Survival Of The Fittest

(Tyler Lucas continued from Lonesome)

So they went, side by side, trudging on with the occasional wary glance exchanged. But their guns remained at their sides as they roamed the town, searching for any sign of Travis Webster, tramping on until they wound their way towards a faintly stinking bridge of long concrete, as the hot sun beat down upon their heads.

((Virgil Jefferson-Davis continued from Lonesome))

Virgil would have thought that having a travel companion would have made things a bit more lively, but Travis wasn't exactly the talkative type. Neither was he right now, either. They didn't have much to talk about. They were there for one reason, to find Travis. Well, Tyler seemed to only care about that; Virgil's other plans swirled in his head to fast to comprehend. He thought through how he'd respond to the major threats if he saw them, how he'd modify his approach to mollify those who had not yet killed.

Virgil found himself right back at the bridge where Mara had gotten away. He didn't need the space to remind him of his failures. He could feel a deep-seated flame rising up within him again, the same burning that had been there for so long at this point. Virgil couldn't remember what it was like not to have the burning there; it'd been there continuously since Michelle had died, eating away at his spirit.

Or maybe the spark had ignited something even sooner. It was hard to tell.

Virgil and Tyler still hadn't run into Travis. Virgil hoped they'd see him soon. He felt like he was about to run onto the pitch.

((Hansel Williams, Tomorrow is the most important thing in life))

It seemed like whatever Hansel did now didn't really matter, in the long run. Each day, the game grew closer to its conclusion, the players circling and tightening around each other, crawling closer and closer to the big finale. The inevitability weighed heavy on him, made him drag his feet and constantly roll his shoulders due to tension that crept into his muscles whenever he found himself thinking about it. His shoulder was adorned with fresh bandages, his back to the wall of the tunnel entrance as he stared out over the hill, meaning he was as prepared as he was going to be if someone would arrive.

He was aware that people were killing, building their arsenal until the big finish. He was aware that things were becoming desperate - the Maddies and Chris' of the world were pointing guns more easily, yelling louder, threatening quickly.

And here he was, making reeds out of grass.

The Winchester was sitting across his lap, fully loaded - he'd at least checked that much of it - but otherwise nearly untouched. It was too much like his dad's rifle - all old wood and varnish and bolt action. The FAMAS was against his shoulder, and he unconsciously kept touching it, fondling it - making sure it was still with him.

It had seen him through so much of the past eight days, where the Winchester was nothing but a dead boy's gun.

He plucked another blade of grass, folded it in his hands, blew into it - making a long, shrill note that echoed in the tunnel. He smiled a little at the sound, remembering when he used to do this all the time during a lull.a

The smile died when he saw two boys approach.

He slid his back up the wall, rising with one hand grabbing the FAMAS, letting the Winchester clatter to the floor as he rose to full height.

Quietly, his finger slipped the safety to burst - a quiet, decisive snick.

"'Lo, there," he called.

((Travis Webster continued from Hortensius))

After he'd finally finished laughing, Travis had quickly attempted to fix up his many wounds. He'd also tried washing most of the blood off his face and clothes, but he'd done a poor job overall. Maybe it was because it didn't matter to him anymore. As a matter of fact, by this point he didn't consider these things to be a problem. He FINALLY had a gun. A shotgun, nonetheless.

And so it came to be that Travis was now walking through town with a shotgun over his shoulder, full of newly aquired self confidence. He didn't know where he was going, he didn't know what he was going to do... All he knew was that he felt like a badass with this big gun in his hands, and he wanted to go on the offensive with it.

His chipper mood even made him forget about the pain emanating from the multitude of poorly stiched together wounds all over his body. He ignored the fact that he could no longer move two of his fingers, which by now were probably heavily infected. Hell, he didn't even stop to think about the dizziness and slight blurred vision from what was most likely a concussion. Not even the fever could bring his mood down. He found himself whistling for the first time in several days. He whistled Robin Hood, he whistled the Game of Thrones intro, hell, he even whistled "Wannabe" by the fucking Spice Girls.

