Survival Of The Fittest

Nothing was never talked about in the Madison household.

Most of the time, those nothings never mattered in the first place. One missing hair tie out of two dozen, a sock missing out of several other pairs of socks, probably tucked in some corner under a desk, not to be seen until the next furniture rearrangement. They were tiny, replaceable things, so tiny that when they went missing, it was almost like they were never there. You could manage just fine without them, so there was no issue.

Sometimes, they were larger nothings. An empty corner in the foyer, right before the living room. And, in the Madison household, those nothings were simply not acknowledged. Whatever had been there wasn't there anymore anyways, so why talk about it? Why make a fuss over nothing?

That particular nothing had once been a vase they'd gotten at the Michael's over in Danvers, the one with the blue china pattern. It had been placed in the foyer as a nice decoration piece, one to draw the eye right as you enter the house. And then it wasn't. And that was okay, it was just some random thing from some big-box store. Nothing to fuss about, there were more of those elsewhere.

June didn't remember exactly what happened to that vase. Not entirely. She remembered sweeping the vase shards in a panic, dumping the shards into a garbage bag, stuffing the bag immediately into the very bottom of the black trash bin, not the blue recycling bin because broken ceramics couldn't be recycled anymore. She remembered that. But not what happened before.

There had been an argument the day prior to that vase being broken, she barely remembered what it was about. Probably the chores, that's what it was usually about. And, it had been the day prior, but that day had ended with her mom walking away, not even acknowledging how tired she was, not even giving her a chance to get a word in. And, she'd tried her best to move past it, they'd probably get back to talking like normal eventually.

But, her feelings ebbed and flowed. And sometimes, they flowed exceptionally hard. So hard that the dam would break in a split second, destruction wrought so quickly that all there was left to consider, to try to clean was the aftermath. Devastation that could only be explained in retrospect.

She and her therapist called it backfilling, this after-the-fact explanation. She wasn't sure if that was an actual term in psychiatry or not, but that was what they called it.

She couldn't fix it. There was no amount of glue or time in the world that could undo it. But, if she just hid the evidence right away, cleaned after her mess, made everything neat and tidy like it had been before, then it didn't need to be talked about. There would be one less thing in the house, and sometime, shortly afterward, she'd notice Mom and Dad talking, and then they'd look at her, and there'd be this look in their eyes (or, maybe there wasn't a look in their eyes, and she was just projecting her guilt onto their actions. Her therapist told her she did that sometimes). Either way, whether they knew it or not, they didn't talk about it.

And that was fine.

---

((June Madison continues from Come Out, Juanita, Don't Let Me Wait))

She didn't want to ever talk about it with Medea.

There'd been a scream, the moment she left the church. Someone finding a crumpled body in a barrel, after having just seen a literal red-handed girl running the opposite direction.

She'd tried for so long to keep herself calm. All her life, she'd spent it going to counselors and therapists, spending hours upon hours talking about meditation and coping mechanisms and negative thoughts and positive thoughts, all her life had been spent avoiding a climax that had brought itself about in seconds.

And, everyone would find out. They'd promised that in that dark room where they'd killed Mr. Pérez and Mr. Ramos, last thing the terrorists told them before they'd knocked them all out again. Mom, Dad, Medea, K, all her other friends back home like Clover and Laci and Peyton and Savanna and Eric, in seconds her reputation had gone from good cook, nice kid with good grades, to murderer. Even before the terrorists talked about it, whoever had screamed would talk about it to anyone they met, nervous whispers if they even caught a glance of her, 'I saw her running away from the basement, she had blood all over her, I'd been classmates with her in first grade and she was really scary back then, we better do something about her now.'

Whether the terrorists or whoever screamed talked, June didn't want to be around when they told Medea. She especially didn't want to be the one to tell her.

But she never really got what she wanted anyway.

Medea had stopped screaming her name after a bit, but she still heard the rapid thudthudthud of footsteps behind her, she'd been hearing those footsteps for the past half-hour.

The slope steepened quickly ahead of her. Neither of them had ever run this much in their lives. It was something they joked about, their mutual hatred of cardio. There was no way she could make it up there, no way she could lose Medea.

So, numbly, wordlessly, she stopped and she turned around. She sat on a rock, elbows on her knees, blood-tacked hands hanging in front of her, trembling.

And she waited.

