Survival Of The Fittest

((Oakley York continued from The Hyena Laughs))

It was very cold. There was something important Oakley had to do, or to remember, but it was fuzzy and far away. He'd been with someone, or looking for someone. Pockets? It prickled at the edges of his mind, but it was slippery. He couldn't hold onto it. He couldn't hold onto anything. There was a big pressure in his head, like his sinuses were very clogged. Did he have a cold?

Was it morning yet?

---

Oakley York lay sprawled in a field of snow, an arc of blood blossomed around his head. His right cheek was pressed into the snow. The left side of his head was horribly gashed, the flesh shredded around his temple and across the side of his scalp, breaking the ring of his tonsure, and his eye socket and upper jaw were bent and deformed. His breathing was almost imperceptible.

A bloodied rock lay a few feet away from him. Three sets of footprints led to his location. The two sets made by smaller shoes led away again, in different directions.

The soft snowfall had dusted Oakley, the bloody rock, and the footprints, though not enough to hide any of the evidence of what had happened here.

The sun was well past its halfway point. The world was largely still, but in the trees nearby a bird called.

((Mônica ‘Molly’ Oliveira continued from you can't fight crime if you ain't cute.))

Ooh, bird calls! That meant it was peaceful. That meant it was okay to go this way.

So, bad news. They’d lost Micah while heading down the mountain. Possibly because he’d gone ahead, possibly because Molly had been slowing the process by clinging to Lúcio the whole way down. But it could be worse, Molly hadn’t heard him screaming and falling off the mountain, right?

(And she kept thinking about hearing that screaming earlier, and wondering if she’d done the right thing covering for him--)

Good news was that they were off the mountain. Molly was so excited to be on even just seemingly flat ground again – and also the most heavily armed of the three, quite literally, this sword was tiring and off-balance as heck, but what was she going to do, drop it? – that she’d gotten a little in the lead. Okay, also she was cold, and wanted to be indoors. She’d take the hole in the ground at this rate.

Bad news is that Molly could not really tell where they were. Was this the way to the town? To the mines? There was some disagreement on where, exactly, they were going. And all the snow kind of just looked the same.

But it was fine right now. It was fine. There was birdsong. It was fine.

That was blood on the ground. Blood surrounding the head of a body on the ground, but the blood was so vivid against the white that she noticed it first.

It wasn’t fine.

Still some fair distance away from the body, and still ahead of Lúcio and Mitch, Molly came to a standstill.

…

“Ummmm…?!” Molly said, voice pitching upwards as she raised a hand to point. Her other hand gripped on the sword, still hugged close to her chest with the point facing downwards.

"YO! MOLLY, what seems to be the..."

.....

"...oh."

((Mitch McDuffy continued from You can't fight crime if you ain't cute))

Mitch was uncharacteristically silent as he caught up with Molly, the sight before him chilling the otherwise hot-blooded young man to the bone.

He had played his fair share of violent video games over the years. Performed numerous bloody fatalities, chainsawed his way through armies of flesh eating zombies, gunned down hundreds of enemy soldiers in countless war games. All of which paled in comparison to the relatively mundane image of a still body in the snow that lay before him, a stark splash of cold water to his face that made the true horror of his situation abundantly clear in an instant.

A lot of players would see the sight before them as a good thing. Less competition to worry about, a potential threat nullified without even having to lift a finger, maybe even some free loot assuming there was anything worth nabbing still left on the body.

Alas, Mitch was never one for tactics and strategy, instead often going with whatever came most naturally to him.

"Sh-shit, HEY BRO! YOU OKAY OUT THERE?" he'd call out, quickly scrambling out into the open snowfield, using that digging bar as leverage as he made his way over towards the injured boy without a care for his own wellbeing.

There was something else that was red.

((Lúcio was here now too.))

"Mmmphh!!"

Lúcio had been lagging behind his sister and Mitch, but he rushed ahead of both of them the moment he saw the scene, once more pulling the hood of his oversized parka off of his head.

"Ah merda, is that a dead body?!"