Because nothing else really mattered now. Travis fucking Webster had a gun.

And he was about to reach the overpass.

(Carlos Lazaro continued from "Though We May Not Survive It...")

Tyler. He knew it. Carlos swore he saw him pass by the playground. He was right on the money.

But, like always, Carlos was too late. He caught Tyler off at the pass, which meant he was standing at the top of the bridge instead of at the entrance of the tunnel.

Fuck him for trying, right? At least he wasn't standing in the middle of a mexican standoff. Small favors.

From his spot over the bridge, Carlos could see over the entrance to the tunnel. Tyler was with someone else, Virgil Something-Davis. Didn't know much about the guy. But he wasn't the center of the attention. The Yokel was. Carlos could see him too, though just barely. Guy had his back up against the wall. But Hansel Williams stuck out like a sore thumb, from the cradle to the grave, and eight days of rot wouldn't change a goddamn thing.

Carlos sniffed. Shit. Tyler was dead. Waste of breath, sprinting after him. Why did Carlos even bother?

Of course he knew why, don't be stupid. Ever since the incident at the lighthouse, he hoped he would run into the guy again. And when Patton name dropped him, there was no doubt. Carlos had things to ask him, important things.

But yeah, no way that was happening. Yokel's totally a Calvert. Carlos wasn't sticking around to watch Tyler and Davis get drilled full of holes. Alice filled that quota, thank you very much.

Carlos pounded his palm against his forehead. Jesus, he couldn't let this happen, could he. But he didn't know what to do. What could he do?

The answer to that came in the form of Travis Webster. And, oh man, he had a gun too, coming to join the gun part. Fuck that shit. Even if he still had his axe, fuck that shit.

Snap snap. Carlos waved, 'You, down below.' When Tyler noticed, if Tyler noticed, Carlos would sneer, cock his head and a jut of his arm. 'Someone's joining the party. Be careful.'

Tyler could have killed Alice. He could have killed him. But Tyler didn't, and that was all the prerogative Carlos needed. And if Tyler didn't 'get it', or if he was too busy with John Wayne Gacy to look up, that was fine. At least Carlos tried.

But he sure as hell didn't want to be anywhere near the firing range. So when he was finished, he shouldered his bag and booked it.

(Carlos Lazaro continued in Kill All Motherfuckers.)

"Lo, there."

Words floated out of the shimmering sun along with a dangerous snick, and Tyler jerked his gun upright as Hansel Williams drifted out of the heat like a ghost. But when Tyler's squinting eyes found Hansel, a grin cracked his face, and the grip on the gun relaxed.

"Williams," he said, and then let his eyes flicker towards Virge.

"Fucker might kill us," Tyler said. "But he ain't a fuckin' hypocrite."

A new voice. "Someone's joining the party." Tyler's eyes flickered up to its source--dim shadow above, barely visible--and then back to Williams. But his grin was flickering too.

"Mind if Virge takes a look around?" he asked. "See who's comin' to dinner?"

((I'm assuming that Tyler/Virgil/Hansel are on the ground, and that Travis is approaching from above the bridge. PM me if that's not correct))

Tyler beat Virgil to raising his gun at Hansel, but Virgil's gun shot up quickly. Hansel was a threat. He'd killed innumerable times. Tyler recognized it, too. Just pull the trigger and...

Who was shouting? Carlos? Someone else was coming to join? Shit, that could only end poorly.

"Yeah, I'll go hunting. You keep this fucker in place. Drill him full of bullets if he does anything."

Virgil held his gun on Hansel as he moved up the hill to get on top of the bridge, and lowered it once it was apparent that Hansel wasn't moving. Time to see what asshole was joining the party.