((Medea Parth continued from Come Out, Juanita, Don't Let Me Wait))

Medea panted heavily as her lungs burned from the excursion and the cold air. The muscles of her legs practically screamed at her as she continued to run up the rough terrain of the mountain in pursuit of her friend. Well, “run” was a bit of an overstatement at this point, Medea felt. It was more “quickly shambling” than anything else as she pushed her body to what she felt was her absolute limit for what felt like an hour.

When was the last time she pushed her body this hard and for this long? It must have been ages since it felt like all her muscles were figuratively telling her off.

She honestly did not expect June to run away for so long. She would have thought after the first few minutes of the chase and calling for her, June would have stopped and talked to her. But that didn’t happen, and instead June kept running as fast as she could, out of that old abandoned town and up a mountain. What had June done that she felt that she needed to avoid Medea so desperately? Medea had… an idea of what happened. June coming out with blood on her hands, a scream from another room… It painted a picture and not one Medea was fond of.

But June was her friend — one of her closest. Whatever had happened, she knew there was more to it. She could make assumptions all she wanted in her head, but right now her friend was in a mad panic of a run trying to escape her pursuit. It hurt honestly that June would rather run away instead of talking with her. But what hurt Medea more was the thought that June had done something and it was so bad that she was now hurting on the inside. Medea wanted to help, to reach out, but June was trying to put distance between them.

As Medea stumbled through the slick rocks, snow, and the ice, and coming to view was June sitting on a rock. Medea came to a stop when she saw June, her breathing practically hyperventilating at this point and her heart beating so hard she thought it might explode in chest. But as she stood there, looking at June and her adrenaline spiking to levels she had never known, several emotions all flooded her at once.

Relief.

Sadness.

Concern.

Frustration.

“J-June…” Her voice croaked out, her throat stinging in pain after having screamed out that very name several times in the last half hour and from being dried out from the cold air.

Slowly, she stumbled her way over to wear June sat, her body feeling like it was on fire from all her aching muscles of having chased after her friend. As she closed the distances tears welled up in her eyes, she sniffled and sobbed.

“Why did you run away?” She croaked out through a sob. Not a judgment. Not underlined with accusation. Just a simple question of concern as she looks at her childhood friend through wet, blurred vision.

Any remnant of resistance left June's body the second Medea spoke, her words laced more with fear than anything else. A nauseating wave of guilt overcame her. In all the years she'd known Medea, she'd never heard her speak like that ever. She'd never sounded so scared. Only June had done that to her.

But, she'd run so far just to get an answer from her, so it was only fair she gave her one, right?

Her whole body began to vibrate, teeth chattering as she tried to summon the breath necessary to speak. She focused her gaze on the ground. She didn't want to see Medea's face when she got angry at her. She couldn't take it.

"I- I- you wouldn't, you- you- you- you wouldn't understand, Medea," she spat out, "you'll hate me."

She rubbed her hands together, nervous habit. She wanted the blood to rub off right then and there.

"Why'd you follow me?" she squeaked out. "You'll hate me."

Her tears finally broke and she started sobbing loudly. If it wasn’t June’s words that did it, it was the fact her friend wouldn’t even look at her when she said them. Was June really so ashamed she’d rather run away then even try to explain what had happened?

“H-H-How could you even say something like that, June?” She choked out, sniffling and her breath hitching in her throat. “I-I-I love you! I could never h-hate you!”

She shifted, taking a few steps closer.

“J-June, I care about you. Please, s-stop running from me.” She begged. “You c-c-can talk to me. Please, talk to me.”

June took in, out deep breaths for a few seconds, the ice-sharp air almost choking her. She continued rubbing her hands, rolls of congealed blood and dirt falling to the icy ground below her.

She closed her eyes, like she was bracing herself for a jump off a cliff.

"Okay. I, uh, I woke up, and I was with Iris. The, uh, the, you probably know her. And, I was scared, because OF COURSE I WAS AND—" she stopped, almost put her hands over her mouth but if she did the blood would smear all over her face and she'd throw up and— deep breaths, deep breaths, "we were- they stuck us in this dark room and I was trying to get out, and there was this door on this ceiling and there were these stairs, we were on top of these stairs, and, I was trying to get her to help but she kept freaking out and I was freaking out and she was freaking out so I- I- I lost it, I lost it and I- I- I didn't mean it Medea you have to know I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it, God I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

The rest of her words degenerated into sobs. And all that was left was hope, a dangerous, desperate hope that Medea understood what she meant, what she needed her to understand.