Lúcio grew up in Salem, and he knew almost everyone at school, and he couldn't think of anyone that would be willing to do something like this, especially so soon. The sun had barely even risen into the sky by the time this happened. Now they had to identify him and start a murder mystery subplot that would likely take the whole rest of the daylight hours...

Actually, wait, hold on, he read something before about how people can look dead but might not be dead. It's why pigs with badges and doctors always check for a pulse, even when someone's head had been cleaved in two. Guess he should prooobably verify Oakley is actually dead before anything else.

"Mitch, man, of course he's not okay! You see the angle his jaw's at?"

Lúcio crouched down, pulling the sleeve of his parka back and placing his fingers on the boy's neck, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"Aye aye, he's still alive!" Lúcio exclaimed. "Either of you know first aid for a head wound?"

Focused as Lúcio was on Oakley, he didn't notice Marian nearby.

Oakley felt far away from himself. There was something important. It was right at the edge of his mind. It was more real than anything else, certainly more than his senses, which fired off unclear and contradictory messages. All he knew was it was cold, and it was lighter than it had been. Was it morning? He couldn't wake up. Something important was on the edge of his mind. He'd been doing something, or with someone. His pockets? Had he overslept?

Something changed. There wasn't anything specific that signaled it, but for a while things were one way and then they were another. There were hands again. Something about his pockets? He couldn't remember. There was something important that had happened, or that he had to do. Someone was poking at him.

Oakley let out a harsher breath, ragged and audible.

---

Closer inspection would reveal that, aside from the clothes he wore, Oakley had nothing on him. He still had his mismatched fingerless gloves—left black, right red—but the ostentatious zebra stripe hat he'd worn on the bus was missing. But it wasn't just that. His bags were nowhere to be seen. Not a scrap of equipment or personal belongings remained.

Even his wallet was gone.

Both Mitch and Lúcio had decided that this was something to deal with, and not run away from. Okay. Okayokayokay that made sense, running away would be cold, who would do that? Lúcio running in there and keeping his shit together. Okay coolcoolcool--

“I don’t know… can’t we just… um, bandage it? I don’t know?” Molly’s voice had remained at a higher, panicked pitch.

She can’t look. She didn’t want to notice who it was, no matter who. As long as she didn’t know, she could pretend it was just… just fake…

She had shut her eyes in the briefing the moment that the gum-chewing woman had tapped her pistol against Mr. Pérez’s head, she’d only heard the sound, done the same for Mr. Ramos and the collar, just tried not to look–

She looked away from the body. Not yet a body. But might as well have be--

…

Someone was hiding nearby. Not very well. A red sweater sticking out from behind a tree.

Molly raised the sword, gripping it much like how someone would hold a baseball bat. Pointed up in the air now – weird balance, different from a baseball bat.

“Guys…?” she whispered. “Um… someone’s watching us.”

If they were friendly, she’d put the sword down. If they weren’t, she’d chase the problem away. But that wasn’t on her to decide, she didn’t want it to be on her to decide.

But she had the sword. Why the hell was she the one who’d gotten a sword?

"Oh, fuck..." exclaimed Mitch once he got a closer look at Oakley's face, covering his mouth and glancing away as he felt a pit form in his stomach.

He didn't know a whole lot about Oakley, outside of hearing about how he apparently shaved half his head for charity or something. Mad respect for his dedication aside, the two of them were basically strangers, though he was pretty sure his face wasn't meant to be bent out of shape like that. You didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to piece the scene together, what with the bloodied rock lying right there and everything. Only question was who the hell decided to batter the poor bastard, but the answer to that would have to wait.

Mitch shanked his digging bar into the ground and knelt down beside Oakley's twitching form, wracking his head for any bit of useful information he knew about head injuries and the treatment thereof. The guy must have a big daddy whopper of a concussion, that alone was obvious, though unfortunately the only experience he had regarding concussions were the ones he suffered as a kid who liked climbing trees a lot. And that one time he got donked on the head with a basket ball, he remembered feeling pretty funny after that. All he could really think of was to apply an ice pack or something, make sure to get lots of rest, maybe take some painkillers if you have a headache. 