Were it another time and another place, Hansel might have laughed. Tyler and Virgil made an... interesting twosome, and the way they spoke about him as if he wasn't directly in front of them, standing and holding two weapons could have coaxed a chuckle. It was almost like Aurora again.

Hansel didn't respond to Tyler's query, just held the FAMAS in his direction, keeping his gaze on the bigger threat while Virgil moved away. Not too long ago, he had sworn that he was going to kill Tyler, had felt a crazed, pent up rage to end him.

Seeing him here, now, armed and with an ally, brought back some of the anger. Shadows of rage, helplessness, hopelessness came to the forefront of his mind. Panic as Tyler charged at him, wild shooting, losing his medkit, losing his sense of security.

Mildly losing his mind.

Much had changed in eight days. Like Joe, like Chris and Maddie, Hansel had adapted to the island.

So he stood, watched Tyler, and was completely... apathetic. He didn't feel anything for the big boy and his gun, his mean expression or the way he talked like he was out of some TV movie. He didn't feel a continuation of the rage and fear that he'd once struck, the panic he'd triggered.

He watched Tyler, and knew that he could - and would - kill him on the spot without hesitation.

He watched Tyler, and understood that this was who he was now.

Suddenly, noise. Explosive gunfire from above. Hansel reacted, dropping to one knee, kept Tyler sighted, and squeezed the trigger reflexively.

((James Wade continued from What Comes After))

The walk back into the town hadn't taken James too long. For once, he was glad that the island was so eerily quiet. While it had disturbed him a little after he'd arrived, James knew now that silence meant safety. Keeping hidden would keep him alive, not running around and trying to take people down. Pushing his long hair back, he moved slowly down the street towards the overpass where he'd left his bag. James wondered if it was still there, or if he'd ever even dropped it on the bridge in the first place. Not that he had any idea where to else to look for it. He'd been moving at a fairly quick pace, and with any luck he'd be back before Maynard woke up. As he approached, a loud noise from nearby made him jump.

Gunfire.

While his first thought was to bolt and run, James' curiosity led him forward, creeping along towards the bridge to get a better view of the situation. If there was a gunfight going on, then perhaps he could snatch a weapon along with his bag once it was over and head back to Maynard. That'd make his trip worthwhile, at least. He cleaned his glasses on the hem of his shirt before peering closer. There were several people around the bridge, all presumably armed. James took slow, deep breaths to calm himself down; he couldn't afford to have another panic attack at a time like this.

He'd wait here for now and let the others fight it out. No need to put myself in any real danger, right?

He was slowly coming up towards a bridge. He spotted another boy who quickly scurried away. He considered chasing after, but decided against it. No need to tire himself further now that he had his new weapon. He yawned and began whistling another tune.

As he scanned his environment, he made eye contact with Virgil who'd just come up from the underpass. He saw the recognition in the boy's eyes. He would've laughed if it hadn't been for the fact that the boy was now raising his gun.

Oh fuuu-...

Gunfire erupted. Travis threw himself towards the ground, hoping that Virgil would be as inaccurate with that thing as Travis would be with the shotgun. Virgil had had a quick reaction, even from someone who'd been on the island for several days. Travis fleetingly wondered what had caused this aggression, other than just fear of an infamous killer. Those thoughts where violently erased when he hit the ground, however. With a pained grunt he rolled around and fired back. Virgil had thrown himself behind the sidewall of the bridge, so all Travis had done was shoot out a piece of it.

Virgil peaked out from his hiding spot and returned fire, whilst Travis desperately crawled towards the cover of the nearest wall, all while thinking the same words over and over again.

Shit shit shit fuck fuck fuckity fuck

He finally reached the wall, now being at an angle where neither of the two boys could see each other. He stood up, pointed his shotgun, and slowly began creeping forward.

Gunfire.

Tyler's eyes flickered, then darted right back to Hansel as the latter dropped to his knee, aimed the gun Tyler had eluded once before, days and days ago.