She just stood and listened to June as she spoke and explained what happened. While June wasn’t saying explicitly what had happened, it was more than obvious what had happened. Medea stood there, a numb sensation throughout her whole body. She wasn’t sure if it was because of what June was telling her, the chase and the bitter cold, or a combination of the two. June was crying before her, her confession having devolved into unintelligible sobbing. Her breathing was uneasy and shuddering from her own crying, her limbs trembling.

A moment passed and she finally moved towards June, her hands raising up from her sides.

She closed the gap between them, her hands reaching out towards her friend.

She wrapped her arms around June, pulling her sobbing friend into a hug.

She gently shushed June as she held her. She moved her arms, one rubbing June’s back while the other moved to cradle her head and push it into Medea’s chest.

“I forgive you,” She said quietly, barely a whisper. “I know you didn’t mean it, Junebug. It’s okay.”

In her mind's eye, June had imagined she'd have to throw herself on her knees just to beg Medea for forgiveness, that she'd have to go on all fours and grab at her ankles just to make her stay. She'd prepared herself for it, drawn from reserves of energy within she didn't even know she had left. But, when it took Medea all of a few seconds to approach her, hug her, forgive her, it took June all of her remaining strength not to collapse in her embrace.

She didn't deserve Medea's forgiveness. She didn't forgive herself. But, she couldn't find it in herself to tell Medea that, to take this good thing away from herself. The idea of Medea walking away from her was so, so terrifying. All she could do was accept it wordlessly, without protest, no matter how undeserving she was. If she said anything more, she'd jinx it, and Medea would realize her mistake and leave, and she couldn't bear it if that happened.

She silently shook into Medea's shoulders for a minute, an hour, who knew. Then, she let go, and focused her gaze on the ground again. Her eyes were puffy, it felt embarrassing to make eye contact at the moment.

"I, uh. Sorry for making you run so far. I know you hate running. Hate PE and all. Heh."

Medea wasn’t afraid to admit she cried more as she held June in her arms. The way her friend shook in the embrace signified just how scared she was. Medea couldn’t blame her given everything, but she had an inkling that June probably thought that any moment she’d just let her go and abandoned her here on this mountain for what she did. Medea wouldn’t do that. She cared too much for her friend to do something so cruel. She didn’t keep track of the time as it passed, she just stood there and held June tightly, stroking her hair and gently shushing her when needed.

She took a step back once June let go, giving her friend a sad smile as she talked.

“Oh June, you know I don’t like the word ‘hate’,” she said. “Still, it is okay. For you, I’d have run across this whole island. So you are forgiven.”

"Thanks."

A few seconds of awkward silence followed. She couldn't keep looking at the ground forever.

She kept her eyes on Medea's forehead. Eyes still felt too vulnerable, if she looked at them, she'd catch a glimpse of doubt, fear in her eyes, and she didn't want to see that. So she settled for her forehead instead.

"What had you been up to anyways? Before I, uh, before I passed by. Probably had a better day than I've had so far," she said with a small chuckle that tore her apart.

Her eyes widened. She looked away, pulled her bag to her chest, began to open the zipper.

"And, what did they give you?" she asked, while asking herself that same question.

“Honestly?” Medea said, sighing and looking off to the distance. “Not that great. I woke up, scared out of my mind, ran into… Jaunita. Do you know her? She seemed pretty nice, so I helped her. Then I chased after you.”

She paused and just stared off, looking at the horizon. From this vantage point, she could see a good chunk of the island. It was actually rather beautiful, she noted. She only wished that she was here under better circumstances. A nice camping trip with her friends… Though she never particularly liked camping. Maybe if they got out of this…

Maybe…

“I got some kinda whip thing.” She said, shrugging. “I got rid of it since I didn’t need it. What did you get?”

She nodded her head, only half-focused on Medea's answer. "Yeah, one of the athletes, right?" and then she continued shuffling through the duffel bag, pushing aside a windbreaker, a couple tins, was the weapon in here? no it was just a bunch of saltines, a map, a flashlight, another bag, a roll of duct tape, a first aid kit, the roll had a label on it, why would it have a label on it, the map didn't have a label, the flashlight didn't have a label the bag didn't have one the tins didn't have one the windbreaker didn't,

The duct tape was her weapon.

Oh.

That's funny.

