The Path of the Guillotine
Posted: Sun Apr 02, 2023 11:25 pm
S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED FROM "The Domesday Book"
The rest of the third day came and went in silence. The only sound was the rise and fall of their chests as they breathed the cold air and the tap, tap, tap sound of their footsteps as they paced back and forth. No words, just meager actions, and those, for now, foretold little of their path—only their contemplation as they stewed in the island's negativity.
Eventually, the day died, and the night was born again. The sun fell behind the horizon, and the darkness rose, ascendant. Soon, the two of them had gone to sleep. For Claire, it was a restless rest, a dreamless slumber, her anxieties pulsing in her chest like a second set of heartbeats. The pitch-darkness of the night had become familiar to her now.
But, of course, she did sleep eventually and then, in turn, awoke again. The third day had come, and the fourth had arrived, one shy of a week's stay in Hell. She washed and cleaned herself again—mouth, body, change of clothes—and then prepared to listen for the announcements. It was the only reason she bothered to wake up early at all.
Claire gritted her teeth. All of this had become so routine; of all the things she pictured Hell being, boring wasn't one of her guesses. This place—this extraordinary horrible place—could almost be construed as mundane. Even the pain, she thought, as she bit into her skin to draw the blood again, had become prosaic—a ritual followed once a day.
EVE ZIMA
HECTOR QUAYLE
TENSHI FUKUSHIMA-YVES
EDEN ZIMA
JOAN LEAVEN
TAYLOR THORNE
DOMINIQUA ASHMORE
EDEN GLASS
CALVIN RAWLS
MILDRED PLATT
MICAH FLANAGAN
It was almost distressing to note how normal this had begun to feel. A week ago, Claire would have quivered at the sound of gunshots—now, every so often, she heard their aria in the distance, almost as often as that of the birds in the trees. The apocalypse was trite. She wondered if some of them even remembered that there was a time before this.
DAWN MONTOGOMERY
LETICIA MAY
DEMARCUS MILLER
JUANITA REID
Even the killer's names had become predictable. The same few came and went every cycle—one, in particular, made each announcement more than once. There was no sign, though, of their target. Perhaps, when all was said and done, their names would be paired with his, for better or worse—if that happened, though, Claire would rather he die, not them.
RUSSELL FITZROY •
JESSICA ROMERO •
Another day.
Another list.
No progress.
Claire grimaced. She didn't want to stay here much longer—as far as she was concerned, the two of them were sitting ducks as long as they just sat around and did nothing. Living was a proactive endeavor—this was stagnation. She could almost feel the rot and mold close in on them; decay, an enemy on all sides, except for the other side of the walls.
Anywhere was better than here, she resolved. When the time came—the announcements were over, and Evie was ready—she packed everything away, swung the bag over her shoulder, and began to move. Between the two of them, she was the first to step through the door, towards the outside world—and all its unknown and variable dangers.
Then, Claire heard a voice, an echo in the room's rafters. Evie had asked her a question of fatal consequence, a matter of life and death. Would they accept that role? To become judge, jury, executioner—to do unto him as he had done unto them, the golden rule—and take the matter into their own hands. In a moment, she answered, an incisive certainty in her tone.
"What other option do we have? If we don't stop Alex—if we don't kill him—then he will hurt more people." To choose to fight was to choose neither the gallows nor the gangplank; instead, the guillotine. "We've got to draw a line in the sand somewhere. And, as far as I'm concerned, some of us have crossed it for long enough—no more. It ends here."
She didn't think about it twice.
S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED IN "Better Than Cobalt"
The rest of the third day came and went in silence. The only sound was the rise and fall of their chests as they breathed the cold air and the tap, tap, tap sound of their footsteps as they paced back and forth. No words, just meager actions, and those, for now, foretold little of their path—only their contemplation as they stewed in the island's negativity.
Eventually, the day died, and the night was born again. The sun fell behind the horizon, and the darkness rose, ascendant. Soon, the two of them had gone to sleep. For Claire, it was a restless rest, a dreamless slumber, her anxieties pulsing in her chest like a second set of heartbeats. The pitch-darkness of the night had become familiar to her now.
But, of course, she did sleep eventually and then, in turn, awoke again. The third day had come, and the fourth had arrived, one shy of a week's stay in Hell. She washed and cleaned herself again—mouth, body, change of clothes—and then prepared to listen for the announcements. It was the only reason she bothered to wake up early at all.
Claire gritted her teeth. All of this had become so routine; of all the things she pictured Hell being, boring wasn't one of her guesses. This place—this extraordinary horrible place—could almost be construed as mundane. Even the pain, she thought, as she bit into her skin to draw the blood again, had become prosaic—a ritual followed once a day.
EVE ZIMA
HECTOR QUAYLE
TENSHI FUKUSHIMA-YVES
EDEN ZIMA
JOAN LEAVEN
TAYLOR THORNE
DOMINIQUA ASHMORE
EDEN GLASS
CALVIN RAWLS
MILDRED PLATT
MICAH FLANAGAN
It was almost distressing to note how normal this had begun to feel. A week ago, Claire would have quivered at the sound of gunshots—now, every so often, she heard their aria in the distance, almost as often as that of the birds in the trees. The apocalypse was trite. She wondered if some of them even remembered that there was a time before this.
DAWN MONTOGOMERY
LETICIA MAY
DEMARCUS MILLER
JUANITA REID
Even the killer's names had become predictable. The same few came and went every cycle—one, in particular, made each announcement more than once. There was no sign, though, of their target. Perhaps, when all was said and done, their names would be paired with his, for better or worse—if that happened, though, Claire would rather he die, not them.
RUSSELL FITZROY •
JESSICA ROMERO •
Another day.
Another list.
No progress.
Claire grimaced. She didn't want to stay here much longer—as far as she was concerned, the two of them were sitting ducks as long as they just sat around and did nothing. Living was a proactive endeavor—this was stagnation. She could almost feel the rot and mold close in on them; decay, an enemy on all sides, except for the other side of the walls.
Anywhere was better than here, she resolved. When the time came—the announcements were over, and Evie was ready—she packed everything away, swung the bag over her shoulder, and began to move. Between the two of them, she was the first to step through the door, towards the outside world—and all its unknown and variable dangers.
Then, Claire heard a voice, an echo in the room's rafters. Evie had asked her a question of fatal consequence, a matter of life and death. Would they accept that role? To become judge, jury, executioner—to do unto him as he had done unto them, the golden rule—and take the matter into their own hands. In a moment, she answered, an incisive certainty in her tone.
"What other option do we have? If we don't stop Alex—if we don't kill him—then he will hurt more people." To choose to fight was to choose neither the gallows nor the gangplank; instead, the guillotine. "We've got to draw a line in the sand somewhere. And, as far as I'm concerned, some of us have crossed it for long enough—no more. It ends here."
She didn't think about it twice.
S091: CLAIRE HAIG — CONTINUED IN "Better Than Cobalt"