Survival Of The Fittest

((Robert Barron continued from Get Cape. Wear Cape. Fly.))

Bobby hadn't gone far. He was still pretty sure he'd seen someone, but it could have just been shadows, could have just been his mind playing tricks on him after so long in this nightmare. If there was someone, though, he had to try to secure their assistance. If they weren't trustworthy, if they were a killer or a misguided player hunter, then he would have to keep them away from the group, either by talking them into leaving or, in the worst case, convincing them he was alone and screaming loudly enough for the others to flee.

He was nervous, but he had to stay strong.

"Hello?" he called. "Is anyone out there?"

The more he thought about it, the more he started to believe it had just been his imagination. He was probably making a fool of himself. In ten minutes, he'd probably be back with Rachel and Neill, working on the plan again.

He had to make sure, though.

Nobody. Nobody and nothing. Bobby had been so sure, too. Just his mind, starting to play tricks on him after all this time. Time to get back to Rachel and Neill.

The only problem was, back wasn't so easy. He'd been pretty sure he was keeping track of them, keeping a grasp on the path, but now he was fumbling blindly through the woods, searching for some trace of them, listening for any sound.

Nothing.

After a few hours, he gave up, sat down, and simply waited. Okay. Okay, he'd lost them, but they'd notice he was gone. They'd come and find him. One party should stay put. That was how it worked. They'd be right along.

But they weren't. Time passed. He spent a miserable night. The announcements were bad, too. There'd been an escape attempt. Everyone had died. The one small miracle was that neither of his teammates had been part of it.

Still, it was time to find them. They clearly weren't going to come across him, so the onus to search once more fell upon his shoulders. He stood, and started walking through the forest, looking for them.

No luck. Well, not precisely no luck. Bobby did come across the place where they had been. He recognized it well. The ground was still scuffed up from their time there. They'd left, but he could only follow the tracks a few feet before they crossed harder ground. Maybe they'd gone to look for him. That wasn't good. It wasn't awful, but it meant his odds of finding them again were very low. More likely, he'd hear about them, hear about them like he had with Ray. Ray, there was a thought. Ray had actually done something to try to escape, though it had cost him his life. He'd at least gotten proactive, in a way Bobby hadn't been able to.

He still had a chance, though. It wasn't too late until he was dead. There was always a way, if he just had the strength and faith to find it.

And then, there it was. The canister. Still in his jacket pocket. He'd had it this whole time. The "weapon" he'd been provided by Danya. The question was, might it be put to other purposes? He'd seen this stuff in science class. If it was still pressurized and in good condition, he might be able to use it to mess up his collar's electronics. If he froze everything up, maybe he would be able to just pull the thing off.

He'd had this option from the start, had the idea for a long time. Why hadn't he taken it?

But he knew. He was afraid it wouldn't work. He was afraid of the consequences, of being the target of a manhunt like Polanski had. He was afraid of leaving Neill alone, of leaving Rachel unchecked. Fear was the enemy, though, and his friends were gone now. A manhunt would get the pressure off of them, let them come up with something better. He needed to have faith that it would work out. He would do his best. It was all anyone could ask. He wasn't that capable. There wasn't much he could do. What there was, though, he would make sure to do well.

He raised the cylinder, pointed it at the collar. This would have to be quick and simple. No splash. It was dangerous. He was scared. He had to have faith, though, that it would all be for the best.

A quick spray. That was all.

He pushed the button. There was a hiss and that was it. He was having trouble breathing, though. He couldn't feel anything wrong, but he was having trouble breathing. Had it hit his neck?

It didn't matter. He repeated the process on the other side. The collar should be inoperable now. Just a quick yank. He couldn't breathe. He was scared. Faith. It would all turn out alright.

He grabbed the collar, tugged as hard as he could.

He was wrong.