Now, the brain damage, internal haemorrhaging, misshapen skull and god knows what else? Not a fucking clue, shaking his head as he unzipped his duffle bag.

"We got medkits, right?" he'd ask, rummaging through his bag to bring his out. "Maybe they've got manuals or something?"

He doubted that'd be the case, what with preventing deaths being the literal opposite of what they were meant to be doing, but at the very least there had to be SOMETHING in those medkits that could help?

As he opened the plastic box and started scanning it's contents, Molly whispered something about a newcomer, his head turning to see a girl in red hiding behind a tree. He'd squint his eyes, unsure exactly who it was at this distance, but with a guy's life in their hands he couldn't afford to get too distracted. That said...

"YO!" he'd call out to the girl in red, waving his arm wildly. "YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT TREATING HEAD INJURIES?"

The girl in red didn't know.

She knew you weren't supposed to sleep after head trauma, but nothing about losing conscious, and that you were supposed to go to the hospital, but there were no hospital here. She audibly gulped, her eyes wide and terrified.

Marian just wanted to pass by.

She didn't want to deal with this. She didn't want to deal with any of this.

She almost raised her hands in a 'no leave me alone' motion, but instead she was paralyzed by both fear and impatience. Her eyes were focused on the red of the blood, and the white of the snow. The contrast made her stomach heavy, like she was about to vomit. Her stomach trembled for her, and her eyes finally shut close only to see the image again.

Marian wanted to break into a monologue, but instead she only said three words.

"No, I'm sorry."

Her voice was small.

She almost ran away, but when she reopened her eyes, she found herself paralyzed once again by the body in front of her.

Lúcio hissed under his breath, briefly surprised by the newcomer and glancing in her direction, only to brush it off. It was just Marian, and she was harmless. There were far, far more important matters at hand. Lúcio wouldn't be able to live with himself if he just let a classmate die when he could've done something. Unfortunately for him, however, he knew a bit about how to deal with cuts and concussions, but he didn't know shit about treating such a serious head wound.

Guess it was as good a time to learn as any. Nut up or shut up, Lúcio.

Without wasting a moment's time, Lúcio tossed his bag on the ground and brought out his first aid kit. He sterilized his hands, put on gloves, and began gingerly pressing the skin around the wound. Everything was soft, and bone gave away too easily. Something was definitely fractured, if that wasn't obvious from his eye socket being messed up as it was.

Lúcio gulped, and everything else slipped away. He was dead quiet, neck-deep in the zone.

The minutes flew by as Lúcio got to work. As gently as he could, he began wrapping Oakley's skull in bandages, focusing on the wound, and making sure they were tight, but not tight enough to aggravate what was there. He took care not to move Oakley's neck, courtesy of what he had been taught about concussions, and only moved his head as little as was necessary. He got out an extra sweater he had packed, folding it and placing it under Oakley's head, injury side up. Then he unfolded his emergency blanket, sliding it underneath and wrapping it around Oakley as gingerly as he could, making sure the boy was as warm as possible, and no longer in contact with the snow.

"You're gonna make it man," he whispered. "You ain't gonna die on me today."

Oakley shivered. It was cold and bright. He felt just a little warmer than he had last time he remembered, which had been... when had that been? He couldn't bring it to mind. Time refused to assemble itself into a coherent order. There was something important he'd been thinking about, or meaning to do, or doing, but he couldn't grasp onto it.

The touch was gentler now, and not so concentrated around his pockets. That was comforting. Had the person realized their mistake? Wait, how long had they been here? Where was he? What was going on? He'd overslept, hadn't he? There was something important. He'd been going to see someone, or had been with someone, or there was something he had. Usually he didn't oversleep.

The increased activity roused Oakley somewhat, and for the first time since the newcomers' arrival he opened his eyes, only a little bit. He was very tired, and something was strange. Everything was blurry, and it seemed incredibly, painfully bright. Instantly his eyes narrowed again, kind of, but it did little to filter the brilliance that he'd even been aware of with them closed. It must've been late in the morning. Where was he supposed to be again? He'd had something he had to do.

