Survival Of The Fittest

By the time the others had figured it out- whatever little credit it was they deserved for playing catch up- Kelly had already moved on. She'd lingered in the direction of the pile up of bags they'd shared for the sake of convenience. More specifically, she'd correctly identified the wrong bag numbering and had left it a bit lighter. She'd left him plenty of the gun's ammo- she just felt like she could find better use for that one specific tube of bright colors and explosive potential.

It had taken them long enough to come to her side of the story. 'The bitch' had to die, then? In this one, particular, extenuating circumstance? No no, really, the bitch always had to die. It was an inevitable artifact of the pettiness of humanity, of the value of one life over the many.

All in all they hadn't even found a particularly compelling reason? Killing because someone had to die was far less noble than killing because someone had to live. Honestly. Preservation of something beautiful, something worthy, that was a true call to action. Action to power, power to control. Control became winning.

Poor Mercy. Kelly still regretted that it simply had to happen as it had. There'd been no other way.

Kelly readjusted the grip on her slightly heavier bag, staring up into the shadow-streaked canopy Danya disguised himself with while their group coalesced around a cause she was increasingly unconvinced by. She wore the bag with one shoulder, strap narrowly avoiding sliding off fabric and onto bare skin. She was running out of clothes that could protect her from blisters. That could protect her decency too- she was under little illusion that she could sell bra and panties amazoness as a style. This island had but one Lucas A for the easy pickings.

"Valerija..." Kelly noted that she'd pronounced it right where Tonya very much had not, in so many different and failing ways.

"Some kind of Eastern European. Did well in classes, worked in charities."

She shrugged, sent it at one of two of Tonya's non-photogenic sides.

"No obvious motive. No obvious excuse, either."

Kelly went off like she still belonged here and the bullshit she was spewing lined up with that delusion. Was she trying to piss her off or did she come by all that uselessness honest? Well figure what she'd offered Lucas so far: a clean conscience and a couple frigid holes, if he was lucky some moves she picked up narcing hookups at school dances? From how that was working out she shouldn’t expect nothing special, but unless she blacked out at the end there Tonya was sure she didn't ask for Vallelujah's life story. Oh, she was an A Student? Volunteered at a soup kitchen or something? Tonya rolled her eyes in the machete's reflection.

"Cool, cool, rest of the admissions board rolls up I'll pass that on. While we wait though, what’s she look like? What’s she wearin’? Who’s she know? Y’know, stuff that might help us find her?””

She shouldn’t be surprised Kelly had zilch to offer. Lucas hadn’t said nothing either though, what was up with that? Way he’d been he might turn up the water works again which she wasn’t ready to deal with yet. He deserved it. No challenge. Tonya wasn’t the one for it though. Kelly wasn’t either. Matter of fact the only person she could think of who was always down to handle him was still asleep in the stable and she wasn’t gonna get up any time soon.

Mm. Definitely couldn’t look at him after thinking something like that.

"I know what she looks like," he stated, emotionless and mechanically. "Five-foot-seven, pale, blonde, prominent nose, high cheekbones, pointed chin. Can't say what she is wearing since she has probably changed by this point."

After dispassionately rattling off what physical details of Valerija he could remember, he collected his shotgun then walked over to collect his bag. Everything felt so numb write now he was barely processing what his body was doing. It was like he was just going through the motions. Even as he listed off Val's features, it was like a machine giving and output when given the appropriate input. After gathering his things he stared off in the direction of the stables. Silently with a emotionally dead expression, thoughts ran through his mind. Thoughts of what to do next, of what happened the last few days, of things said and done. He went through memories, going back and retracing his steps. Eventually his internal trip down memory lane lead to one place.

Here, at the stables.

The first day he woke up here, determined to find his girlfriend. Yesterday he returned here and found her, just not in the way he had hoped. And now he has awakened here once more, and learned the names of those who took the ones he loved away from him.

"You know, when I first woke up on this island, it was here."

He lost her.

"Camilla Bell and Max Rudolph were here too. Told Max that most choices people make are based on fear. Briefly mentioned that even monsters in fiction were based on fears, and lately... I've been thinking about that a lot."

He lost Camille. The only person who he really wanted to find here.

"Monsters are really just metaphors for fears; reflections of reality. For example, vampires are aristocratic, upper-class beings that live by parasitically leeching off the lifeblood of the poor and exploit people using their influence. They, as a whole, represent a very real but vague social antagonism."

He lost Beryl, who was a good friend.

"Werewolves are representative of man's more bestial, violent nature. Aliens invasions are the fear of being attacked by a more powerful, foreign power. Hell, even slasher villains like Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger are suppose to represent Ronald Reagan. But then there are zombies..."

He lost Roxie, his best friend.

"Zombies are a simple metaphor. They are simply death. A lot of people like to brush zombies as not being scary because they are slow, dumb creatures, but rarely do they ever really stop and think of the existential implication of a zombie."

He lost so much, and he will likely lose more before this ordeal is over.

"Inevitability. The inevitability of death. Zombies are slow because like death, even if it is not right away it will eventually get you. The majority of humans who have ever lived are dead, and zombie seek tirelessly to add the living to their number. Never stopping, never faltering."

He gripped his shotgun tightly in his hands, slowly turning his gaze. He moved it from the stables, to Tonya, to Kelly, before landing on the jungle ahead.

He had much to lose, but at the same time very little. He grew bitter, he grew angry. The ones who took away his girlfriend and his friends... They were still around. What right did they have? What right did they have to kill the ones he loved and they get to live?

"So no matter how much you fight, or run, or hide, or squirm... Death will find you, and you will be added to the dead."

They had to pay. It was all their fault. He couldn't let them get away with this. He wouldn't allow it. They could not kill so selfishly and then be allowed to walk away. He would not forget this, he would not forgive this. This pain in his heart compelled him. The pain stirred and spit hatred out like hot ichor. It demanded to be healed in one way: blood.

For a time, Lucas had been reluctant to consider violence as an option. It had scared him so much. But now? He was truly beyond the point of caring. Maybe it was selfish of him, but he couldn't let Camille's killer get away with what they've done. Couldn't let Roxie's go either. Their butcher's bill is high enough. They brought this on themselves.

"Come with me or don't. I don't care which."

With that he walked away, not even bothering to look back at Tonya or Kelly as he disappeared into the brush.

((Lucas Abernathy continued in Split))

"He got one thing right."

Kelly didn't watch him go. She observed Tonya's mood as reflected off the pretense of her blade. She stayed stubbornly still, saying nothing more.

Huh.

In the middle of all that nerdy bullshit Lucas spat some teeth. It shocked her enough he was already stepping before she caught up. Here she was digging in her heels for another fight so that maybe they could get something done today and he was already set to go.

Hard to say whether getting laid or getting blue balled did more to give him a damn spine. They'd figure it out the next few days. Real scientific sample size. For now, fuck it, they were riding. Tonya grabbed her bag and looked back at Kelly. "Yeah?" No scowl this time. A smirk though? That looked right on her about now.

"Save it for somebody who gives a shit what you think."

She was feeling better already.

((Tonya Collins Concluded In I Tried To Drink And So I Drowned))

In return, a nod that could easily be ignored. Opinion stowed away, as requested.

Monsters, as Lucas had said, were reflections of reality. Just that much: the form of reality sans substance. Ethereal... like a Twitter clapback, it didn't have to exist as anything more than a moment to be forgotten. Monsters under the bed vanished when you checked up on them.

Kelly, she didn't vanish.

((Kelly Nguyen continued elsewhere))