindsight.

Carefully he descended the stairs to lay the gun on the coach. Then he resolved not to use it again if not absolutely necessary. At least with his knife he still felt an attachment to the world around him.

Joachim kneeled over. He needed relaxation, sleep, if only for a bit. Just a hour or two.

[Joachim Lovelace, continued in The Fox, The Wolf, and The Lamb]

The coward upstairs fled. Jaquilyn stared hard at his back as he retreated back. She wanted to go up and chase him. Tell her to leave them alone. They weren't bad people. They weren't murderers. He didn't understand. None of them could understand.

They weren't like Theo. That little shit wasn't even human anymore. He'd just slithered out of their grasp, probably off to murder another student. They weren't like Jesse and Chris. They knew this was hell. A bird would come in a thousand years to take away a grain of sand. If they died, whatever awaited them would be far worse than this. They didn't understand the circumstances. Not if they were still clean.

Joachim laid the gun down on the couch. It had just been fired for the first time. They'd stolen it the day before, and it had sang its first shots just moments ago. What the hell was she doing. She wasn't a fucking killer. She stole that gun, but she didn't have the nuts to use it. She called the hit on Carmina, but couldn't finish her. Fucking shades of grey, why couldn't anything just be easy?

She stared at the gun. The end of it was probably hot to the touch. It would burn the top of her mouth and her tongue. The metal would probably taste like her braces had for the first week, uncomfortable, foreign, dangerous. Maybe that, and a hint of gun powder. Would it hurt? Did it hurt others? Was that... better?

She couldn't know.

She stood, shell shocked for another minute. Every step towards the gun stopped itself as a jerk. She got herself to stand still. The gun was so deadly and so grey. It had fired, but it hadn't killed. So very grey.

((Jaquilyn Locke continued in The Fox, The Wolf, and the Lamb))