There was a face above him, and words, but they didn't stick. He didn't know what had been said, but didn't want to admit that. This was confusing, but he couldn't get his thoughts in order. Something was wrong.

His breathing had gone raspier. The person above him was blurry and fuzzy and sometimes doubled, and Oakley couldn't hold onto anything concrete.

Very quietly and slurred, he mumbled: " 'm I late?"

Once Mitch made it clear that he considered the girl friendly, and Lúcio provided no conflicting viewpoint, Molly immediately lowered the sword again. Group decision made. Though it was one that, once she’d heard Marian talk, she agreed with.

Molly chanced a glance back at the two, and saw Lúcio with his hands basically inside the guy’s head. Alright, maybe not, but they might as well have been. Mitch had his first aid kit open, too. They were both focused on it. Dealing with it.

She quickly looked away again.

That’s fine. That meant she didn’t have to.

She started to walk in a wide circle around the body, like she was… doing something. Anything. Occasionally her gaze flickered over to Marian, because that was the easiest person to look at.

Eventually… a voice. Faint. The boy wasn’t dead.

...Was that better? What if he still needed medical help? What if they had to keep taking care of him? What if whoever had come after him came after them? All the sorts of things that Molly did not want to think about, but they couldn’t help but bounce about in her head over and over--

“Lúcio… can you… ask him who did it?”

There. Act vigilant. Pretend she’d looked close enough to even see who it was, even as she resolutely stared at the snowfield around them.

"Shit..." Mitch swore under his breath. Well, it looked like it was down to him and Lucio. A lesser man would buckle under the pressure, freeze up and stare aimlessly like a deer at an oncoming sedan.

Luckily for Oakley, Mitch McDuffy was no lesser man, quickly following Lucio's example by rubbing his sterilized hands together and putting on a pair of gloves. Jobtown, baby.

Saying that, for the most part Lucio did the bulk of the work. He had a slightly better idea on what to do than Mitch did, though Mitch did his best to assist however he could. Whether that was passing him whatever he needed from their medkits, helping move Oakley as gently as humanly possible, or holding onto anything when need be. Whenever Lucio needed an extra pair of hands, Mitch's were there at his beck and call.

He briefly glanced over at Marian, feeling kinda bad that they were just sort of ignoring her, but given the situation they needed to prioritise keeping Oaks alive. He made a mental note to check in on her after they had done what they could, assuming of course that she stuck around.

After several minutes of amateur first aid, there was a slight stirring of life, and a raspy mumble. That was good a good sign, proved there were clogs ticking away in that battered head of his. He wasn't sure if he was conscious enough to start answering questions, but it was better than nothing.

"Eeeasy there bro, you're in good hands now..." he said quietly, before looking to the Oliveiras and back down at himself. "Well... Reasonably good hands, anyway."

Marian was trembling like a newborn foal.

She wasn't sure if she felt better or worst when the boy started to speak because he attention monopoly begot by Oakley was truly a terrifying sight to Marian. She shuddered again, feeling the cold and the light rain for the first time on the island. Every nerves on her body felt raw and vivid, like she could count them individually using a stethoscope.

The paralysis became attraction, a natural progression for Marian. She inched closer to the group, her feet crunching a pattern in the snow.

"Tell me how to help and I'll help," she whimpered as if she were the one to hurt. "I want to help."

Lúcio remained crouched by Oakley's side, breathing a heavy sigh of relief when the boy finally came to. He wasn't going to let the fact that he saved this dude's life get to his head. Okay, maybe he would a little bit. It would make for a good story to tell his kids twenty years from now, at least.

"I'd say you're just in time, bud," he replied to the boy's half-lucid question, before turning to his sister. "In a minute, Molly. He just woke up, yeah? Gonna need some time to acclimate first."

He glanced over to Marian.

"As for you, pop a seat, sister. Insofar as you can help, I think we mainly just need some more friends for Oaks, here."

Which brought him back to the man of the hour.

"Now, Oaks, take everything nice and slow. You've got a nasty head injury, and I don't want you aggravating it, know what I'm saying? Though I also need to know how you're doing in there, so what's the last thing you remember? Take as much time as you need."