In the fragile milliseconds it took for Hansel to squeeze his trigger, Tyler's grin split his face in two.

He dashed to one side, bobbing and weaving like a psychopath as his own gun burst into piercing fire. One stumbling step, and then he was off and moving, firing as he ran.

"Fuckin' right, Williams!" he howled, through the rattle of gunfire. "Just like last time! Don't you dare fuckin' hold back!"

Three shots when he saw Travis, and another five as the other boy scurried to his own cover. None of them seemed to hit, each round whizzing by the intended target. Shit.

Virgil stayed crouched, rotating around the back of his cover a bit. It didn't offer him much space, the width of the wall being no more than several inches wider than his shoulder. He could maybe move back a bit to create some space, maybe down the hill a little, even, but he didn't have much room to work with.

Virgil had shifted outwards, away from Travis, and had popped in a new mag. He shot up and at the figure he saw raised above the wall.

((Been given permission to skip))

James was scared.

When a gunfight broke out on the bridge James thought that it would be over in seconds. After all, anyone with a gun on the island would be nearly unstoppable, right? As bullets whizzed past, he realised that this wasn't just some killer racking up a couple more kills; they were all armed and dangerous. James began to wonder why he'd been stupid enough to go this far just to find a damn bag. Perhaps they were fighting over it on the bridge. Not likely. There's barely anything left in there.

Sighing, he chanced a quick peek out of cover. Even with his glasses James could barely make out who shooting who out there. He had to leave. There was no way he was going to die over a half-empty bag so some prick had a chance of winning a meal like Maynard had; James had no intention of letting his death equal a bucket of chicken. He took a deep breath, and burst from his cover in a mad dash.

Okay, gonna make it, gonna make it, gonna make it, gonna-

As James turned for a moment to look back on the bridge, something struck him in the lower chest. He tripped over his own feet and came crashing to the ground. His glasses fell and clattered away from him. At first, he thought he'd just gotten a stitch from running and fallen over. Then he looked down. A dark stain was spreading across his shirt. James slowly reached under his shirt to see what was wrong He blinked in confusion for a moment. Huh, I'm bleeding.

Realisation hit him just as the pain did.

Then he began to scream.

It was akin to being in the eye of a hurricane, the way that the bullets slammed into and ricocheted off of the wall behind Hansel as he remained on one knee, tracking Tyler as he ran. The bigger boy let out some kind of war challenge - something about not holding back - that was barely audible over the booming of gunfire on the bridge, the rat-a-tat of Tyler's machine gun, the bursting staccato of the FAMAS in Hansel's hands.

There was no sympathy for Tyler - no remorse as Hansel pumped the trigger and narrowed his eyes against the sun's glare. Tyler wasn't a Chris or a Joe - he hadn't been warped or changed or distorted by the island and the events that had twisted them all into funhouse mirror reflections of their former selves.

Tyler had arrived on the island damaged, he suspected, as his trigger finger pumped again, shrapnel from a bullet streaking across his right cheek and leaving a stinging, sudden pain that had him jolting, rolling to the side, sliding into a prone position. Tyler had been charging at people who were armed and armored since the very first day.

At this point, it was less about fighting against a pitiable shadow or a haunted spectre.

At this point, it was putting down a rabid dog.

Gunfire erupted below the bridge as well. Travis had no idea what the hell was going on, but he knew he needed to focus on the boy fighting him.

As new shots rang from Virgil's gun, Travis painfully rolled to the right, into the middle of the bridge, letting loose a second blast from the shotgun without looking. The recoil alone was enough for him to grunt.

At least I'll have a new weapon soon.

The blast hit the wall behind where Virgil's head had been when Travis had last seen him. But the boy had been quick, and shifted his location.

"You fucking little shit! You fucking fuck!"

He kept his aim as steady as he could. If Virgil popped up again, he wouldn't be getting away.

"Get out here and face me like a fucking man, you motherfucker!"