All this blood on her hands, and they left her with something you could buy at the local Staples for a dollar.

And, Medea didn't even have a weapon anymore. She'd thrown it away, she said, because she was just too good for it.

All these guns and grenades and swords she had to face down, and she had to face them down with a roll of tape.

"Hah." Her lips turned upwards into a pained smile. She felt like the punchline of some cosmic joke, so someone had to smile at the joke, right?

She displayed the tape to her friend, paper label flapping as she waved it around. A couple tears rolled down her face.

"This is what I got. Guess I'm gonna die here."

Medea watched as June dug through her bag. Looking for her weapon perhaps? If it was a weapon, Medea would tell June to get rid of it. It was her own choice that she got rid of that whip thing, and if June wanted to keep what she was given then Medea hoped she could guide her friend into making the right choices while on the island. June didn’t need any further blood on her hands if Medea had anything to say about it.

After a moment, June pulled out… duct tape.

June presented it, waved it around as tears rolled down her face, while Medea stood there with her eyes widening. That was duct tape. Honest to God duct tape. June didn’t seem too impressed by it, but from all her years of tinkering Medea knew just how versatile that stuff was.

Medea giggled. Then chuckled. Then slowly evolved into full on laughter. She laughed for a good few seconds before collecting herself, smiling brightly at June.

“June,” Medea said with a chuckle. “Do you have any idea just how lucky you are right now?”

She beamed, her pearly whites on full display, as she held out her hand towards the tape.

Was she laughing at her?

She looked at Medea's outstretched hand, eyes scrunched together.

"What do you mean lucky?"

Medea lowered her hand, a smile still plastered on her face.

June, that is duct tape!” She said, enthusiasm soaking her tone. “You know how versatile a tool that is? Tape is tape, and that is STRONG tape! I could go on and on about how great that stuff is! You’ve seen my projects! You know what I have done with that stuff!”

As Medea spoke the ideas started to flood in. All the things she could do with the duct tape, all the scenarios she could consider. It wouldn’t be everything she needed, but it was a heck of a good start to… whatever it was they were going to do! Quickly she opened up her bag, shifting through its contents until she found the map that was put in it. She quickly unfolded, scanning over it, studying it.

“Alright, so, if I remembered the path we took correctly we are somewhere… here!” She pointed to one of the mountains on the map. She then pointed to the western half of the map, where a set of five large buildings were located. “Now over here is a set of buildings, which if I were to guess is possibly some sort of base or station of some kind. We’ll need to head there. Judging by the state of things, a bunch of stuff got left behind when the island was abandoned. With any luck some usable tools were also left behind!”

As Medea preached the gospel of duct tape, a warm smile came across June's face. She vaguely recalled a story Medea had told her recently, about this prototype drone she'd scrapped together out of a camera and spare plastic and tape, something that could fetch snacks or something like that. June didn't have all the details down, she'd been busy scrolling Twitter when Medea had told her about this. She wished she'd listened more closely.

There was a zeal, a vigor in Medea's words as she went on to discuss their location, possible places to go next, as if the tears of a couple minutes ago hadn't been shed. And, June realized there could only really be one reason for that.

Medea had thrown away her weapon. She was the least likely out of anyone on this island to hurt anyone else, June was sure of this. Yet, she was so excited for all the tools she could make with this roll of tape. So, if the tools weren't for self-defense, then...

She thought they could escape.

The last successful escape from Survival of the Fittest was over a decade ago. There were three kidnappings in between then and now. How many kids in those schools had been inventors like Medea? Aspiring engineers? Wired things together for fun?

And how many of them had made it out?

Medea was good at putting stuff together, better than the vast majority of her classmates at the very least. But she was going up against an organization that had evaded the US government for almost as long as she had been alive, an organization for whom this massacre was their full-time job. With duct tape.

But, thinking on it further, this was the only path Medea would ever take, right? Violence was out of the question, and so was sitting down to die. So, escape it was.

And really, who was June to disappoint Medea, anyways?

We'll need to head there. That is what Medea had said. June had brought her to tears for the first time ever, if she recalled correctly. And still, Medea wanted her to come along with her. June would've done anything to make it up to her, to fix it. This was something she could fix, at least. So, if it meant walking into hell together, step by step, so be it.

It wasn't like she could tell Medea otherwise.

So, really, there was only one thing left to ask.

"What exactly do you have in mind then?"